“God, I need to get laid.”

Mathilde almost chokes on her drink, and her eyes water.

I grin.

“Jesus Christ, Elodie.”

“Well. I do.”

Her phone rattles on the table, and she peers at it.

“Fuck… I have to take this.”

Around us, patrons soak up the sunshine, and their chatter blends with the bar staff's industry. I sit among them, trying to contain these unleashed carnal forces. They crawl and slither through me, hot and insistent.

Mathilde pulls a face, enduring a monologue.

I wish I could tell her. I am the spice to a marriage, and a possible third wheel. Anaïs returned from her business trip, and they fucked noisily that night. They fucked several times this week.

The creaking bed, her high-pitched shrieks of climax, and his bellowed exclamations. My fingers and that toy that blazed a trail from trough to plateau to peak. Waiting to hear her cries, knowing that moment when he thickens and releases. That sense of power when he relents. Slippery, warm… seeping down from my sex, cool on my thighs, and wet in my panties the next day.

Jules and Anaïs invited me to join them for dinner, my mind and body hardwired for sex. Its mundanity was the cruellest foreplay. Jules was polite with the same detached aloofness. He asked the same kind of questions as always. As she talked, she drew shapes with her expressive hands.

Jules’ instruction was simple: wait for Anaïs to decide.

That night, I lay awake, waiting for footsteps.

They never came.

What is their kink? I wish I understood it.

Why is she keeping me waiting?

A week is a long time to challenge my patience.

Now, my memories lack potency, the sensation of being full of cock forgotten, but the experience made its mark. It pushed aside the tongue-tied, shy girl, because the answers in life will not be found there.

Mathilde finishes with a ‘Ciao, ciao’ and puts her phone down.

She sighs, “That was awkward.”

“Oh?”

“My problem is I don’t want a relationship, and now he does. Well, I can’t sleep with him again.”

She rolls her eyes, “Men.”

“Yes, Mathilde, men.”

“So… I was getting laid and now I can’t.”

I offer my sympathy and hold her hand. “And, I want to get laid, and I can’t.”

I grin, and she joins me. We console ourselves with our drinks.

“It is what it is, but are you missing him that much, Elodie?”

“Who?”

Then it dawns on me, he is a ghost. “Oh, God no, not him.”

The gold flecks in my hazel eyes tell a mysterious story, and Mathilde sees it. Moving in closer, she joins my conspiracy.

“What have you done?” she whispers, “And, who have you done it with?”

I was always the innocent who followed along. Not anymore. I sit there, saying nothing with a knowing smile.

“Oh.” She leans back, taking up her drink. “Was he that good?”

Tentatively, Mathilde sips through her straw, watching me.

“Good?” I lean in. “I got fucked. Finally. Fucked by a real man. He was amazing.”

“Elodie Duprix!” She recoils and then cackles with a dirty laugh.

Her outburst attracts the attention of the people sitting next to us, and our eyes meet.

He is smooth-skinned, sun-kissed, and my age. A raffish half-smile kinks his lips, piquing my interest.

Handsome. Slim.

Fuckable.

The sudden rush of heat soothes the raw edges. I shift in my seat, and the breeze slips under the hem of my dress, stroking my bare thighs, tantalising my needs. Toying with a lock of hair, I hold his gaze.

My eyes undress him, slowly. My smile lingers, revealing and unmistakable.

I need to be fucked.

And right now, I’m inviting him to do it.

He averts his gaze.

A pity.

This is what Parisian women know, and girls from Normandy do not.

When I turn to face Mathilde again, she is open-mouthed.

“Have you done enough eye-fucking for one evening, or can I expect more?”

I sip my drink. “More.”

“Whoever your mystery lover was, he really did a job on you.”

I shrug.

Mathilde wiggles her little finger, “Was he?”

I lean in again. “I felt him afterwards… inside me… for days.”

She grins, “Go on…”

“He touched everything all at once and just kept going.”

“Oh la-la. Do I know him?”

I shake my head, “No.”

“Shame.”

We laugh.

“So, who was he?”

I cannot tell the truth. Amongst the chestnut trees at Place Dauphine, it feels scandalous on this sacred ground. It is too much, here on Île de la Cité or anywhere else.

“Oh, an old school friend, he was visiting Paris. I showed him some of the sights.”

Innuendo does not suit me, but I indulge Mathilde.

“I had the house to myself, so I invited him back for a drink.”

“And?”

I pause, mimicking Anaïs when she holds court at the kitchen table. “Twice… and he was not gentle with me.”

Mathilde's eyes shine, big as the full moon.

“But that was okay… neither was I.”

She lets me see her approval without a single word spoken. We share a new moment, a meeting of equals.

Mathilde tuts repeatedly.

“Just when you think you know someone,” she mutters, mocking me.

“I had to get that drip, Gaspar, out of my system. It was not my fault, but I had my doubts.”

Mathilde beams at me. “You dirty bitch.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good for you.” She toasts me with her glass, and they clink together.

Reclining, I suck on the straw. It slurps loudly as I finish it, and I let the implication rest there.

Mathilde laughs.

My dark-haired admirer is watching.

Slowly, I put the glass down, “So… there’s nothing wrong with me. I like being single, and I need to say, thanks to you.”

She frowns, “Me? What for?”

“For taking me to Angelique’s and the lingerie.”

“Ahhh.”

The table next to us heard me.

Good.

And with a side glance, I smile at him.

I am one night of being fucked as if I belonged to them. It defines me.

I yearn for both of them and crave that rich ache.

Soon, because I cannot wait much longer.

- 23 -

Given what I heard an hour ago, Anaïs speaks to Jules in a crisp, business tone. I catch fragments about an Autumn Collection. They sit at the kitchen table. Jules makes an impression in pressed chinos and a polo shirt. Anaïs pauses, cradling her cup of coffee. Her thin white robe threatens to slip off one shoulder, and loose strands of hair frame her face.

Mesmerising.

Freshly fucked.

I chose a stitchless bra and panties under my satin robe to define my figure. Not needy and not obvious. My gait is louche, softened by a much-needed climax. Anaïs lifts her gaze. It travels over me, unhurried, drifting lower as if she can see the lingering heat between my thighs. My nipples press hard against the fabric.

When her eyes return to mine, a small, knowing smile curves her lips.

“Good morning, Elodie.” Smooth as soft silk, it slides through my mind.

“Morning, Anaïs… Jules.”

He acknowledges me with that familiar, distant smile.

“You look like you didn’t sleep very well,” she muses with a little sparkle.

“Oh, I did. Just a late night and a few drinks.”

They exchange an amused glance, and my cheeks burn.

“Help yourself to coffee. Come and join us.”

It is another ordinary summer’s day of cotton dresses and seeking shade. The bright zest of fresh fruit mixes with the bouquet of ground coffee. Sunbeams catch and flare on the burnished copper pans that hang above the range. Next to the cafetière, a half-drunk bottle of Sancerre stands on the worn oak worktop, catching the light as honey and bronze.

I sit with them. The conversation flows easily, as if she hadn’t told her husband to fuck me. I sip my coffee, black and no sugar, as bitter as my hopes.

If this is their idea of normal, I must accept it.

The doorbell rings, breaking my train of thought.

“That’s Xavier. Time for me to go.” Jules stands. “See you later, darling.”

He leans down and kisses Anaïs on the mouth, slow and possessive. I look away, hiding my envy. She gives him a wicked little smile.

“Don’t lose your balls out there.”

Jules snorts, and we watch him leave.

We are alone, for the first time this week.

“He plays golf in the summer,” she says lightly, “Badly.”

I smile, despite myself. “Ah, I see.”

“So, what are your plans today, Elodie?”

“Some shopping. I need some black trousers. I have a new job. Mathilde got me some shifts at the bistro she works at.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you. And you? Are you doing much?”

The silence hangs between us. I hate how eager that sounds.

“Nothing urgent, maybe a few chores… ” She lets the words linger. “A typical Sunday. Jules is usually back around two.”

Anaïs watches me with that calm, slightly amused twinkle in her eyes. I grip my cup with both hands to stop it shaking. The self-assured smile I wore yesterday has vanished.

“A typical Sunday,” I mutter, deflated.

“Yes, and first, I plan to enjoy a long, cool soak in the bath.”

Anaïs rises. Loosely tied, the robe slips to reveal the soft curve of her breast. My furtive eyes dart away too late.

“See you later.”

And she is gone.

- 24 -

Stepping out of my panties, I tie my robe. The moment I hear the bathwater running, I creep from my room barefoot. My heart hammers against my ribs. Each step weakens my resolve. I hesitate, but this compulsion pulls me forward.

The bedroom door is ajar. My breathing catches as I step over the threshold. The air inside is warm and intimate, with hints of her bergamot perfume, his cologne, and the unmistakable musk of sex.

I was told to wait.

I cannot do that anymore.

Her ivory silk panties lie discarded near the bed. Silently, I lift them with quivering fingers and ease back against the wall, ready to escape. They are damp, and I bring them to my face. Her musky scent is sweet, and I inhale greedily.

My other hand slips inside my robe. I am soaked through.

I am a pervert, and this is what I need.

From the en-suite comes the soft splash of water, and a low, throaty whimper echoes. It makes my knees buckle.

I edge closer and peer inside.

Anaïs sits on the wide marble lip of the bath, one leg trailing in the water, the other bent and open. Sunlight pours over her, and water droplets sparkle on her skin.

Her hand moves with languid grace between her thighs. Two fingers glide slowly through her glistening folds. Parting them tenderly, she circles her clit with adept, unhurried strokes. Her other hand cups the heft of her breast, her thumb grazes the stiffened nipple in slow, lazy caresses. Her head tilts back against the tiles, lips parting as she sighs. The pale rose flush across her chest looks like spilt wine.

Anaïs is exquisite. She is everything I yearn to become: womanly, confident, and unashamed.

I pull back, breathing hard, and match her rhythm.

Her sounds echo, filthy, and intimate. My fingers move as fast as hers do. Her breathing peaks, I know where she is going, and I cannot stay hidden.

I peer in again, fascinated by her rolling hips, the subtle quiver in her thighs, and the delicate arch of her leg in the water. I want to taste the salt on her skin. I want my tongue where her fingers dance.

I want to be her.

I want to be with her.

Then her eyes open.

They lock onto mine.

Time stops. My fingers are still buried inside me, her panties crushed against my mouth. A scalding shame floods into me, squirming painfully, humiliating and electric.

Anaïs does not cover herself. She does not scream or recoil in horror.

She does not flinch or close her legs. She holds my gaze, still slowly stroking herself, and a slow, triumphant smile curves her lips.

“Elodie, I wondered how long you would last. Come in, come in.”

I should apologise.

I should run.

But I don’t.

- 25 -

I wanted this until it happened, now I feel a deep dread.

She leers, “So… why are you here?”

“I... I know I was told to wait,” I mumble, small and pathetic. “I can’t.”

I watch as a slow, amused smile forms.

“Darling, Parisians do not rush pleasure.” Her eyes sparkle with mischief. “Still, you lasted a week. Not bad.”

Anaïs steps out of the bath and walks toward me. Water meanders as shining paths down her body. She is taller and more statuesque than I will ever be.

She presses me gently but firmly against the wall.

Her eyes devour my anxiety. Tender fingers brush my cheek and tilt my chin up, “Did you enjoy watching me?”

I tremble, desperate to fall to my knees before her.

Anaïs takes my shiny fingers and studies them.

“Were you masturbating, too? Such a hungry little Normandy girl.”

I nod, timidly, hot with shame.

“You like that, don’t you, Elodie? Watching us fuck?”

“Yes.” It is scarcely a whisper.

Sliding them into her mouth, her tongue swirls, hot and velvet-soft. The tender suction pulls the air out of my lungs.

“Your pussy is so sweet,” she murmurs, smiling. “I knew it would be.”

She presses her body against mine, her generous, soft breasts mash against my smaller ones. Her arms loop around my neck, holding me close. Her hand slips under my robe and finds my nipple, rolling it slowly. I shudder with a gasp.

“These are sensitive, good.” Anaïs smiles, pleased.

She pauses. I flinch as she toys with my hard nipple again.

“Tell me, Elodie… did you enjoy my husband fucking you?”

“Y…Yes.”

“He enjoyed it. But what was it you said? Cum inside your dirty little slut?”

I am crimson. The humiliation only makes my cunt throb more.

Anaïs enjoys my predicament. “Nineteen years old, one serious boyfriend.”

She tugs at the bow on my robe with a lightning hand, and I flinch. It slides from a shoulder and hangs uselessly across my body.

“One serious boyfriend, who fucked you badly.”

I wince as my answer. The truth hurts.

“Where did those words come from, Elodie?” Her eyes narrow with dark amusement.

My old shame thickens my throat, and I drop my eyes to the floor. “Watching porn.”

Stiff fingers on my chin haul my eyes back to hers. “No more porn and porn fantasies.”

Anaïs tuts, “I gave you my husband to fuck, you gave him a performance.”

She lifts my other hand, the one still holding her panties. “And these? What are you doing with these?”

“I wanted to know… what you smell like,” I mumble. “What you taste like.”

She purrs, amused, “Finally, something truthful about you.”

Anaïs takes them from me and drops them to the floor. Sliding my robe from the other shoulder, it falls to my ankles as a puddle on the floor. Exposed in the cool air, she stands back and appraises me. Her fingers slide over my shoulder, and I tremble with her touch. Glancing into my eyes, she returns to her hand, tracing the slender profile of my waist and hip. Her caress dives to my inner thigh, and I shiver. It skirts my naked mons and traces the contour of my moulded breast.

She plucks my nipple, and I squeak. The sound clearly delights her.

“I… I want you.”

“Words are cheap. Feeling them is expensive. You will learn the difference.”

Her hard stare melts, her fingers glide along my face. “Have you ever been kissed by a woman?”

Skittish, I shake my head. “No…”

“So I am your first?”

“Yes.”

Her fingers slide along the nape of my neck and into my hair. I swallow hard, wide-eyed, and powerless. This is the moment I have craved all those weeks of uneasy anticipation and confusion.

“There’s no going back after this,” she states softly. “Boy-meets-girl is going to feel very plain.”

As an intense moment of empathy, I realise Anaïs was once like me.

I am trembling. “I want this, please.”

Her lips take mine. An outpouring of emotion overwhelms me. I am nineteen and inexperienced. Caught between innocence and depravity.

That battle is over.

Anaïs pries my mouth open, her tongue sliding deep against mine, and casts a dense haze in my mind. It smothers my whimper and steals my breath. Her fingers rub my clit in slow, perfect circles. Nothing prepared me for this. All the angst and doubt drain away. She presses harder, circling faster.

Spiralling into chaos, revealing my powerlessness, I cannot help it, and sob softly for air.

“Look at me, Elodie Duprix.”

Open-mouthed, wide-eyed, I reveal my crisis while her fingers take me. Anaïs devours every second, making me reel with urgent gasps. The thrusts probe my restraint. Her deft thumb skids on my clit. I reach out, scrabbling for support.

My rising cries echo from the tiles, and the walls close in. I am a Normandy mouse to a Parisian feline, a short-lived game, nothing more.

I am three holes for her pleasure.

These tremors have me. My legs are tight, my body is tighter.

I shudder hard with plosive cries. My sex grasps at her fingers, and Jules never stood a chance. I jolt violently as Anaïs presses on my clit. Heaving for air, stunned with a shocked expression, it peters out to a sated glow.

My humiliation is complete.

She is amused, almost jubilant.

“Mmm…” Anaïs purrs. “You are beautiful when you do that.”

I can barely acknowledge her, lost and adrift.

- 26 -

Taking my hand, Anaïs leads, and I stagger forward on weakened legs into their bedroom.

Standing close to the edge of the bed, her mouth hovers at my ear.

“Now,” she whispers, “you think you know how to use your… cunt? You don’t.”

Anaïs sucks my earlobe, then flicks it with her tongue. “But, I do.”

Her words torch my mind, and she pushes me gently. I fall onto the mattress. Firm hands untangle my limbs, leaving me prone at its edge. I am easy prey, malleable and suggestive.

Anaïs kneels between my open thighs, and she lifts one leg onto her shoulder and hugs it. Pushing them wide open, she exposes me. She glances at my sex, grins, and the pointed tip slides into my liquid cunt.

I am electrified. “Oh, fuck!”

This is no Sapphic fantasy.

A flick, a lash, the way it wriggles inside me, I soar, breathless, murmuring, flooded with bliss. Her lips lock onto my mound. She sucks my sensitive clit between them with perfect pressure. I try to lurch, and her hold tightens. The spice of my bondage excites me. Her hand explores my slender curves. I grab it, pulling it to my breast, and my restless hips dance.

It builds as a rush as she watches over me. I do not know if I must ask for permission. My free leg trembles, my hurried cries announce the summit. Anaïs holds me tight to stop me escaping.

I am undone, and call out her name at the brink.

She stops, and my trapped orgasm tingles along my fingers and toes.

Anaïs towers over me in this velvet hush, parts her thighs, and places a knee on the bed. She prowls, and I will be devoured, dragging her breasts over my feverish skin. Taking my wrists, she pins them above my head with a strong hand. Gazing into my captive eyes, her curled lips contain a mystery that I yearn to explore.

Anaïs wants to control me, and my excitement bursts free.

“You can tie me up if you…”

“No,” she interrupts calmly.

I loft and twist my hips, trying to tempt her. It fails. She kisses me deeply. I taste myself on her tongue as it slides into my mouth. Impaled on twisted fingers, I get my wish. They graze to my depths and squirm. Surveyed, my eyes fill with alarm. Anaïs seeks that place inside me, and she finds it.

Not there, oh, God...

She steals that too.

An involuntary moan leaves me. Caressing it, her thumb circles my oversensitive clit. Relentlessly, Anaïs strips back the layers, exposing my weakness.

I fear it, I respect it.

I cannot control it.

“I can’t… please, Anaïs, I can’t.”

Anaïs smiles, “You must. You need to learn your place.”

“Please, Anaïs…. don’t… ”

My voice cracks, stolen by my rhythmic moans. I was their voyeur, caught like a thief, and now my darkest secrets are exposed. She peers down with a lopsided smile, waiting. It rises from the depths and builds.

A rising tremor announces my fate. “Anaïs… please… please… don’t.”

My mind is dizzy. My body seizes. It surges rapidly, ominous and swelling.

“You can cum if you dare, little Normandy girl.”

I sob as it peaks. My back arches with violence until my limbs lock stiff. Quivering to a halt, everything stops for one endless moment.

“Who are you, Elodie?”

A long, defeated groan rips from my throat, and I convulse. Thrashing on the bed, I holler, throwing my arms around her. Frantic, I flail and free my hand. I push her fingers from me, but they chase my clit instead.

“Oh fuck!” I bawl, “I am yours! Please… please. I beg you. I beg you.”

I croak, as the crushing spasms rush through me. I rise, seize tight, shake violently, and collapse.

A little death. My honest, little death.

It releases me, slowly. I am a limp, breathless heap of scattered limbs.

Anaïs strokes my damp hair with gentle fingers, and her kindly eyes offer me solace. We slide together as her lips graze mine, and press myself into her warm, soft curves.

“Good girl,” she whispers. “You are ours now.”

I understand what it means.

She rolls me over with gentle authority and presses a warm hand upon my shoulder. Guiding me down the length of her body, I plant soft, nervous kisses. Each of them is a signpost to my destination.

Her legs open, and I settle between them, lifting my eyes to hers. I am silent in obedience. Anaïs replies with a small, knowing smile that makes my heart flutter. The warm, musky perfume of her sex rises to meet me. It glistens, swollen and ready.

A quiet thrill unfurls low in my stomach. I did this to her.

“Obey my instructions,” Anaïs murmurs, low and honeyed.

Wide-eyed, trembling with nervousness and hunger, I will.

My first lesson begins.

Her folds are wet silk against my tongue. With the soft, blunt tip, I open her gently. Lapping slowly, patiently, this is my first taste of female desire.

Gazing up into her softening eyes, I know my place.

I wandered into this world because my curiosity was stronger than shame.

My old life is gone.

And my new one begins.