"You will have to pay me," said Liliane suddenly.
"Pay you?" I asked, after the pause needed to recover from the shock of her words.
"Yes, pay me. If I am going to act the whore tonight, you will have to pay me."
Liliane smiled her provocative smile, the one that had captivated me when I was first introduced to her. This was earlier that evening, over pre-drinks on the beautiful terrace of a small luxury hotel. Some 120 real estate agents from my international company and some more wives were gathered on the last night of the biggest corporate offsite I had ever attended.
We were in the South of France, staying in one of the large hotels on the sea-front in Cannes, known as La Croisette. The occasion was a private conference bringing together executives from across our international network. On the last of our two nights in town, the most senior executive hosted a dinner at a beautiful, Michelin-star hotel. Set on the hillside of a beautiful old town we looked down over the rugged but verdant landscape that characterises the hinterland of France's jewel, the Côte d'Azur.
Talking and laughing on the sun-charmed hotel terrace, I was introduced to the wife of the head of our Paris office. As the conference was being held in France, he was nominally the host, although the shots were really being called by the most senior person over from New York.
"Liliane," she repeated, as the noisy laughter of colleagues had drowned out her first uttering of her name.
"Enchanted," I replied, in French, "my name is Robert."
"Is that the typical Englishman's extent of our beautiful language or do you know any more words?"
Her delicate accent was another blow. I was smitten. I guessed Liliane to be in her early 50s, like me. She exuded an easy, natural charm. Combined with her pretty smile, elegant light brunette hair and chic, evidently expensive cream shift dress, this was all more than enough to win over any man. That this Englishman on receive of her charm-offensive (though I was not at all offended) was freshly out of a painfully-ended marriage and looking for excitement meant that I was like putty in her hands.
We laughed and joked some more as other colleagues joined in. But even as the group around us grew, glances were exchanged that hinted that maybe I wasn't alone in being caught up in the excitement of attraction to someone new. I did know her husband, though not well. I knew that he was considered a safe pair of hands to run the Paris office but not otherwise highly regarded. He was a bit of a blusterer, over-playing the excessive French charm, fuelled by an obvious delight in the finest foods and wines of his country. He filled out his suit and then some, and was redder of face than might be considered healthy.
As we were led into dinner around several large round tables, I felt a rush of further excitement when I realised I was to sit at the same table as Liliane, the acting table host. She sat with three other colleagues between us so we could not indulge in small talk but we could join in the wider conversations. And yes, we did share some more of those cryptic-seeming glances.
I decided I was going to avoid anything obvious. After all, she was married, and to a colleague at that. I was, however, fighting with the curious, warped logic of an ex-husband whose marriage had collapsed after a brief struggle to survive following his wife's confession of a six-month affair. If one's own seemingly dedicated spouse of over twenty years could have an affair, why couldn't anyone?
I chatted away to the colleagues either side of me, occasionally joining in wider conversations. The meal was delicious if rather too precious, prepared by the leading French chef whose success had enabled him to acquire this very elegant establishment.
It was around ten-thirty when a coach arrived to take us back to our hotel. Many of us headed for the hotel's bar, led by our ebullient Parisian host. I checked to see if Liliane was in the crowd. She was there, among a small group of colleagues, being the dutiful hostess. I joined her group, thinking I would see if this apparent connection was really anything. But I also knew that ultimately nothing could happen other than the excitement of a rather illicit flirtation.
Soon our group was interrupted by Liliane's husband. He was loudly insisting we should all go across the road to a night club famous for its Cannes Film Festival revelries, at his personal expense. I quickly looked over to Liliane and caught a slight wince of disapproval and boredom. A good number of laughing colleagues followed Liliane's husband out of the bar and off to party. A few more decided to call it a night and walked out to the hotel lobby and the lifts. Liliane and I stood alone out of our conference group.
"Buy me a drink," she said, "if that fool is going to throw away our money like that, I better preserve what I can. So you will buy me a drink - champagne of course."
I was never going to refuse. I guided Liliane to a comfortable-looking sofa as I ordered two glasses of champagne from a waiter. I had held back from drinking my usual quota over dinner. The wines we had been offered had been glorious, but I had wanted to keep my wits about me in case the evening presented interesting opportunities. Like the one that appeared to be developing now. There was no way I was going to sit sipping mineral water with a beautiful French lady sipping champagne beside me.
As she talked about the travails of being the head of a big regional office's wife, I took a closer look at this woman I was persuading myself might end up in bed with me. She was petite, perhaps just over five feet tall, slim in that curious French way. I had not noticed her holding back on any of the delicate but rich food we had been served at dinner, including the sugar-laden, cream-covered dessert. Her skin, though lined here and there, suggested she took full part in the beauty rituals of her class and sex. Of course, every French town is packed with beauty salons as well as the bakeries, butchers and pharmacies. She was beautiful, no question.
And she was married. I was sitting with her in a smart hotel bar drinking champagne while her husband partied a few hundred yards away. He had barely acknowledged her as he had left the bar. Probably he had his eyes distracted elsewhere, as some female colleagues from the US were evidently charmed by his attentions.
"So, since your marriage has ended, have you had many lovers?" Liliane asked, suddenly changing the subject.
"There have been a couple," I said -
"A couple?" Liliane interrupted, smiling. "A ménage à trios - a threesome?"
I joined in her smiles, clarifying that I meant two lovers enjoyed at separate times.
"You enjoyed them?" she asked, emphasising the verb.
"Of course," I replied, "the excitement of the new, the chance to be a bit more adventurous, a little daring."
I knew I was crossing a line here from mild flirtation into serious suggestion of possible action. But her initial question about lovers and her 'ménage à trois' joke had led the way.
"I would like to be a bit more adventurous, a little daring," Liliane sighed, looking me straight in the eye.
"You are pleased with your room?" she enquired suddenly.
It was now clear where this was leading. Pleased with my room? Although it was only on the first floor and so had little in the way of a view, it was a huge suite at the front of the building and had made me feel very pleased with myself when I had arrived. Of course, I had also felt a little sad that I was going to be alone in this beautiful room for two nights. That might no longer be the case.
"I should like to see it," said Liliane.
"You are serious?" I asked hesitatingly.
"Of course I am serious!" she exclaimed, almost with irritation.
"But your husband - " I started.
"He is my concern, not yours," Liliane replied quickly.
"You will have to pay me," said Liliane suddenly.
"Pay you?" I said after the pause needed to recover from the shock of her words.
"Yes, pay me. If I am going to act the whore tonight, you will have to pay me."
I laughed but I was full of excitement and there was no possibility of me holding back now. If this charming, outwardly respectable wife of a senior corporate executive wanted to play the whore as she expressed it, I was going to play the punter.
"How much?" I asked, smiling.
"300 Euros," she replied, still with the rather stern look on her face that had appeared when I had queried if she was serious.
"That doesn't seem like a Paris rate," I returned.
"How would you know? Ah," she said, now smiling herself, "I am feeling generous, and I like you, Englishman, you are not the usual type of your country."
"I am not carrying that much cash for such a short visit," I explained truthfully.
"Then go and get some," she replied, "I will sit here with my champagne and wait for you."
I stood up, willing to go along with this now heavily erotically-charged game.
"But don't be too long," Liliane said. "Someone with the money already may come to pick me up."
The stakes were now higher than ever. I am sure these last words were entirely to provoke and excite me, signalling she was entirely available sexually. With an "I'll be as quick as I can," I hurried out into the lobby and enquired of the concierge the whereabouts of the nearest ATM. With a look that suggested this was a question he had heard on many occasions at this time of night, he gave me directions and I left the hotel.
The air was now cooler, it was almost midnight. I took stock of the situation. Perhaps this was Liliane's way of breaking up the flirtation and she will have gone to her room by the time I returned to the hotel. Or perhaps it was a ploy to give herself time to think through what we were proposing to happen. I took the time too. It was risky of course - but that added to the excitement. Plus she was beautiful and a beautiful Frenchwoman at that, and I was deeply attracted to her.
The ATM I had been directed to was out of cash. Damn! I hurried further into the retail streets beyond the seafront. Liliane might think I had had second thoughts and would dismiss me as the "usual type of your country": whatever she meant by that, it clearly wasn't approving.
The next ATM delivered the 300 Euros into my hand and off I practically ran back to the hotel.
Liliane was where I had left her, holding a fresh glass of champagne. A second new glass was on the table. She smiled.
"Please pay the bill," she said. "I am going to my room for a few minutes then I will come down to your luxury suite - the number?"
I gave her my room number and she left, carrying her glass with her, while I remained to settle the bill. Best not charge it to my room, I thought, it did not feel right to put this on expenses.
Up in my room, I quickly undressed and walked into the shower. Then, putting on the luxury white towelling robe provided in the the room, 300 Euros in one of the pockets, I waited for Liliane.
A faint knock on the door. I answered it and Liliane walked into the room pushing the door behind her. She threw her arms around me, pressing her mouth against mine. A passionate exchange of kisses followed, lips, tongues, teeth, hands exploring everywhere. Then she broke off.
"It is better that you pay now, before we begin," she smiled at me in challenge.
"Of course." I handed her the 300 Euros which I had placed in one of the hotel's envelopes.
"Ah! So discreet! Are you sure you are not French?" Liliane laughed.
She pushed me towards one of the armchairs.
"Sit!" I was told.
I obliged of course as Liliane dropped to her knees in front of me. She reached into the top of my robe with both hands pushing it off my shoulders and rubbed her fingers over my chest, over my shoulders. I was in relatively good shape. I had lost weight through the stress of ending my marriage, while my erratic gym attendance was sufficient, with my natural build, to give me some firmness and definition. I couldn't stop the thought that Liliane might be finding this more pleasant than doing the same thing to her overweight husband. And hints had been made that such intimacy did not really happen much any more.
"Ouch!" I was brought out of my little reverie when Liliane pinched my nipples hard then bit first one then the other. My semi-hard erection had now quickly filled to full hardness. This was new for me and I said so.
"It seems to be something you like," she laughed as her right hand felt my erection straining against the cloth of my robe.
The belt of my robe was now undone and the cloth pushed aside. Liliane took my cock in her right hand and uttered a moan of pleasure. I felt her tongue run up my full length, swirling around the top and lapping up the clear pre-cum that was now flowing from me. Then she took the whole of the head in her mouth, pressing down hard in a strong, quick sucking motion.
I lay back in the chair enjoying her attentions. Her hands crept up my torso and again she reached for my nipples, pinching them hard, enough for me to cry out again. We looked at each other and, as she reached the top of my cock, her mouth broadened into a smile.
"Let's go to the bed," I said.
As we walked over to the bed, Liliane pulled her chic, Paris-designer shift dress off over her head and threw it to the floor. No surprise that her lingerie was exquisite in design and colour: ivory lace-trimmed pink silk bra gently supporting breasts I guessed to be 32B. The same lacy trim around the edge of her shorts stretched around her toned, rounded buttocks. I was looking forward to everything that was going to happen next.
We practically jumped onto the bed and soon hands, limbs, mouths, fingers, tongues were everywhere. I was in thrall to Liliane's body, her beauty, her recklessness, her frank desire. She started to edge her way down my body as I lay on my back. Her earlier pleasuring of me had been exquisite, but I could wait. I took hold of her arms and pulled her back up so that we were again face to face.
"It's ladies first for this Englishman," I smiled at her.
"Ah," she laughed, "a perfect English gentleman at last!"
I pulled Liliane up my body, my head resting on a pillow. Soon her lacy shorts clad bottom and pussy were over my face. With one hand I moved to push the lace and silk aside.
"No," she interrupted me and stood up slightly shakily and pulled down her panties.
"I want nothing to be in your way," she smiled.
Then she sank down on her knees plunging her slick, wet closely shaved pussy on my more than ready mouth. As she held onto the enormous padded headboard of the bed, I held onto her thighs that thrust against me as my lips. My tongue relished the fleshy lips of her pussy, probing inside her, licking and sucking on her now prominent clit. Her taste was as exquisite as the champagne we had long forgotten, more so, the nectar of the gods.
I slipped one hand around a buttock finding her crease. My fingers slid down searching then finding her little rosebud. This made her thrusts and her moans increase yet further. My fingers moved down over her rosebud and I moistened them with the mix of Liliane's delicious juices and my saliva. Then they were back to her rosebud, her sweet dark hole. One finger slid in easily.
"No!" she shouted. I hesitated, not sure why this was forbidden.
"Your tongue!" came her next shout, and with both hands now on her buttocks, I pushed her further over my face until my tongue was in place below her sweet spot. I licked delicately. This clearly wasn't what she wanted as she pressed hard down on my face. I had to push her up slightly to then give her what she so desired right now: my tongue inside her dark hole. I probed, I licked, my tongue was in and almost out then in again exploring inside her, tasting her sweet musk.
I could now feel that Liliane had her right hand on her pussy and she started pressing and rubbing herself as rapidly as she could. Soon I could sense her losing control. With a loud shout of "Oh," she thrust down hard on my face and liquid shot out of her pussy, once twice three times. I had never experienced this before. I managed to move Liliane back a little so that I caught her last ejaculation in my mouth. It tasted extraordinary, and I was almost on the point of coming myself.
Gradually, Liliane stopped thrusting. Still breathing heavily, her petite sweet breasts still rising rapidly, she moved her sweat-covered body slowly down mine till she could look in my eyes. We kissed passionately, her right hand snaking down my body to take my straining erection in her grasp.
"This is the kind of sex I love!" she said, laughing.
"Delighted to be of service," I joked.
"Now it is time for me to earn my Euros," she smiled back at me.
Still stroking my erect cock, Liliane again slid down my body but this time I did not stop her. Soon her tongue was all over me, licking up and down my shaft, around and over my sac, around and over my cock head that was awash with its own juice. Then she positioned herself between my legs, her right hand on my shaft, her lips around my cock head, her tongue flicking at me, making me wince and groan with a pleasure I did not know that I had ever felt before.
"Look at me, watch," Liliane commanded.
I moved slightly up the bed, propped against a pillow and looked down at her. Smiling, she lowered her head down just enough to take me in her mouth once more while still looking up at me. Then suddenly the perfectly manicured little finger of her right hand plunged into my own dark hole. This had never happened before. I was transfixed in the fantastic, I really mean fantastic, the stuff of unknown, unconscious fantasies. I was lost to the pleasures of her mouth and finger working in a rapid, unified rhythm. This would not last much longer, however much effort I put into holding back.
With a guttural groan, I thrust strongly into Liliane's mouth coming and coming, vaguely conscious that she was thrusting her little finger deeper and deeper into me.
At last I stopped; she did too. She removed my still fully hard cock from her mouth. With another of those smiles that had captivated me on the sunny terrace of the restaurant a few miles away and a few hours earlier, she swallowed down everything left in her mouth.
She made her way back up the bed and I took her in my arms as she lay her head on my still heaving chest. I laughed and she joined in. There were no words necessary, we had fallen in lust with each other, circumstances arose, we had seized the opportunity.
It was two in the morning when I checked the nearby clock.
"Your husband -" I said.
"He is my problem, as I said," Liliane rejoined somewhat abruptly. Then, more softly:
"Two o'clock? He will still be in the club, drunkenly trying to fondle those stupid American women."
She had missed nothing.
But this was the cue for our night together to end. She rose from the bed after one last lingering kiss in which we tasted each other's pleasure in ourselves. We had become very close through this passionate, profound encounter.
Liliane dressed quickly as I too rose from the bed. One last kiss, an embrace, and she walked to the door. She stepped back briefly.
"My envelope, if you please," she asked sweetly.
"Thank-you - thank-you very much," I replied, handing her the envelope.
"You are most welcome," she smiled and with one brief backward glance, she turned and left the room.
There was one more morning of the conference. Though I was undoubtedly tired from the late night I had enjoyed, I was among the most alert. Those that had gone to the club had spent hours busily downing more alcohol and dancing. I had devoted those same hours to the most incredible love-making of my life. I learnt that the club had closed at five o'clock, when the conference party had been strongly encouraged to leave, Liliane's husband among them.
Come midday, groups were standing around in the hotel lobby exchanging last bits of conversation. Almost inevitably I found myself standing with Liliane's husband as well as the New York head of our business. We were discussing a deal that the Paris office had in which our boss wanted my increased involvement.
"I want Robert to come to Paris for a few days, maybe two weeks. He can help you see this one through," said the American.
At this point, the wives of both men appeared laughing and chatting, a designer bag or two on their arms.
"Ah, Liliane," said her husband, "what have you gone and bought now?"
Liliane pulled from her carrier bag a richly decorated handbag.
"Another handbag?" pondered her husband. "And how much, may I ask, did that cost?"
"300 Euros," replied Liliane.
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<a href="http://www.lushstories.com/stories/cheating/a-french-connection.aspx">A French Connection</a>