Related to an earlier story, Dominique Leads the Way.
A few days after my brief, sweet and so naughty encounter with a young French woman, Dominique, I am driving up the lane to the house I am renting for a few weeks in the South of France. As I near the entrance to the house's drive, I see three people walking up the hill that I instantly recognise: it is Dominique and her parents, with whom I had met when I gave up my table to them at the café on the village square.
I'd got to know Dominique rather more intimately than that, when she had teased me into a lust-driven, mad quick fuck of her beautiful rear in the café's washroom. A chance breeze had revealed her delicious buttocks; she had noticed my stare and deliberately gave me a repeat show. Thinking quickly, I had offered my table to her parents, then made it clear that I was heading to the basement washrooms. My instinct had proven correct – Dominique followed me down the stairs and a glorious all too brief fuck had taken place, Dominique directing me to her rosebud as she was apparently preserving her virginity, at least as far as her pussy goes.
That I had seized such an opportunity was not so much of a surprise to me; I had learned to take these chances when they came along, and where there was an element of risk at being caught it only intensified the excitement and satisfaction. That I was almost instantaneously seduced by a woman of no more than eighteen or nineteen did shock me. Now in my fifties, I had always been attracted to women close to my own age or older, never the much younger ladies that many of my male contemporaries seem to go for. In fact, I had first noticed Dominique's mother as a casual observer when the three of them had walked on to the café's sunny terrace.
To reach the driveway to my rented house, I have to overtake the little group. As I step out of my car, we are but a few yards apart and smiles and exclamations of recognition follow. I explain that yes, this is the house I am renting, Dominique's father tells me the family was just walking up to the village for an apéritif and dinner, and by coincidence that the house to the right of mine belongs to good friends of theirs.
A spur of the moment invitation from me follows as I invite this little group to take their aperitif on the terrace of my house facing the evening sun. Of course, the 'spur' for this invitation is the briefest of eye contact between the otherwise demur young Dominique and myself, saying, in that moment, that the other day was good, very good; maybe something will happen again?
Introductions are now made - I only know Dominique's name because her father had welcomed her back to their table at the café after she and I had had our quick washroom fuck. Her father's name is Phillipe, her mother's Danielle. At this point, I take in more about the parents than I was able to focus on before. Both are well-dressed, well-groomed and slim. Phillipe I take to be my age - another twinge of shock about the attraction to his daughter - while Danielle looks to be in her mid-forties. Phillipe is a very jovial man, obviously one who enjoys life, enjoys people, Danielle more reserved, and it is hard to detect how she feels about this new acquaintance behind her large, designer sunglasses.
I lead my guests through the large open plan living-dining room-kitchen and open up the shutters that give on to one end of the terrace. There are expressions of appreciation of the garden, the pool, the view. I offer drinks and the rosé of the region is called for by the ladies, while Phillipe asks for a glass of red wine, if that is at all possible. As I am ready for red wine as well, I say I will bring out a bottle of both.
Before I go to the kitchen area, I open up the two other sets of doors leading on to the terrace, both belonging to the vast bedroom I have chosen to use, leaving the two rooms on the floor above unused. I catch Dominique's eye as her father exclaims how nice it must be to walk straight from one's bedroom on to the terrace and the garden in the mornings.
"Yes," I agree, and I have been walking on to dive in the pool for a refreshing, wake-up swim.
"Ah!" exclaims Dominique's father, "this place makes even an Englishman a man of the body, of the senses!" We all laugh at his little joke, but there's no mistaking – by me at least, that Dominique is enjoying the joke with rather more nuance in her expression.
When I return with the two bottles of wine and glasses, the family are talking animatedly pointing at the view and, from what I could understand - my French being somewhat rusty – commenting on the slight differences between the view from this house and that of their friends, my neighbours. I open and pour the wine.
At this point, Phillipe stands up to exclaim that he can see his friends in their garden and, calling out to them, starts to walk over to the boundary hedge. Danielle follows a few paces behind, turning slightly to call to Dominique to come over to say hello too. I have no idea how it happens, but as Dominique rises to her feet, the newly opened bottle of red wine is knocked flying in my direction and I am soaked on my shirt and on my trousers.
Danielle scolds her daughter and tells her to help me clean up, then continues to join her husband. Dominique fusses apologetically, asking what she can do. I ask her to fetch a cloth and paper towels from the kitchen while I get out of my wine-soaked clothes. I walk through the terrace doors into the bedroom I am using, a little surprised to find Dominique following me. I stop and she walks on past me to the door onto the hallway to reach the kitchen, glancing at the entrance to the large bathroom and at the now both bemused and aroused look I know I am wearing. I have little doubt now that the spill of wine was somehow contrived by this determined young woman.
I walk into the bathroom.
