The Labyrinth of Passion (romantic experiences)

by Charles Westmont

  Visiting friends from home

  They stopped at Republique to visit Francis. A true son of the Dordogne country side, he was suffering a temporary sentence to complete a compulsory work qualification course, only available in the capital. He missed driving his motorcycle on the roads of Aquitaine and he felt lost in the Paris turmoil. Coming out from lunch one day, he saw this pretty blonde inspecting his motorcycle and started a conversation that would grow into a friendship. He found Justine to be a knowledgeable motorcycle fan. It took little time for Justine to gain Francis’s confidence and begin to explore Paris, saddled on the powerful black Kawasaki 1200cc. At first, she sat on the back seat, but very soon, she was biking solo, until on a rainy evening, she slipped over the pavement of the Pont du Change. She escaped without injury or damage to the bike, but the fright was enough to moderate her ardor. She confided to Etienne that Francis could never try to take advantage of her sexually. Justine however could not repel her curiosity and she did not resist an impulse for an unsolicited invasion of his crotch. She figured that her decision to suck dry a helpless motoring bum, was a fair compensation for the free rides on the steel monster.

  On the same evening, they stopped next door to see Germont. Justine met him through Francis and the three companions joined to create the short lived Dordogne team in Paris. More a man of the world, Germont, after a friendly dinner at his apartment, lubricated with champagne, was prompt to capitalize on Justine’s generous dispositions. She remembered somewhat, that, despite the effect of the bubbles blurring her mind, she found herself sprawled on her back on the dinner table. Germont kept her thighs wide open while he munched on her pussy for dessert, without even removing her string. It was only the next morning, when she felt her butt sticking to the bed sheet, that a cursory look revealed a stained string and a brown spot. “This is Nutella!” she exclaimed licking her finger. A closer inspection confirmed that her anus was still covered with the sweet paste. “Ingenious this Germont, thank to the bubbles, he was a fortunate trespasser in my asshole. The experience was quite pleasant, but he is certainly not my cup of tea. Good for him!”

  The event was never repeated, but Germont remained a good friend. On occasion in later years, Etienne would join Justine for a visit with Germont at his village near Bergerac. He was very proud of his imposing collection of pornographic video material. Etienne borrowed the occasional video cassettes of male homosexuality that Justine found stimulating. Returning the material to Germont, Etienne slipped in a video of Justine taken on camera in full flight. Germont never returned the private material, nor did he ever acknowledge having it in his possession.

  Etienne was learning that Justine had toyed with promiscuity but with reasonable caution. She was naturally and sincerely generous. When she felt comfortable with someone, she found it difficult to refuse pleasing that person, even at the price of her own intimacy. She naturally took pleasure in everything that she did and a very special pleasure with the excitement of sexual surprises. Her only fear was rejection.

  Etienne had such confidence on his hold on Justine and their love that he found himself sharing excitement in any and everything that would please her. Eventually they were able to share each other’s fantasies without restrictions. She, for her part, was comforted by the admission that he was totally taken by her and that their relation would remain an open book with her in the center, his masterpiece. She was his wild bird in an open cage. Justine was twenty years younger and should be allowed to live her young woman’s life, if she so elected. For Etienne love is or is not. If it is not, there is no point to fight a losing battle. He knew in his heart that he was in control. If love is cared for, it does not end, unless you leave

  Chapter 9 - Expanding the playing field

  Deauville

  They left for Deauville. Etienne and le Divin Marquis were stretching their legs on the rear seat, while James, Justine’s code name, was in full control of the new Mercedes. Deauville, a resort town located on the shores of the Channel has been regarded as the queen of the Norman beaches since the 19th century, promoted in Proust's In search of lost times. A short drive from Paris, it was a favorite of her companions for a brief escape to the seashore after a busy week.

  “I think we deserve a break.” Etienne and the Divin Marquis were chatting over a drink at Fouquet, after completing the negotiations for an interim financing of the project. “What would you say of a few days at the American Film Festival in Deauville?” suggested the Divin Marquis. The Divin Marquis had many hobbies and movies and books were, without a doubt, his favorites. Etienne added casually, that they would not have to drive. “We have our chauffeur, James.” The bonus of having this tall blonde beauty as a chauffeur was not to be discarded. “OK with me, if she wears an appropriate uniform.” They arrived in Deauville in time for the projection of The Rain Man. The movie was that year’s drama selection at the festival. Etienne had booked suites at the Royal Deauville for the evening.

  Justine had had many free afternoons in recent weeks. She used them astutely to explore avenues to add new spice to her relationship. Her lingerie collection already included the latest fashion of garter belts, jarretières, silk stocking, strings, and lace body stocking from the likes of La Perla, Gucci and Dior. Her fast evolving relationship, with a man many years her elder, had become an erotic love potion that was taking more and more room in her soul. His good looks, his impressive demeanor, the self confidence that she had often witnessed in his company at business events, had overtaken her thoughts, translating in pleasurable ripples that were racing inside and over her body. Her infatuation had reached such a level that her main preoccupation was to please him. She wanted to be his everything. She wanted to give him all of herself. She wanted to love him, to glue him to her breasts. She wanted to foresee all his expectations and fulfill all his desires. She was ready to be his whore. That last thought had overtaken her and was driving her beyond resistance. Secretly, she was his whore.

  In a mission, she began to explore the leading erotic fashion boutiques in Paris. She was already a compulsive, but selective shopper. She befriended the sales ladies and in no time, she became a willing model to try everything and anything daring, that would arouse Etienne. A certain Sabine, an attractive African former model, had taken Justine under her wing and quickly became a willing accomplice. Sabine became her private erotic fashion consultant, suggesting the most daring apparels. She had reserved a large change room, where they would spend quiet afternoon moments at the boutique, trying and exchanging the most thrilling undies, apparels, nightwear and bathing suits. Sabine had taken note of Justine’s goddess-like physical attributes. She found the peachy mousse feeling of her skin hard to resist. On occasions, she would let her hands and her body extend their stay in subtle caresses. At first Justine, intoxicated by the stimulus of exposing her nudity, would condone the brushing of the ebony body. Sabine became more daring and attempted a French kiss accentuated by agile fingers entered the blonde pussy. Justine accepted to accommodate, without rejecting her, but her lack of enthusiasm convinced Sabine that she was not a serious candidate for lesbian sex.

  Justine was entering the lobby of the Royal Deauville holding the Divin Marquis by the arm. She stopped in front of a lobby window displaying a very special yellow dress. The Divin Marquis could not ignore her interest. They caught up with Etienne at the check-in counter. She asked Etienne to insist on a suite overlooking the inner garden and the swimming pool.

  They entered the suite and Justine ran for the bathroom. “I am going for a few laps at the pool, watch me from the balcony,” she said and she ran out of the room, wrapped in the complementary “Her” bathrobe. Etienne went through the routine of placing their clothing in the dressers and closets. From the small refrigerator, he prepared a scotch and water to his liking and glass in hand, he walked to the rear balcony overlooking the pool.

  He stepped to the private patio and noticed a commotion on a balcony to his left. Dressed in their chefs a
nd cooks attires, a joyous group was applauding. Their eyes were fixated on the pool below. Etienne detected the object of their adulation. A nymph, exposing the rear of her naked body, was progressing in a graceful crawl across the swimming pool. Her golden complexion and her fluid features were enhanced by the black walls and bottom of the pool. She finally pulled herself up, her back still turned to her audience and unfolded her feline body in all its nudity. She then turned, revealing herself. The tip of her breasts were covered by two skin colored silk pieces the size of American dollars, linked to a diminutive string hiding, yet revealing, a protruding mound of Venus. A quasi invisible lace, was blending with her back and was holding the front pieces together, somewhat by magic. Etienne was captivated by the vision, taking it all in. His excitement was a mixture of pride in the revelation to others, that he possessed and exploited this siren and of his intoxication for sharing with her the pleasure of exposing herself and of confirming her appeal to male admirers.

  She came back to the suite, still vibrating from the experience. Etienne was inspired to confuse her and remained on the balcony sipping his scotch. She was momentarily disturbed by his absence from the room, until she saw him behind the curtains reclining on the balcony. She recovered with a smile of relief, while her eyes could not hide her concern for his reaction. Etienne remained sitting silently, putting on a severe frown. She came to his side and was dragged on his lap to face him. He pulled his penis and found little difficulty in bypassing the string and penetrating her. She was beginning to sway over him, when the doorbell rang. “Go quick and open,” he ordered.

  The bellboy nearly dropped the large box when he caught sight of the semi-naked nymph welcoming him. He walked in and placed the box on a sofa and left quickly. Justine hesitated between returning to the balcony and opening the box. As Sacha Guitry had revealed in his writings about the feminine, it was not a surprise that curiosity won over a yet strong appetite for sex. “Wow!” she exclaimed, when the yellow dress was revealed. She pulled the dress out of the box and ran to the mirror assessing an eventual fit. “Come and see Etienne. This looks like a perfect fit,” she could not withhold her elation. Etienne opened a small envelope from the box. “An attentive admirer,” he read out loud. “Our Divin Marquis does not miss an opportunity,” but Justine was already in the shower. Etienne undressed and joined her. The afternoon activities were still short-circuiting his system and he could not refrain from the feeling of holding her close, with the lukewarm water adding caresses.

  “Go and join our friend at the Casino Restaurant, I will be coming down in a little while,” she said to Etienne, who was pacing the floor. The duo was already at work on a bottle of Tettinger Cuvée Spéciale, when she appeared with the maître d’hôtel in tail. The yellow dress was glowing in the dim lighting. It was wrapping her waist tightly, pushing up on her lovely mounds. The Egyptian cotton was floating gracefully and left little to the imagination about the upward destination of those great thighs. The sommelier was more than accommodating, standing over Justine and extending to refill the glasses.

  When they returned to the suite, Etienne understood that Justine’s exposure at the pool and the admiration that she had incited, were all the pleasure and satisfaction that she needed for the day. She fell asleep without any further attention. His head buried in the pillow, Etienne was musing about Justine’s catty femininity. The diversity in the sources of her pleasure differed so much from his own. His was completely fulfilled with stimulating her emotionally and physically. Taking his own pleasure was secondary. Her fulfillment would vary constantly in a broad and changing spectrum of scenarios of attraction, of offering herself, of stimulating his fantasies, of sometime wandering in pretended infidelities with faceless men and in the end only taking her sexual satisfaction with him. He also understood, to his surprise, that his attraction to her was a blending of looks, smell, gestures and humorous demeanor that generated her respect and her fascination. Their combination was the cement for a lasting relationship.

  He was taken away from his thoughts, when she awoke to a moaning, banging and screaming coming through the wall from the adjacent room. “Someone is having fun,” she murmured, and in seconds, she was back asleep.

  Auberge St-Simeon

  After the Film Festival’s closing ceremony, they opted to dine at the four star restaurant at l’Auberge St-Siméon, where they had made a reservation for the night. In no time, they were on the way to Honfleur and the Cote de Grace. Honfleur spreads on the southern bank of the estuary of the Seine across from le Havre. It is known for its old, beautiful picturesque port, characterized by its houses with Dutch like slate-covered frontages, many adorned with paintings by Courbet, Boudin, Monet and Jongkind, masters at the origin of the Impressionist movement

  They reached l’Auberge St-Siméon and settled in the Royal Suite, the last suite available on account of the Film Festival. The large apartment provided a master bedroom with an adjoining guestroom and a living room. “Perfect!” said the Divin Marquis, “I will occupy the guest room and leave you the large bedroom suite.” The apartment was revealing unique sketches and drawings from the greatest of the impressionists, even carvings in the beams of the ancient structure. With its bucolic charm and its washed-out light effects, the Saint-Siméon farm had been one of the favorite refuges of the Impressionists. Monet and Courbet came in search of their colors. The poet Baudelaire also came here in search of inspiration, after abandoning the melancholy of Paris for the little port of Honfleur. “Oh Saint-Siméon!” how hard it is to leave…”

  The Divin Marquis had just settled in, when Justine came to pull him from his reading. Feeling slightly indisposed, he had elected to skip dinner and retire to his apartments. Justine’s appearance, wearing only the bottom of her bikini, was enough for him to change his mind and to join the party in the private whirlpool. The trio submerged in the spa overlooking the garden. Justine had purposely brushed the Divin Marquis’s arm with her nipple as they slipped into the tub. The animated conversation on the new selections of the Festival was smoothened with a bottle of champagne. After the first bottle, the Divin Marquis pulled himself up, with as much grace as he could gather, and bidding goodnight, he left for his private quarters.

  The warm bubbly water, the champagne and the company of two bathing companions, seemed to leave Justine in a state of grace that she was prepared to disgrace. Her hand had been fondling Etienne’s organ during most of the previous session. He was kept aroused by the motion, seasoned by doubts about the action of the other hand, hidden under the deep foam cover. He remembered that the Divin Marquis did not appear to suffer. “Maybe it was the champagne,” he said to himself, without feeling reassurance. The motion gained in ardor and was bringing Etienne to orgasm. He pulled himself away from her hand and lifted her body over the side of the tub. After a few gentle strokes, he accelerated with more ardor. One hand began exploring the pussy territory and a finger was probing her anus. He started pinching her love bud, bringing her from pleasure to the threshold of pain, until she began shaking and let out a polite scream.

  They sat at the dining table. A smile never disappeared from her face, since she left the spa to slip into the yellow dress. Having ordered a gin with lemon, Etienne took the piece of the lemon and presented it to Justine, “Bite, it will rest your lips from that telltale smile,” he said laughing at her embarrassment. He gave her the menu and said “James your call, you order diner for two.” It was to be Etienne’s first vegetarian dinner in a restaurant. He enjoyed every bit of it, basted with a Chateau Etienne 1980. Justine had uncovered the Pomerol on her way to Bordeaux. “This is a special wine tailored to your Excellency’s taste,” she said with pride. Etienne acknowledged the quality of the food and service, shaking hands with the Chef and the Maître D. He turned to Justine who was posting one of her enticing smiles. She had removed her tits from her dress to give them a full exposure, resting both temptations over the table top. Etienne extended his hands, but she withdrew to c
over the escapees. They went to their room and were in no time cuddling on the bed. They fell asleep sharing in a loving hug.

  It was late morning, the Divin Marquis was knocking on the door, “Wake up teenagers!” There followed a visit of the wonders of Honfleur, its harbor, its art galleries and monuments. After a late lunch, they returned to Paris.

  Geneva

  Etienne had returned to Paris and was waiting impatiently for Justine’s arrival at Austerlitz. They were leaving for Geneva. He was overjoyed to bring his lover to share his childhood memories. Just the thought of her arrival was already filling his heart with expectation. He was standing at the station for her scheduled arrival, only to find in the end, that she was not on the train. He called the hotel to find her message. She was late at the Bergerac station and rescheduled on the next train. He was brooding over how he would punish her.

  He saw her, the last to exit the last wagon. Her blonde mane was floating, her breasts were jumping as she was running for his open arms. His frustration melted completely, when he surrendered, the victim of a long passionate kiss.

  They left for Geneva, a few hours later. It was their first trip out of the country and Etienne was set to make it a trip to be remembered. Instinctively when they reached the highway, Etienne place his hand on her thigh caressing her softness, moving first downward inside her knee, pausing his fingers, still but threatening, while they prepared to attack her wanting flesh. Then without warning, his hand would move upward, ever so slowly, attentive to detect an accelerating pulse. It would slip inside her thighs close enough to brush against her pussy and would return downward to settle in the warm comfort of her pressing thighs. This procedure, or slight variations of such, would accompany all future car trips. “This is the hand of the master holding his property,” he whispered.