Chantal

Before Catherine, there were several others, the first of whom was Chantal. Conversing wasn’t that good then, because I had just arrived in Paris, and my French was poor. But I was eager, and Chantal was so willing. I think she thought I was exotic, a Canadian in Paris. The first night we were together we stumbled through a flirty conversation that was a shambles, but she worked so hard at making it all work. Her cheeks got lovely and red as she drank, first red vermouth on the rocks, and then red wine. Her hair was red, too. Wiry red.

She was addicted to sucking my cock throughout our relationship. It started that first night. She treated it almost as if it were a job interview, showing me how competent she was. She used bright red lipstick, of a variety that didn’t smudge. I had never seen that before. It didn’t even come off on my cock as she sucked and licked. To be fair, she was an artiste. At least in my experience. Her mouth was volcanic. Fiery hot. Flowing. Sucking, almost breathing my cock in. At first she had difficulty taking it all the way in, I could tell, and gagged, till she got the angle. I had only ever had two girls who could take a cock deep into their throats. God I came hard. My cum shot into her throat (it seemed to, anyway) but then poured back out her mouth, down her chin, and she kept sucking and slurping… swallowing what she could. Afterwards, she just lay back (she was still dressed in her stretch top and jeans) and unzipped her jeans, fucking herself without taking her pants off, so I could see her fingers moving along her cunt and clit. It was simple and pretty. When she came she shuddered, as I expected, but it was oddly private. Hard to explain.

I had met girls who loved to suck cock before, but not like her; it seemed to be her mission. I will write a bit more about Chantal, because her love of sucking my cock was a sort of addiction, a fetish, something she wanted to do even when I wanted to fuck differently.