Sythmour High School is located in an upscale Texas suburb. Student enrollment is just under sixteen hundred and over ninety percent of their graduates go on to college. Troy Flynn was headed to Notre Dame on a football scholarship. He was Sythmour's star quarterback. Mrs. Moreau was his French teacher.

Mrs. Moreau had finished her fourth year of teaching at Sythmour following graduation from Smith College in Massachusetts. Her students call her Mme. Moreau. She married her high school sweetheart shortly after graduation, but it wasn't working out. Mr. Moreau liked women and never was shy about accommodating a woman who showed interest in him. He often initiated that interest. His affairs were no secret, and Mrs. Moreau found herself desiring more affection than he provided.

Each summer Mme. Moreau took students on a two week cultural tour to France. Troy was among eleven other students on the trip between his junior and senior years. Troy had a reputation on and off the field. His charisma was irresistible to the girls. He had already fucked most of the cheerleaders and was working his way through the most attractive girls in the marching band.

Troy was particularly adept at satisfying the girls. The rumor around town was that his step mom had used bedtime as an opportunity to share the finer points of satisfying a woman. Troy was an adept student and learned very quickly how to pleasure her.

Mme. Moreau was delighted that he signed up for the summer trip to France. His popularity helped attract other students to the summer program, mostly girls, and for her part, she had fantasized about him more than once.

So, Troy, two buddies, and nine girls accompanied Mme. Moreau on the summer tour. His motivation was an attraction he had developed for the hottest teacher at Sythmour, Mme. Moreau.

Their nonstop Air France plane left the international airport at 7:40 PM and was on time. The plane was not full so passengers had the option to choose more comfortable locations while riding out the nine plus hours to Paris.

By the time they were over Iceland, dinner had been served, lights dimmed and passengers had settled down for a nap. Some, like Troy, covered themselves with a blanket hoping to catch some Z's.

It didn't turn out that way at first. Mme. Moreau had a different kind of sleeping arrangement in store for him when she settled down in the seat beside him. He looked over to her and said, "I'm real excited about the trip Mme Moreau. I just can't get to sleep."

"You really need to try, Troy. We'll be busy when we land in Paris. Maybe I can help."

He barely budged when she slipped a hand under his blanket touching his thigh. He showed no alarm when Mme. Moreau slid her hand up to his groin. That's when he began to stir, opening his eyes and smiling at her. She was silent while rubbing his crotch. He only let out a quiet low moan and spread his legs as far apart as can be done in an airplane seat.

She was flying blind while searching for his zipper but only found his belt buckle. Troy took the hint and unzipped himself. Mme. M reached in and found what she was looking for. As her hand grasped his thick youthful cock, she immediately knew he could fill her vagina in a way her husband never had. Could the boy be her lover for these two weeks? she began to wonder while her hand moved subtly up and down so as not to arouse suspicion. Continuing to use shallow strokes, her fantasies of having him inside her grew as she imagined having a more intimate relationship with him than in the classroom.

Troy closed his eyes and leaned back enjoying the extra curricular attention. Mme. Moreau was persistent and continued with the undercover hand job working faster and faster until he let loose with creamy jets of cum soaking the blanket and covering her hand. She simply licked her fingers and said, "Troy, that should help. Now get some sleep."

It was then she knew she had to have him. From that point on, Mme. Moreau could think of nothing else but to get his amazing dick into her wanton pussy.

When the plane landed in Charles de Gaulle airport, they hit the ground running. Luggage was claimed, passports were stamped at customs, and they checked in at the hotel in time for lunch. Mme. Moreau took them to a nearby family restaurant that she had used on previous trips, then they took an open-top bus tour of the city. Everyone was suffering from jet-lag but Mme. Moreau insisted that it is best to fight the urge to sleep until later in the day.

After dinner they walked to the Eiffel Tower staying to watch the light show. It was an unusually warm evening in Paris. The students wore shorts and t-shirts looking very much like Americans. Mme. Moreau wore a light summer print dress looking more Parisian as she gave her students the history of the famous Tower. Waiting for darkness to settle-in before the sparkling lights began, she told the group to be back at the hotel no later than midnight. Unobtrusively, she approached Troy as the lights began blinking saying she needed to speak with him. They quietly slipped back from the crowded and she said, "Walk me back to the hotel. The streets are dark and a woman shouldn't be alone at night."

Walking down a dimly lit street, Mme. asked him if it was okay to first stop at a friend's apartment. She said, "He's been away for a month and said if I was in the neighborhood, maybe I could check on it for him. Do you mind?"

"Is it far? I'm kind of tired," Troy replied almost in a whisper.

"No, just on the next block."

"Sure. Show the way."

Mme. Moreau tucked her arm under his and said, "Do you know what they call Paris, Troy?"

"Yes, I think so. They call it the city of lights. Is that right?"

"Yes, and the city of romance. The French say, Paris la ville de l'amou. Look, Troy, I took a huge chance with you on the plane. Are you the kind of boy that brags about things like that?"

"Of course not. I would never tell. It's like what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas."

"Yes, but in this case, it stays in France."

"Sure. No problem."

"Well then, maybe you can help me with something if you think you can keep another secret."

"What's that?"

"I'll show you when we get to the apartment."

They walked the next block, then turned down a narrow street that looked like an alley. Quietly, at a two story brick building, they climbed a squeaky wooden staircase to one of two doors on the second floor. Mme. Moreau fumbled for a key opening the door to their left. The inside looked more like a simple one room studio apartment cluttered with art supplies and half finished paintings. There was a small refrigerator, a stove, a table with four chairs, a sofa, a TV and a bed. Most notably were numerous paintings that hung on the walls. They were pictures of nudes in different erotic poses.

"I hope the decor here isn't too disturbing, Troy. My friend, Jacques, is an artist and many of these are of his friends. Do you like them?"

"I don't know Mrs. Moreau. In one way they are sexy and in another way, kind of embarrassing." Taking a closer look he said, "There is one that looks a little like you."

"Yes, Troy. I'm glad you noticed. I posed for him a few times. I was young and impressionable back then. It was the summer before my senior year in college."

"Weren't you nervous posing in the nude?"

"Not really, Troy. This is Paris, France, not Peoria, Illinois."

"What's Peoria got to do with it?"

"Oh, never mind. It's just a way of saying France is a little bit more understanding about these things than the Midwest. Anyway, posing for a painter in Paris was so exciting and erotic to me. You know, Troy, every time I'm back in Paris, I feel that same exhilaration, just like my first time here."

"Did you and the painter become lovers?"

"Oh Troy, that's a story for another time. Let's have a glass of wine. It's been a long day."

Mme. looked in the frig and found a bottle of white wine. While she poured two glasses, one of her thin spaghetti straps slipped off her shoulder revealing much of her left breast just above the nipple. She didn't bother to replace it and said, "Troy, I overheard the girls talking about you. You've made a big impression on them. Do you have a girlfriend or are you with different girls?" Of course, she already knew the answer. There were no secrets in the teachers' lounge. There was plenty of gossip being shared about both the students and the staff.

"No, I don't have a girlfriend. I just date different girls."

"Do you like older woman?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you attracted to women older than you?"

He knew what she was getting at when he said, "Never as much as you, Mme. Moreau."

"Have you ever fantasized about being with someone my age?"

"What do you mean?"

"Getting laid."

"Um, not really," he lied, recalling the lessons he had gotten from his step mom.

Changing the subject she asked, "Do you like wine?"

"I don't know much about wine, Mme. Moreau."

Once again in her teacher role, she explained, "This is a Chardonnay from the Burgundy region. Burgundy is in east-central France and is famous for its wine." That's when the other strap fell and the top of her dress tumbled down uncovering both of her sumptuous breasts. Troy had never seen such luscious and inviting tits. None of the girls at school came close. Mme Moreau was everything the boys at school had imagined.

"Mme. Moreau, I don't think we are here to discuss wine or geography."

"Why do you think we are here, Troy?"

"I don't mean to be disrespectful, but I think you want me to be Jacques tonight. I think you want to get laid."

"Is that what you want, Troy?"

"Of course. You're beautiful and sexy Mme. Moreau."

"Thank you. Are my breasts as pretty as the girls you date?" she said taking hold of his hand leading him to the bed.

"They're beautiful, Mme. Moreau."

"Touch them if you like."

He moved closer to her on the bed squeezing her breasts and without thinking had his mouth all over her nipples sucking them to a taught erection.

Giving him a deep kiss she said breathlessly, "You know, Troy, I've waited for a long time for someone to hold me and touch me like that. Now I want to feel you again like on the plane and have you inside me. Make love to me, Troy."

Mme. Moreau guided his hand under her dress, along her thigh and up to her pussy. She wore no panties, and he could immediately feel her heat and wetness the moment his fingers slipped into her.

"Troy, I need you. I want you so bad. I need your warm juices flowing inside of me. Please don't wait. We haven't much time. Don't make me wait any longer." Saying that she helped him unbuckle his pants watching them fall to the floor.

Mme Moreau then leaned back pulling up her dress in anticipation of the young boy giving her the pleasure for which she yearned. She wrapped her fingers around his throbbing shaft pulling him closer. "Push it in, Troy. Hurry," she pleaded.

"Shouldn't I be covered, Mme. Moreau?"

In a husky urgent voice she said, "Don't worry, I'm safe. It's better this way."

With that, he pushed into her slick snatch as far as he could go. Immediately she moved her hips to meet his, and they began pushing back and forth in perfect rhythm.

She was panting and flush with desire. His heart was pounding with lust. She was so slippery and he was so thick and hard. He was like a perpetual pleasure machine that she had longed for in her fantasies.

It wasn't long before she cried, "I'm cumming. I'm cumming, Troy. Ooh, ahhh. It feels so nice. Don't stop. Don't leave me." She had experienced orgasms before but never like this. Their mutual pleasures erupted with more powerful orgasms followed by his repeated spasms sending cum into her like river rapids rushing downstream. It was total gratification. She wanted it to last forever. Mme. Moreau held his ass cheeks tightly against her wide open legs. He was held buried inside her until finally, his softness unplugged her cum filled pussy.

When they had dressed and finished their wine, the teacher and her young student said nothing to each other on the way back to the hotel. They both knew this was only a beginning, a quickie leading to something more.

It was just past midnight and everyone was back in their hotel rooms. The students were exhausted falling asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow. That is, except for Troy whose mind kept reeling with the realization he had fucked his French teacher. He could only hope there would be another French culture lesson like that. After all, as his teacher had said, it was Paris, Paris la ville de l'amour.

Breakfast was early the next morning before the students climbed onto the bus headed for Normandy. En route, Mme Moreau stopped to talk to Troy in a voice loud enough for the other students to overhear.

"You were in a little late last night, Troy. Don't let it happen again."

"Yes ma'am," he answered knowing it was her way to cover for them in case someone got suspicious.

"Please, Troy. Oui m'dame."

He repeated, "Oui m'dame."

The tour continued with an underlying sexually charged relationship between student and teacher. The next few days offered no opportunities for them to get together. Their romance had to wait.

They were on the move visiting the WWII battle sites, then a visit to Saint-Malo, the site of the novel, "All the Light We Cannot See." The historical novel was on the school required reading list so all the kids had read it. An afternoon stop at the popular, but touristy Mount Saint-Michel was followed by an overnight in Rennes.

After a morning walking tour of the city the next day, a stop at the famous cathedral, and a special lunch buffet where students tasted a variety of French cuisine, Mme. Moreau gave her students maps from the tourist office with "must see" attractions clearly marked. Mme. Moreau encouraged them to use their French while they explored on their own.

Troy and his teacher were about to discover tastes and flavors of their own. The map she gave Troy was different than the others. It had only one attraction marked. It was a simple circle around the hotel location with a number, her room number.

She was in her hotel room five minutes before Troy arrived having just enough time to undress for the occasion. He was now free to display his specialties with a woman.

No one was around when he gently knocked on the door. He anxiously waited. He knocked again. Mme. Moreau opened the door greeting him with a smile and wearing nothing but an oversize dress shirt that barely covered her ass. It unbuttoned down to her belly button. Her perfume was intoxicating. Mme. was hot!

"I'm so glad you are good at reading maps, Troy. I don't know what I would have done if you weren't here. Now we have the whole afternoon to get better acquainted."

There was no need for further conversation. She helped him out of his shorts and t-shirt and was in awe of his athletic build and well endowed organ. Mme Moreau made no secret of her desires when she finished unbuttoning her baggy shirt and opened herself up for him. In only a few moments he would be banging her with quick rapid strokes like pumping a tire with a hand pump.

At first, he played with her nipples, pinching them, sucking them, nibbling them. He had learned at the apartment that her tits were the key to unlocking her deepest passions. She was becoming hopelessly turned on.

Troy excelled at sucking clit while two fingers slipped in and out of her wet silky hole. He seemed to know exactly where to find her g-spot. His tongue reached all of the right places.

Mme. Moreau took hold of his cock and demonstrated that she was well practiced at fellatio. None of the high school girls could deep throat like Mme. Moreau. Effortlessly, she swallowed him up whole.

Turning him over into a squat position, she began pulling on his cock with one hand like milking a cow and fingering his butt hole with the other. When reaching his prostate, he let out a loud grunt that was part pleasure and part pain. But she wasn't finished playing with him. Still pulling on his dick, she licked and sucked on his balls giving him an urgency and intensity that she intuitively understood.

Looking up at him, she purred, "I want to see you cum, Troy. I want to taste it." It was just in time. His balls ached and he badly needed relief. She continued to massage his prostate, then stroked him to an explosive finish with cum splashing her face and hair. She didn't waste a drop while scooping it between her sweet lips.

After Troy had caught his breath, Mme. Moreau said, "Let's take a shower while you recover."

Over the next quarter hour, they squeezed into the tiny shower, soaping each other in vital places with a few hugs and kisses thrown in.

Troy's youth was on their side. He recovered quickly after the preliminaries were over. With his strong hands and arms, he bent her face down over the edge of the bed. Her obliging pussy was easily penetrated from the rear, and he plunged into her from behind with a force usually reserved for the gridiron.

She let out a shrill cry of surprise but as his cock glided in and out, she began to murmur a soft cooing sound of pleasure like a mother soothing a baby. He, on the other hand, was more volatile with his emotions. His thrusts became more rapid, each with a grunt of pleasure. They synchronized their motions with the squishy sounds of sex putting an explanation mark on their pleasure. He fucked her like a whore.

Troy came with powerful shots of projectiles deep inside her tight pussy producing a gleeful, euphoric response from his teacher. She whimpered, "Oh that's so good, Troy. I hope you have more of that so we can do it again".

They had only been together for a little more than an hour, but there was still time that afternoon to discover more about the French lifestyle. Troy was up to the challenge. His recovery was incredibly short. He was ready again and again. She was receptive and willing each time. Before dinner, she introduced him to anal. She turned on her hands and knees and said, "Put it in my ass."

At first, his cock seemed to be too much for her tight hole, but she encouraged him to push harder. Pressing harder, his cock head squeezed in. Finally, his dick was buried deep into her bowls. With a lust that made her more vocal than before, she screamed, "Fuck me, Troy. Fuck me, fuck, fuck, fuck."

It was frightening at first, then he joined in with a sexual frenzy that gratified both of their desires. She was his teacher but now she was his whore.

Troy adored her tight butt hole and showed her what a physically fit teenager could do, and keep doing. He pounded into her relentlessly and at long last finished with a loud growl of contentment.

They were both physically spent while they recovered from the afternoon's cultural explorations. Mme Moreau gave Troy a huge hug and kiss thanking him for the best afternoon of her life. "Troy, we need to join the others and get ready for dinner. Maybe we can get together again before we leave."

He smiled and nodded in agreement.

They did. He would be doing her once more before leaving France.

Upon returning to Paris before flying back to the United States, they had just enough time to visit Versailles. By that time, Troy had worked up a strong sexual appetite over the last several days. He was anxious to feast once more on Mme. Moreau. She was equally eager to have him. Mme. Moreau made sure she had made arrangements to see Troy that last night. They met in her room just after midnight.

There was only lust in their hearts when they fell in bed together. This time Troy took his time. Instead of plunging into her like before, his prick barely entered her slit and she moaned. He pulled back, then went in a little further. She let out a little whimper. He was in only half way when she cried, "Stop teasing. Get it all in."

When Troy slipped deep into her, he could feel her thick fluids coating his swollen cock. His powerful thrusts pounding into her were met by her hips heaving in desire. He felt an intense pleasure working its way through his body as they rocked back and forth with each thrust. Troy felt the pressure building. With each orgasm, she begged him not to stop. "Keep it in. Never take it out, Troy. Fill me again. Shoot it deep inside me so I'll remember this forever!"

Her plaintive screams energized him. Nothing could have made him more excited and ready to explode. He was so ready to empty his balls with another bountiful load deep inside her womb that he could no longer wait. He flooded her love tunnel with his warm blissful spunk, and it was over. He was drained. She had tears streaming down her cheeks. They fell asleep in each others' arms. Their clandestine rendezvous was at an end. The next day would be back to reality.

The flight back to the United States was uneventful, but less than a month later, Mme. Moreau was fired. A picture on Facebook showed two students drinking wine. The school was very rigid about school policy. No drinking was allowed on or off the campus.

Mrs. Moreau found it ironic that she could fuck a student on a school trip to France, but not allow them to engage in a routine cultural experience. But maybe in France, both were considered routine.