The flight from Atlanta to Charles de Gaulle was not bad at all. Thank goodness we were in business class. It cost a zillion frequent flyer miles to bring my wife along, but I figured it was worth it. It would be a working trip for me, but I had a couple of days free at the beginning of the trip and would have occasional free time in the middle. For the most part, though, Cindy would have to fend for herself. She assured me she was fine with that and was excited about the trip. Who could've guessed just how exciting it would be?
Upon arrival we learned one of our bags did not make it. It was a single leg flight, so I'm not sure how this happens, but sometimes it does. Though the flight had gone well, we were still tired and just a tad cranky. Perhaps in deference to all the money my company spends getting us back and forth on their airline, the Air France representative offered me an unusual perk: they offered to send a driver that evening to take us to dinner. Hmmm...okay. Suitably mollified we headed to the hotel.
We hit the ground running and did a few hours of sightseeing before jet lag caught up with us. Then we took an afternoon nap before getting ready for dinner. My wife wore snug-fitting jeans and a low cut blouse, with a light jacket. Since she's a little taller than me she does not generally wear heels, but the overall effect is still striking: seen from behind, her long slim legs lead to a firm ass. Her fitness is obvious and, at that time, she wore her full brunette hair shoulder length. Seen from the front, her blouse had a tendency to gap, showing nice cleavage. Her smile is spectacular. You don't care what I wore.
The driver who picked us up was probably in his late thirties, which made him just a little older than us. He was a little taller than Cindy, with an olive complexion and a ready smile. He made little effort to hide his approval of my wife's looks, but cheerfully held the door for both of us as we entered the new Audi and then drove us to dinner.
Our driver was so engaging and flirtatious with my wife that I began to feel a little pertrubed. My wife noticed, however, and squeezed my hand in the backseat in such a way that it communicated: relax, dear, we're just having fun. Our newfound friend pulled to the curb in front of the restaurant, then hopped out to open the door for us. I got out first and turned away ostensibly to check out the restaurant, but instead focused my eyes on the reflection in the glass to see how the driver interracted with Cindy. While holding the door and otherwise helping her out, he positioned himself in such a way that he was very close to her and then murmured things to her with a sly smile that obviously pleased her. I didn't hear what was said but the way his eyes moved up and down her body and the way he spoke it was clearly complimentary and she liked it very much.
When I turned back to face them both of them were acting appropriately and looking very innocent. She took my hand and we walked inside. Dinner was excellent and we both drank quite a bit. We weren't drunk but were leaning toward "wobbly". After dinner, our driver met us and, somewhat to my surprise, helped me somewhat roughly into the backseat first. I couldn't see how things went with him and Cindy, but it took much longer to get her into the car. He was obviously being very careful with her. That was a good thing. Or so I thought. When she got in and looked at me she actually blushed. Hmmm...
You know how it is when you drink just a little too much and the effects of the alchohol actually sink in more and more for a while after you've stopped drinking? Well that was happening to me and it sucked.
Back at the hotel the driver took his time helping Cindy out of the car on the curbside and left me to my own wobbly devices streetside. At the hotel he insisted on escorting us up to the room despite the fact that I told him, somewhat sloppily I'm sure, that we didn't need his help. Undeterred by my efforts to make him go away, the three of us entered the elevator. Just as we were entering, a large group of Asians also entered the elevator, pushing us up against the back wall. In the process we sort of shuffled around and the damn driver ended up for a moment with his front pressed against my back. This was unsatisfactory to both of us so he slid along the back wall toward Cindy, dragging his crotch against my backside as he did. I glared at him--or tried to, as I was getting drunker by the moment and it was getting harder to focus--and he looked at me with annoyance, like we were both daring the other one to say something about that. Then he positioned himself directly behind Cindy with his crotch ground firmly against her ass. He looked me directly in the eye, arrogantly defying me once again to say anything. As I mutely turned to face forward I saw my wife's expression in passing and she was clearly amused.
Fuck. I wasn't in the mood for this.
The elevator rose a few floors and then stopped. Assuming this was our floor I started pushing my way through the crowd only to hear my wife call me back. Ooops. I really was wobbly. But when I turned around I still managed to notice that the driver was leaning against the wall and my wife was leaning her ass into his crotch. I also noticed his hands on her hips and somehow registered the fact that he did not remove them in response to my noticing. Both of them wore amused expressions. I think my wife even smiled. I've never been able to hold my liquor. Cindy, on the other hand, could drink anyone under the table and our driver had not drunk a thing. Damn it all anyway. I was at a serious disadvantage and couldn't think my way out of it.
I stumbled back to the back wall and slumped against it. Now I was really getting pissed. Or pouty. Or both. Something. I wanted to say some things that were clear--perfectly clear in my mind of course--but knew I couldn't get the words to come out right so I just clamped my mouth shut.
We found our way to the room and the driver demanded the key from me. I had a hard time finding it so the two of them began laughingly and roughly going through my pockets until he finally pulled out the key card which he held in front of my face with a wry expression on his face. I remember my wife grabbing my crouch and squeezing and both of them laughing at my reaction. Then he unlocked the door and politely let my wife into the room. I assumed he would also hold the door for me, but he moved in front of me and jokingly started to close the door before I could enter.
Very fucking funny.
Our room was a suite with a sitting area with a sofa that adjoined a hallway leading to the bedroom. Seeing this, our driver said, "Oh. I wondered where you would be sleeping." And with that he "helped" me abruptly sit on the sofa. Not one of my cooler moments.
My wife giggled through her nose. I missed the joke.
He then said something to her that I missed as he came to her with all the familiarity of a lover. She laughed happily at whatever it was. Then he ushered her down the hallway into the bedroom and locked the door behind them. What the French fuck?! I thought to myself. I may be wobbly--okay, I was drunk--but he wasn't going to do this shit right in front of me, for crying the fuck out loud! I would show the both of them.
I heaved myself off the couch and headed down the hall toward the bedroom door, but along the way I passed the bathroom. I was momentarily puzzled. I needed to pee, but I wanted to pound on the door. I debated for a few moments and frowned as I heard my wife's laughter and giggling from behind the door. Finally I chose the bathroom over the pounding and went in to relieve myself.
After a very long piss, I wandered back into the hallway and began my assault on the door. I pounded loudly and yelled, "Let me in!" My Parisian comedian friend called out, "Iz dat room service? We want champagne!" And then laughter from both of them.
Fucker. Bitch. Now I was really grumpy.
I pounded some more so my wife finally came to the door and said through the closed door, "Go take a nap on the couch. We'll talk later."
I was speechless. And tired. And drunk. I raised my fist to pound again, then stopped. I pressed my ear against the door. Things had gotten quiet on their side. There was some murmuring and some other sounds, but I was having a hard time concentrating, so I said, "Fuck it", stumbled back to the couch and fell into it, fully intending to come up with really smart things to say and do about this whole mess. But then I fell asleep as suddenly as if I'd been knocked unconscious. I woke up in the middle of the night with a pounding headache. I made my way to the bathroom in the dark and found the aspirin I always carry and took about eleven of them. Just kidding. But my head really hurt. After relieving myself I headed back into the hallway and, though I saw the door was open to the bedroom and all was dark and quiet, I did not go in. I went back to the couch and slept like the dead.
I woke later in the morning to the smell of coffee and got up to find my incredibly sexy wife wearing nothing but a robe. She was drinking coffee and reading a USA Today by the light streaming in through the window. We were alone.
I'm sure I looked a mess. She came to me and shared a few sips of her coffee. We didn't talk much but she bore that look of bemusement she does so well. She directed me to shower and brush my teeth and then told me to come to bed naked. I did as I was told.
Once she got me suitably aroused through kissing and caressing, which took about thirty seconds, she guided my face to her breasts. As I sucked and nibbled her breasts she told me she'd had a wonderful evening. There was no talk of my being an ass or of anything else that happened, just that she'd had a "wonderful evening". I didn't ask any questions. When she guided my face down between her legs she told me she was "really" glad we had met Henri. Apparently the driver had a name. Great. She told me she liked him "very, very much" (emphasizing each word with a little thrust of my head into her crotch) and was looking forward to spending much more time with him while I was working.
I said nothing, but as my wife humped my face while taunting me about her infidelity she became more and more aroused. When she did come it was with such suddenness and intensity that it nearly cracked my neck. I was damn close to coming myself, but refrained and, as a side note, considered myself lucky just to have avoided injury from that one.
As she lay panting, I crawled up on top of her and entered her with my swollen cock. I kissed her deeply and fucked her just as deeply. But she stopped me before I could completely unload on her. She wanted me titillated for what the week would bring.
And what a week it was.
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<a href="http://www.lushstories.com/stories/wife-lovers/cuckolded-slowly-part-deux-le.aspx">Cuckolded slowly, part deux ~ le Parisian</a>