The following story is fiction. However, it is based on two events that took place when my wife and I visited Paris in 2012. 

There was an attractive couple in our hotel. I’ll call them Brett and Louise. One morning when I left the hotel to get some items for our lunch, I saw Louise being chatted up by a Frenchman. She was openly flirting with him and looked to be on the verge of leaving with the man when her husband appeared. The change in her demeanour was instantaneous. She snapped the word ‘Husband’. The Frenchman walked off, and she ran to her husband crying that the sleazy Frenchman was annoying her.

 The other event was similar. While waiting for the Georges Pompidou to open, my wife wandered over to use the brand-new self-cleaning toilet and was groped by a lecherous French guy (her words). She said he tried to enter the toilet with her. My imagination flared, and so the story was born.

———

Louise shivered, not from the cold, but at the thought of the sexy lacy lingerie she wore under her plain white blouse and knee-length green skirt. It was the most expensive lingerie she’d ever bought, yet there was less material in the bra and thong than any she had ever owned.

She and her husband were sitting in front of the Pompidou Centre in Paris, sipping their coffees. Louise had bought three sets, plus some sheer nighties, to get her husband in the mood, as she wanted a baby. She was more than a little irked that her husband did not share her ardour and was giving him the cold shoulder.  

Brett and Louise had been married for five years. Both were professionals in their thirties with high-paying jobs. Brett was in Finance. He’d made his first million before he was twenty-one. Louise, a lawyer, ran a small team for one of the oil companies. Both were attractive and tanned from frequent holidaying in popular hot spots around the Mediterranean.

They had busy lives, fitting work, sports, and socialising into their weekly schedules. They were both fit. Louise had long dark black hair and a pert, tidy figure, partly because she was obsessed with attending her Gym at least three or four times a week and partly because she tried to fit as much tennis into her busy schedule as possible each week. Genetics also played a part. She took after her mother, who still had a perfect figure at age fifty-four. 

Brett also kept fit by attending the Gym, playing social football each weekend, and golfing at least twice a week. Their friends all thought theirs was the perfect marriage. And it was until Jill, Brett’s work partner’s wife, turned up at a party proudly sporting a baby bump. Louise immediately became clucky and began pestering Brett about starting a family.

Brett enjoyed their lifestyle, unencumbered by children. But after three weeks of pestering and torment from Louise, he sat down and talked through a solution. Brett put up little resistance as he realised it was probably a good time to start a family. They settled on Louise taking at least a three-year sabbatical as they had decided they wanted three children. Once they had their wish, they would hire a Nanny so Louise could return to work.

The first hiccup was that Louise’s company didn’t want to lose her and implored her to work from home during her three-year sabbatical. So Brett organised for some builders to convert one of their four bedrooms into an office.

The second issue would necessitate a significant shift in the more intimate side of their marriage. They made love infrequently, and neither had ever placed much emphasis on that part of their relationship.

Brett had always put all his energy into his work and sport. Women had never been on his list of priorities. It was more the pressure of living up to his friends’ expectations that he asked Louise out in the first place. His mate’s teasing him and suggesting he had no chance with her brought out his competitive streak. And when they continued to suggest he was punching well above his weight with such an attractive bird, he doubled his efforts and thought about marriage for the first time in his life.

She was no better. A messy relationship at University left Louise ill-disposed towards men, and Brett’s initial advances were met with total disdain. After a few dates, however, she let her defences down as he behaved like a perfect gentleman and did not seem to care if she wasn’t interested in bedding him. Even in the early days of their marriage, they seldom bothered to make an effort to have sex more than once or twice a month. That had slipped substantially by the time they decided to start a family.

Once they had committed to having a family though, Louise’s libido had soared. However, getting Brett to perform during her most fertile periods was a real issue. He frequently found excuses to bail out of date nights. After the fifth month of trying, Louise put her foot down and insisted Bruce take a week off work to get the job done. She booked a flash hotel in the centre of Paris and made Brett promise, on the threat of castration, not to even think about working for a week. She told him they were to make love every day.

Secretly, Louise started to believe there might be an issue with one of them conceiving. They had never bothered with contraception, and she suspected the problem might lie with Brett, as she had read somewhere that passion played a big part in one getting pregnant. Although her libido had increased, Brett was still his same old dispassionate self regarding sex.

By their standards, their first two nights in Paris were passionate affairs. They bathed in the room’s hot tub, drank champagne, and retired to bed early. On the second night they’d even chosen a sexy video from the hotel’s selection of soft porn, and they had their best sex ever. But the third night, Brett had fallen asleep on her, and that morning, he had rushed her out of bed and into the shower while he made them a cup of tea. He wanted to get to the Pompidou Centre before it opened, as he had read that there were long queues if you didn’t get there early.

It was Brett’s idea to go to the Pompidou. He had invested in some modern art earlier that year, and the artist of the piece he had invested in had some work on display at the Pompidou. Modern art was not her thing. The Louvre held more interest for her.

Feeling a little irritated, with only a cup of tea in her stomach, she let Brett lead her through the lobby and down the road for the half-mile walk to the Pompidou. They made it just before 10:00, only to find that it did not open until 11:00. That was how they came to be sitting in the centre of Paris with the remnants of a ham and cheese croissant and half-empty cups of coffee in front of them. Her annoyance increased when she caught Bruce trying to glance at a newspaper over her shoulder. She reminded him about his promise of no business for the week. Then, standing, she announced, “I’m going to use the toilet. And don’t you dare look at that paper while I’m away?”

She hailed their waiter, who pointed out a silver shed across the square. Louise objected. She did not want to use some filthy public French toilet with pee all over the floor and seat. But the waiter informed her it was brand new and self-cleaning after every use. 

Reluctantly, Louise crossed the square and joined a line of six people outside the toilet. She was busting and asked the man before her how long they would have to wait. Secretly, Louise was hoping he would let her go before him. He turned and ran his eyes over her body. She tried not to show her irritation. In the two days she had been in Paris, she’d had her frequently had her bottom pinched and had several sleazy Frenchmen hit on her. And the arrogant look on his face told her he would be just like all the others. She noticed he was handsome, though, with an engaging grin plastered over his face. Not listening to his reply, she gave him a cold smile and looked back to catch Brett’s eye. The bastard was not looking. He was talking to the man at the adjoining table, with their heads in the man’s newspaper. She’d fucking kill him, she thought.

The French guy introduced himself as Pierre, seemingly unconcerned by her indifference. She noted that he spoke good English, heavily accented and very sexy-sounding. Even more annoyed with Brett now, she returned the smile and gave Pierre her name, hoping Brett would see her and get jealous.

——

Brett spoke reasonable French, not as well as Louise, but good enough to make himself understood. He leaned over and asked the guy on the neighbouring table where he had gotten his paper. The guy told Brett they had some papers behind the counter but that he could have his paper as he was leaving. 

Brett opened it in the financial section and then guiltily looked across to see if Louise was watching. He caught a glimpse of her through the crowd and took note of the guy chatting her up. He had a chuckle to himself. That the guy was making a pass was obvious. But Brett knew the guy had no chance. Louise had been moaning to him ever since they had arrived in France about the French bastards hitting on her. Turning back to the paper, he looked up his stocks and read the articles. He was slow but could read French much better than speaking it.

——

“What has brought you to our city of love?” Pierre asked.

Not wanting to show interest, she explained that she was married and pointed out that her husband was sitting across the square.

“What a fool to have his head in a paper when he has such a beautiful wife.”

Louise could not stop nodding in agreement but replied, “We are very happy, thank you. Do you think this is going to take very long?”

“Sadly, mademoiselle, it will take longer than we wish.”

Louise ignored the fact that he had used the single woman honorific and asked, “Do you work close to here?” She knew the second she spoke that it was a stupid question. Of course he didn’t work nearby, or he wouldn’t be standing in line for a public toilet.

“No, mademoiselle. I work in Finance on the other side of the city. I’m early for a meeting over there,” and he pointed to a large office block. 

At that moment the toilet door clicked, and a woman stepped out. As the door clicked shut behind her an orange light began flashing. Louise heard the water flushing inside, cleaning the toilet. There were three people ahead of her and Pierre. The man next in line turned to the woman hopping from foot to foot behind him and engaged her in conversation. Then, much to Louise’s astonishment, when the green light signalled the toilet was ready, the man guided the woman into the toilet.

“Are they married?” Louise squeaked, knowing dam well they weren’t.

“Non,” Pierre replied. “I read an article about the retailers around this square complaining about these new self-clean toilets. The old toilet used to handle forty or fifty persons per hour. But these new ones are pushing to pass fifteen through in an hour. I have heard that men often share, and sometimes women double, so they don’t have to wait. We French do not share the Victorian hang-ups you English have, so toilets are not so taboo.”

The woman standing before them turned and whispered in Pierre’s ear.

“What did she say?” Louise asked.

“She wanted to know if you were urgent, and if so, you could share with her.”

“Oh, god no!” Louise exclaimed, recoiling from the suggestion. She looked across to see if Bruce had noticed her reaction, but he was hidden by all the pedestrians crossing the square.

——

Brett had just read a fascinating article. He caught a glimpse of Louise still waiting in line and facing the other way. He pulled out his phone and held it to his left ear, hoping that if Louise did look over, she would not see him using it. He dialled the office, and Owen answered almost immediately. Brett told him about the major infrastructure project he’d just read about and the companies that may be in line to land the contract. One company in particular had caught his eye, as it appeared undervalued. Owen said he would look into it and ring him back. But Owen hung up before he could tell him not to call back, that he’d call him.

——

The man and woman exited the toilet, seemingly unfazed by their sharing. The orange light came on and the toilet began to self-clean again. When the light went green the woman before Pierre turned to Louise and gestured for her to join her. Louise vehemently shook her head, “No, god no!” and stepped back into the woman standing behind her. Turning to apologise, she saw that there were now three people waiting in the queue behind them. However, the second the door closed, Louise regretted her decision. She really was busting now.

——

Brett waited nervously. He was going to be in the shit if Owen phoned back once Louise had returned. He caught another glimpse of the toilet queue and saw that the French guy was now the only one in front of Louise. That she was still chatting with him surprised Brett. He would have expected her to have slapped his face by now and grinned to himself at the thought. He wondered how much longer he had before she would be back. Returning to the paper, he took a photo of the article and the newspaper’s banner, as he wanted to subscribe to the paper in the future. Thankfully, the phone rang only minutes later, and he saw it was Owen.

“Can you hold while I find somewhere private to take this?”

He stood, saw that Louise had disappeared into the toilet, but entered the cafe anyway and hailed the waiter.

“I need to use your toilet.”

“Non, Monsieur, you must use the public toilet.”

“I can’t hold out in the queue. I’ll go here in this pot plant,” and Brett made to unbutton his fly.

The waiter shook his head, gave Brett an exasperated look, and led him through the kitchen. Brett opened the door to a small, dirty staff latrine. He wiped the seat, then sat down and put the phone to his ear.

“Are you still there?”

Owen filled him in for ten minutes on what he had learned. 

“Ajax has grown too fast. It is well-managed and has no major debts. But unless it can land a substantial tender it will have to lay off staff and downsize. That is why its share price has been in decline. It doesn’t stand a chance of landing this new infrastructure project. It’s not large enough. However, the two major players will be stretched and unlikely to challenge other tenders. So Ajax, by default, will land a lot of lucrative tenders in the coming months. And by the end of the year I figure Ajax’s share price will double. We’re going to make a fortune on this one, mate. Well done.” Brett stood, unzipped, and relieved himself before returning to his table. He saw that the line for the Pompidou Centre was now a mile long. But he didn’t care. He was struggling to wipe the grin from his face.

——

The light on the toilet had gone green. Louise knew what was going to happen, and still she was shocked when Pierre grabbed her elbow and pushed her into the latrine. She struggled, but he growled, “Get in there. If you don’t, you’re going to have an accident,” and he pushed her ahead of him. 

She didn’t have time to look and see if Brett saw her entering the toilet. But as the door closed, she saw that the woman standing behind her in the queue had a disgusted expression on her face.

A light came on inside as the door clicked closed. Strangely, Louise was tingling with excitement and squeaked, “You said you’d face the wall.”

“I didn’t say that at all. But I will if it makes it easier for you,” and he turned away.

Louise placed her purse by the hand basin and hitched her dress up. She pushed her tiny white thong to her knees and squatted over the toilet. But she wanted to pee so badly that she couldn’t go. 

Exasperated, she exclaimed, “I can’t go with you here.” 

Looking up and seeing that Pierre was watching her in the mirror, she automatically clamped her knees together, and the scrap of material masquerading as panties dropped past her ankles onto the floor.

Pierre cried, “Merde. Well, I have to go.” He spun around, took one step and held her in place as she struggled to stand. “Open your legs,” he growled, “My going might get you started.”

A prickly sensation hit her neck and face, and she blushed red with embarrassment. When she didn’t move, Pierre reached down, lifted her knees to remove her panties, and pushed her knees apart, causing her to moan out a long ‘Nooo!’ Still holding her shoulder with one hand, he lifted her panties to his nose and growled, “Ahhhh, Nectar from the heavens.” 

Slipping the tiny thong into his pocket, he unzipped his fly and released the most enormous cock she’d ever seen. It was comparable to the stud in the porn movie she had watched with Brett two nights before. A surge of conscience-stricken guilt hit her. That she had allowed Pierre into the toilet with her was unbelievable. But there was also a deluge of desire heating her breasts and groin. She’d been horny all morning, but this was different. It was immediate and compelling, wiping out any of her usual inhibitions. She almost screamed as Pierre pointed his monster at the gap between her legs and discharged a torrent of steaming piss. Arousal hit Louise so hard that she nearly fainted. Astounded that such a lewd act could turn her on, she looked to the door, worried that those outside might imagine what was happening.

Pierre sensed what she was thinking. “la toilette is soundproof. No one will hear your cries of pleasure. Relax.”

Gathering her senses, Louise hunched back against the cistern and spread her legs, terrified that some of his hot discharge might touch her. But opening her legs sent another strong surge of arousal, and she automatically reached down to cover her exposed fanny.

Pierre grabbed her wrist and swung it out of the way, “I want to watch. You have a beautiful cunt, and I’m happy to see you’re not shaved.”

As Pierre’s flow slowed to a trickle, then stopped, he gave his cock a shake. His shaking had caused his delicious pink knob to slide out from his foreskin. She’d not seen a foreskin before. Her immediate response was to lean forward to take the beautiful slick knob into her mouth. But he pushed her back, reached down and pressed his fingers above her mound.

She squirmed away and tried to close her legs, expecting he was going to try and finger her. But he applied pressure above her bladder. The excruciating pain made her release a torrent of piss that matched his own. The relief was exquisite. When he slid two fingers to each side of her clit, and began directing her stream around the bowl, the feeling made her open her legs even further.

He used his other hand to squeeze her breasts. She raised her hand to stop him, but he brushed it away and unbuttoned her blouse. With the buttons undone, he raised his other hand from her cunt and tried to unfasten her bra. Finding it difficult, he grabbed the bra by each cup and tore it apart. She knew she should be objecting and screaming blue murder, but being exposed like that almost caused her to climax. Still, through the intense pleasure, a part of her mind was questioning why she was allowing this. But the feelings his fingers were engendering in her most intimate areas just caused her to open up, relax and give up all resistance.

He bent and took one of her nipples in his mouth. The nipple was as hard as glass. His other hand snaked back to her cunt. A finger found her opening, and he pushed it deep inside. He had large hands and long fingers, and when he slipped a second finger in, stretching her wide, she capitulated and reached for the cock that was only inches from her face. It swelled and went rigid. She leaned forward, wanting to take as much as she could in her mouth.

Pierre roughly pushed her away, lifted her and flipped her around to face the stainless steel basin. She had to grab the edge of the hand basin to stop falling on her face. Louise felt him rubbing his swollen knob up and down her slit. If she thought his fingers were big, his stiff shaft was twice the size, and she let out a little yelp as he forced the knob in between her labia. He didn’t embed it entirely on the first try, so he pulled back and thrust again. He didn’t manage it at this time either and slowly withdrew for another assault.

She heard him spit on his fingers and felt him push her dress high onto her back. Then his fingers were spreading his saliva around her opening. Louise was already sopping wet, and she heard him growl something to that effect. She blushed at the thought that she was standing, bent over like a common whore, waiting to be fucked. But hell, she had never wanted sex this much in her life.

She heard someone moaning, and as he thrust into her again, she realised it was her and whimpered with embarrassment. He grabbed her hair, pulling her head back, and she pushed her hips back to meet his next thrust. The growl he voiced told her he had buried it all the way.

Louise tightened her pelvic floor around his engorged manhood.

“Good girl,” he muttered. “We need to be fast, or we’ll have punters banging on the door.”

Louise had never been able to come quickly with Brett, but she knew there wouldn’t be any problem this time. She was struggling to contain herself. However, she tried to hold back, embarrassed to cum in front of him. But he growled in her ear, “I’ll not come until you do. So hurry up.”

Louise stopped fighting it. She moved her hand to masturbate herself, but Pierre beat her to it. He frigged her hard, fingers running each side of her clit. So she pulled on one of her exquisitely sensitive nipples instead and rode the sensations that erupted from deep inside her.

 She’d never felt anything like it. To say it was the best she’d ever had was an understatement. She would have collapsed if not for his hand and hard shaft holding her up. She felt his seed spurting deep inside her. It seared her channel and forced its way back past his cock. She knew she’d messed up the front of his trousers and let out a cry of dismay as he withdrew.

Then he was lifting her into a standing position, and when he let her go, she nearly collapsed, as she was still having spasms from her orgasm. He hurriedly grabbed hold of her again and handed her some paper towels from the dispenser.

She had another go at standing on her own. Holding onto the side of the sink, she splashed water on her face, tried to re-arrange her torn bra, and then re-buttoned her blouse. She noticed Pierre trying to clean the mess around his fly. She giggled at this, thinking of him sitting before a group of bankers with her creamy juice around his fly.

Pierre checked himself in the mirror, turned to Louise, and gave her a once-over. He straightened her skirt and ran his fingers through her hair. Then he handed her his business card. 

“Call me. I’m going away tomorrow afternoon. But I want to see you again.”

Then he spun around, opened the door for her, and followed her into the bright sunlight.

Again, the lady standing behind Louise in the queue gave her a filthy look as she stepped out. But the lady standing behind her grinned and gave her the thumbs up. Flushed and hot, with the remnants of her orgasm still affecting her, she turned left along the square as she couldn’t face Brett like this. As she walked away to the left, she could see Brett intermittently through the crowd, and she slumped into a chair outside a cafe just out of sight from him. A waiter came to ask what she wanted, “Just a glass of water, please? I feel faint.”        

When the waiter returned, her heart rate had slowed somewhat. She took a sip and searched the square for Pierre, but there was no sign of him. She stood, intending to cross the square and join Brett, but as she took her first step an unusual feeling washed over her, and she dropped back into the seat. She was pregnant. She knew it in her bones. The bastard Frenchman had impregnated her.

Again, she searched the square for Pierre and looked at the building where he had said he had a meeting, but there was no sign of him. She realised she was still holding his business card. She glanced at it but was too unsettled to comprehend the details. So she secreted it into the side pocket in her purse and wondered if she would have the courage to phone him.

Then she pondered what to do. Should she tell Brett? She had never kept anything from him before. But this was not just anything. Her unfaithful act could destroy their marriage, and the cold, desperate pain that gripped her core told her she did not want that. He’d never believe her if she told him what had happened. Then she caught a glimpse of Brett through the crowd and saw he looked like he was about to stand and go looking for her.

She stood and walked across the square, still uncertain what to do. She tapped Brett on the shoulder. He jerked around. She’d given him a fright.

“Thank God you’re here. Look at the length of the queue now. We will be waiting for hours to get in,” said Brett.

Louise responded, “I don’t want to go see your silly modern art. Get up early tomorrow and go see it on your own. Right now I want you to take me back to the hotel and fuck me for the rest of the day.”

Brett looked at her, open-mouthed. He’d never heard her talk like that before. She pulled him to his feet and turned to head back to their hotel. Strangely, her actions and her crude language sent a sexual thrill jolting into his groin, and he felt himself begin to harden.

Once they were in their room Louise told him to get undressed. She needed to pee, so she grabbed some clean underwear from her suitcase and shut the bathroom door behind her. She stripped, tried to wash Pierre’s mess away, and checked herself in the mirror for any signs of her indiscretion. Apart from being flushed, there were no outward signs of what had happened. However, as she moved, another large glob of Pierre’s mess oozed onto the flannel. She rinsed it down the basin and thought, ‘God, how much had he shot into me?' She slipped the sheer shorty nighty over her head but left the matching briefs off, deciding she didn’t want another pair ruined. Checking herself in the mirror, she liked what she saw. The nighty barely covered her bum at the back, and at the front, it hung from her pert breasts to millimetres above her abused, pouting cunt. So sheer was the top. She might as well have been wearing nothing at all.

Stepping back into the bedroom, she saw that Brett had closed the curtains and turned off the lights. He was still wearing his boxer shorts and lying on his back. She was impressed that the front of his boxers were tenting.

“Get those boxers off!” she told him as she strode to the window and opened the curtains. The building opposite had about twenty windows that looked into their room. She didn’t care. She stood at the window for ten seconds, hoping to catch someone looking. The thrill of being exposed just made her even hornier.

Turning back to the bed, she was pleased to see that Brett had removed the boxers and was hard, which he seldom was when they bothered to initiate sex, and she usually had to work on it when she wanted him. She swung a leg over his hips and grasped his penis to push it down flat as she didn’t want him to enter her yet. She sensed that he was so hot and bothered that he’d shoot his load before he was fully home. She began to grind her clitoris against his shaft, first going in circles, then sliding backwards and forwards on it.

Brett complained, “Lou honey, I can’t take much more of this. I’m about to explode. What on earth has gotten into you?”

Louise ignored him. She continued to slide her clit along his shaft, getting hornier and hornier as she watched Pierre’s slippery mess spread along Brett’s shaft. She didn’t quite understand what had gotten into her.

Out of the blue, Brett asked, “Were you attracted to the Frenchman in the toilet queue?”

“Yes!”

“Did he touch you?” 

“Yes!” 

Brett stared at Louise, trying to sense if she was telling the truth or teasing. He had an empty feeling in the pit of his stomach and a range of emotions floating around in his head - jealousy, apprehension, foreboding, but overriding all of those was an intense craving for it to be true. Brett was more sexually aroused than ever before. What was wrong with him? Why did he suddenly yearn for details about another man with his wife?

“Did you want him to touch you?”

“Yes, I did.” Louise did not understand why she was not denying everything. But Brett seemed to be getting more and more excited by her replies. So she continued to feed him details. “He asked me to follow him into the toilet, saying he wanted to fuck me.”

“God, Louise, did you go in there with him?”

“Yes, I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted to be fucked so bad, and you didn’t touch me this morning.”

Brett knew she was making this up. After five years of marriage, he knew Louise would never entertain another man touching her. But hell, she sure was sounding convincing. He was so aroused by this fantasy that he didn’t want it to end, “I know we’re just fantasising, but tell me more. I don’t understand why, but it is turning me on.”

“His name was Pierre, and he bent me over the hand basin and fucked me from behind.”

Brett felt a sexual surge like nothing he had ever experienced before. He ejaculated so hard that his spunk shot up all over his chest and onto his face. Louise bent forward, licked some of his ejaculate from his nose, and kissed him. Pushing her tongue past his rigid lips, she spat his warm seed into his mouth. He was appalled and shocked. What on earth had gotten into her? The sexual excitement of his climax had knocked him breathless. A sudden urge to fuck her, mark her, and stamp his ownership on her, overwhelmed him.

Brett roughly pushed her off, tossed her onto her back, and hastily positioned himself between her legs. Amazingly, he was still hard. Pushing her sheer top up to her chin, Brett paused for a moment to look at her wet curls and pert breasts. Then he knee-walked up the bed and aimed his rigid pole at her moule. Wiping his cock head up and down, he was surprised at how wet she was. In the past they’d always had to use lube. He found her entrance and plunged in, forcing himself deep with the first thrust. 

Louise was turned on - not her usual mildly horny self, but really fucking horny. She took in the wild expression on Brett’s face and wondered if she could drive him even crazier.

“Did you like the taste of Pierre’s cum in your mouth? I cleaned him up with my mouth when we finished fucking.”

That did it for Brett. As his cock bottomed, he savoured the feeling of her hot slippery sex. Then he began thrusting and fucking her with hard strokes, pounding her as hard as he could. He wanted one thing and one thing only, to fuck her better than the handsome Frenchman. He needed to reclaim his wife. He wanted to fuck her better than she’d ever been fucked before.

Louise let out a wail that sounded like she was in pain. But Brett knew he hadn’t hurt her as she was far too slippery. He grasped the sides of her head and kissed her, forcing some of his spunk-infused saliva back into her mouth. She looked startled by his sudden crazed arousal but continued banging her hips up to meet his every thrust.

He kept thrusting into her, hard and fast, until he felt his semen begin to rise.

“Oh God! I’m coming again,” he yelled.

“So am I. Don’t you dare stop!”

 Louise felt stirrings of pleasure racing through her body, causing her to buck and grind her hips back against him even harder. She let out some of the filthiest language she’d ever uttered. Words she didn’t know she possessed in her vocabulary. She was swept up in a giant wave of exquisite arousal. Her face was flushed, and the heat travelled to her nipples and between her thighs. It was almost as good as the orgasm she’d had with Pierre.

 Brett collapsed on top of her, completely spent and gasping for breath. They lay like this for a few minutes until his weight began to make it hard for Louise to breathe. She rolled him off and snuggled in beside him, listening to his breathing subside. In a matter of minutes, though, she heard his breathing change to the familiar breaths of deep sleep. Usually, she would have been disappointed, even angry. But today she was relieved. It allowed her to lie back, quietly evaluate what had just happened, and decide what to tell Brett when the inevitable questions started. As even though he seemed turned on at the prospect of her fucking with another man, she was still unsure if she should tell him the truth. Given Pierre had much the same build and colouring as Brett, there was the temptation to let him pretend it was just her fantasy. If she was pregnant, and she knew she was, no one was likely to guess the baby was not Brett’s. Still, she had never lied to Brett and felt very uncomfortable that she would even consider lying to him.

Louise woke sometime later with the feeling she was being watched. She turned her head and saw that Brett was studying her. He was on his side, his head resting on a hand.

When he saw she was awake, he spoke, “You are quite beautiful. You have a glow that I have never noticed before.”

He’d given her the perfect opening. “I’m pregnant. I can feel it. I know it should be too early to tell. But I am.”

“You can’t be.”

“I know it should be impossible to know this early, but I just know in my bones that I’m pregnant.”

“No! You do not understand. I have something I need to tell you.”

Louise felt a sinking feeling. She wondered if he knew Pierre was not just a fantasy and hung her head in shame. But looking up into Brett’s eyes, she saw that he looked sad and uncomfortable. 

Brett babbled almost incoherently, “I should have told you this before we came to Paris, but I didn’t have the courage. I went and got tested last week and found that I’m infertile. Evidently, I have an extremely low sperm count.”

That was not what Louise had expected, and she was momentarily stunned into silence.

“Oh shit, then I have something pretty major to admit also. I know you thought I was fantasising about Pierre before, but I wasn’t. He did have me in the toilet, and I’m certain he has gotten me pregnant.”

Louise dipped her head and focused on the flowery bedspread, waiting for the explosion. But there was only silence. It lasted for what seemed minutes. Finally, she had to look up. It was hard to read Brett’s expression. It was not anger, as she had expected, but more of an incredulous look on his face.

She blurted out, “I’m truly sorry. I didn’t mean for it to happen, and I have no idea how it did. I don’t want us to divorce. Can you forgive me?”

There was another long period of silence. And when Louise raised her head this time, she saw that, amazingly, Brett was fully erect again. He’d never gotten hard straight after sex before. She was shocked, then startled as it dawned on her that the thought of her with another man might be exciting him. 

She did not understand how he could want that and asked, “Are you excited about the thought of me being with another man?”

“Yes,” was all Brett managed to mutter.

After a minute, he managed to form more words: “I don’t understand what’s wrong with me. But yes, it excites me. It also churns me up with jealousy, but the excitement is stronger. Do you want to leave me for him?”

A wave of anxiety coursed through Louise. She did her best to stifle it. “God, no. I don’t even know the guy. We hardly spoke a word. I already told you I don’t want to lose you. But how are you going to react to another man’s child? I am certain I’m pregnant.”

“I think I can handle it. I just have to treat a baby as a bonus, especially as, for the last few days, I’ve been struggling with the fact we’ll never have children. I was sure the knowledge that my being sterile would put the kibosh on our marriage.”

They both lay there contemplating what they’d just discovered about each other. Then Brett’s jealousy flared, “Did you not think about getting pregnant before you fucked him?”

“No! You do not understand. It was nothing like that. Right up to the second before he entered me, I despised him. He was just another lecherous Frenchman. It would be easy to tell you it was rape. But the fact is, when he bent me over the handbasin, I wanted it just as much as he did. I don’t understand what happened. So, to answer your question, no, pregnancy never entered my mind.”

“Can you contact him again? After all, we did decide to have three children.”

“He gave me his business card, so I can call him later, if that’s what you want?”

“Call him now.”

“No. I never wanted to see the bastard again, but if I am to contact him, I need some time to think this through. I think this will only work for me if I keep my relationship with Pierre separate from our marriage, and it will be easier to finish when we have all our children. I’ll call him later when I’m alone and have figured out what I’m going to say.”

While Louise was telling him this, she noticed Brett was still hard and that he was gripping his cock and slowly stroking it. When he saw where she was looking, he snapped his hand away. She reached over and placed his hand back. “No! Keep doing that. It turns me on.”

Brett nervously complied. But clearly excited, he asked her to give him some more details. Louise told him some stuff about Pierre’s enthusiasm. Also, she mentioned that he was uncircumcised and his knob had looked like a huge pink pearl. Her words had Brett stroking harder, and she saw he was beginning to leak pre-cum.

She did something she had never done before. She leaned over and sucked his knob into her mouth. Brett dropped his hand away, but she grabbed his wrist, pulled it back and told him to keep going, that she wanted him to cum.  

Brett didn’t last another minute. He exploded while imagining that he was sitting at the end of the bed, watching Pierre fucking her.

Louise held his cum in her mouth, then reached for a tissue. She thought about swallowing but could not bring herself to do it. She looked at the bedside clock and saw it was 2:15 already.

“God, I’m hungry. Let’s go and eat.”

 They went to lunch in a small cafe near their hotel, and afterwards they walked to the Bourse de Commerce, a striking domed building that had been turned into an art museum. Brett understood it had a lot of modern art on display.

After half an hour, Louise bailed out. Nothing in the gallery remotely interested her, and she wanted some time alone to call Pierre. She found a quiet coffee shop in Les Halles Market and punched in Pierre’s number. He answered almost immediately and sounded genuinely pleased to hear from her.

“I need to speak with you,” she replied.

The tone of his reply annoyed her. He didn’t sound at all surprised, and she knew he thought she wanted another quick fuck. His arrogance and nonchalant attitude irritated Louise, and she snapped, “I’m not calling for another fuck. I want to meet with you in a neutral environment and talk. When can we meet?”

The tone of her reply took some of the wind out of Pierre’s sails. He explained he could not see her that evening as he already had other arrangements. Then, he asked when they were leaving Paris. Louise told him that they only had another three days in Paris. 

“Then it must be tomorrow morning as I’m travelling to Marseilles in the afternoon.”

“Tomorrow morning is fine. Over a coffee would be good. Where will we meet?” she asked.

“If you cross the road outside your hotel and turn left, there is a coffee shop about thirty metres down. Stand outside. I doubt you will get a table. I’ll pick you up there at 9:30. Wear a jacket, as it will be windy.” He hung up before she had a chance to ask anything more.

When Brett returned, just before dinner, she told him what she had arranged, but refused to tell him where they were meeting. Seeing the excited look on Brett’s face, she told him it would only be coffee and warned him she did not want him following her. As discussed, he was to visit the Georges Pompidou Centre.

Brett pretended to agree, but his mind was spinning with ideas on how he could get a look at Pierre. He’d taken no notice of him that morning and wanted to see what the guy was like. He could maybe follow them, even take a photo of him, and observe their body language as they talked over coffee.

They woke early and spent an hour in the Gym before breakfasting together. After breakfast, they returned to their room to shower and change. Brett felt a rush of jealousy when he saw the sexy lingerie, short skirt and lacy blouse laid out on the bed. It hurt that Louise put so much effort into her attire for the rendezvous with another man.

His jealousy increased tenfold as she dressed and applied her makeup. But he was also incredibly aroused by the perverse thoughts running through his head and was more determined than ever to follow her. 

When she finally pulled on the leather jacket he’d bought her last Christmas, she turned and said, “Don’t you follow me, you promised? I’ll be watching out for you. And bring back some photos of the artwork you invested in so that I know you went to the Pompidou.”

Brett jumped up and hugged her goodbye. He gave her a couple of minutes, then changed his trousers and jersey to more sombre attire. Barrelling down the stairs to the lobby, he peeked around the door frame to ensure the way was clear. He saw her walking down the busy street through one of the front windows. Rushing over to the window, he was proud to see that she stood out from all the other pedestrians. Her skirt was much shorter than when she had left their room though, and he knew she had rolled it up at the waist as she travelled down in the lift. The extra length of bare leg above the knee-high boots made her look like some Hollywood seductress.

Brett ducked back from the window when she stopped, turned, and looked up and down the street. It seemed an eternity before she was satisfied that Brett was not following her, and finally she continued walking.

Brett gave it a few seconds before he looked again. He saw she had stopped outside a cafe. So he stayed where he was, searching for any place he could move to once they entered the Cafe.

The Maître d’ moved alongside him and gave him an apologetic look.

“Your wife?” he inquired.

Brett didn’t feel like explaining, so he shrugged at the guy and took another look down the street. He was just in time to see a Motor scooter pulling up in front of the cafe. Then he watched in dismay as Louise walked over, took the offered open-faced helmet, swung her leg over the seat, and hugged into the rider’s back. Brett’s last view was the motor-scooter weaving in and out of traffic, with his wife hanging on for dare life.

Brett wandered back to their room to change. He was disappointed. He’d only gotten a brief glimpse of Pierre.

——

Pierre pulled up outside a cafe in a much quieter part of Paris. Louise stepped off the scooter and waited while he fastened their helmets to its side. Her heart was beating fast. The ride had been both scary and exhilarating. He took her elbow and guided her towards the cafe. But they didn’t enter. Instead, Pierre steered her to a red door alongside. It had a large sign above it that proclaimed, ‘Achmed’s Studio de Photographie.’

“I thought we were going for coffee.”

“Achmed is preparing it now. He is one of my good friends. He was born in Paris, but his parents came from Algeria,” stated Pierre as he guided her up the stairs.

“Besides, Achmed makes better coffee than any you can buy at the cafes. And he’s going to help me take some photos of you. I want a couple to remember you by.”

Achmed’s studio took up the first floor, divided into several zones cluttered with lights and cameras on stands. Achmed was in a small kitchen area, bent over a coffee machine. He looked up as they entered and looked Louise in the eye, then his eyes took in her face, assessing her closely before glancing briefly at the rest of her. She was pleased that, unlike most men, his eyes did not go straight to her tits and begin undressing her.

“You did not lie. She is beautiful. A photographer’s dream,” he said, grinning at Pierre. He handed Louise a small cup filled with a divine-smelling black coffee. She studied Achmed over the rim as she took a sip. Because of his name, she had expected him to look like an Arab with a tea towel on his head. Instead, he was the epitome of the cliche: tall, dark, and handsome, with dark brown eyes that were bright and alive. He was dressed casually in slacks and an open-necked shirt.

Achmed beckoned them to follow him, and led them past a lounge area to a stool in front of a vast white sheet hanging from the ceiling. Louise sat on the stool and sipped her coffee while Pierre and Achmed studied the camera. Achmed showed him the settings he would use. Then Pierre took the coffee cup from Louise’s hands and, under Achmed’s directions, guided her to pose as the camera began to click.

In between shots, Pierre would hand back the coffee while Achmed changed settings and guided Pierre in where to position her next. After half an hour, Achmed rattled off a few sentences in French, picked up a camera case, and headed towards the stairs.

 Louise’s French was good, but he had spoken too fast for her to understand everything he’d said. As Achmed stepped out the door, she asked Pierre what he had said.

“He has to go. He has an assignment and told me to lock up.”

Louise knew that was not all that had been said, but she let it go, knowing it would likely have been derogatory men’s talk.

As soon as Achmed was out the door, Pierre moved in and began undoing the buttons on her blouse. She recoiled, thinking he was going to force himself on her again.

“Relax. Don’t be scared. I just want you to look even more sexy.” And he stopped after he had undone two, then arranged her blouse to give a better view of her ample cleavage. 

He snapped a couple of shots, then asked her to lift her skirt higher to show some panties. He then snapped more shots before waving at her to show more.

As Louise lifted her skirt, she had a rush of arousal. It was so strong that it brought back memories of a situation in her teens. A good time before she had gone to University and met her bastard abuser, the freak who had taken advantage of her innocence. It had been a hot summer day, and Louise had arrived home from school and found the house empty. She’d seen the neighbour’s gardener working in their backyard from her room upstairs. He was shirtless and sporting a tanned, muscular body. She had a schoolgirl crush on him. 

Donning her bikini, she had rushed down to their backyard to sunbathe, hoping to catch his eye. The lawnmower had started up, then gone quiet. When the silence continued, long past the time it would take to empty the catcher, she squinted to the left and saw his head above the fence watching her. The rush of excitement almost made her orgasm, and she had to grip her towel tightly to stop from sinking her hand between her legs. Blushing red and extremely embarrassed, she jumped up and rushed back inside.

As she exposed more of her body to Pierre, she relived that same experience.

Suddenly, interrupting her thoughts, he said, “I’m waiting to hear what you want to talk to me about.”

Pierre had a seductive, knowing look on his face. And Louise knew he still thought she had returned for more sex.

 “You can take that smug expression off your face. You have gotten me pregnant. That’s what I want to talk about.”

Pierre’s face changed, and his mouth dropped open. Then, composing himself, “You can’t possibly know that within twenty-four hours. It must be your husbands or some other lover.”

There was silence for a second, and then his face turned grim, “Are you going to try and hit me up for money?”

“No! Good lord, no. That’s not why I’m here.”

“Why, then?” he asked, looking puzzled.

Louise went to speak, then shut her mouth. How on earth could she ask this arrogant bastard to be the father of the rest of her children? She had no idea how to proceed.

“Can we sit and talk, please?” she stammered.

Pierre led her to the lounge area, pointed to the couch, and sat opposite her in the armchair.

“Do you want a drink? You look like you need one,” and he pointed to a credenza full of alcoholic beverages.

“No. Just let me gather my thoughts.”

Louise started at the beginning. She told him about her marriage, that it was good, and that they had everything they wanted. She admitted to him that sex had a very low priority as neither of them had a very high sex drive. However, when a friend became pregnant, she became broody and wanted to have children. 

“This week in Paris was to try and get Brett away from work, have some time for ourselves, and get me pregnant. We chose this week as we knew I was at my most fertile. But Brett has not been living up to his side of the bargain, which is not an excuse for why I let my guard down yesterday.” 

She paused and looked up from her lap to see how Pierre was taking all this. He looked puzzled but urged her to continue. She looked down at her lap again and said she’d found a seat at a cafe, where she’d tried to sort out whether to tell Brett what had happened, knowing that if she did, it would mean the end of her marriage. 

“When I stood, still undecided about what to tell Brett. I felt an odd change and instantly realised that I was pregnant.”

She looked up, and their eyes met. “I know everyone says it’s impossible, but I know I am. Brett and I both agree that we want you to be the father of any other children we have. We don’t want to have artificial insemination from some stranger’s sperm. So I want to know what you think. Can we stay in touch?”

Their eyes stayed locked, and they rose at the same time. Louise took a step forward, stood on her tiptoes and kissed him. He responded with unbridled passion, taking her by surprise. And within seconds, they were tearing at each other’s clothes. 

Pierre began to kiss her all over before he turned her around and pushed her towards the bedroom.

 “Before you ask, Achmed does a lot of boudoir photography. It is just a set. I did not plan to bring you in here.”

He threw her on the bed. The Pierre from the day before had returned. The insatiable lust in his eyes had her gasping for breath. They were kissing again, only this time his hands were working their magic on her breasts, and before she could stop him, his head was between her legs and lapping in her fragrant curls.

Louise was in seventh heaven. She threw her legs apart, enabling him to insert more of his tongue. She bucked her hips into his face and suddenly slumped back as an abrupt wave of pleasure hit her. Pierre rose and aimed his unbelievable prick between her legs. She cried out that he needed to be gentle, as she didn’t want to lose the baby.

 Pierre paused, but only for a second. He rolled her over on her stomach and attempted to insert himself in her virgin derriere.

“No!” She cried, “I’ve never done that. You can’t. You’re way too big.”

Pierre told her to relax. That she’d love it, as he reached to the bedside cabinet and extracted a tube of lubricant. He began lubricating her bum, inserting one, then two, then three fingers. He held her down as she struggled, but slowly, her struggle diminished as he invoked a craving that had her gasping for more. His fingers were finding sensuous spots she never knew existed. And by the time he finally forced his cock past her now relaxed sphincter, she was screaming for him to fuck her hard.

Louise had never experienced anything like it. The rush of sexual excitement blindsided her and knocked her breathless. Her delirium was only heightened by the debased, dirty act.

They started in the doggy position, but soon he had her straddle him and made her insert his incredible weapon back in her insatiable arse. He played with her tits and clit as she writhed around on his pole. And he told her what a beautiful dirty slut she was and that he’d give her as many babies as she wanted.

Her orgasm was intense, by far the best she had ever experienced. She slumped beside Pierre and began to talk after they caught their breath.

Pierre expressed his desire to see her bump grow and to see his son after he was born. He told her he visited London two or three times a year. She responded that because of her proficiency in French, she often travelled to Paris but pointed out that it would always be short, brief visits, as she didn’t want to jeopardise her marriage. Pierre was in agreement as he was separated, had a three-year-old daughter, and had no intention of marrying again. 

When Pierre began to harden again, Louise rolled over to blow him, then recoiled at the thought of where his swollen shaft had been. He saw her hesitation. “I need to pee. So I will go give the little man a good clean.” He disappeared out the door.

Louise lay thinking, and the word ‘inception’ popped into her mind (The beginning). She marvelled at what had happened in these two days and wondered how she and Brett would handle this new beginning in their lives. However, when Pierre stepped back into the bedroom, Louise put all her concerns aside. She was about to give her second-ever blow-job and was determined that this time she would swallow. Who would have ever thought?

Pierre dropped her back at her hotel mid-afternoon. As she rose in the lift, she wondered if Brett was waiting and would ravish her as he'd done the previous day. Her dishevelled state and the time could leave him in no doubt that she'd had more than a cup of coffee.