In the summer of 1965, Annie and Sean O'Connor found themselves in Paris, a city they'd dreamed of visiting for years. The warm cobbled streets of the Latin Quarter beckoned, offering a promise of bohemian nights and a sense of freedom they'd never experienced back home in Ireland. They were young, in love, and full of curiosity about the world, especially the kind of adventure Paris was known for.
Their journey had begun in the soft mist of morning, wandering aimlessly through Montparnasse, hand in hand, with no particular destination. The city felt like an intoxicating dream, alive with the hum of accordion music, the murmur of French voices, and the faint clink of wine glasses. It was as if Paris itself was a lover, teasing them with its charm at every corner.
After a few hours of wandering, they found a small café tucked in a quiet alley. The scent of freshly baked baguettes and rich coffee mingled in the air. As they sat at an outdoor table, the rhythm of the city washed over them, and the couple shared stories of their life back in Dublin.
Annie, with her auburn hair that caught the light in soft waves, smiled at Sean across the table. She had always been the more adventurous of the two, and Paris seemed to spark something inside her. Sean, ever the quiet poet, adored her fire, her ability to see beauty in everything, whether it was the faded paint on a door or the way sunlight danced on the Seine.
As they lingered, a woman approached their table. She was tall, with dark hair that framed her face in loose waves, and she wore a simple but elegant dress that seemed to capture the effortless style of Parisian women. Her eyes were a deep shade of brown, and she had a smile that could light up the street. She introduced herself as Isabelle, a local artist who had been living in the Latin Quarter for years. The conversation flowed easily between the three of them, as if they'd known each other for far longer than an afternoon.
Isabelle spoke of her work, her love for the city, and her fascination with the idea of people being in love with both the world and each other. There was something magnetic about her, a certain vulnerability in her openness. As the hours passed, Éire and Sean felt themselves drawn into her presence. She was intoxicating in a way that was both gentle and bold, like the soft bite of a good wine.
As evening approached, Isabelle invited them to her apartment, a small but beautifully decorated space near the Seine. The three of them climbed the narrow staircase to her door, and inside, the room was dimly lit by candles. The air felt charged, electric with possibility.
They sat together, the space between them shrinking with each passing moment. Isabelle played some soft French music, and Annie, feeling a sense of surrender to the magic of the moment, leaned in to kiss Isabelle softly on the lips. Sean watched, entranced, and then, without a word, joined them. There was a fluidity to their movements, a seamless connection that felt both foreign and deeply familiar.
The three-way kiss started slowly with one tongue touching the other, they tasted each other savouring the lust in each other's mouths. Sean withdrew and watched as Annie undressed Isabelle, revealing her beautiful rounded breasts. She wore no bra, and her underarms were unshaved, showing a bohemian's confidence and ownership of her body free from conventions. Sean was dizzy with his own passion, his cock was throbbing and uncomfortable, caught within his clothing. He was afraid to move in case he might somehow break this magical spell they were woven into.
Annie was exploring Isabelle's body with her hands as their kiss became more passionate; only the small black panties remained on the artist's body, this small piece of fabric somehow framing this work of art. It was now Isabelle's turn to undress Annie, their lips locked together as her hands moved deftly until only her well-constructed underwear from Cleary's in Dublin remained. Isabelle broke the kiss and smiled with joy and excitement.
"While you are in Paris, Annie, we will be shopping for lingerie. This bra is an insult to your beauty." She giggled as she unlatched her heavy white bra, revealing her stunning, heavy but pert breasts.
Annie was gorgeous in every way, but her breasts are truly beautiful and always take my breath away-- perfect alabaster mounds that have never seen the sun, highlighting the intensity of her large nipples which were now erect. Her aureoles were dark, dimples begging to be kissed.
Isabelle paused for what seemed like an eternity, savouring this view as she held Annie's hands, then with a confidence formed by lust, she leaned down to kiss one of those perfect nipples.
Annie gasped and looked at me both vulnerable and powerful. I pulled off my shirt and trousers without ceremony, needing to release my cock from its prison of fabric. I was standing as my trousers fell to the ground and my manhood sprang and throbbed in front of me. Annie's eyes were wide as her eyes devoured me.
Isabelle turned to me and exclaimed, "You are both so beautiful. I can't believe how perfect your cock is. It's so much bigger than I have seen before. Can you touch it for me, Sean, as I show Annie how we orgasm in Paris?"
I nodded and started slowly stroking the uncircumcised head, being so careful not to end before I started, Isabelle smiled saying, "You are our magnificent stallion, Sean."
She moved closer to Annie and laid her on her back.
"Mon chere, have you had many orgasms before?"
Annie looked at me shyly, saying, "It's not something I'm too sure about. I love having sex with Sean, but I don't seem to get lost the same way he does in his passion."
Isabelle nodded knowingly.
"Annie, what we will do now will unlock that passion, if you just relax and trust me."
As she said this, she lovingly removed her panties, revealing her beautiful triangle of hair. She was holding her hands and said to me, "Keep stroking, Sean. This will let Annie know you are happy with her and I."
Annie's eyes were nervously locked with mine as Isabelle leaned down and started gently kissing her thighs. Her chest and neck were becoming flushed and her breathing was audible.
Isabell's questing mouth moved closer to the lips of her vagina. I could see the pinkness glistening, revealing the moistness within.
"I want to taste you now, Annie. Your vagina is so beautiful and perfect."
An involuntary groan erupted from Annie as Isabell licked the opening like a cat getting the cream.
"You are so delicious!"
I was stroking slowly and firmly as I, too, groaned with passion, watching this beautiful French woman lick my wife's most private part.
To be continued....
