Nestled in the heart of Paris is a clandestine jewel. A place where discretion is an art form and thrives on whispered invitations.

Its unmarked entrance, hidden behind a wrought-iron gate, beckons artists, intellectuals, and heirs of old fortunes. Its ivy-clad façade imposes grandeur, its interior a maze of velvet-draped walls and sparkling chandeliers. The sultry pulse of Cuban music syncopates, and wailing cornets echo through the ornate hall. Full-length smoky mirrors reflect the revelry, and laughter mingles with the clink of glasses. An infectious timpani hookline pierces the veil between desire and restraint.

The air heavy with the scent of jasmine, bergamot, and sandalwood, Cami leans against a marble pillar and sips her wine. She holds the stem with confidence, as a woman at the peak of her sensual powers. Tapping her foot to the bass line, lurid thoughts flicker as a flames.

Low lights cast golden hues across the polished parquet dancefloor. Women exult as the band steps it up, cavorting in skimpy slip dresses. Kissed by crystal starlight, they seek men to do the same. Where the shadows deepen captures her attention, and it beckons surrender to more nocturnal pursuits.

Senses sharp, her eyes drift elsewhere. Drawn to the bar, those turbulent waters foam within. He nurses a Coke. His posture heavy with a melancholy carving a space around him. He stands apart, solitary amidst the chaos, his lean frame slouched against the bar. Youth as a juxtaposition to its Art Nouveau flourishes, shrouded by subdued lights.

Tousled hair framed sharp cheekbones and a square jaw, a manchild in the hinterlands to maturity. His eyes flicker with untapped intensity, wrestling with a private heartache. It makes him both vulnerable and magnetic. His plain white shirt hints at a physique honed by restless energy. She lingers on his dark trousers and the nascent prize within.

This brooding isolation stirs a primal tide within her, and a storm wave surges. Her body is a sleek, elegant vessel, promising a voyage to forbidden seas. A decade his senior, her marriage to Julien is a tapestry of shared desires. He grants this freedom, and she surveys her quarry. He is young fruit to pick, but just as sweet.

Gliding towards him, she senses a hidden spark beneath his sombre exterior. Her midnight dress cinches her waist, rustling against silk stockings. Her swaying steps, a brushstroke on the night’s canvas. She is there, and he has not noticed her, such is his funk.

He orders another Coke, and the bartender, a young woman with a bob and a sly smile, tosses the bottle into a brass bin.

“A Coke in Pigalle?” she teases, sharp with wit.

He raises an eyebrow, shy but intrigued. “I have noticed, is this some kind of faux pas?”

The bartender shrugs. “It depends, would you like me to draw you a map?”

Cami seizes her moment with a gentle intrusion. He turns to face her, and her curiosity pierces the bubble of melancholy.

“It means you are impossible to ignore.”

Her tone is a velvet caress, lingering with a knowing smile. Cami tilts her head, letting her bangs fall provocatively.

“Just when I do not want to be noticed,” he murmurs softly, revealing his discontent.

Her lips curve, playful yet poised. “Let me buy you a drink, and I will guide you through our city’s little mysteries.”

She sips her wine, her eyes inviting him to play her game.

He takes a big sigh, shaky, and hints at his vulnerability. “Alright.”

“Deux Sauvignon Blancs, s’il vous plaît.” Smooth as velvet, she shares a moment of intuition with the bartender. He does not see their muted grin.

Their glasses clink, the sound sharp against the music’s beat.

“So, these mysteries?” he asks, his stiff posture easing.

She leans closer. “Paris whispers passion to those who listen, non? These women seek someone to ignite their fire. You are sober, so you are a sexual athlete here. It is a story even older than the city itself.”

Her tone evokes the city’s romantic allure, her fingers brushing his hand. This is an innuendo and homage to the dignity of their surroundings.

His flushed face tells its own story. “I see,” he mumbles.

The chilled wine is a contrast to the heat within her. “You look anxious... mon cher. Something on your mind?”

He sighs, his fingers toying with the condensation on the glass. “My ex-girlfriend. This is her party. There she is, dancing.”

He gestures to the dance floor, where a blonde, blue-eyed vision moves with grace under the chandelier’s speckled light.

Cami admires her youthful poise. “She is barely a woman. Eighteen?”

He nods, his voice quiet. “Twenty. Same as me.”

“She held something back from you, oui?” Her accent softening the vowels. “You crave something… wild, something Paris offers.”

His moonstruck eyes meet hers, intrigue flickering. She grins, her eyes flash as azure pools to swim in.

“Let me explain,” she purrs, “This place has seen lovers since the Belle Époque. Shall we add our story?”

Her murmur is a velvet dare, her fingers grazing his wrist. No woman has ever propositioned this young colt.

“Me?” He almost spills his wine.

Cami leers at how easily he is undone. “Why not?”

Husky, her raised eyebrow escalates the stakes, her smile daring him to try. He is caught in her web, and she revels in his struggle. The music slows, an anguished salsa of sorrowful cornet serenades his bruised heart. For Cami, it laments tomorrow when they part.

“Dance with me,” she whispers, and the tigress strikes.

She is all eyes and pouting lips. He is magnetised to their craven design, and evolution, not experience, provides his answer.

“Okay.” Sunshine clears the cloudy skies.

She leads him to the dance floor with unshakable confidence. His hand in hers, as a silken whisper against his skin. In a shadowy corner, she pulls him close, a hand on his shoulder, their bodies grazing. His cologne cuts like meadow air, mingling with her scent. Her caress on his chest is a subtle provocation, but the purr of contentment is a siren’s call.

“A little secret, mon cher,” she murmurs. Her breath teasing his ear, her lips grazing his cheek. “I am married.”

He leans back with alarmed eyes. “And he… allows this?”

She smiles, her fingers tracing his jaw. “Julien’s body weakens, my needs strengthen.”

Her eyes seek to make him burn. “He finds beauty in watching me take a lover.”

The distance narrows between them.

“It is our art, non?” Her tone is aloof, and her caress provides the emotion.

His breath hitches. “He… watches?”

“Oui,” she purrs, thick with intent. “He finds art in my pleasure.”

Her lips brush his neck, staking her claim.

The cornet’s mournful wail symbolises Raphael’s lost love. Their lips meet to scour it from his mind. It is delicate, designed to seduce, and the taste of wine lingers. Her hand descends, and she scrutinises him. It rests on his trousers, and a playful squeeze of his crotch steals his breath.

“About that map? Do I guide you, or do you know the way?” Her single inquisitive eyebrow waits.

“Erm,” his voice shaky, “I…”

Her heart races at his timid surrender, she strikes again, with a delicate vacuum.

“Let me guide you,” she whispers, “I want Julien to watch how you unravel me.”

She presses her lips to his, prying his mouth open with her tongue. His surprise thrills her. She glances at his ex-girlfriend, still dancing, watching them with a side-eye. Their stare meets, and Cami’s speaks: he is mine now.

“You mean it?” His earnest eyes bring heat to her core.

“Oui, mon cher,” she chuckles, her hand gauges his enflamed arousal. “Julien watches, and you will claim me tonight.”

Her eyes dare him, and she captures his soft groan with a fierce, unbridled kiss. His whimpers are the cracks in his stony reluctance, crumbling.

“Say you will,” she urges.

“Yes,” he murmurs, a flicker of courage breaking through.

She relishes his nervous struggle.

“Is Julien watching too much?” she teases, light but provocative.

He masks a tremor with a shy smile. “You are married, so, no, it is not too much.”

“That sets me alight,” she murmurs, and another kiss fuels her desire. “He watches, waiting for my word to climax. You, though, I will let you do that... inside me... as many times as you want.”

Lust swells, and his melancholy is pushed aside. “I am Raphael, from Nimes.”

“Well, somebody has to live there, Raphael.” She brightens from her sarcasm, “I am Cami, from Paris, and your passionate lover for this evening.”

Closing their clinch, she seals their pact with a torrential kiss, lips locked, as thunder roars. Their tongues dance, lip-locked as teenagers might implore. He is plucked, ripe for her bidding, and his assertive hand grazes her breast. Lightning strikes, and Cami shivers.

“Good boy,” she teases, “I will give you what Paris offers... all night.”

-=-

The door latch clicks shut inside a Montmartre apartment, and Cami pulls Raphael close, her kiss hungry and domineering.

“Julien will join when he hears us, and watch. Just focus on me, mon cher.”

Words mean nothing, as his strong hand cups her breasts, its thumb seeks what will make her whimper. A soft moan escapes as she arches into him, presses her heat against his thigh, and he toys with her lace-clad nipple. His lips are eager, his tongue meeting hers in a slow, teasing dance. She gropes his erection through his trousers and stifles the latent moans.

“Now, we fuck.” she hisses.

The clatter of shoes announces their presence, and soft footsteps echo on the parquet floor. A solitary art-deco lamp casts long shadows across the bedroom, highlighting the ornate moulding and silk wallpaper.

The perfect stage for their debauchery.

Cami sheds her dress, letting it pool at her feet, as Raphael’s shirt hits the floor. She pushes him onto the vast marital bed and prowls around it as a tigress.

“Defile it with me,” she demands.

A quick glance flicks to the corner where Julien will sit, his presence fuel to her fire. Raphael is down to his underwear, which she removes with a deft tug, casting them aside. Lingerie scatters, and she stands in lace knickers, her body a picture of soft curves. Toned, slender, a woman in full bloom. Sculpted from marble, with rain-softened curves. The delicate flare of her waist flexes, and lithe flanks pace slowly. He lingers on her moulded, broad breasts across her torso, their cherry-sized nipples erect. Raphael is starstruck by her smooth mons. She muses as a constellation of lust under his ravenous stare.

His manhood stiffens at the sight, and the rush of power incenses her. She climbs onto him, her skin hot against his.

Her captivating expression is pure mischief, and her eyes sparkle with intent. Their kisses deepen, and each one stokes her hunger. Raphael’s hands roam her body, along the canyon of her spine, and a strong grip of her flank thrills her.

As if he could bend her to his will.

Cami rewards him with a torrent of kisses, her tongue teasing as his hands skirt her breasts, taunting her need. She squirms, pressing closer, silently demanding more. He relents, clasping one breast fully, its weight filling his hand as her tongue slides deeper, a moan vibrating between them. Fingers skirt the swollen contours of his desire, rigid as oak. A fleeting caress that makes it twitch and sends a shiver through him.

She wraps his gift with her fingers, slowly, with a leer when she squeezes it. Stroking him, she whispers as a promise toward his unravelling. Her eyes lock on his, searing with need, elevating his pulse with a rhythm to mirror her own.

“Touch me,” she urges.

The descent of his caress is a torture to bear. He cups her lace-covered sex, the fabric soaked. Pulling it aside, he breaches her slick folds, smearing her juices over her swollen clit. She gasps, her hips lifting to beg for more. Their lips crash together as he rolls her onto her back, her legs parting eagerly. With a snorted breath, their mouths lock, and he slides two fingers into her, her wet heat enveloping him.

“Oh God, hook them... oh fuck, yes, just there... .”

Her hand captures him, solid as oak, her tempo an implicit vow of shared ecstasy, drawing him into the swell of her hunger. Together, in a sea of sighs, he flicks his tongue over her erect nipple, drawing a sharp moan. The sticky sounds of her arousal compete with their gasps, filling the air with raw intimacy.

“Yes… mon Dieu, yes…”

The young colt is not yet her stallion; he is wilful, overwhelming. His energy is a time machine. Her hands fight with her panties, and he helps, her legs rising as she kicks them off, the lace snagging on her heel.

She glances at Julien, now seated in the shadows on an antique chair. Naked, his hand on his erection, with gleaming eyes as a story of restraint.

Narrowed eyes reveal how Cami seethes, his gaze a thrill, and his jaw grits with longing.

It obliterates her restraint, and she returns to Raphael. Her tongue plunges into his mouth. She has him in hand, rigid under soft velvet, and he is perfect in dimension.

Her eyes flickered with lust. “Can you last, mon cher?” Her voice, a provocative challenge, glancing at Julien’s riveted expression.

“I will try my best,” Raphael responds, his past frustrations fuelling his determination.

Straddling him, anti-posed in a soixante-neuf, she positions her glistening sex above him, a spectacle for Julien to watch his wife sucking a stranger’s cock. Ravenous now, barely able to control herself, her lips envelop him, his heat pulsing against her tongue.

Julien’s avid stare inspires her performance, and she draws Raphael deeper into her spell. His hands spread her cheeks, exposing her fully, and his tongue plunges into her soaked folds, swirling in the depths. She twirls her tongue around its head and plunges for it, her intense moans vibrating against him.

Raphael sucks her clitoral hood, flicking its swollen prize.

“Putain,” she hisses, her eyes darting to Julien’s restrained envy, his features tight with desire.

Raphael teases her that crunched knot with a finger, circling slowly, aggravating her self-control. He is pushing buttons without consequence. Lightning strikes again, forcing her to pitch up and groan. The light flickers, and the sensations make her pout. Combined with Julien watching, Cami floods, a deluge of desire that drowns her senses. She smears it over his mouth, finding his tongue.

His restless hips require her mouth to quell, a tide rising under her tongue’s spirited exploration, their random breaths, the lyrics to a shared surrender. The spell is cast, and for their audience, her eyes burn as their song to sing.

Writhing hips centre on Raphael’s attentions, her body trembling as she nears climax. Her helpless eyes meet Julien’s silent observation, and his eyes betray a restrained envy, intensifying every sensation.

“Oh Putain!” She lurches as the sleek vessel lurches into a storm.

Stuttering yelps rise, and signal the inevitable. Her body quakes coiled as a tight spring. Cami know she is undone, shaking hard, showing Julien her first climax.

Pushing Raphael away, she crumples beside him, her chest heaving.

Her husband’s hand moves slowly, waiting for her command. Her torso is mottled pink with arousal as she feeds Raphael a hard nipple, toying with his.

“Take me now. Lie here,” Cami whispers, patting the bed, her eyes flicking to Julien in triumph.

Straddling him again, her body glows, her smooth sex sheened with her juices. She retrieves a thin blue vibrator from the bedside drawer, placing it beside her. Facing her husband, she takes Raphael in hand, rubbing its head against her drenched folds. Her expressive eyes reveal her crisis when she lowers herself, describing the ecstasy when he fills her sex.

“Oof,” she exhales with upturned eyes. “So hard.” Her purred words are thick with pleasure.

Weighted eyes greet Raphael as she rolls her hips, savouring how he squeezes against her swollen walls. Pressing against his torso, she sits upright, her experience an art form, rocking back and forth to reward her lover’s attentions.

“Fuck, you feel good,” she murmurs, “Your cock was made for me.”

Plunging up and down, she mimics being taken, fucked hard, bludgeoned into a kaleidoscope of colours behind her eyelids.

Not yet, not yet.

She slows and places the vibrator against her clit, her full breasts sway, and an eye hides behind a lock of tresses. Provocative, aggravating the man within him, a dance of light and shadow.

“You admire my silhouette, non?” she teases, biting her top lip, luxuriating in the pleasure.

Raphael nods, his eyes fixed on her, his hands holding her hips.

“You will have all of me tonight,” she leers with a grin.

Turning, her sculpted breasts outlined against the lamp’s glow, Cami lingers on Julien.

“Watch how he claims me, husband,” she purrs, sharp yet playful.

They shift to a lotus position, a shallow-open V-shape of two bodies writhing. Raphael sits up, an exhibition of his sinews and muscles, shuffling his hips to meet her plunging rhythm. Her swollen muscles squeeze his shaft, softening her features in rapture.

He drives into her, his hand kneading her breast. She braces with a lithe arm, clasping the back of his neck. Her eyes burn for his, and he stares hard, showing her the snug friction of its pleasure. Mingled gasps and moans fill the room, her vibrator pressed to her clit.

Julien’s eyes never leave her, and flicker with awe.

“Oh, he knows how to move,” Her tremolo voice wavers. “He... knows how to fuck!”

Cami reels when Raphael plucks her nipple to yelps of delight, and her cunt clenches his shaft. The vibrator’s drone dulls as she savages her clit, her body as a leaf caught in the winds of desire.

“Oh, putain, deeper,” she urges, her staggered breathing signalling another climax.

Now she understands, the lissom blonde was never a match for his appetite. He is Cami’s match, a sexual savant, a timid Adonis unaware of his powers. Raphael hauls her to a position of full penetration, feeling the grasping tension.

Her spasms are the embrace that holds him captive. Intense groans rise to a shriek for air, crippled in orgasm as her hips flail, a wild dance painted in the shadows of their marital bed. Throwing the vibrator aside, she slumps forward, and Raphael envelops her, their lips meeting in a deep, desperate kiss. Her need for air whistles through her nostrils as he rolls her onto her back, easing her legs apart. Her serene yet vacant expression meets his, his cock engulfed by her heat once again.

She glances at Julien, stroking, fixated on their union. “He is watching,” she whispers, nuzzling Raphael’s ear. “He cums when I say.”

Raphael thrusts hard, clattering the backs of her thighs. “Where do you want mine?”

“Fill me,” she purrs as a sultry challenge. “Tell him.”

Raphael grins, “You can do better. This is your art.”

From the flames comes the wildfire, and the feral flickers in her eyes. Cami lurches; her young colt will take her completely.

“Then tell him you will breed me.”

Raphael bucks hard, groaning, “Oh, you want that? You want me to breed you?”

His sinews flex, driving his spirited erection deep. Her reaction is instant, as he dispatches her into her tawdry fantasies. The intensity rises without restraint, her throat thickens, her mind and body immolate, and she clamps hard at the outpouring of tension.

“Yes!” She bawls, “Put your babies in me!”

His primal needs contrast with Julien’s quiet restraint. She shudders violently, clenching his swollen cock, a grip that binds him to her soul’s wild rhythm.

“Breed me!”

“Nice...” and he shoves hard, “and deep!”

He embraces her tightly, his mouth locking onto her nipple, nibbling softly as she blazes in an all-consuming orgasm, a cry that echoes inside the chambers of her heart. Savagely, he impales her, his cock flexing as he pumps deep inside her spasming cunt. Her rabid hips thrash to welcome more, writhing in unison on their marital bed. The convulsions draw more from him, deep muscles milk his essence until he stabs his last and halts.

Exhausted, Raphael rolls off, his chest heaving. Heavy sobs for air punctuate the silence.

She glances at Julien, his hand stroking, his eyes wide with devotion, patient but struggling for her command.

“Cum now,” she orders.

Julien’s heart quickens. His devotion to his wife is a soulful poem written long ago; her pleasure is the stanza he longs to memorise, but it is forgotten, so he can only witness it. His release spills over his stomach and chest.

Cami leers at him.

“Look at what he did to me,” she mocks, beckoning her husband, playful yet assertive.

Julien’s breaths stagger with excitement, and he kneels before her, placing his trembling hands on her clammy thighs.

She threads her fingers through his hair. “Taste our art.”

Cami turns to Raphael, her smile reassuring. “You fuck well, mon cher.”

Raphael’s breath catches, his melancholy scorched by the inferno of her charms. Across his beguiling eyes, a fleeting thought of his ex-girlfriend dissolves as ashes in the heat of her gaze.

He grins, panting. “You make it easy.”

“Good boy. Flattery will get you everything.” Cami leers.

-=-

She rests her head on Raphael’s chest, her damp skin hot against his. She teases his waning lust with wandering fingers, and her mouth will stoke the embers. Tart with their congress, her lustful eyes lock on Julien’s, and they flicker with adoration. A tacit statement for her triumph.

Cami releases Raphael with a pop from her mouth. “Julien, pleasure me, cheri.”

Standing over the edge of the bed, Cami grins, and her husband laps at her sex. Swirling her hair to one side, her lips returned to enflame its renewed pulse, Raphael’s waning flesh revived by her attentions. Her mouth’s caress summons a fresh immolation.

“Mmm, I adore younger men,” she purrs, her voice dripping with intent.

Her fingers dance over Raphael’s velvet steel, coursing with latent potency. She pores over him, eyes filled with the promise of forbidden depths.

“Ever explored… elsewhere?”

A nervous shake of his head melts her features into a comforting smile.

“Let me guide you, then.”

Julien retrieves a small bottle of lubricant from the bedside table; his hand shakes as he passes it to her, his eyes fixed on her with wonder. Cami’s gaze never leaves Raphael’s as she coats her fingers and circles that taboo place slowly to tease him.

Cami flashes her eyes. “My finger is in my ass. You are going in there next.”

Julien’s yearning amplifies her arousal.

“Ready?” she asks, her voice a provocative challenge.

Raphael nods as she positions herself. All the nuances are revealed to her lover. The sudden alacrity, the wide eyes, a sudden intake of air, and gravity wins. The tight resistance gives way slowly as she lowers herself, and a low moan escapes her lips, the first note of a forbidden symphony.

“Mon Dieu,” she murmurs, its timbre trembling with pleasure.

“Merde!” he gasps, freezing, waiting for her lead.

She moves tentatively at first, then bolder, the vibrator buzzing back to life in her hand, pressed firmly against her clit.

“Move with me,” she commands breathlessly, peering down, “Watch my eyes, listen to my voice.”

He matches her rhythm, the tight heat of her ass driving her wild.

“Julien, look,” Her expression etched with intense pleasure. “See what he has, and you can only watch.”

She sways as flotsam on a rising sea, peaking as white-topped waves, and lurches with the rising storm by rolling her hips. It gathers, as the tempest rises, and Cami rises and drops on her impalement. Their bodies' first clatter raises a yelp, as trial and error discovers a new rhythm.

Her breasts bounce, her nipples hard and aching. Raphael kneads them, his thumbs flick, and Cami seethes, baying as the vibrator’s hum deepens.

“Harder,” she demands, her voice raw. “Claim me....”

They met at the apex, and Raphael is there as she falls.

“Oh fuck!” Cami surges, her hand grips his shoulder.

Julien’s gaze intensifies, his hand moves faster and halts at her command to wait.

Electricity scorches, spellbound to the addictive friction, watched by her voyeuristic husband. She is at the tumult of their fantasies, the moment that will spur her adoration of what their marriage is. Braced against Raphael’s torso, the vibrator’s hum calcifies her moans into harsh yelps. Cami slithers, gathering momentum, as the droning accomplice deepens to a stifled hum.

Cami will define a lifetime’s memory, and break her colt into another woman’s stallion. She hops at first, impaled on stout flesh made of hot stone. He finds her tempo. Faster, as her tormentor wavers in pitch, higher as she approaches climax, lower as it fades. Raphael is there with her, awestruck, and she reveals this most intimate ecstasy. Until her features contort, and the wave crests beyond her control.

Peering down, Cami’s facade crumbles, and she pouts when it breaks her resolve. This is the moment to remember for as long as they both live. Raphael is swelling with her, and she shudders when the peak topples.

Being watched intensifies the moment. Julien witnesses a masterpiece he can only frame, never paint.

“Putain!” she hollers, shaking with the intensity of its power.

Her ass clasps around Raphael, and the spasms of her impending climax pull him in deeper. He thrusts, his legs and arms tight, racing to finish with her.

Her eyes flicker at Julien.

“Tell him,” she croaks as her brittle voice fades.

“I am cumming… in your wife.”

Her howls fill the room as she quakes hard, and her elbows buckle. Raphael catches her, shuddering with their mantra of deep sobs. He bucks his last, and his release twitches deep, meeting her convulsive rapture.

They throb with the aftershocks.

“Cum now, Julien,” she gasps, and weaker ropes of his essence leak from his shaft, his eyes locked on hers in devotion.

Slick with sweat, Raphael holds her close. Her lips find his for a tender kiss, and her eyes shine with satisfaction.

“No nerves now, mon cher. You are a man now.”

Raphael remains breathless. “Thank you for the exploration of those… little mysteries.”

“Oh...” Stated with a flourish, amused. “You think we are finished?”

He wears an urbane smile on his features, a first glimmer of carnal wisdom. Cami purrs, and her idle fingers trace circles on his chest. She lingers on his soulful eyes and sees a reflection of the city’s eternal pulse.

Her touch promises a ritual of cleansing as intimate as their dance, bathed in the soft glow of their Montmartre haven.

“Come, it is my turn to worship you. Let me wash you clean.” Her tone is a playful challenge.

Raphael grins, “I am sure you can find interesting ways to do that.”

The night’s thrill is a vivid masterpiece she will carry tonight and ache tomorrow, with Julien’s happy smile as a testament to their art.

-=-

In Pigalle, there is no more starlight from the chandeliers, and a blond-haired, blue-eyed woman stands with her friends outside the club. Nimble fingers tap out a declaration.

“It was good to see you tonight, Raphael. Meet for coffee tomorrow?”

Cami’s stallion does not read her pleas. He is on his knees, gripping Cami’s wrists, pulling her arms back. Her body is lofted in reverence, breasts shaking, and wild hair swishes. He ploughs her hard, and Cami is stricken. The sounds of her frantic orgasm tear through the room, begging for more babies.