Joséphine’s cramped bedroom in our East Montreal worker’s flat. Late 1950s. Dim light filters through thin curtains. My heart hammers. Lace teddy clings to my skin, nipples hard peaks under sheer roses. Black curls peek from matching panties. Wet already. Victor steps in at 1 PM sharp. Young, muscled, eyes hungry. He sees me, breath catches. ‘My love,’ he whispers, lost in fantasy. I laugh. ‘I’m Lucille, not your Solange.’ He strips fast. Cock curves left, rigid, veined. Torso sprinkled with dark hair. Pulse races in my throat. He leans in. Lips brush mine soft. Tongue flicks ear. Hands unhook lace. Skin burns where he touches. Neck, shoulders, breasts. Nipples throb under his mouth. Heat pools between thighs. I grab his shaft. Hot, pulsing. He pulls back. ‘Patience.’ Murmurs in my ear. Goosebumps explode. Fingers knead hips, belly. He flips me. Back arches. Tongue traces spine to ass. Cheeks spread. Wet trail up. Pussy clenches, slick honey drips. Heart thuds wild. Breath ragged. Desire coils tight, ready to snap.
He turns me. Pillow under hips. Panties ripped off. Kisses dive south. Belly quivers. Thighs part wide. Tongue hits clit. Electric jolt. I buck. He laps greedy. Pussy lips swell, part. Nectar floods his mouth. Sweet-spicy. Clit swells under flicks. Fingers circle hole. I grab his head. He sucks hard. Waves build. I shatter first. Gush on his face. He drinks deep. No pause. Mouth to mine, cock slides along slit. Eyes lock. Gland nudges entrance. Slow push. Inch by inch. Fills me full. Walls grip velvet steel. Hearts pound together. Chests slick with sweat. He rocks gentle. Deep thrusts. G-spot sparks. Moans rip free. Flip to knees. Ass up. Slams in savage. Balls slap clit. Rhythm brutal. Skin slaps skin. Sweat flies. I scream. ‘Harder!’ He grips shoulders. Pulls back. Hammers high. Fire consumes. Cum boils. He floods me. Hot jets. I convulse. Milk every drop. Collapse. Bodies fused, trembling.
The Fever
Skin still scorches. Breath slows. Cum leaks warm down thighs. He kisses forehead. ‘You’ll make her happy.’ I smile, spent. Door knocks. Three o’clock. Rise shaky. Lips meet his. Taste us. Dress quick. Pulse echoes in ears. Life shattered. No more drudgery. That night, Albert fails me. Months later, divorce. New apartment. Kids in private school. Lucille Fontaine again. Free. Craving more fire.