Bénédicte glances at her watch. Five minutes to closing. Finally. Sigh. Exhaustion claws her bones. High heels snag the wool carpet all day. Smiles forced. ‘Yes, Madam!’ ‘Of course, Sir!’ For cherry pits. She shelves heavy silver platters. That couple. Young. Married. Him, soft-spoken. Her, endless questions. First time with such clients.
She smiles, remembering. Unpacking platters. He glances around slyly. Lifts a shining dish. Tilts it back. Mirrors himself? No. Peeking under her flared skirt. Gray eyes widen. Unbelievable. Voyeur.
The Fever
Wife chats on. Bénédicte answers, eyes flick back. He grabs a fish platter. Lowers it. She bends for a tureen. Reflection clear: her sheer stockings, thigh bulge, red thong, plump ass cheeks.
‘Pig,’ she thinks. ‘Want to look? Fine.’ Drawer opens low. Positions perfect. Reflections beam her underwear. She winks quick. Complicity. Friendly tease.
He nudges wife. ‘Darling, see this collection.’ She leans over counter. Direct view in platters: Bénédicte’s ass, thong, legs. Spots glare. Heart slams. Cheeks burn. Wrist grabbed. Frozen. Can’t move.
No scream. Boss busy far off. Madam at register, blind. Wrist loosens. She shifts. Outraged glare. Wife smiles serene.
New platter. Trembling hand. Wife bends like her. No panties. Gray stockings mid-thigh. Bare above. Tanned cheeks, bikini line. Shaved mound. Legs part slow. Knees flex. Pussy lips brown, thick, dangling. Wet. Glossy under lights.
Breath catches. ‘Slut. Exhibitionists.’ Pulse races. Hand shakes. Stammers sales pitch. Eyes dart: reflection, husband lurking, wife staring bold. Belly floods heat. Clit swells. Thong soaks. Arousal crashes. Here? In shop?
‘Closing!’ Madam snaps. Bénédicte grabs coat, flees.
Hand on shoulder. Wife. ‘Drink? Quick.’ Curious, wary. Crowd outside. Why not.
Bar smoky. Husband waits: Achille. Fine hands, rings. Wife: Isabelle. ‘Thanks for joining.’ ‘We love that thrill. Rare in shops.’ ‘Vice?’ Bénédicte grins.
The Blaze
‘Excited you?’ Achille presses. Silence. Isabelle leans: ‘Me too. Fingered myself in toilet.’ Old man nearby chokes on beer. Crimson.
Bénédicte bends close. ‘Your shaved pussy, lips dripping juice… Soaked me. Thong drenched.’ Couple beams. Achille’s hand under table, kneading thigh. Isabelle gasps soft.
‘You can’t stay wet. Come.’ Hand pulls. Toilets. Cabin lock clicks.
Isabelle lunges. Lips crush. Tongue invades. First girl kiss. Velvet heat. Saliva mixes. Belly ignites.
Hands dive. Small tits, no bra. Nipples harden under nails. Sigh escapes. Fingers trail stockings. Silk on skin shivers. Thigh touched hot. Thong shoved aside. Clit circled expert. Nail flicks. Knees buckle. Hips grind thigh. Thumb plunges hole. Moans build.
Bénédicte clings neck. Returns kiss fierce. Hands hike skirt. Bare ass firm. Grips cheeks. Spreads. Presses against leg. Fingers probe wet slit. Isabelle bucks. Gasps ragged. Mutual frenzy. Walls shake. Climax rips. Juices flood. Legs quake. Breathless collapse.
Soft kiss. ‘Thanks.’ Dress. Out.
Achille rises. ‘Enchanté. Soon?’ Grabs Isabelle. Gone.
Stunned on sidewalk. Waves bye. Bus wait. Lips swollen. Clit throbs. Frustrated fire lingers. Rage boils. Against them? Self? Unfinished hunger gnaws.