The dance got wilder and wilder until at last she was breathless and her eyes were bright with desire.
'You've got to fuck me now,' she stated. 'I want it like this.'
She leaned over the luggage carrier at the rear of the car and slipped her wrists beneath the straps that usually held luggage in place.
'Fuck me now,' she cried in the most pitiful voice he'd ever heard her use. 'Please. Fuck me now!'
He couldn't believe his ears. Not because of Emmeline's ripe language, but because of her imploring him to take her.
In the past it had always been Emmeline who called the shots. What, he wondered, had happened to change her?
Fly buttons open in no time, he came to her and groaned with delight as he felt the bell she had in her clitoris pass pleasantly over his penis.
Blood rushed to his head and his penis more quickly and fiercely than he had ever known. Strange sensations of wanting to be completely in her - body, legs and even linen jacket - engulfed him. He wanted all of himself in her.
But he settled for what was in her. Throbbing and spitting the first globules of semen, his cock swelled to make a close fit in the receptacle it found itself.
As he relished the feel of her vagina contracting on his member, he played with her nipples, ringing the little bells and having a yearning to kiss them, suck them, and trace with his tongue the pale blue veins he could see in her breasts.
The bells seemed to play a tune for them when they came, both locked together, body against body.
Afterwards, once he had slid out of her and his hardness had all but receded, he asked her about the Cotton Club.
'It was good,' she said brightly, then took hold of his arm. 'But I still missed you.'
Max looked suddenly embarrassed. 'It must have been nice, though, to dance at a swell place like that.'
'Oh, it was nothing.'
Max took hold of her by the shoulders, shook her slightly and looked into her eyes.
'It wasn't just nothing. It was really something. I'd dance with the devil if I could perform in a place like that.'
Emmeline stared at him.
'It means that much to you?'
Max was not the most forthcoming of guys, but this time he was resolute.
'It means one helluva lot to me!'
A thoughtful look crossed Emmeline's face.
'How about if we see what's available elsewhere. Just for a change.'
'Even if for only a little while?'
Emmeline nodded. 'We'll give it a try.'
Chapter 25
Rene looked panic-stricken and Stacey relished the fact.
'Choose!' she shouted. 'Your mother or me!'
Rene's usually straight shoulders seemed to stoop.
He really doesn't know what to do, thought Stacey. Well, hell, I've had enough. This is the end of the line.
'Her?' Madame Brabonne looked her daughter-in-law up and down as if she were a warped old apple tree that needed pruning. 'What have you brought to this family? Peasant bloodstock?'
Furious, Stacey glared at the woman who had hated her on sight merely for marrying her son.
'Honesty!' she shouted. Then she realised what she had said and how truthful it was. 'Honesty,' she repeated. 'Your son has needs, Madame Brabonne, and I have taken care of those needs. I have pimped for him...' She paused as she saw the startled look on her mother-in-law's face. She smiled. 'That's right. You did hear correctly. I pimped for him. Isn't that what peasant stock's supposed to do? Meet the demands of their betters?'
Madame Brabonne's face turned to thunder.
'No. No. No.' Rene crumpled into a chair, his head in his hands.
'How dare you!'
Stacey stood firm and folded her arms.
'Of course I dare. I dare because deep down I'm better than you. My family never kept slaves to do everything for them. They never married for money and treated sex as a commodity rather than a pleasure. Your son, Madame Brabonne, whether you like it or not, responds to what I do for him. I get him the girls he wants. I pleasure him while he watches them pleasuring themselves. In short, I am indeed his pimp and his pimp I will stay. He needs me.'
Madame Brabonne stood shocked, her mouth hanging open. She at last found her voice and turned directly to her son.
'Rene, you must put this woman aside! She is trash. Just southern white trash!'
'Rene.' Stacey held out her hand to her husband. 'Rene,' she repeated again. 'I am your wife. You appreciate everything I do for you. You know you do. Now, come with me. Forget your family and everything that's past. Forget Paris. Come with me and I will procure for you just as I did before.'
Rene rubbed his hands over his face and stared at the floor.
For a moment, a look of doubt crossed Stacey's face.
'Rene. We have a show to put on tonight. Your star is gone. We must find a replacement.'
At last he looked up at her, but he didn't look the man he had been. He looked crushed.
He glanced at his mother, then swiftly looked away.
Once he did that, Stacey knew she had won.
Rene got shakily to his feet. His mother reached for him. He backed away.
'I have to go, Mother. I have a nightclub to run.'
Stacey smiled at him as his hand slipped into hers.
'Come on,' she said alluringly. 'We've got our own history to make.'
Epilogue
Montmartre had no rules, no scruples, and little in the way of morals. Eighteenth-century buildings of yellow, pink and cream that were caught on canvas by a man named Utrillo were the homes of those seeking laissez-faire and self-expression.
The apartment Errol and his wife shared was on the first floor and had a balcony on which Sheree grew bright red geraniums in terracotta pots.
Max and Emmeline had an apartment on the ground floor which had double glass doors that led out onto a small patio where white star-shaped flowers grew out between the warm amber-tinted tiles.
It was seven in the morning and the sun was rising when all four of them went out onto the patio, the two men carrying a bottle of good burgundy each, and the women carrying wine glasses, Camembert, Brie and fresh crusty bread.
They sat at a green slatted table with unmatched chairs. Max looked wistfully out through the foliage that hid their world from that outside.
'You know, I never really appreciated New Orleans until I came here. It's as though the old Latin Quarter back home is a bit like one of them geranium cuttings you girls are always messing with. It got cut off. Got transplanted, and then just grew.'
'But you are glad you came here, aren't you, honey?'
Emmeline covered his hand with hers and looked up into his eyes.
He looked at her and smiled.
'Why shouldn't I be? Richthof pays me well to play at his club and there's no strings attached.' He nodded at Shirley Anne who had now changed her name permanently to Sheree. 'And our little girl there has the city at her feet. So have you with that Salome-style dance of yours.'
Sheree caressed Errol's neck.
'What about you, honey? Do you miss New Orleans?'
A distant look came to Errol's eyes. Thoughts of the town on Le Farge and the woman with white flesh and red hair came to his mind. So did his sojourn with the outrageous Lacey Lee.
He shrugged as he smiled.
'Paris and New Orleans are like twins parted at birth. But they've both basically got the same roots. With either of 'em it's a case of anything goes. And it does!'
-oOo-
Enjoy another great erotic story by Cathryn Cooper, also exclusively published as an eBook by us and available to download from many online bookstores now...
Change Partners
'I did exactly as he said. I bent over facing the mirror. My face was now flushed with the exertion of sucking him. My breasts hung like ripe fruit from a tree.
'He came up behind me and I knew immediately what he was going to do. He had seen me at my most brazen, my most vu
lnerable. My hands had been holding my buttocks apart when he had appeared. My anus had been open to his gaze. He couldn't wait to have me.
'I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn't. I wanted to see, to know fully what he was going to do to me. If it was going to happen, then so be it.'
The changing room at the gym is a great place to show off for macho males like Michael, Jamie and Thomas. After working out, they relax by shooting the breeze. And what else is there to talk about but sex?
But do the men tell the truth? Do their exotic lovers from the past really exist? Did their sensual triumphs actually take place? For answers, it's necessary to listen to their current partners. Josie, Mariana and Crystal are strong women with their own sexual agendas - and their own erotic stories to tell...
-oOo-
And as mentioned in the intro pages of this book, if you're keen to write erotic fiction and would like our Author Guidelines, or you're a published author and have existing work, the eBook rights of which remain with or have reverted to you, we would be delighted to hear from you.
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