The grand stone house from 1763 in Saint-Jean-Pied-de-Port welcomes us with cool air thick with wax and old jam scents. Agnès’s touch everywhere—her sculptures gleam, thin as eggshells. I pull her close. Her mouth tastes like ripe fruit, soft and yielding. Heart pounds. Pulse races in my throat.
Daphné and Kate tangle on the sofa with Seb and Jean. Lips lock. Hands roam under skirts, over cocks straining pants. Fingers dip into wet folds. Moans rise. I sink into the armchair, cock throbbing. Agnès slides beside me, eyes wicked. ‘Don’t break the rule,’ she purrs. Sunset only for full fucks.
The Fever
We sip wine, share erotic tales. My story of Karine makes Kate squirm. ‘You’re wetting me, you rogue.’ Laughter heats the room. Bodies shift closer. Skins brush, electric. In the kitchen, buffet tempts—foie gras, oysters—but hunger’s deeper. Agnès grabs my hand. ‘Cellar tour.’
Stone stairs reek of damp earth. Halfway down, I spin her. Crush her against the wall. Kiss savage, teeth nipping lips till she gasps. Skirt hikes up. String yanked to ankles. Black stockings frame her dripping cunt, salty sea tang. I dive in brutal—tongue lashes clit, fingers plunge deep. She claws my hair, hips buck wild. ‘Harder!’ Nails rake my scalp. I bite her thighs, taste her flood. Cock aches like lead.
Back up, smirks greet us. Faces flushed. Clothes half-gone. Daphné kills lights. ‘Can’t tell white thong from black now.’ Sunset bleeds red through windows. Rule lifts. Bodies swarm.
Agnès grabs Kate’s hand, mine. Drags us to her bedroom. Door slams. Sheets rumple under frenzy. Agnès shoves me down, straddles my face. Cunt grinds hot, juices smear chin. Kate’s milky tits bounce as she rides my cock—tight, Irish fire clenching. Daphné’s young mouth sucks my balls, tongue darts frantic.
The Blaze
Seb and Jean join. Cocks out, veined and rigid. Agnès bends, takes Seb deep throat—gags wet, saliva drips. I flip Kate, pound from behind. Ass cheeks slap mine, sweat slicks skin. Heart hammers chest. Daphné spreads for Jean, legs wide, pussy stretched. Moans blend—raw, animal grunts.
Switch. I claim Agnès. Alpha bitch on all fours. Slam in balls-deep. She howls, walls grip vise-tight. Kate and Daphné sixty-nine beside us, tongues buried, clits sucked swollen. Fingers everywhere—asses probed, nipples twisted. Cum builds, tsunami. Seb jerks over Daphné’s face, ropes splatter. Jean fills Kate’s mouth.
I erupt in Agnès—hot jets flood her spasming core. She screams, quakes. Collapse in heap. Skins stick, slick with sweat, cum, spit. Breaths heave. Hearts thunder.
Dawn creeps gray. I slip out early. Daphné nude, arm over Kate in tangled sheets. Kiss her shoulder, tuck them in. Agnès curls with her lovers, spent. Jean buzzed, street empties silent. Nive river silver below bridge. Croissants bake, coffee brews. Sun pierces peaks.
Skin still burns. Pulse echoes night’s fury. Unique blaze, etched in flesh. Can’t flee her ghost, but this—pure, devouring fire—renews the hunger.