Pierre Gaul. The CEO of Intertech, the company with whom she had consulted for the past four months, and whose offices she visited all day, was seldom involved in the decisions and strategies that her firm advised the multinational conglomerate. In fact, he had been in their Paris office for her other three visits to Chicago and she had only spoken to him once, by phone, several months ago. At sixty years old, Pierre looked in far better shape than her 38 year old husband. A member of the French national olympic ski team forty years ago, he still competed with many of the young men who aspired to make next year's team. In his spare time, when not running a $50 billion company. Give me a break, she laughed.
The hot needles played on Sarah's full breasts and she realized as she recalled her brief chat that day with Pierre, that her her large nipples were fully erect. God, I'm so exhausted I can barely stand up but a little fantasy about 'old' Pierre and I'm as horny as a teenager, she laughed to herself. At thirty-five, Sarah was the youngest partner in her firm, and was amazed at her "yuppie" life, considering that only six years ago she was backbacking around Europe, singing in clubs to just barely pay for her wandering and fun. At twenty-nine, she finally succumbed to the wishes of her parents and returned to Dartmouth to get her MBA and "enter the real world". Yuck, she thought, but look at me now, Dad!
Thinking back again to their half hour talk over lunch, Sarah remembered how Pierre went from ice cold exec to an animated, very funny and entertaining man when they got off the techno software subject and onto her travels through France as a "hippy singer". He had begged her to go with him tonight down to Rush Street where he knew several clubs that would be thrilled to let his "friend" do a couple sets with their local back ups. Maybe before she left, Sarah promised him.
Her fingers played with her soapy nipples as she remembered his strong face, chiseled features, but soft full mouth, and the muscular forearms in his rolled up shirt sleeves. Pierre was almost totally bald, but his tan head made him look younger, not older, or was that her lower body thinking, she giggled. She had never been with a man over forty, and now she was in lust with a man only a year younger than her father! Not being very naive, Sarah was also quite certain that Pierre's thoughts about her, with his intense eyes moving occasionally to her lips and blouse, were not those a father might reserve for his daughter. Her pulse quickened and one hand slid over her tummy down through her soapy pubic hair to her swollen lips. Teasing her clit softly, Sarah felt the warm rush move down her legs and knew she could bring herself to orgasm very easily, but fatigue was still her overpowering enemy, and after thirty seconds of teasing herself, she rinsed her body and turned off the shower.
Wrapped in a towel and blow drying her hair, Sarah thought she heard the phone ringing. Moving quickly to the bedroom, she picked up just the caller was about to hang up. "Hello", she answered.
"Oh Sarah, I'm sorry for calling so late but I had no choice. This is Margaret from Intertech and I have horrible news."
Sarah felt goosebumps rise over her whole body as a hundred bad thoughts passed through her mind.
"There was an accident. Pierre was hit by a truck in his car driving downtown after the meetings. He is dead." Margaret's voice broke at this last statement and she paused to collect herself as Sarah's mouth dropped open and tears welled up in her eyes. "I had to call you because, of course, all meetings are cancelled while we handle things around here. I'm sure you can understand."
"Oh God, Margaret. Of course I understand. I'm in shock. I really only got to know Pierre today, but he is, was, so special. I feel so bad for all of you who know him so much better. God, I'm so sorry period. Please let me know of the arrangements and thank you for calling."
Margaret said goodbye through her tears and Sarah softly replaced the phone, putting her hands to her bowed head. How could someone so alive just suddenly be gone? she thought. Tears were now freely falling onto her thighs and she was stunned at what an impact this sudden tragedy had on her, barely knowing the man. She knew why. Guiltily, she realized that the casual chat she and Pierre had had today over lunch was just foreplay to much more that was going to come over her next few days in Chicago.
In a daze, she called the airlines and booked an early flight back to Philadelphia, then turned off her lights, pulled off her towel, and climbed under the sheets. Lying on her back, she stared up in the dark room and ran a movie clip of her only memories of an exceptionally good man she would never talk to again. At least an hour passed without her being able to fall asleep, despite the exhaustion she felt in every limb. Finally, sleep came to Sarah, as she drifted off with Pierre’s smiling face and easy laugh still playing in her mind.
Of course, the dream began in France.
Sarah had spent time working at a friend’s pub in the French Alps and loved the charm of the mountain village where so many of the young skiers honed both their skills on ski’s, as well as the skills with ladies working in the popular area. She was setting up her equipment off to the side of the bar in the late afternoon when a single skier walked in and sat by himself at the empty bar.
“Hello sir,” Sarah greeted the skier, in her rough attempt at French. “The pub does not open until 8 PM, I’m afraid, but I hope you can come back later.”
The skier turned on his stool to face her, removing his snow covered cap and dark sunglasses. She had thought him to be a much younger man when he walked in, the hard muscles clearly defined in his competition ski pants and vest, but he was not young. He was Pierre.
“American? I think east coast,” he smiled, showing bright white teeth against his suntanned head and face.
“Philadelphia, actually,” she replied laughing. “And I’m crushed that you didn’t believe I was born and raised in these mountains.”
“Ah, but your French is flawless, mademoiselle,” Pierre replied, “it is the turn of your ankle and the erect carriage of your shoulders that gave you away. Anyway, I only came in to get out of the blizzard that is blowing and maybe have a hot cup of tea... if such a treat were available. But, alas, if it is not, I shall instead warm myself by watching you bend, twist, and labor through your chores.”
Sarah gave him a small curtsy in reply, blushing slightly at his compliment and looking down at the short corduroy jumper she wore and her comfy wool clogs. Turn of ankle? What the hell does that mean? she wondered.
“Sorry to cut the show short, depriving you of much needed warmth, sir, but my set up here is complete. I do, however, know of a hot pot water and mediocre tea in this establishment and will be happy to provide that as well as my company, if you’d like to share a cup with me now.”
“Indeed I would,” replied Pierre.
They sat facing each other, sipping their tea and talking about everything and nothing at all for over an hour. Pierre had a habit of touching whenever he told a story. Sometimes her hand, sometimes her face when she laughed, and sometimes her bare leg where her knees rested between his legs on their stools close together. None of his touches were aggressive or presumptuous, the kind Sarah was used to swatting away from the drunk younger men who came in to the pub. They conveyed the same message as his voice, his eyes, and words. Personal. Intimate. Pierre let you into his soul, and in return, easily slipped into yours. As Sarah finished an anecdote about her father and his distaste of his daughter’s “sabbatical from higher education”, she realized that her hands had covered his, which were spread wide on each of her bare thighs. She looked down at them and his eyes followed. Then he took her chin in one hand and lifted her face to meet his green eyes, but neither spoke a word. He traced the pad of his thumb over her lower lip and just continued to smile at her. Then he moved it to her neck and gently pulled her face to his, lightly moving his lips against hers, mouth parted, but no tongue. Sarah followed his lead as she would with a great dancer. It was his song and she could dance to his rhythm as long as he wished.
Despite both their patience and control, the kiss grew more passionate and she felt his hand slide farther up her leg, exactly where she wanted it to go. Pulling away from their kiss, Sarah pulled his hand from her leg to her lips.
“Pierre, I have two hours before I’m do back here for my first set. My apartment is above the pub. I want you there with me until I have to come back. But, I also must tell you that this is my last day in France. I leave tomorrow to fly back to the US and go back to school. This is just a moment in time that I don’t want to lose, and it goes nowhere, but that doesn’t make it any less important or meaningful to me.”
“You are a beautiful person, Sarah,” Pierre replied softly taking her hands in his. “Physical beauty yes, but that is common. Your words and your honesty are even more beautiful. You have already shed all clothing in the short time we have talked, and I am honored that you choose to spend five minutes or two hours with me. It is my true belief that every minute is precious, and that God may choose to take us at any moment away from this world and on to another. I would never want to leave here without making love to you.”
Sarah locked the front door and together they walked up the back stairs to her tiny apartment. Once inside, Pierre pulled her to him, kissing her far more passionately than he had in the pub. She pressed herself to him, pushing him back against the door, and moved her hand down between their bodies, finding his hardness. Without a word, she broke the embrace and moved back, slowly removing her jumper, blouse, underwear, and shoes. Her eyes never left his. When Pierre began to pull off his clothes, Sarah stopped him with a hand on his chest. Naked, she moved back against him and kissed him again deeply, then began moving her mouth to his neck, shoulders and chest, and bending at her knees, down his hard abdomen and lower stomach. All her kisses were through his spandex ski top and Pierre understood how easy it would be to feel her lips on his hot skin, but that was not what Sarah wanted. Nothing easy. Nothing the same.
His cock was so hard it was standing up flat against his stomach, straining against the elastic of his ski pants. Sarah slid her hands behind him, massaging his firm, muscular ass as she kissed and licked the throbbing bulge through the nylon fabric. Pierre slammed his head back against the door and groaned, but he made no move to strip away the prison his cock strained against. This was her dance. He’d follow her rhythm this time.
When her hand moved from his ass to cup his balls, and she gently bit down on his shaft just under the head, Pierre felt his legs weaken and pulled her head against him. But again, Sarah moved his hand and stood up, kissing his mouth more fiercely this time, while she stroked him through his straining pants. Again she backed away. With one hand she caressed a nipple, and with the other she teased herself between her legs.
“Okay, Pierre. Take off your shirt while you watch me, but nothing else,” Sarah quietly commanded.
Almost in a trance, he followed her instructions, his eyes watching hers and her hands, as they stimulated her perfect body. Sarah reached back and pulled a wingback chair against her knees and sat, throwing one leg over an arm. Her eyes never left him, and she licked her lips as she watched the hard muscles of his chest, arms, and stomach appear as the shirt was pulled over his head.
“Now your boots, but don’t sit. Then socks and pants.” Sarah issued her instructions to a rapt Pierre while she lazily stroked herself in the chair. He followed precisely her commands, never taking his eyes off her. When he stood straight again, he was only in his tight jock style underwear he wore for skiing, and the head of his engorged penis peeked out the waistband. “Okay, Pierre, take off those stupid looking elastic diapers.” They both laughed and the palpable tension in her room was eased a bit.
“Now what, my little Nazi commandant?” he remarked, slowly approaching Sarah’s chair. “Is it my turn to lead?”
“No it is not, Pierre,” she whispered, watching his cock swing as he walked toward her. “I am quite sure that you always lead; with your women, your friends, your business associates. Not today, mon ami.” Sarah lightly tickled his balls with her unoccupied hand and then stroked its length with two fingertips.
“Get on your knees, please,” she asked as Pierre groaned at her touch. “See. Nazis don’t say please. Now please lick my foot and toes.”
As asked, Pierre bent slightly and held the ankle of her leg draped over the chair arm and lightly ran his tongue from her heel, up the arch, and back and forth over the ball. Her foot flexed at his touch and she giggled softly.
“Not so fast. That tickles,” Sarah instructed.
Pierre moved his tongue more slowly and licked lightly each of her toes, starting at the little one and moving to her big toe. Then pulling it between his lips, he gently sucked while running his tongue to its base and in between each toe. Sarah smiled as the sensations still tickled her slightly, but she moaned with arousal as well. Pierre watched as her finger kept up a steady teasing between her spread thighs. His cock throbbed with the thrill of the feelings his tongue was bringing her and the pleasure her own hand added to it. He continued his oral caresses, awaiting her commands.
“Okay, you may move up my leg, but very slowly,” Sarah whispered, no longer able to muster the strength in her commands.
And he did as told. Over her ankle, up her slim calf. Then, raising her leg off the arm, he licked behind her knee and back down the back of her calf. Sarah laughed softly again at his tongue strokes behind her sensitive knee and its tendons. And back up again, over the inside of her knee and slowly up the inside of her thigh. He watched as her hips thrust up slightly, anticipating the direction his tongue was slowly taking. He teased up higher, almost to the tendon at her groin, then back down to her knee. At the same time, he ran four fingernails lightly up her sole.
“Oh no, no, no,” Sarah laughed. “So I gave away a secret and you are taking advantage of that knowledge, huh?” she giggled pulling her foot away.
“Not at all,” Pierre said, smiling back at her. “Just enhancing your every nerve, my queen.”
“Good answer. Continue.”
Stroking her foot, then ankle and lower leg, he again moved his tongue back up her soft inner thigh, then up the crease beside her mound, over the top of her hairline, and back down between hip and mound on her other side. Sarah moved her hand to give him free access, but Pierre gripped her wrist and moved her hand back where it had been before. As Sarah willingly followed his hint, sliding two fingertips down either side of her now engorged clit, he moved his tongue over to the back of her hand and licked up and down each finger. Her moans were deepened and he watched her breasts heave as her breathing became more shallow. Sliding his tongue between her fingers, he tasted her wetness and moved up, teasing the inside of each finger and the knuckles. Her hand moved lower, inserting the tip of one finger into her wet vagina, as Pierre’s tongue tip moved back between her lips. Now her hips rotated of their own will. She moved both her hands to her breasts, massaging and gently pulling each distended nipple with her finger and thumb, has Pierre leaned farther down and moved his tongue faster in circles over her clit. The orgasm that had been building since his first tender kiss at the bar, now started to wash over her. She squeezed harder on her nipples as the spasms racked through her body.
“Ohhhhhhhhhh Goddddddddddddd,” Sarah let out one long groan at the peak of her ecstasy.
Pierre continued to lick her softly as she came down, then rising to his feet, he leaned over her and kissed her deeply, Sarah tasting her juices as she hungrily returned his kiss. Then, as if she weighed nothing at all, he picked her up out of the chair and carried her to her bed. Pulling her knees up, she watched as he knelt against her ass, holding his throbbing cock as he stared into her eyes.
“My turn,” he said hoarsely.
Slowly he moved the head down against her tummy, then dragged it back through her hair and over her open lips. Sarah groaned when it made contact with her still sensitive clit, and sucked in her breath when the thick head pushed barely inside her. Instead of driving hard, deep inside her, Pierre seemed to want his moment to last. Still holding the shaft, he made short, fast strokes, allowing the head to slide easily through her soaked entrance and against the wall behind her clit. Sarah watched his face as his eyes closed, and could feel the passion he was working so hard to control. This visual, and the exquisite sensations she was experiencing at her entrance, were quickly bringing on new spasms deep inside her. As if he could feel her muscles contract around him, Pierre let go of his shaft, pressed his hairy chest against her breast, and sliding his hands under her hips, lifted her as he drove himself deep inside her. There, he pressed hard against her pubic bone, as he slowly rotated his hips. Sarah could feel every inch of him as he filled her up and moved against her. A low rumble began in his throat and she felt the muscles in his broad back tense. As his orgasm built, she felt her own gaining momentum, and when he finally raised himself up on powerful arms and cried out, Sarah was right with him, laughing and moaning as she felt his cum pulse inside her and wave after wave of spasms wrenched her center.
~~
Suddenly, Sarah sat up in the pitch black hotel room, clutching the sheet to her sweaty breast. For a moment she was totally disoriented and had no idea where she was. As it came back to her, tears welled up in her eyes, and she fell back against her pillows. Leaning over, she switched on her bedside lamp. God, it’s almost 5AM, she thought. Have I been dreaming for four hours? She felt her sweat cooling and clutched harder at her blanket. Her whole body was tingling, her nipples still erect and slightly sore, and her pussy felt like it had been used by the whole Eagle football team for a week. She felt guilty thinking about how she had masturbated so aggressively during the incredibly erotic dream, while Pierre Gault was lying on a cold slab somewhere nearby. Sarah knew she was a very sensual woman, in fact far more than her husband had found out in their three years of boring sex, but she could never remember masturbating during sleep in her life. I guess trauma brings out the best and worst in us, she thought.
Despite the tightness she felt in her chest thinking about Pierre’s sudden death, Sarah couldn’t stop the arousal that still clung to her from her graphic dream. She knew that she would have had exactly those experiences in real life had he not been killed. Clutching the blanket to her chin, Sarah felt the wetness of her dream experience still dribbling out and sliding down the crack in her ass. This also was a first. Ten minutes after cumming and still secreting like a flood. Her eyes panned the large suite in the Hyatt and fell upon the wingback chair in the corner. The power of suggestion, she thought. That’s a dead ringer for the chair in my dream, and a chair I will remember until the day I die.
Suddenly, her eyes caught a reflection on the floor in front of the chair. Climbing out of bed, she walked over and knelt, picking up the silver chain and small cross. Chills ran though her as she realized she had seen that simple jewelry around the tan, muscular neck of her dream lover, Pierre. No, no, no... not possible! Not fucking possible! Sarah thought as she held it to her bosom. Slowly, she stood and walked back to her bed, pulling the sheets and blanket away. Looking at the large wet spot, she bent and inhaled the sweet, pungent aroma that only a man can leave.
