I waited at Café Campana, book in hand, linen pants loose, chest bare under my jacket. Tom arrived late, as always. Smiling, unchanged by years or cancer. We wandered Cézanne’s portraits, silences thick with unspoken heat. His eyes lingered. Desire flickered. But dinner, bar, hotel? Too predictable. I slipped into an Uber, heart steady. Then it hit. Pulse throbbed between my thighs. Skin flushed hot. I U-turned in my mind, demanded the driver drop me fast. Metro line 12. Sexodrome’s red neon pulsed like a vein. Adrenaline surged, that pre-race thrill. Heart hammered. I bought the pink wig, black mini-dress, matching stilettos. Vulgar. Perfect. Locker stuffed. Corridor dim, sighs from a booth. Man sat, towel over his lap, cock tenting rigid. Eyes locked. Immobile. Tension crackled. I unbuttoned slow, pants pooling at ankles. Pinched my nipples, breath ragged. Straddled the gap. Opened wide. Cambered. My cunt yawned, dripping. His tongue lapped frantic. Hands gripped his neck, grinding. He gasped for air, dove back. Waves crashed. ‘Didn’t know sluts like you came here.’ ‘Worse,’ I spun, ass out. ‘Eat my ass, eat the slut’s ass.’ Saliva trailed thighs. I bit lips, stifling moans.
He yanked towel. Thick cock sprang, balls heavy. ‘Jerk me, slut.’ Hand pumped furious. Tongue swept his sack. His finger probed my ass. Mouth engulfed him. He face-fucked savage, fingers twisting hair. Cum flooded hot, thick. I swallowed every drop. He deflated. ‘Fuck my ass.’ ‘Can’t, you drained me.’ Disappointment burned. Pants on, jacket zipped. Red door to projection room. Two old men, pants down, stroking in screen glow. Bald necks gleamed sweat. I cleared throat. They froze, shocked. Ass still empty, aching. Needed completion. Dropped pants. Jacket off. Naked. Belly clenched fire. Spread cheeks for the fatter one. ‘Ram my ass, old perv.’ Other slapped flaccid length on my face. Tongue rimmed. ‘Spit in my ass, make it slide.’ Lips trailed his balls to tip. Time short—their erections fragile. ‘Unreal, a prime whore.’ ‘We’ll be back, gorgeous slut.’ Love that word from old mouths. Cunt slick with spit and juice. His cock wept pre-cum. ‘Suck it, slut.’ Bent over seat. ‘Ruin my ass.’ He thrust deep. I came hard, screaming. ‘Shut up,’ shoving down throat. Fatter one grunted asthmatic, flooded my ass. ‘You too, fuck my ass.’ Second load scalded thighs quick. They stood, fondling tits. I licked balls, cleaned glans slime. Cocks dangled limp.
The Fever
Jacket, pants on. Hair fluffed. Cheeks dabbed. ‘Come back?’ ‘Sure, someday.’ Vestiaire: swapped for dress, heels, wig. Mirror stranger. Night fell. Metro seat, tourists stared—envy, shame. Phone buzzed. Tom. Elevator dinged prelude. Pushed his door. He followed, naked. Cock impossibly hard, brushing ass cheeks. Entry effortless. Skin still burned from strangers. Heart slowed to embers. Unique high. Total surrender.