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Riding on the Metro
- an erotic tale of France -

© 1999 by W.S. Dean

 



"On November 19, 1871, the General Council of the Seine asked a commission of some forty engineers to decide what should be done. Paris needed a subway. It was near here, up above us, that in 1882, architect Louis Heuzé called the subway ‘cold, humid, gloomy, smoky, and fraught with danger.'

Victor Hugo had said in 1862 that...

‘...a sponge has not more passages and holes than the piece of ground, six leagues in circumference, upon which the old great city rests...a labyrinth.'"

Jay Ose listened with growing interest to the soft voice of the guide. She had to be a blonde and beautiful by the sound of it, he imagined. He shook the vision from his mind and stared at the swiftly passing walls of concrete beneath Paris. The cheap earphones of the Metro-issue tape player began to pinch his ears, so he pulled them off.

Jay looked through the glass of his car at the brightly-lit station platform. As the doors whispered shut and the train jogged sharply forward, a woman jumped through the passage and grabbed a swinging leather handle with a wide grin. She lurched at him as the train gathered speed, then gracefully and slowly straightened her back. Jay lifted his chin at her.

"Anne Marie," she smiled and held out her hand. As Jay clasped it, she leaned closer and whispered in his ear. "But my friends call me Sewer."

Jay looked down into her pale green eyes. She was petite but lovely in classical proportions and style. A slightly shimmering green frost of cloth was wrapped around her, some expensive style from the inner City fashion houses. Very decolletage; her breasts were lifted naturally, barely covered by a glowing fairy veil, the nipples peeking above as they stiffen.

Jay's lips open slightly as she laughs, head thrown back, hair streaming. "I couldn't spend another minute at that terrible party!" The yielding iris of her eye opened for him; her nose brushed his cheek. "Do you know what a gentleman is?"

Jay looked around the otherwise empty subway car and then down at the woman slowly kneeling in front of him. Her fingers opened his fly, crept up to unfasten his belt; suddenly engulfed him in the wet, warm tunnel of her mouth. She slid her lips along his shaft and raised her eyes to look deeply into his.

"A gentleman permits a lady to be a woman," she murmured, then slowly worked her tongue in complex lickings on the head of his cock, before once more taking the entire length in her mouth. Jay felt her lips vibrating along the big vein, making it throb against the tip of her flickering tongue. She moaned around him, pumping faster, until he exploded down her throat in thick gushes of pale honey.

She drained him; with the hungry thirst of a vampire, she drank his cum down, savoring the taste, filling her nostrils with the scent of his pleasure.

She climbed along his body; upward. Her breasts, silky beneath the transparent veil, rubbed his body from groin to his own hard nipples. Preceded by her kissing lips, her tongue, now flashing, now languid. Her eyes, fiery yet almost-sated, the lids half-closed, held his. "Now me."

Jay lifted her. Anne Marie put her heels high against the molded seat and slid her gown up her thighs. She jerked upward, like a person shocked, when she first felt his velvet tongue brush over her already swollen clitoris. Her lips, too, pouted open and glistening from her excitement. As Jay began licking deeper inside her, she replayed the feel of his cock fucking her mouth before. She almost wanted to laugh in pleasure as Jay dragged the width of his tongue along her labia and kissed lightly on the tip of her pink clit. Over and over, butterfly-soft caresses, then cascading swirls up and down it. Anne Marie quivered as again and again, Jay's mouth brought her close to cuming. As she neared his own explosion, blinding white light filled the subway car. The train slowed to a stop. Montmarte Station.

Oblivious, the empty platform's stretches of concrete and tile, torn posters, turnstiles and booths. No one stood waiting. No one departed the cars. Jay and Anne Marie rocked together as the train sped up again. His cheek pressed hard against her thigh. His tongue sliding inside her and out again, blurring in its speed. "Merde," she cried as Jay's tongue rasped against her pussy lips and he began gently sucking on her clit.

Jay later wondered. Sitting in his small hotel room at the Hilton. Anne Marie had shuddered her body against his. Then when the next station arrived, she left. A wet, teary kiss on his neck and vanishment. Forever. Back into Paris. He wondered if they would meet again.

Copyright 1999 W. S. Dean. All rights reserved.

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