The Hausmann apartment
We both lived in this tall Hausmann apartment building in Paris facing a wide street, almost a boulevard, but rather quiet. I moved in only a couple of weeks before I started noticing you, always alone, always focused, always sure of yourself, always beautiful, dressed youthfully.
And I, I was rather a recluse. Living alone, ashtrays everywhere on the old furniture, the occasional cognac, the typewriter, the disks on the shelves, rarely leaving my appartment, just for cigarettes, digesting and replaying the past in my head.
I don't know if you ever noticed my dark silhoutte before on the stairs when we happened to cross our ways. Large shoulders, a black leather jacket, black jeans, short black hair, moving elastically, youthfully, as if I took a deep breath before surging from behind my door, locking my self in the apartment, and taking out my other self, the social one, the presentable one.
You definitely noticed me one October day, when I surged by hazard just when you were passing in front of my door. I must have taken you by surprise. I wasn't thinking of you, I wasn't thinking of anything sensual, your presence took me by surprise too, I felt a current down my spine, I felt troubled, I felt the urge to taste your skin on your cheek and throat, to feel your hair between my fingers, to feel you warm and thin, weak and tame. My subconscious registered in a single look your brown eyes, the inquiring look, your short black ponytail, the blueish-gray turtle-neck Angora pull-over, the bordeaux skirt, the opaque woollen stockings, the elegant bordeaux leather boots.
We didn't say anything, nothing happened, I did not even apologize for almost bumping into you. Was there something in your eyes, could I have had a chance?
A couple of days later I found a letter addressed to you on the stairs, probably it slipped from your handbag when you took out your keys. Mme Briancourt. I rang at your door, you opened, I handed the letter. You said "you could have put it in my mailbox". It struck me, didn't think of that. "It would have been a pity" and smiled. You smiled back, thanked me and closed the door.
The next day I rang again, I handed in an envelope, addressed again to Mme Briancourt. You said "But I haven't lost this one", "I insist", I answered and returned to my apartment. The envelope contained what you are reading now.
One hour later you rang on my door. I opened, I haven't said a word, neither did you. You had a skirt, a pull-over, some stockings, some bordeaux boots, exactly as described in a letter that you had just read.
You entered the living room, sat down on the sofa, in front of the coffee table with the cognac bottle, your legs slightly parted, I sat down on a chair to your right, you poured yourself a glass of cognac, we were staring at each other. I got up, stood behind you, reached with a hand to cup your right breast through your Angora pull-over. My left hand roamed under your chin, on your throat, feeling your skin, your collarbone, occasionally roaming over your face, feeling your inert lips. I started kissing you behind your ear, on the neck, while still caressing your breast with my right hand.
I lifted your pull-over and your blouse, I touched the naked skin of your belly. I pretended to push my hand downwards, under your skirt and panty, towards your pubis, thinking to part the delicate pussy lips, to dive the finger where the skin is tender and humid, where you may lose it. But I have just pretended, I quickly returned my hand on your belly, touched your lower-most ribs, embraced your body.
I sat down on the Persian carpet, while still embracing you from behind with my right arm. I pulled you from the sofa, down on the floor, just next to me. I put you on your back and took off your pull-over and blouse. I started breathing on your barely visible down running from your last ribs to the navel, sniffing, gently kissing, while my hand started kneading your breasts through the cream-coloured bra. You started moving your body, arching your back, pushing your belly and pubis closer to my mouth, you started rolling your flexed legs from one side to the other, with your heels firmly stuck in the thick carpet, you started pulling my shirt from the jeans. I pulled your bra straps down over your elbows, undid your bra, uncovered beautiful breasts, with very dark, small areolae.
I moved on top of you, feeling your thigh between my legs, putting pressure on your pubis, and I started kissing, licking and sucking on your breasts and nipples. Your hands started roaming through my hair, you moved your head, looking aside, exposing the ear and the cheekbone, your jaw dropped, the cheek stretched, but no sound came from your throat. I bit slightly a hard nipple, provoking you a groan, the first sound you produced since you entered my apartment. I understood as through a haze what you wanted, I started rounding my lips around your stiff and upright nipple and started pulling as hard as I could. Your groan increased in intensity, you started rolling your head on the floor, continuously producing a husky groan, your legs and knees pushed and pulled underneath me.
I let your breast go, put my hands under your knees, violently lifted your legs, rested them on each of my thighs, lifted your skirt over the hips. I could briefly see the shape of your lips through your panties. But I hurried, I pushed a finger under your panties and moved them aside. I was greeted by the most elegant pussy I've ever seen, very long, full, dark orange labia major, pink, delicate like a rose labia minor. They were glistening, humid, full. I took off my jeans, my manhood sprang greedily out of the boxers, with the head moist and swollen, hard at the point of exploding. I tended to lose it and plunge, to impale you. Instead, I placed it along your pussy, the tip on your clitoris hood. Your groan stopped, I retracted my hips, the tip of my cock sliding slowly downwards guided by shallow and tender valley between your lips. I could feel you quiver as it slid. Once it reached the entrance, I pushed gently. You arched your back, cupped your breasts, still looking aside. You were never before so open. I pushed ever so slowly, your pussy lips embracing my cock, I felt something warm un soft around me, for the first time I wished my cock was double so big to feel that I am pushing you aside, to feel that I impale you, that I stretch you. The thought made my cock twitch inside you, stiff as the stiffest rod ever. I let out a gasp, and I started fucking you, gently at first, but as your groan increased so did my pace. You lifted your knees and flexed your legs, the heels of your boots almost touching your naked butt. Your legs were inert, your feet dangling from your ankles as I was pounding you.
After a couple of minutes your nipples got very dark, retreated, you had one or two twiches, became very stiff, then suddenly you threw your knees forward, pushed yourself in my cock and released a deep groan, your whole body violently shaken. You let your hand fall inertly from your breasts on the floor, I witnessed your orgasm. It provoked mine, filling you, filling my brain with happiness, with dizziness, causing you replicas, smaller shocks running through your body.
I lay close to you, looking at the ceiling, empty-mindedly moving my hand through your hair. You got up, put your blouse on, walked to the door. On your way you said "would you clean one day all this off me?"
And I, I was rather a recluse. Living alone, ashtrays everywhere on the old furniture, the occasional cognac, the typewriter, the disks on the shelves, rarely leaving my appartment, just for cigarettes, digesting and replaying the past in my head.
I don't know if you ever noticed my dark silhoutte before on the stairs when we happened to cross our ways. Large shoulders, a black leather jacket, black jeans, short black hair, moving elastically, youthfully, as if I took a deep breath before surging from behind my door, locking my self in the apartment, and taking out my other self, the social one, the presentable one.
You definitely noticed me one October day, when I surged by hazard just when you were passing in front of my door. I must have taken you by surprise. I wasn't thinking of you, I wasn't thinking of anything sensual, your presence took me by surprise too, I felt a current down my spine, I felt troubled, I felt the urge to taste your skin on your cheek and throat, to feel your hair between my fingers, to feel you warm and thin, weak and tame. My subconscious registered in a single look your brown eyes, the inquiring look, your short black ponytail, the blueish-gray turtle-neck Angora pull-over, the bordeaux skirt, the opaque woollen stockings, the elegant bordeaux leather boots.
We didn't say anything, nothing happened, I did not even apologize for almost bumping into you. Was there something in your eyes, could I have had a chance?
A couple of days later I found a letter addressed to you on the stairs, probably it slipped from your handbag when you took out your keys. Mme Briancourt. I rang at your door, you opened, I handed the letter. You said "you could have put it in my mailbox". It struck me, didn't think of that. "It would have been a pity" and smiled. You smiled back, thanked me and closed the door.
The next day I rang again, I handed in an envelope, addressed again to Mme Briancourt. You said "But I haven't lost this one", "I insist", I answered and returned to my apartment. The envelope contained what you are reading now.
One hour later you rang on my door. I opened, I haven't said a word, neither did you. You had a skirt, a pull-over, some stockings, some bordeaux boots, exactly as described in a letter that you had just read.
You entered the living room, sat down on the sofa, in front of the coffee table with the cognac bottle, your legs slightly parted, I sat down on a chair to your right, you poured yourself a glass of cognac, we were staring at each other. I got up, stood behind you, reached with a hand to cup your right breast through your Angora pull-over. My left hand roamed under your chin, on your throat, feeling your skin, your collarbone, occasionally roaming over your face, feeling your inert lips. I started kissing you behind your ear, on the neck, while still caressing your breast with my right hand.
I lifted your pull-over and your blouse, I touched the naked skin of your belly. I pretended to push my hand downwards, under your skirt and panty, towards your pubis, thinking to part the delicate pussy lips, to dive the finger where the skin is tender and humid, where you may lose it. But I have just pretended, I quickly returned my hand on your belly, touched your lower-most ribs, embraced your body.
I sat down on the Persian carpet, while still embracing you from behind with my right arm. I pulled you from the sofa, down on the floor, just next to me. I put you on your back and took off your pull-over and blouse. I started breathing on your barely visible down running from your last ribs to the navel, sniffing, gently kissing, while my hand started kneading your breasts through the cream-coloured bra. You started moving your body, arching your back, pushing your belly and pubis closer to my mouth, you started rolling your flexed legs from one side to the other, with your heels firmly stuck in the thick carpet, you started pulling my shirt from the jeans. I pulled your bra straps down over your elbows, undid your bra, uncovered beautiful breasts, with very dark, small areolae.
I moved on top of you, feeling your thigh between my legs, putting pressure on your pubis, and I started kissing, licking and sucking on your breasts and nipples. Your hands started roaming through my hair, you moved your head, looking aside, exposing the ear and the cheekbone, your jaw dropped, the cheek stretched, but no sound came from your throat. I bit slightly a hard nipple, provoking you a groan, the first sound you produced since you entered my apartment. I understood as through a haze what you wanted, I started rounding my lips around your stiff and upright nipple and started pulling as hard as I could. Your groan increased in intensity, you started rolling your head on the floor, continuously producing a husky groan, your legs and knees pushed and pulled underneath me.
I let your breast go, put my hands under your knees, violently lifted your legs, rested them on each of my thighs, lifted your skirt over the hips. I could briefly see the shape of your lips through your panties. But I hurried, I pushed a finger under your panties and moved them aside. I was greeted by the most elegant pussy I've ever seen, very long, full, dark orange labia major, pink, delicate like a rose labia minor. They were glistening, humid, full. I took off my jeans, my manhood sprang greedily out of the boxers, with the head moist and swollen, hard at the point of exploding. I tended to lose it and plunge, to impale you. Instead, I placed it along your pussy, the tip on your clitoris hood. Your groan stopped, I retracted my hips, the tip of my cock sliding slowly downwards guided by shallow and tender valley between your lips. I could feel you quiver as it slid. Once it reached the entrance, I pushed gently. You arched your back, cupped your breasts, still looking aside. You were never before so open. I pushed ever so slowly, your pussy lips embracing my cock, I felt something warm un soft around me, for the first time I wished my cock was double so big to feel that I am pushing you aside, to feel that I impale you, that I stretch you. The thought made my cock twitch inside you, stiff as the stiffest rod ever. I let out a gasp, and I started fucking you, gently at first, but as your groan increased so did my pace. You lifted your knees and flexed your legs, the heels of your boots almost touching your naked butt. Your legs were inert, your feet dangling from your ankles as I was pounding you.
After a couple of minutes your nipples got very dark, retreated, you had one or two twiches, became very stiff, then suddenly you threw your knees forward, pushed yourself in my cock and released a deep groan, your whole body violently shaken. You let your hand fall inertly from your breasts on the floor, I witnessed your orgasm. It provoked mine, filling you, filling my brain with happiness, with dizziness, causing you replicas, smaller shocks running through your body.
I lay close to you, looking at the ceiling, empty-mindedly moving my hand through your hair. You got up, put your blouse on, walked to the door. On your way you said "would you clean one day all this off me?"
3 years ago
