FIONA AT THE CANNES FILM FESTIVAL
She sat under the concealing air blower like some alien visitor receiving a thought transplant for human interaction. Fiona was wearing her Capri pants with the zebra pattern that she were certain accentuated the still just slightly drooping cheeks of her bum.
This was the first time she had been in this particular beauty parlor. Her favorite one, the one on High Street was closed because the building was being torn down to make way for some high-priced apartments. Her usual beautician, Dolly, had decided to retire and probably that was good because her vision was beginning to fail and Fiona noticed some glaring errors in her hair-do. Still, some of these young girls working in this establishment looked like they had just gotten out of school and didn’t know when a cock was in or out.
Fiona knew she looked a decade younger than her shocking true age of 65, but she constantly strived to maintain a modicum of sparkle to offset the descending shroud of aging reality. The magazine on her lap was filled with gossip about this celebrity and that celebrity and she was convinced none of it was true but it made for interesting speculation. Strangely, she was looking at an editorial piece about the Cannes Film Festival starting in just a week when she overheard one of the “fresh young things” giggling about the kinky activities behind the scenes during the festival. Her interest was piqued and she read the article with more interest.
A month had passed since her excursion to the “Land of the Pharaoh’s”. The time had passed quickly and she was reasonably back to normal after the nightly orgies in the Valley of the Kings. The last repairs she had to make were to her uncompromising hair which had suffered untold depravities in the sand and suffered silently under the hot Egyptian sun.
After 30 long and boring years of living like a nun with a totally unappreciative spouse, Fiona had broken the bonds of decorum immediately after the funeral by spreading her legs at every opportunity that came her way. One of the benefits of spousal disregard was the effectiveness of her exceptionally tight pussy to draw copious loads of male juices from astonished younger men. Her dedicated attention to her gardening had managed to keep her figure in excellent shape and she attributed the lack of droop in her bum and her still slightly perky nipples to the fact she had never borne a child due to her husband’s lack of sufficient “swimmers” to get the job done.
From their name tags, Fiona determined that the girl with the horrible blue streaks in her hair was called Doris and the girl with all the giggles was called Amy. They both looked to be distressingly young, probably only 19 or 20 at the very most. It was very noticeable that they were much engrossed in each other just from the way that they managed to brush against each other in the course of tending the customers in their care. Fiona had become something of an expert in such observations at a very late age and she rued her many decades of silly ignorance in all matters of a sexual nature.
Apparently the “blue” haired Doris was importuning Amy to accompany her on a weekend trip to the festival to see the “Stars” up close and personal. Amy was visibly tempted but kept coming up with excuses why such a trip would be either inconvenient or conflicted with other plans.
The article she was reading mentioned several notorious “orgies” that had taken place in previous festivals mentioning the names of the participants like a line-up for some football game involving celebrities. Only it was not a football game but the sometimes serious business of full service copulation and depraved fetishes. Fiona found her hairless slit was coming to life in the air-blowing chair and she hoped her zebra-striped tights would conceal her wet anticipation of kinky delights.
“Miss, did you see this article about the festival?”
Fiona was addressing the pretty blue haired petite girl with the interesting shade of semi-orange lips that looked constantly wet with some type of commercial application. She thought to herself that she must ask the girl what she used to get that interesting effect
“Thanks, ma’am, I do so ever want to go there but my friend Amy is not one to go traveling much. She has never been further than the next manor.”
Doris removed the plastic and metal monstrosity from the top of Fiona’s head and began to stroke her hair-do with artistic flair. Fiona was impressed with her skills and the way she kept rubbing her neck and shoulders with her softly yielding tummy. She had discovered quite late in life the advantages of keeping an open mind when it came to bed partners with enthusiastic techniques.
Fiona invited both of the girls to her place for a “wine tasting” of some of the vintage wines mentioned in the article. She told them that she had a great collection of photos of the previous festivals. Of course, it was a white lie but she did have a silly sister-in-law with a large scrapbook of the festival that she often hauled out to bore her dinner party guests with celebrity erotic peccadillos that were for the most part entirely fabricated.
A quick stop at the spirits shop and she was well-equipped with a half-dozen wines mentioned with great rave reviews in the magazine. She hoped the reviews were accurate and not just some figment of the imagination by some writing hack putting words on a sheet of paper to make some money.
The girls showed up at her door the next evening wearing casual clothes and in the case of Doris no knickers because she liked to “be free”. Amy was a little up tight at first because she tended to keep to herself or just act in her role as Doris’s little slave girl.
By the time they had uncorked the last bottle of wine, even demure little Amy was opening her shirt to show her new black silk bra that “pushed up” her pretty little boobs into prominent display. She invited Fiona to touch them assuring her that they were her original “God given” tits and that she was very proud of them. Fiona had to giggle with sincere laughter and the effect of the delicious wines from France. Doris reached over and unhooked Amy’s bra and encouraged Fiona to cup the perky boobs in her palms and give then a “good jiggle”. For some reason, they all thought that to be very funny and fell into each other’s arms having a real girl to girl laugh. One thing led to another and Fiona found she had Amy’s knickers clutched in her hand and she brought them up to her nostrils to inhale the sweet girl’s essence.
Fiona tasted Doris’s wet-looking orange lipstick and was surprised it did indeed taste a little like a fresh orange on her tongue. She was so involved with her mouth to mouth activities with Doris that she was only peripherally aware of Amy pushing her knees open so she could partake of her wine sprinkled recently shaved pussy. The inquisitive lips at both ends of her body set poor Fiona off into orgasmic overdrive and she whimpered and pleaded like a silly schoolgirl being bullied on the playground.
It was a delightful ending to an evening of girlish pleasure and Doris capped it off by allowing Fiona to spank little Amy while she held her down with her strong arms and legs. Amy loved the attention and pretended to be distressed by the humiliation. Fiona could see the laughter in her eyes and the way she pushed her bottom up for more each time she gave her good hard smack on her bum. She wondered if the girls would do the same to her if she told them to give it to her nice and hard.
Fiona suggested that they all go to the film festival in Cannes just to be eye-witnesses to the orgies written about in the magazine and in the newspaper articles carefully collected by her silly sister-in-law to gain some notoriety for being an open-minded hostess and not just another “stick in the mud” middle-aged housewife. Doris was totally enthusiastic but Amy was still a bit reticent to agree to the trip. Sensing that a little inducement might be necessary, Fiona whispered in her ear that she would give her a good pussy lick if she agreed and would do the same each night they were in Cannes.
She could see Amy blushing but she could tell the delicately featured girl with a look of innocence was intrigued and sorely tempted to say “yes”.
Her fingers between Amy’s legs sealed the bargain and she nodded her head up and down like she was bobbing on the end of an aroused man’s cock buried deep inside her mouth. Doris seemed surprised at Amy’s weakened resolve but pleasantly surprised and she kissed her best friend with her skilled tongue when Fiona wrapped Amy’s long slender legs around her neck. Amy was tenderly receptive to Doris’s oral ministrations but her pussy was in a frenzy to open up to Fiona’s probing tongue at the other end. Her nipples were like little round buttons on a uniform waiting to be tweaked or nibbled.
They all decided to leave on Friday afternoon as soon as the girls tidied up their stations at the beauty parlor. Fiona would purchase all of their tickets and arrange for the hotel saying it was her treat but the girls would have to give her “breakfast in bed” each morning to make up for her generosity.
She figured at her age, she could afford to be a little generous because there was no one she wanted to leave her money to after she was gone. The last thing she wanted was for any of her condescending relatives to share in her remaining financial resources.
The hotel room was great. It had a marvelous view of Cannes and even the harbor off to the side if one stretched their neck. The two young beauticians were bouncing on the large fluffy bed like they were in a girl’s boarding school out of sight of the headmaster. When Fiona suggested they make a quick trip to the nearby beach, they jumped off the bed in a flash and speedily put on their bathing costumes. Fiona selected one that hid her bottom belly a bit because she had been hitting the dessert treats hard ever since her sojourn at the Pyramids. She felt she needed the added sugar to get the memory of the village elder guides out of her tongue and taste-buds.They all seemed so determined to make the British mature lady take their manly equipment deep inside her lips until they delivered the cream of their masculinity.
Her backside did look quite nice in the full-length mirror. Her heart-shaped bum was clearly outlined in the somewhat skimpy outfit but that fit in with her plans perfectly.
Doris looked quite normal and nice in her costume, but poor Amy was a bit “over the top” even for Cannes in her tiny G-string and absolutely no top at all.
“I am afraid, dear, that the hotel beach frowns on topless bathers of the female persuasion. We must drive a short distance to the “free expression” beaches to display your impressive tits for one and all.”
Amy giggled and ran back into the bedroom to add the tiny top to her costume which did little to hide her ripe nubile presence. Doris looked at Fiona and shrugged like an indulgent parent allowing their offspring to learn how to fly.
When the two hotel porters entered with the rest of their luggage, they made no secret of the overt ogling of the three differently shaped bottoms on full display in front of them. Fiona gave them a tip but she felt that they should be tipping them instead for the free viewing of their beach attire.
The sand was so finely packed and devoid of any pebbles or rocks that Fiona was sure they had sifted it carefully like flour for a cake. It was hot to the bottom of her bare feet but not in the least like the hot sands of the Sahara. She suddenly remembered her face almost kissing the sand with her ass up high being filled by some of the adventurous guides unwilling to wait for nightfall and the soothing darkness of the large tent.
The girls frolicked and ran about with a silly ball and chasing each other into the gently lapping waves in the sheltered harbor. Glancing to the left and right, Fiona saw dozens of pairs of eyes watching their youthful bodies in the wanton display. Their admirers were mostly male, but some were female as well.
A dark-skinned young man approached her and asked if she wanted a “complimentary” massage and she accepted gratefully because her muscles were fatigued from the travel.
The young man straddled her right on the sand in a most unprofessional manner and worked her muscle from her neck to her ankles with divine skills. His manipulation of her posterior was so nicely done that she knew her juices were soaking into the blanket underneath. When he was finished, he just gave her his card and departed without further comment.
The towel boy was most uninformative about the identity of the young man other than to comment,
“I am afraid he does not work for the hotel, Madame.”
They all retired to the room to take relaxing showers and get ready for the evening meal in the main dining room. Fiona hoped the menu would be adequate as the price was included in the cost of the suite.
Tomorrow, they would be at the reception center to greet the “Stars” in all their glory.
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