The continued story of Vero, the wife of @jacques
Less than 6 months later, Vero snapped out of her reverie to find herself on the final approach to Douala international airport, Cameroon. She was seated next to her husband of 3 months, Jacques, who she had met while working as a bar hostess and, as it turned out, a ********** much sought after by her clientele. Jacques knew all about Vero’s history - the very first evening they had met he had watched as two ***** men took her from the bar, Vero returning later clearly exhausted but so exhilarated he could sense it on her skin.
Jacques’ determination to make this woman he had coincided with Vero wanting to move on, to get out of the lifestyle before she no longer had a choice - she had seen the streetwalkers outside the bar, hard lives making them seem ancient when she knew most of them to be only a few years her senior, and she didn’t want that for herself. She had, after a difficult start and a lot of bending of her moral code, not to mention the remnants of her religious beliefs, enjoyed her short career as a ****** and had put away a decent chunk of cash to boot - which was, she sometimes forgot, the reason she had started along this path in the first place.
She knew, perhaps to her discomfort, that she would miss the sex. Being a hostess means variety - a constant rotation of regulars together with at least one new man each week - and with one or two exceptions they had all managed to bring her to orgasm at one point or another, something which seemed to happen more easily these days than when she had started. She thought that she didn’t come as hard as she once did, but the frequency made up for it.
Sex with Jacques was good - they were compatible and he was a considerate lover. He made her come each time they fucked, and he was good with his tongue and his fingers, but Vero could already feel the beginnings of slight boredom with the lack of variety. She made a conscious effort to put it out of her head.
Jacques had landed a good job in Cameroon - a real adventure for both of them, but especially for a girl who’d never done much traveling, even in her own country, and a few months before could not have imagined visiting Africa, let alone pulling up sticks to go and live there. Vero loved the novelty and was excited about this new chapter in her life, hopefully, she could make some new friends who didn’t have to pay to be in her company.
They were met outside the airport by Patrice, Jacques’ new boss and the man he had been speaking to via phone and letter for some weeks now. This was their first meeting in person and all three of them were immediately comfortable with each other and soon laughing along as Patrice drove them to their new home, pointing out one place after another with a complicated, meandering, and hilarious story attached to each. Patrice was tall, just over 6 feet Vero guessed, broad-shouldered with strong arms straining at the fabric of his short-sleeved shirt and a slight pot-belly hinting at a life of comfort. Vero, used to notice such things, suspected Patrice to be blessed with what hung between his legs too - the cut of his trousers did little to conceal the fact from her practiced eye.
After a long and picturesque drive, the house they were dropped at was everything Jacques had hoped for - large and airy, white against the sun, and proudly colonial in its lush green surroundings. The house stood near several other similar, forming a gated community with security provided by the company around the clock. This was a precaution that Jacques and Vero found slightly embarrassing but it had been insisted on, Patrice ensuring them that the guards were very discrete and were unlikely to be visible unless called upon.
A short walk away was the most beautiful beach Vero had ever seen - if anything the sea looked more blue from ground level than it had from two thousand feet when they were coming into land. She sat on the warm sand listening to the waves softly breaking below her as the tide receded and decided she was, for now, in the right place.
Padding up to the house as their cases were carried inside by a porter (she thought back to dragging her giant bag in the rain as they rushed to board the plane in France), Vero explored the rooms of this beautiful old home as Patrice and her husband discussed arrangements for his first day at work, which was to be tomorrow, and, Vero heard, a trip to a regional office for a couple of days the following week.
She wandered up to the room they had chosen as their bedroom and dug a bikini and long beach skirt, split at the top of her thigh, from a case, examining her pale skin critically in the full-length mirror as she changed.
Moving to the large balcony, overlooking the garden and the beach in the mid-distance, Vero leaned on the stone railing and sighed contentedly. Jacques was calling from below so she dragged herself away and drifted down the stairs, using the latent eroticism projected by her movements in the way she had been taught and now did without even realizing. Halfway down she became aware the men had stopped speaking and, glancing at them, was amused to find they were both staring at her, open-mouthed. Patrice, in particular, had such a hungry look on his deep black face that she began to get a little aroused, or, at least, started thinking in that way. Vero loved to be admired.
Reaching them, they both seemed to snap back to the present at the same time, clearing their throats and trying to pick up where they left off, very awkwardly. Vero found this highly entertaining and giggled as she left them to go and lay down on the lawn at the front of the house, bathing in the warm sunshine and shielding her eyes to look at the beautiful sky, a few small, pure white clouds drifting slowly across her field of view.
Patrice left Jacques standing at the door and, making for his car, paused to step onto the lawn, casting a shadow as he stood over Vero. Not attempting to close her split skirt, which was spread around her, or close her parted legs, flopped open as she lay down, she looked up brazenly at Patrice, a mischievous smile on her face.
“Goodbye, Vero, I’m sure we shall meet again”, he said, grinning, “in fact, I told Jacques to come down to the beach bar tonight - there’s a gathering of ex-pats down there on most evenings after the heat has died down a little - I can introduce you around. I have a feeling you’re going to be very popular. Both of you I mean.”
Vero grinned as he belatedly added her husband to his statement, “That sounds lovely, I’ll see you there. What should we wear?”
“Jacques should wear, well, whatever he wants really, and you - you should wear exactly what you have on. Unless you have something… “
“Smaller?”, laughed Vero, enjoying Patrice’s clear discomfort.
“I was going to say warmer, but, yes, actually, smaller would be just fine.”
Patrice winked, settled his mirrored sunglasses on his nose, climbed into his Landcruiser, and roared away.
Vero decided she very much liked having staff, as their cook brought a delicious meal of fresh poached fish to their table on the veranda, together with a bottle of ice-cold champagne which was sent to them by Patrice as a welcome present.
After dinner, Vero and Jacques walked hand-in-hand to the beach bar and were made to feel very welcome by a group of ten or twelve white ex-pats from all over the globe, most single but with one or two couples, and another six or so local black people, mainly men with business connected to the occupants of the compound, and all of them great friends with Patrice, who held court, put all the drinks on his tab and was generally the life and soul of the party. Patrice made sure everyone was introduced to Jacques and Vero, but was especially diligent, Vero noticed, in showing Vero to his friends.
She caught him and two of them staring at her, deep in quiet conversation, during a lull in the proceedings. The sky was darkening and they didn’t realize she had seen them, and she continued to observe them from the corner of her eye as they discussed her, their admiring gaze never leaving her.
Vero had ***** quite a lot of champagne and this attention began to turn her on. She hadn’t felt like this since leaving the hostess bar, where she was accustomed to being desired and mentally undressed regularly, and she realized she had been missing it a little, to her surprise.
Noticing that Jacques was engrossed in a conversation with a man at some distance from the bar, Vero walked slowly over to Patrice and his friends, who gallantly parted and offered her a stool at the bar among them. Vero chuckled, “Why, thank you boys..”, and sat, cross-legged, her back to the bar, elbows resting on the thick wood surface so that she could talk to the semi-circle of men crowding around her.
“Were you enjoying the view just then, boys?”, asked Vero.
Patrice grinned, “I think it’s safe to say that we were, yes, I think we were..”
The two companions nodded enthusiastically.
“You do realize, Patrice, that not only is it very rude to stare, but that I am also a recently married woman and therefore easily offended..”
Patrice laughed, “Please accept our apologies, Vero, we are incapable of hiding our admiration when we see something truly remarkable.”
“It’s OK, I forgive you. This time. It’s lucky for you that I enjoy being admired.” As Vero said this, she uncrossed her legs and slowly parted her thighs, her slender legs tensed as her bare heels rested on the cross-member of the stool, pushing her knees up and giving all three men a clear view of her bikini bottoms, just about covering her but leaving little to the imagination.
All three were stunned, and before they could move or speak, Jacques called to Vero that they should be going, he had an early start, and she rose slowly to go and meet him. Standing close to Patrice, briefly on her tip-toes, she very gently brushed his crotch with two fingers, feeling the hardness she had been able to see clearly for some minutes now, and whispered into his ear, “Something to think about when you get home..”, then, giggling, stepped lightly away to meet her husband and take his hand to walk home, glancing once over her shoulder at Patrice and his small group.
The orgasm Vero had when Jacques fucked her that night was strong, and she wondered if it meant she would always crave the attention of men if she now needed it to fuel her excitement. If Jacques had been surprised to find her cunt wet he didn’t say so, and he didn’t ask why - in fact, it seemed to spur him on too and he came hard inside her, and then again after a few minutes of recovery.
Jacques was, indeed, very excited. He had seen Vero sit with Patrice and his friends at the bar earlier and had maneuvered himself so that he had a clear view of them over the shoulder of the very boring businessman he had been stuck talking to for at least half an hour. Although he couldn’t hear what was being said, he could see from his wife’s face that she was enjoying it and that she was teasing the men in front of her. Getting hard, Jacques realized, not for the first time, that he loved watching Vero with other men - particularly when they were hitting on her. It was conflicting too - he felt ashamed, guilty, angry, and jealous but, Jesus, he felt horny.
He decided to drop this boring guy and take his wife home to fuck her - he wanted her. As he called her and the guys turned to look in his direction, a gap opened between them and his heart missed a beat as he saw that Vero had opened her legs for them. He needed her naked, now.
Jacques and Vero spent the next two days getting their lives organized - Jacques went into the office, a short drive away, to meet everyone and start planning his schedule and Vero helped the staff place furniture, arriving daily, and hang pictures where she wanted them. In the afternoons Vero sunbathed, at first topless, her small breasts bared and the occasional breeze encouraging her sensitive nipples to stand, and then fully naked as she got used to the complete privacy behind the walls of their home and garden.
She was naked, lying on her tummy on the warm grass, then, when she felt a shadow fall over her. She knew, for some reason, just knew, that it was Patrice. A bolt of excitement raced from her crotch to her nipples like electricity, and she felt herself dampen between her legs. Pretending to be asleep, she lay still, her face resting on her arms for long minutes as the shadow didn’t move, and nor did its owner.
She could hear breathing, heavy, regular, and then what sounded like the rustling of fabric, then just the breathing again. After a few more minutes, her curiosity finally got the better of her and she rolled over, looking up to see a familiar face looming over her, blocking out the sun.
Patrice frantically tried to push his cock back into his unbuttoned trousers, making apologetic noises and starting to scamper away as he did so.
Stunned, but incredibly and instantly turned on, Vero realized he had been wanking over her, staring at her naked body. She managed to squeak, “Stop! It’s OK..” And beckoned him back toward her, cock still in his hand.
Vero lay back on the grass, staring at Patrice as he cast his shadow over her again, making his features clear as he blocked the sun.
“Carry on. Show me.”, said Vero.
Patrice began to stroke his cock, slowly at first but getting faster. It was big - and as it hardened in his hand it grew more before Vero’s eyes until, fully erect and pointing at the sky, it was ten inches long at least, and thick with it, the huge rope-like veins a slightly darker shade of brown as they pulsed visibly on its shaft.
Vero was wet - very wet. She stared as he stroked his cock, moving his right hand from the very base to the very tip in one smooth motion, over and over, faster and faster, his breathing very audible now that he wasn’t trying to be stealthy.
“You like what you see?”, asked Vero, slowly, deliberately, parting her thighs and running her hand over her belly, coming to rest between her legs where she began to rub her wet cunt.
Patrice just grunted and wanked harder as he watched her begin to fuck herself.
“Your cock… is beautiful, Patrice..”
Patrice grunted, ignoring Vero’s words, and focused entirely on her body, specifically her fingers moving rapidly in and out of her cunt, her knees bent as she splayed her legs wider, losing herself as she watched him.
With a single, louder grunt, and a shudder, Patrice stopped moving his hand. Nothing happened for a few seconds, he stood completely still. First one, then two, then three huge spurts of come flew from his cock, three or four seconds between them. Then four, five, six spurts. Patrice stood like a statue throughout, staring at Vero. His come launched into the air, the first spurt landing on the grass beside Vero, who quickly shuffled over to make sure the remainder landed on her chest, running between her breasts and over her flat tummy to pool in her navel. As the third load hit her, she said, through a clenched jaw, “Oh, Fuck..”, and came hard on her fingers - as hard as she ever had back in her old life, enough to make her vision dim for a few seconds.
They stayed silent for a full minute, Vero still with her wet hand between her legs, two fingers in her cunt, Patrice holding his softening cock, come dripping slowly from it to Vero’s body below him.
From inside the house, Jacques was calling - he’d arrived from work. Neither of them moved until it seemed he was bound to catch them, he was almost at the door to the garden, ten feet away, when the phone rang and, cursing, he turned and went back into the house. Vero, her eyes locked on Patrice’s, slowly slid her hand out from between her legs, drawing it through the warm pool of his come on her tummy, over her breasts, and to her mouth, where she cleaned their combined stickiness with her tongue, sucking hungrily at her fingers.
Patrice slowly put his now limp, but still very big, cock back inside his trousers, staring at her all the time.
“Jacques is away for two days next week”, he said, “I think that it needs to be longer, a week.”
Vero shivered a little in anticipation. “I think a week would be better.”
Less than 6 months later, Vero snapped out of her reverie to find herself on the final approach to Douala international airport, Cameroon. She was seated next to her husband of 3 months, Jacques, who she had met while working as a bar hostess and, as it turned out, a ********** much sought after by her clientele. Jacques knew all about Vero’s history - the very first evening they had met he had watched as two ***** men took her from the bar, Vero returning later clearly exhausted but so exhilarated he could sense it on her skin.
Jacques’ determination to make this woman he had coincided with Vero wanting to move on, to get out of the lifestyle before she no longer had a choice - she had seen the streetwalkers outside the bar, hard lives making them seem ancient when she knew most of them to be only a few years her senior, and she didn’t want that for herself. She had, after a difficult start and a lot of bending of her moral code, not to mention the remnants of her religious beliefs, enjoyed her short career as a ****** and had put away a decent chunk of cash to boot - which was, she sometimes forgot, the reason she had started along this path in the first place.
She knew, perhaps to her discomfort, that she would miss the sex. Being a hostess means variety - a constant rotation of regulars together with at least one new man each week - and with one or two exceptions they had all managed to bring her to orgasm at one point or another, something which seemed to happen more easily these days than when she had started. She thought that she didn’t come as hard as she once did, but the frequency made up for it.
Sex with Jacques was good - they were compatible and he was a considerate lover. He made her come each time they fucked, and he was good with his tongue and his fingers, but Vero could already feel the beginnings of slight boredom with the lack of variety. She made a conscious effort to put it out of her head.
Jacques had landed a good job in Cameroon - a real adventure for both of them, but especially for a girl who’d never done much traveling, even in her own country, and a few months before could not have imagined visiting Africa, let alone pulling up sticks to go and live there. Vero loved the novelty and was excited about this new chapter in her life, hopefully, she could make some new friends who didn’t have to pay to be in her company.
They were met outside the airport by Patrice, Jacques’ new boss and the man he had been speaking to via phone and letter for some weeks now. This was their first meeting in person and all three of them were immediately comfortable with each other and soon laughing along as Patrice drove them to their new home, pointing out one place after another with a complicated, meandering, and hilarious story attached to each. Patrice was tall, just over 6 feet Vero guessed, broad-shouldered with strong arms straining at the fabric of his short-sleeved shirt and a slight pot-belly hinting at a life of comfort. Vero, used to notice such things, suspected Patrice to be blessed with what hung between his legs too - the cut of his trousers did little to conceal the fact from her practiced eye.
After a long and picturesque drive, the house they were dropped at was everything Jacques had hoped for - large and airy, white against the sun, and proudly colonial in its lush green surroundings. The house stood near several other similar, forming a gated community with security provided by the company around the clock. This was a precaution that Jacques and Vero found slightly embarrassing but it had been insisted on, Patrice ensuring them that the guards were very discrete and were unlikely to be visible unless called upon.
A short walk away was the most beautiful beach Vero had ever seen - if anything the sea looked more blue from ground level than it had from two thousand feet when they were coming into land. She sat on the warm sand listening to the waves softly breaking below her as the tide receded and decided she was, for now, in the right place.
Padding up to the house as their cases were carried inside by a porter (she thought back to dragging her giant bag in the rain as they rushed to board the plane in France), Vero explored the rooms of this beautiful old home as Patrice and her husband discussed arrangements for his first day at work, which was to be tomorrow, and, Vero heard, a trip to a regional office for a couple of days the following week.
She wandered up to the room they had chosen as their bedroom and dug a bikini and long beach skirt, split at the top of her thigh, from a case, examining her pale skin critically in the full-length mirror as she changed.
Moving to the large balcony, overlooking the garden and the beach in the mid-distance, Vero leaned on the stone railing and sighed contentedly. Jacques was calling from below so she dragged herself away and drifted down the stairs, using the latent eroticism projected by her movements in the way she had been taught and now did without even realizing. Halfway down she became aware the men had stopped speaking and, glancing at them, was amused to find they were both staring at her, open-mouthed. Patrice, in particular, had such a hungry look on his deep black face that she began to get a little aroused, or, at least, started thinking in that way. Vero loved to be admired.
Reaching them, they both seemed to snap back to the present at the same time, clearing their throats and trying to pick up where they left off, very awkwardly. Vero found this highly entertaining and giggled as she left them to go and lay down on the lawn at the front of the house, bathing in the warm sunshine and shielding her eyes to look at the beautiful sky, a few small, pure white clouds drifting slowly across her field of view.
Patrice left Jacques standing at the door and, making for his car, paused to step onto the lawn, casting a shadow as he stood over Vero. Not attempting to close her split skirt, which was spread around her, or close her parted legs, flopped open as she lay down, she looked up brazenly at Patrice, a mischievous smile on her face.
“Goodbye, Vero, I’m sure we shall meet again”, he said, grinning, “in fact, I told Jacques to come down to the beach bar tonight - there’s a gathering of ex-pats down there on most evenings after the heat has died down a little - I can introduce you around. I have a feeling you’re going to be very popular. Both of you I mean.”
Vero grinned as he belatedly added her husband to his statement, “That sounds lovely, I’ll see you there. What should we wear?”
“Jacques should wear, well, whatever he wants really, and you - you should wear exactly what you have on. Unless you have something… “
“Smaller?”, laughed Vero, enjoying Patrice’s clear discomfort.
“I was going to say warmer, but, yes, actually, smaller would be just fine.”
Patrice winked, settled his mirrored sunglasses on his nose, climbed into his Landcruiser, and roared away.
Vero decided she very much liked having staff, as their cook brought a delicious meal of fresh poached fish to their table on the veranda, together with a bottle of ice-cold champagne which was sent to them by Patrice as a welcome present.
After dinner, Vero and Jacques walked hand-in-hand to the beach bar and were made to feel very welcome by a group of ten or twelve white ex-pats from all over the globe, most single but with one or two couples, and another six or so local black people, mainly men with business connected to the occupants of the compound, and all of them great friends with Patrice, who held court, put all the drinks on his tab and was generally the life and soul of the party. Patrice made sure everyone was introduced to Jacques and Vero, but was especially diligent, Vero noticed, in showing Vero to his friends.
She caught him and two of them staring at her, deep in quiet conversation, during a lull in the proceedings. The sky was darkening and they didn’t realize she had seen them, and she continued to observe them from the corner of her eye as they discussed her, their admiring gaze never leaving her.
Vero had ***** quite a lot of champagne and this attention began to turn her on. She hadn’t felt like this since leaving the hostess bar, where she was accustomed to being desired and mentally undressed regularly, and she realized she had been missing it a little, to her surprise.
Noticing that Jacques was engrossed in a conversation with a man at some distance from the bar, Vero walked slowly over to Patrice and his friends, who gallantly parted and offered her a stool at the bar among them. Vero chuckled, “Why, thank you boys..”, and sat, cross-legged, her back to the bar, elbows resting on the thick wood surface so that she could talk to the semi-circle of men crowding around her.
“Were you enjoying the view just then, boys?”, asked Vero.
Patrice grinned, “I think it’s safe to say that we were, yes, I think we were..”
The two companions nodded enthusiastically.
“You do realize, Patrice, that not only is it very rude to stare, but that I am also a recently married woman and therefore easily offended..”
Patrice laughed, “Please accept our apologies, Vero, we are incapable of hiding our admiration when we see something truly remarkable.”
“It’s OK, I forgive you. This time. It’s lucky for you that I enjoy being admired.” As Vero said this, she uncrossed her legs and slowly parted her thighs, her slender legs tensed as her bare heels rested on the cross-member of the stool, pushing her knees up and giving all three men a clear view of her bikini bottoms, just about covering her but leaving little to the imagination.
All three were stunned, and before they could move or speak, Jacques called to Vero that they should be going, he had an early start, and she rose slowly to go and meet him. Standing close to Patrice, briefly on her tip-toes, she very gently brushed his crotch with two fingers, feeling the hardness she had been able to see clearly for some minutes now, and whispered into his ear, “Something to think about when you get home..”, then, giggling, stepped lightly away to meet her husband and take his hand to walk home, glancing once over her shoulder at Patrice and his small group.
The orgasm Vero had when Jacques fucked her that night was strong, and she wondered if it meant she would always crave the attention of men if she now needed it to fuel her excitement. If Jacques had been surprised to find her cunt wet he didn’t say so, and he didn’t ask why - in fact, it seemed to spur him on too and he came hard inside her, and then again after a few minutes of recovery.
Jacques was, indeed, very excited. He had seen Vero sit with Patrice and his friends at the bar earlier and had maneuvered himself so that he had a clear view of them over the shoulder of the very boring businessman he had been stuck talking to for at least half an hour. Although he couldn’t hear what was being said, he could see from his wife’s face that she was enjoying it and that she was teasing the men in front of her. Getting hard, Jacques realized, not for the first time, that he loved watching Vero with other men - particularly when they were hitting on her. It was conflicting too - he felt ashamed, guilty, angry, and jealous but, Jesus, he felt horny.
He decided to drop this boring guy and take his wife home to fuck her - he wanted her. As he called her and the guys turned to look in his direction, a gap opened between them and his heart missed a beat as he saw that Vero had opened her legs for them. He needed her naked, now.
Jacques and Vero spent the next two days getting their lives organized - Jacques went into the office, a short drive away, to meet everyone and start planning his schedule and Vero helped the staff place furniture, arriving daily, and hang pictures where she wanted them. In the afternoons Vero sunbathed, at first topless, her small breasts bared and the occasional breeze encouraging her sensitive nipples to stand, and then fully naked as she got used to the complete privacy behind the walls of their home and garden.
She was naked, lying on her tummy on the warm grass, then, when she felt a shadow fall over her. She knew, for some reason, just knew, that it was Patrice. A bolt of excitement raced from her crotch to her nipples like electricity, and she felt herself dampen between her legs. Pretending to be asleep, she lay still, her face resting on her arms for long minutes as the shadow didn’t move, and nor did its owner.
She could hear breathing, heavy, regular, and then what sounded like the rustling of fabric, then just the breathing again. After a few more minutes, her curiosity finally got the better of her and she rolled over, looking up to see a familiar face looming over her, blocking out the sun.
Patrice frantically tried to push his cock back into his unbuttoned trousers, making apologetic noises and starting to scamper away as he did so.
Stunned, but incredibly and instantly turned on, Vero realized he had been wanking over her, staring at her naked body. She managed to squeak, “Stop! It’s OK..” And beckoned him back toward her, cock still in his hand.
Vero lay back on the grass, staring at Patrice as he cast his shadow over her again, making his features clear as he blocked the sun.
“Carry on. Show me.”, said Vero.
Patrice began to stroke his cock, slowly at first but getting faster. It was big - and as it hardened in his hand it grew more before Vero’s eyes until, fully erect and pointing at the sky, it was ten inches long at least, and thick with it, the huge rope-like veins a slightly darker shade of brown as they pulsed visibly on its shaft.
Vero was wet - very wet. She stared as he stroked his cock, moving his right hand from the very base to the very tip in one smooth motion, over and over, faster and faster, his breathing very audible now that he wasn’t trying to be stealthy.
“You like what you see?”, asked Vero, slowly, deliberately, parting her thighs and running her hand over her belly, coming to rest between her legs where she began to rub her wet cunt.
Patrice just grunted and wanked harder as he watched her begin to fuck herself.
“Your cock… is beautiful, Patrice..”
Patrice grunted, ignoring Vero’s words, and focused entirely on her body, specifically her fingers moving rapidly in and out of her cunt, her knees bent as she splayed her legs wider, losing herself as she watched him.
With a single, louder grunt, and a shudder, Patrice stopped moving his hand. Nothing happened for a few seconds, he stood completely still. First one, then two, then three huge spurts of come flew from his cock, three or four seconds between them. Then four, five, six spurts. Patrice stood like a statue throughout, staring at Vero. His come launched into the air, the first spurt landing on the grass beside Vero, who quickly shuffled over to make sure the remainder landed on her chest, running between her breasts and over her flat tummy to pool in her navel. As the third load hit her, she said, through a clenched jaw, “Oh, Fuck..”, and came hard on her fingers - as hard as she ever had back in her old life, enough to make her vision dim for a few seconds.
They stayed silent for a full minute, Vero still with her wet hand between her legs, two fingers in her cunt, Patrice holding his softening cock, come dripping slowly from it to Vero’s body below him.
From inside the house, Jacques was calling - he’d arrived from work. Neither of them moved until it seemed he was bound to catch them, he was almost at the door to the garden, ten feet away, when the phone rang and, cursing, he turned and went back into the house. Vero, her eyes locked on Patrice’s, slowly slid her hand out from between her legs, drawing it through the warm pool of his come on her tummy, over her breasts, and to her mouth, where she cleaned their combined stickiness with her tongue, sucking hungrily at her fingers.
Patrice slowly put his now limp, but still very big, cock back inside his trousers, staring at her all the time.
“Jacques is away for two days next week”, he said, “I think that it needs to be longer, a week.”
Vero shivered a little in anticipation. “I think a week would be better.”
