Where it happened: been fucking
Langauge: english
Sex: Female
Rating: 5
Category: Straight
I’m not sure that when you read that I’m saying this is really a true story you will just think that it’s a trick to make you believe some made up fantasy. But it’s a story that I’ve had rolling around in my head for nearly 25 years and it is great to actually write it down, now that I’ve just found this web site. I’ve told bits of it to my husband, but not the whole thing, not the whole story from the beginning. I’ve been over the story a few times to try and get it right, to try and say what I felt as well as some of the little things that actually happened. I have changed the names and translated the French, but tried to keep out the hindsight fantasies.
Here it is.
When I was just eighteen I decided to take a year off between school and university and go and work as an au pair in France. Janette, the mother, was in fact English, despite her name, and she was married to Jean-Claude who was most definitely very Gallic. They had two small children aged four and two and I used to look after them when Janette was busy, take the elder one to a play group three times a week or would take them to the park. It was a very friendly place to be, we all got on well, my French improved no end as the children spoke principally French and, although Jean-Claude could speak English really well, he was very considerate in listening to and gently correcting my use of his language.
They ran a business together, so Jeanette needed time to concentrate without the children, although she did not really go out to work. I also helped Janette in the house, with the cleaning and ironing and things like that, mostly we would do it together, chatting in French. Janette was easy to live with, and Jean-Claude was always very attentive to me, holding me with his dark eyes, a little smile just playing at the corner of his lips. I used to iron his shirts and fold away his other clothes, and put them away in his drawers in the bedroom. It made me feel quite intimate with him. I was beginning to have a bit of a crush on him. I wondered what it would be like if the kisses of greeting and parting we always exchanged would be lengthened into proper kisses. I liked the smell of him. People have different smells and his was a sort of musty smell, except when he had just come out of the shower when he smelt of soap and cleanliness.
I also saw that Janette sometimes wore sexy underwear. Very flimsy lacy things would appear in the wash. Once I made a bit of a comment about them and she said I didn’t need things like that as I was still too young and attractive. Sometimes at night I could hear sounds coming from their bedroom so that I knew they were making love. I couldn’t really hear everything, but I knew it was going on. It was difficult for them to have many secrets when I lived as part of a family. I would lie in bed and finger myself a bit, fantasising about what they might be doing, and wondering what it would be like to have Jean-Claude’s arms around me. I did not masturbate much then, but it was soothing, rubbing myself gently and would usually lull myself off to sleep rather than winding myself up to a climax.
One day when they were out for the evening and the children were asleep I did a bit of spying. Although I’d been with them for some time I’d always respected their privacy. There were lots of opportunities to do a bit of snooping, but I’d never spied before. Things were heating up inside me and I wanted to know a bit more about their private life. My curiosity became stronger than my sense of what was acceptable behaviour. I went to their bedroom. I already knew what was in most of the clothes drawers, there was nothing new amongst Jeanette’s things. In the drawer beside the bed were some chocolate bars, they obviously needed to build up their blood sugar levels from time to time. On the opposite side the drawer had a vibrator and a hand mirror. At that time I’d only heard about vibrators and had never touched one before. It made me feel all liquid inside and my heart, which was beating rapidly with spying anyway, went so fast I was trembling and my throat felt it was closing up.
I was now nineteen, pretty slim and really not bad looking then. I had long dark hair which I mostly kept in a pony tail. I went in and out in the places you would expect and my breasts were still firm and upstanding (not like now). As I am quite tall I used to get quite a few men looking at me. But I was also quite shy. I was OK with people I knew, but in new situations I was pretty quiet. Boys at school used to chase after me a bit, but they were all so young and juvenile. All they seemed to want to do was have a quick chat and then try to paw me and kiss me. Whereas Jean-Claude really seemed to like me, and talk to me and listen to me, and he did not seem like a man who would just get what he wanted without making me feel loved.
About a week after the spying incident Janette said she had to go to the Embassy to renew some document, a residence permit, I think it was. She had to go to Paris. Jean-Claude had a sister who lived in Paris, she lived in a not very big flat and used to come and visit us sometimes. Anyway, Janette decided to take the children to see her and to stay over the weekend. The flat wasn’t big enough for us all to stay, so I was left behind, as was Jean-Claude. I’ve thought about it afterwards and wondered whether Janette set it up or guessed what was likely to happen. Perhaps she never even needed to renew her residence permit anyway. I’ve never known whether they planned it or talked about it afterwards, although I did know afterwards that Jean-Claude had had several lovers, but Janette would not really talk about that.
The Friday evening when Jean-Claude came back from work I had made some supper for us. I had taken great care in preparing the salad we always ate. I had cut some radishes so that they would spread out in cold water and look like flowers, and carved tiny faces on some of the others. I opened a tin of asparagus and garnished the salad with those. Together the arrangement was a bit representative and sexy, but I wasn’t sure if he would notice. I really wanted to give myself to him. I didn’t know if there would be another opportunity. I’d been with them since the autumn, and it was now after Easter and I was going back to the UK at the beginning of June. I thought that if I was going to lose my virginity it would be best with someone who knew what he was doing, who would be kind and considerate to me and who I really fancied. Jean-Claude was all of these.
I dressed myself carefully, had a shower then put on a flowing skirt and a halter top, and a good dab of perfume. I often wore halter tops so it wasn’t too obvious, but usually it was with jeans, or more frequently with shorts now it was getting warmer. Its funny how you can just put clothes on some days and not really feel them. That evening I could really feel my breasts in the top, and every time I moved I was conscious of the fabric tightening and loosening against me so that I knew without looking that the nipples were pushing the fabric into little mounds. I was quite moist even before Jean-Claude came home and wondered if he would sense it.
It’s that ambivalent feeling of wanting to do something and not wanting to do it at the same time. My body wanted to be held in his arms and my insides were aching with feeling for him, and I wanted to break this virginity label. At the same time he was a married man, not just any old man, but my employer and the husband of my employer. I would have to live with them all afterwards. This would be seriously unwise but it should be wonderful to do it.
Jean-Claude kissed me as he came in, just the normal little pecks on both cheeks. He then looked at me with a bit more attention than usual, perhaps it was the perfume, and went to get himself a whisky as he nearly always did. “Did I want a Muscat?” he enquired. I said that I would like to join him in some whisky if that was alright. He looked at me again and the corners of his mouth almost moved. He looked at me for what seemed a long time before replying casually that of course it would be alright. The whisky burned in my throat as we sat opposite each other in the lounge nibbling the canapTs I had made. He said I must have gone to a lot of trouble making them, and they really are very fiddly to do. But I said that, what with the children not being here, I’d got a bit more time. The atmosphere was beginning to get charged with emotion, we had been alone in the house together lots of times before, but not quite like this for a whole weekend. I think he liked looking at me across the low table. I crossed my legs the other way and he seemed to be watching intently, but all the time he was chattering on about what had happened in the day. He taught management and personal development and things like that, so he was a great speaker and raconteur, he often made us laugh about the people on his course, he was a great mimic.
When we went to the table to eat, his eyes caught me again, and he definitely smiled at the salad but made no comment. He opened a bottle of wine, nothing unusual about that, but I think he chose one of the better ones, it slipped down so smoothly, and my glass never seemed to get any emptier. I think he was just wondering how he should go on from there. I had made it all quite obvious enough, although neither had said a word about it. My throat was tightening up and it was getting more difficult to speak casually, and I was getting so wet in anticipation I thought it might soak through my panties and show through my skirt. I excused myself and went to the loo. I was so hot and aching all over I had to hold my breasts hard and try and massage some of the hardness out of them, but it didn’t do any good. My panties were all wet inside so I dried them as best I could with tissue and dried myself inside as far as I could reach. The material of the crotch was surprisingly cold when I pulled them up again. I knew they would be all warm and wet again in no time, but I had to do something.
When I came back Jean-Claude had taken his tie off and was sitting on the sofa. As I walked into the room he sort of invited me to sit beside him with a slight movement of his arm. “This is it.” I thought “either I do now or I will funk it forever.” I went towards him. I shuddered as his arm went up behind me just as I was sitting down, and with his other hand he just turned my face towards him. I hadn’t had a proper kiss since I had left England and it was like I had never done it before, it was all fluttery and light. We started to kiss more strongly and his hand drifted gently down from my face onto my bare shoulder. His fingers traced the outline of my halter top, no pressure on my straining nipples, just round them, on my shoulder, my arm and my midriff below. My hand which had been on his shoulder also moved down a bit. Then I thought “Well here goes.” and I pushed it right down onto the bulge in his trousers. He pulled back from me slightly and looked at me quizzically. “Is this what you want” he asked. I nodded and pressed him harder.
“Come on” he said, and took my hand and led me upstairs. We went into their room and stood by the bed, kissing. He untied the bow at the back and my top became quite free, hanging from my neck. His hand went to the side of my skirt and he unbuttoned it and pulled the zip down. He made to lift the halter top over my head, and as we moved apart my skirt fell. He removed my top over my head and, holding me in one hand, pulled down the duvet from the bed. He lay me down on my back and I closed my arms over my exposed breasts, in fact I needed them to be squeezed and I pressed myself tightly. He undid his shirt, kicked off his shoes and slipped off his trousers and socks in one smooth movement. I’ve never known how Englishmen always seem to end up with their socks on, while Jean-Claude was able to shed them with no apparent effort or movement.
He lay down beside me and spoke to me softly. “You’ve never done this before have you?” “No.” “Are you sure this is what you want?” I still held my breasts and nodded with my eyelids. “What do you want me to do?” he asked. I had not thought about discussing things at this stage, I just thought it would sort of happen and it would be all over, but Jean-Claude obviously wanted me to speak to him. “You could kiss me.” I said. “Yes, what else?” “You could stroke me.” “Yes?” “You could stroke me here.” and I moved my arms down a bit and cupped my breast with one hand. Still Jean-Claude did not seem in any hurry to move. “You could kiss me.” My hand went over my breast and brushed my nipple. Still he waited. “Come on,” I said and moved one hand down onto his shorts, “You can kiss me all over.” I was getting bolder. Now that he had got me to speak I felt freed up, as if anything I said was perfectly acceptable, that I didn’t have to worry. I rubbed my chest against him. He was quite a hairy man and it was a bit scratchy against my breasts. So I did it again to try and rouse him into some more action. I kissed him hard on the mouth and sunk my tongue deep into him. He responded a bit but not much. “Anything else?” he asked. “Fuck me.” I said. It was the first time I had used this French word. Although I had heard it and had known it for ages, I had never actually spoken it out loud. “Fuck me, fuck me.” Now it was said, and Jean-Claude smiled. He leant down to his trousers and pulled out a packet of condoms. “We’ll need these in a minute” he said. So he had been expecting this all the time. But he denied it, saying that a Frenchman was always prepared for all eventualities.
Then he started to kiss me slowly and gently just on my left breast, taking the nipple into his mouth licking it and teasing it with his teeth, holding it with his hand and rubbing the nipple with his finger against his tongue. Just the one breast, while the nerves in the rest of my body became super-sensitised. I had been used to boys who just wanted to get their hands on my breasts and knead them or get their hands down my pants or push and rub themselves against me. Jean-Claude was quite different, he kissed me slowly and longingly and I just lay there letting him do it. Then his hand moved to my other breast. It was like electricity, it had been ignored for so long the nipple was rock hard, sticking right up from a whole engorged breast. I must have cried out for he looked up and smiled, “You’re in such a hurry, take your time, it will happen, so just enjoy it.” My cunt was soaking, it had been again since just after I had been to dry it up. I opened my legs then squeezed them together again, rubbing my thighs together and bending them up to get some pressure onto my clitoris. Jean-Claude just went on arousing my nipples, making them harder than they ever had been before. I squashed my legs up again. It gave me a bit of relief, but in a way it only made it worse. I put my hand down to crush my clitoris. Jean-Claude’s hand followed mine and lay over it. What was I doing, masturbating myself through my panties, when I wanted to be fucked? “Go on” he said guiding my fingers just where they wanted to go. As I rubbed myself, his hand was on the back of mine so that he could feel every movement I made. I never thought it might be like this, arousing myself when there was a husky man beside me. I pushed the material aside and sunk my fingers in the slippery swollenness of myself. I think I lasted about 10 seconds and was gone in screams of ecstasy.
My panties were now completely soaked, so, as Jean-Claude pulled them down at the sides and I lifted my hips to let them slide off, they left a sticky cold strip down the inside of one thigh. My cunt was so hot I opened my legs really wide to get some air to it. Even though I had only just come, my feelings were already building up again and I was getting ready for whatever was going to happen next.
“You can take my pants off too.” he said. I turned and gripped them on either side. They got caught going down and his cock sprung back when it was released, flicking a dribble of colourless liquid over his chest and one of my arms. And I got my breasts caught up with it as I tried to get his pants past his knees. All these new things, but I felt better when I lay down beside him again. “Have you handled a man before?” he asked. I wasn’t quite sure what to say but I thought I knew what he meant. He took my hand and laid it on his cock. It felt bigger than I had thought it would feel. I had felt them accidentally, and today on purpose, through trousers and had felt them pushed up against me, but I had never wrapped my hand round one before, not one that was standing up freely. I started to know what he meant, as I didn’t really know what to do with it. He had stroked and kissed my breasts so beautifully I wanted to do the same for him but didn’t know quite what to do. I moved my hand up and down a bit. Jean-Claude lay quiet and let me explore. I’m sure he had a lot of pleasure in having an nineteen year old virgin feeling a cock for the first time. He opened his legs wider so that my hand sort of had to go further down and feel his balls. They did feel funny, unlike anything else, inside their hairy bag. I must have squashed them too hard for Jean-Claude said I had to do it more gently just there. So then I was very gentle with his cock and he said I could do it harder just there. And then it was all questions and answers “How about this” “Fine” “And this” “Harder” “And here” “Move your fingers” and it went on for a long time. I was fascinated and still hot, although, because of the way Jean-Claude had managed things, I was no longer desperate, just enjoying the feeling and touching.
“You can kiss it too, you know” he said. I was not sure I wanted to kiss it. So I lay down with my ear over the gurgling of his tummy with my face pointed right towards it. As I squeezed and moved my hand up a drop of fluid came out. I caught it with the very tip of my tongue. “What are you doing?” he asked. “Really just looking” I said. Then he turned and wriggled a bit and the next moment he was holding the mirror so that I could see his face and he could see mine and what I was doing. So I did it again, squeezing out a little drop of sparkling liquid and catching it with my tongue. The taste was not so bad. I licked my lips and tried it again. Not so much came out this time so I moved my head a fraction closer and sucked the very tip. It was quite a big cock and to get much more into my mouth I had to open wide. I did so and my mouth closed around the head. We often look up when we put things in our mouths and as I looked up I could see Jean-Claude watching me in the mirror. I don’t know why this turned me on, but it did. Just putting my mouth over his cock was one thing, but knowing and seeing him watching it was something else. My cunt started to weep again and I could feel the juices run over my thigh, tickling as they ran down. “Keep you teeth away.” growled Jean-Claude, so I dutifully did and started to suck him in earnest, moving my head up and down the little way it would go, because when his cock pushed in too far I could feel myself beginning to gag and drew my head back again. I tried sucking harder, really sucking to draw him out and milking him with one hand. Now he was moving too, and every now and then the air would rush in making sucking noises. I must have been doing something right because he was no longer just lying there, his hips were moving and he was pushing his cock in and out of my mouth. “I’ll come if you carry on.” he cried, as his movements became more urgent. “I’ve started so I might as well finish.” I thought, and carried on moving more quickly and strongly. His cock suddenly started twitching in my hand and Jean-Claude let out a high pitched cry. Then I felt his come rushing past my hand and into my mouth, filling it with its salty gooeyness. I spluttered and half choked, and as I pulled back it jerked again and more of it spurted up onto my nose and into my eyes. I blinked and looked up and there was Jean-Claude in the mirror with his head lying back staring back at my eyes. I sat up and turned towards him and opened my mouth so that his come dribbled out of it. It dribbled down, some of it dropping onto my breast and some dropping onto his chest. I looked for the first time at the slightly yellowish tinge of a man’s come. He pulled me down towards him and I nuzzled my head into his slippery chest. He lifted up my chin and his lips came down to meet mine. My lips were all swollen and slimy but I pushed into him hard and felt his tongue searching mine.
He took a while to calm down, his breathing was harsh and sharp but it slowed and his heart was no longer beating so wildly against my chest. “Shower time,” he said. Sometimes he spoke in English, now he accentuated his French accent, “Ze shower first and de-flower afterrwuds.” I went with him to his en-suite bathroom. My bathroom was shared with the children. Theirs I had cleaned from time to time, but it was a sort of secret place, not for me to go into normally. He turned the shower on, which was behind a big sliding door. I felt I needed to pee and tried to leave. “No, you can do it here.” he said and watched me as I sat down, I thought about it and then wiped myself afterwards. My cunt did not know whether to cool down because all this was so new or to get hotter because of what was in store. It was time to take the initiative again. “Wash me.” I said and lifted my arms above my head. He took me into the shower and did so. Sliding soapy hands all over my back and my breasts, squirting the water into my face and I opened my mouth to let it wash out his come. He soaped down my belly and I opened my legs and thrust my hips forwards to let him soap me all around the lips and push his fingers just a tiny way into me. Then he directed the shower jet straight at my cunt. He adjusted the flow so that it almost hurt, but was really lovely and I could feel my lower lips swelling and growing with the water massage. Then I washed him, easing away the dust of the day and the stickiness that had spilt onto him. He wrapped me in his own towel that smelt of him and rubbed me through the material, he pushed up under my breasts that were beginning to ache again for want of touching, and slid the towel off my shoulder so that he could dry the parts that were not staying dry. The roughness of the towel against my cunt was quite different from how it was when I dried myself. By myself I use different pressures for different parts. More roughly over the back and just dabbing over the sensitive bits. Jean-Claude seemed to take delight in rubbing my cunt hard so that I was almost at the point of crying out, and then backing off and touching it ever so gently. The weather was beginning to get quite warm, not really hot as it would in the summer, but Jean-Claude was already beginning to dry off without needing the towel. But I still took it and made to dry his hairy back and then got him to turn round so that I could towel him down in the place he liked me to feel. His cock was not as stiff as it had been and I did not know if it would regain its strength soon or whether it would take until tomorrow to recover.
“We don’t have to do this unless you are really sure” he said, and I said I was sure. He went on “And we don’t have to rush, we’ve got until Sunday evening.” But I said I did want it, and I wanted him to do it, and please be gentle with me and things like that.
He rolled onto his back again and said “Well, carry on”, picked up the condom and handed it to me. It was kind that he was not forcing me at all, facilitating, allowing, permitting, easing. But the responsibility had to be mine, he was not going to de-flower his virgin au pair unless she was really willing. I opened the packet. The only other time I had done that was with the class of girls for sex ed. Normally we were all taught together, but for sex ed we were separated into groups of boys only and girls only. The had given us each a condom and then we took it in turns to try and get it onto the model penis. Well, this was for real and I knew I had to get it on the right way out, not as Sophie H had done and the teacher having to take it off again for her and us all giggling. But it slipped on easily enough, and it had definitely become all hard again. “Now you just lower yourself onto me” he said. So I did. I thought it would be easier to go in, and I also thought it would hurt a lot, and I had to hold it with one hand to get the tip in the right place. I was sort of kneeling and my breasts hung down and tickled against his chest. I had only got his cock just into the entrance of me and was a bit nervous that it was going to slip out again. I pushed down a bit and felt it going up inside, bigger than anything else. “Well, this was what everyone talked about, the big thing, doing it, going all the way.” I thought. But the biggest concern was just getting it inside me. He was lying fairly still, not exactly motionless but not forcing in any way. I lined myself up and thought “When a girl’s got to go a girl’s got to go.” I pushed down harder and felt the resistance inside me, there for just that one day. The resistance inside me was there for this one occasion, it had never been tested before and next time it would be gone. “This is it.” I thought and pushed again. It was a tearing feeling inside but then it passed, leaving me a bit sore but not too bad. I lay still and Jean-Claude’s strong arms wrapped themselves around me and he held me tightly. I lay still for a minute or two before I started to gingerly see what happened if I moved again. Looking back on it, his control was amazing, but at the time I just held on to him. I ground my hips sideways a bit but there was no searing pain or anything. I tried again and it seemed to be alright now, it wasn’t exactly comfortable inside but there were lots of lovely other feelings. I wanted to make him come again inside me so I started to rub up and down. Jean-Claude moved gently with me, testing me out and responding as I moved more strongly. Suddenly he lifted up and rolled me over so that he was pinning me down. This was what I needed, a masterful lover. He thrust into me and it hurt and it didn’t hurt at the same time. I was being skewered to the bed, he was pushing hard up inside me, I could feel him up against my womb deep inside, I could feel the sharp pain inside, I could feel him all the way up inside me, all new feelings like nothing before. My body started to take over and all I could do was feel the strong thrusts into me, my neck being bent against the top of the bed, my hips being squashed down into the bed. Jean-Claude started to get sweaty and my hands slipped on him as I pulled him up into me. I wanted to turn inside out with all my sensitive interior bits all on the outside for Jean-Claude to pleasure. The pressure down on my clitoris being rubbed by him coming in and out of me not the same as when I’d done it to myself alone. I pushed harder and moved more, my legs came up and wrapped around him, and I curled up towards him. The next moment my back straightened and arched as the climax took hold. It came in wave after wave over me and all I could think about was the feelings, so new and different from anything that had happened before.
Afterwards Jean-Claude said I was marvellous and uninhibited, although I’m not quite sure how you can be inhibited when you are in bed with someone. I think you just do what you want to do, and do what’s good for each other. There was some blood, but not a huge amount, but I washed the sheets the next day and put them back on the bed.
There was more during the rest of the weekend, but never again after that. But the first time is like nothing else and I have never regretted it.
I’ve never been sure if Jeanette ever knew, she never behaved very differently to me but I thought she might have known somehow. It was never anything I could ask her. “Did you know your husband fucked me when you were away?” is not a question you can ever ask. Jean-Claude always denied she knew, but that might just have been to keep me quiet and stop any girl talk between us. I think she thought Jean-Claude was a terrific lover and didn’t mind sharing him for this special occasion, because she was sure he would stay with her, and I would just go away in a short while and cause no trouble. Which I have done. We still send Christmas cards to each other, and the boys are both grown up and married. I wonder if they will ever read this, it’s so long ago now it shouldn’t do any harm
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