Had she guessed the truth behind our little fabrication? Did she yearn in her heart of hearts to join our little party for an afternoon of frivolity, fun and flirtation-possibly followed by fanciful frolics-with a pair of devilishly handsome young men, which I felt sure was the delicious fate awaiting my friend and I?
Settling ourselves on a small settee in the salon to wait for Pierre and Maurice, Justine and I attempted to attract the attention of the young waitress who dodged backwards and forwards between the kitchen and the salon with trays of coffee and cakes for her clients – a mainly elderly collection of ladies and gentlemen, and most certainly highly demanding of her attention to their gastronomical needs.
As my eyes followed those of the waitress, hoping in vain to attract her over to us so that we might place our order, my attention was caught by a solid, rather heavy-looking gentleman sitting in the far corner. Grey- haired and whiskered with a ruddy complexion and a pronounced pot belly, he had been gazing at us over the top of his newspaper with considerable interest since we'd entered some five minutes previously.
As my eyes met his, the randy old gentleman gave me a big, suggestive wink, then coughed in a self- conscious sort of way and pretended to return to his newspaper, glancing up at regular intervals to check my reaction to his rather forward gesture.
What an excellent manner in which to pass the time until our young men arrive, I thought to myself. A saucy little dalliance with a horny old duffer who, by the look of him, is old enough to be our grandfather!
Edging closer to Justine on the little settee, I gently nudged her with my elbow and, with a whispered explanation and a little series of gestures, alerted her to the comic, as well as the erotic, potential of the situation we now found ourselves in.
'Maybe he thinks we're a couple of working girls,' Justine hissed at me under her breath.
'Then we'll not disillusion the old boy,' I replied. 'Come, let's make his day and have some fun into the bargain!'
The next time my eyes met his I, too, winked suggestively and indicated with a little tilt of my head for him to join us at our table.
Eyes widening with surprise and delight he swiftly folded his newspaper and did as he was bid, pausing for a moment to instruct the waitress in hushed tones (continually glancing across at us all the while for fear we might disappear in a puff of smoke) to bring a fresh pot of coffee-for three-and a plate of Florentines.
Justine and I once again exchanged knowing glances, primping and preening, moistening lips and adjusting our posture in order to enhance the jut of our breasts for the satisfaction of our new 'friend'.
'Good afternoon, ladies,' he said to us in impeccable English as he sat down, rather heavily, in a chair facing us on the other side of the small, rococo table. 'Allow me to introduce myself. My name is David Hostridge I hope you will not be offended but I noticed from where I was sitting that you were experiencing a little difficulty in attracting the attention of the waitress, so I've taken the liberty of ordering coffee and Florentines for us all, if that meets with your approval?'
He gave an obsequious little smile which served to irritate me intensely, reinforcing my desire to teach this rather patronising gentleman a lesson.
I smiled sweetly at him. 'Why, sir, how extremely kind and generous of you to favour us with your presence in this way,' I simpered at him from behind my fan, coyly fluttering my long eyelashes, before dropping the dainty confection of ivory and lace to the floor beneath the table.
'Allow me. Mademoiselle,' he said with a flourish.
'No, sir, allow me!'
With these words I dived under the table and, totally ignoring the dropped fan, began to tickle and fondle the portly gentleman's ankles and calves through the smooth fabric of his trousers. (Fortunately, my exploits were completely obscured by the heavy damask cloth which draped to the floor on all four side of the table, shielding me from the possible gaze of interested parties.
I felt the gentleman in question stiffen slightly with surprise, then commence a rather false-sounding and slightly falsetto conversation with Justine who, judging by the somewhat quavering tone of her voice and the way her toes were curled inside her shoes and her legs under the table were pressed tightly together in the tense attitude of one desperate to hold something in, was finding the whole situation amusing in the extreme.
Ignoring the deceptively bright conversation going on above my head, I deftly removed the shoe and sock from Mr. Hostridge's right foot and quickly popped his big toe into my mouth, sucking sweetly and exploring its contours with my wicked tongue.
As I did so I unbuttoned the front of my bodice and pulled aside my chemise so that my big, creamy breasts flopped out and hung suspended, luscious and naked and the perfect place to rest a man's bare foot, which I held in both hands and rubbed over my warm, yielding flesh.
When I tickled the soft, sensitive underside of his foot with my large, firm nipples which were by now like organ-stops, I felt him tremble with excitement and his voice reach an even higher register as he struggled to keep mind and body on an even keel and maintain an element of sense in his conversation with Justine.
By now, of course, the subject of their discourse was completely lost on me, so filled was I with lustful and erotic imaginings.
Letting go of Ids foot and snaking my hands upwards to his crotch, I quickly undid the buttons of his fly with great difficulty, I might add, since the fabric of his trousers was stretched almost to breaking point over his fat, pendulous belly and the enormous erect prick which lay beneath it like a thick, coiled serpent.
At last I managed to free the big, throbbing cock from its confines, stroking and squeezing it and pressing it against my firm white tits, and feeling it tremble and pulse in my tender hands as though with a life of its own.
When, finally, I lowered my head and took David Hostridge's huge, veiny member between my moist, pouting lips, nipping lightly but insistently with my even, pearly teeth, I felt a tremendous shudder and a huge surge of emotion course through his body.
At that moment, mouth crammed full of hot, engorged prick, I became aware that two more individuals- men-had joined in the conversation.
'Justine! What a wonderful surprise! How glad I am to see you, ma cherie. I'd almost given up hope. Maurice and I travel back to Paris tomorrow and I feared we'd leave Lucerne without having had the opportunity to spend some time with you. You've met my friend, Maurice, I believe?'
'Indeed we have met, Pierre,' agreed an attractively distinctive male voice. 'Mademoiselle, I am delighted to have this opportunity of renewing our acquaintance/ Maurice politely kissed Justine's proffered hand in the charming French manner. 'But I do hope we haven't interrupted your conversation with this gentleman. Monsieur, I don't believe I've had the pleasure…'
Maurice, it is true, may not previously have had the pleasure, but the gentleman referred to was at that precise moment enjoying pleasure of the most intense and exquisite kind, and showing every sign of inadvertently proclaiming his joy to the entire salon.
'Ahhh… No, no, I don't believe we have… Ooh, ooh, ooh!'
'Forgive me, sir, but are you entirely well?' asked Pierre, placing a solicitous hand on the older man's arm.
'Why, yes! Perfectly well, thank you… aargh, aargh, aargh! Just a spot of indigestion, I fear. Must have been those Florentines. Poor old insides can't stand the strain of too much rich food these days. Ha, ha, ha… AARGH!'
With that, the lecherous old devil shot his salty spunk into my busy mouth, as I continued to suck lustily on his game old tool, milking it dry and smacking my lips with libidinous pleasure.
Red-faced with shock and embarrassment, and thoroughly chastened by the experience of spunking before an audience, Mr. Hostridge stuffed his rapidly deflating cock back into his trousers, rose unsteadily to his feet and muttered an unlikely excuse about a prior engagement with a colleague on the other side of town, whereupon he shuffled away, hunched over in an effort to disguise the damp stain at the front of his semi-unfastened nether garments.
Wordlessly, Pierre and Maurice watched him go with looks of amused puzzlement, while I rose from beneath the damask tablecloth like Venus from the waves, glowing with triumph and satisfaction at the knowledge of a job well done.
'I don't believe you've met my friend,' smiled Justine. 'Rosie D'Argosse, absolutely the wickedest, naughtiest girl at Madame Dupont's Academy for Young Ladies!'
