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The convention of the multinational company I worked for, on the calendar for some time, was a special occasion to see Paris, one of the cities I love most in the world.
I would also meet Mireille, my French correspondent.
The Versailles Hotel was swarming with people coming and going, I would stand curious and excited in the lobby betting with myself, for fun, to spot her without ever having seen her face.
In the middle of the morning I saw a beautiful woman come in with a briefcase with the company logo under her arm and I bet a euro. Tall, slender, long raven hair, very elegant in her cream suit on matching sandals with dizzying heels, very similar to those I was wearing. I won the bet: it was her.
Monsieur Lechateau, our coordinator, whom I already knew as she often came to Rome, introduced her to me. She smiled at me, I did the same and we hugged cordially, after the many hours spent together on the phone in the previous months.
In spite of Skype, WhatsApp and all the modern devilries, we preferred to reserve a surprise for ourselves, just for the moment we were living.
It impressed me a lot, not only for its beauty, but also for its way of speaking, even more appreciable live, with that charming 'erre' typically French and with that very kind way of posing that characterized it.
After sitting next to her for the entire first day of work and becoming even more familiar with her, late in the afternoon I asked her: "Are you busy? Would you like to show me around town before dinner?"
"Wow," he replied, "I'd love to, but tomorrow afternoon Claudette, a dear friend of mine who is a painter, is going on tour and will be out for almost a year. I promised her we'd spend the evening together, dinner included."
"Ah, you're not even dining here?"
"No. But... but... wait a minute, let me make a phone call."
Mireille walked away and returned in a few seconds with a radiant smile: "It's all right.
Claudette not only doesn't mind, but is happy that my Italian friend is joining us."
An hour later, just enough time to get dressed, we set off.
Claudette was waiting for us under the house, on rue Des Abbesses: we had warned her on her cell phone that we were coming.
I saw a redhead about forty years old with shiny, wavy and long hair, really beautiful. Not extraordinarily beautiful, but she showed a youthful aspect more than pleasant, besides being without doubt a charismatic and very sexy woman.
She was an appreciated painter, quoted and of a certain notoriety. She presented herself literally dressed in coloured rags, but put on with such incredible skill that they were on a par with a dress of haute couture: she was, in her way, elegant and particular. Some of my provincial acquaintances would have called her 'eccentric'.
"She was never married, nor had a lasting relationship," she told me almost immediately, confirming her 'eccentricity'.
The program: short tour of Montmartre, as promised, then dinner. The evening would end at his house, having a drink.
As we walked around chirping nonchalantly, I considered how much the whole world was country.
We seemed to be at the head of a flock of starlings: one in front and all the others behind, hundreds of them, circling the sky forming changing patterns from moment to moment.
We had, in fact, a considerable number of sexting men following precisely our path, and looking up to us with admiration, who from time to time gave us polite praise.
In fact, three women, so striking together, so different and so variegated, a brunette, a blonde and a redhead, moreover, set in the way we were, is not a common sight anywhere in the world.
Meanwhile, it was dinnertime. The Chamarré Montmartre, one of the best restaurants in the city, was waiting for us with its creative cuisine. We were given the chance to recommend a mix of specialties that turned out to be really excellent, accompanied by two bottles of excellent wine, a very expensive Chateauneuf-du-Pape Cuvée Cadettes from 2003, expressly requested by Claudette who obviously knew her way around, as well as being a local regular.
"Come on, come on, girls, what do we care? I'm buying you dinner, I'm buying you dinner, and I'm more than happy to do it... Ouììì, vive la vie, viva la vita!"
Mireille was right to say her friend was friendly and outgoing. Also very generous and spontaneous, I might add. Not at all superb, moreover, in that couple of hours she never talked about herself nor about the success she had, let alone her economic and social position, which was evident.
We were really good together, so I went very willingly, as per the setlist, to finish the evening at her house.
How can it be the home of an established artist, in the artists' quarter, in one of the most beautiful cities in the world? But splendid, of course, a work of art!
Furnished in an informal and tasteful way, with a combination of antique and modern furniture that is not easy to compose and with many special objects from the most diverse corners of the globe. With many paintings, his and other authors', on the walls and with several sculptures distributed everywhere.
Even distracted or disinterested eyes would immediately understand that this was a 'higher' level.
I was confused by all that luxury and thought that alcohol was the most likely cause of the slight dizziness that was attacking me.
At the third glass of the 'obligatory' Cointreau, added to the dinner wine, after half an hour of chatter and laughter, heightened by my improbable French, I even had the impression of seeing the landlady approach her friend with an enigmatic look.
The latter was standing in front of a magnificent aquarium of enormous dimensions, watching the dozens of colorful tropical fish that populated it.
Immediately afterwards it seemed to me that she was leaning her lips between the base of her neck and her left shoulder, at first slightly, then with more and more pressure, while the other one, not at all surprised, was slowly turning around. My imagination even went so far as to see a tongue sticking out of those splendidly fleshy lips, until it reached, just as slowly, a mouth that seemed to want nothing more than to welcome it, and then to slip into it with voluptuousness.
All this in a decidedly suggestive environment, with soft music and oriental perfumes, illuminated only by the white and violet lights of the bathtub and by the very dim lilac colour of a futuristic floor lamp, placed on the other side of the immense living room.
No attitude of theirs had made me foresee, until that moment, that I might witness a scene like the one I suspected was opening in front of me. Looking more carefully I understood that it was not an impression, nor a suspicion, nor the consequence of the alcohol I had taken.
I let myself fall, in order to get rid of the effect of the surprise, on a comfortable white leather armchair.
In the meantime they were moving towards a large low sofa in front of me, also in white leather, with chaise longue. They stretched out and began to get rid of their clothes, exchanging kisses and words more and more ardent in their language: exciting just to hear them.
From time to time they looked at me.
After the initial bewilderment I regained awareness of who I really was, of my past experiences in particular, significant, and of my 'technical baggage', relevant.
At that point I reminded myself: "They are probably observing how you respond to what could be a trauma for you. Maybe they think they're shocking you and waiting for a reaction to laugh about it, or maybe they're just toying to see if they should try to seduce you, who knows...".
To get the doubt out of my mind, I got up in a hurry and walked towards them, making this consideration: "I think these two haven't quite understood who they are facing, the time has come to provide.
Once I reached the sofa, the first one that came into my sights was Claudette. I said to her, peremptorily: "Move over a little bit, bitch! Make room for me." She obeyed promptly, without batting an eyelid: I understood that she wasn't joking.
So, looking into her eyes with voluptuousness, I spread her legs and bent down slowly to kiss, lick and even bite her sex. The excitement I had accumulated in the meantime seemed to me to be that of great occasions.
She, I could tell from her moans, was very pleased.
This time the surprise was theirs, my way of doing it was certainly not a beginner's way, like the naturalness I showed with my cheeky attitude.
I raised my head from time to time and saw that Mireille, after the initial amazement, had the desire to taste me. I could see it from the fact that sometimes she opened her eyes and looked at me languidly, she seemed to call me, in fact she whispered: "Come closer, please. Have I ever told you that I have always wanted you, just because of the voice I heard on the phone? When I saw you, then..."
I said, "Hey, sweet vicious colleague, surprises make us even!" Impossible to resist his call, however, I added: "I'm coming, little piggy, open your mouth and legs".
I approached her and put my lips to her, in the middle of which she immediately introduced her tongue.
She tasted at the same time the taste of my mouth and that of Claudette's sex, which in the meantime she had brought with her head down, to return the 'favor' of before and savor my moods.
An ecstatic "pincer".
I started sighing, then moaning, then screaming and, as the excitement surged, taking more and more imaginative and refined initiatives, under the pleasantly surprised glances of my partners who were beginning to become fully aware of who, from that point of view, was me.
Soon after, all three of us were completely naked between the sofa and a very low crystal table, above the immense high pile carpet on which they rested.
A harmonious whole was taking shape, made up of three tangled women's bodies that ceased to be so and became only terminals of pleasure, with dozens of mouths, hundreds of hands, thousands of fingers, infinite sexes. Mouths and hands that were eagerly looking for another mouth, breast, clitoris or any other part to attach themselves to, having become erogenous zones every inch of our skin.
We closed several combinations of 'circles', initially with Claudette kissing Mireille's sex, who in turn kissed mine. Then to turn.
At a certain point she pushed me towards her friend, whispering: "Go, rub your pussy until you orgasm, I'll masturbate in front of you".
We immediately fulfilled her, continuing to exchange tender and passionate kisses as we watched her, or rather, as we admired her.
Mireille, on the couch peninsula, was frantically moving her fingers on her vulva, her head reclining backwards and her long black hair touching the ground, in an expression of ecstasy accompanied by moans. It was a moving sculpture that integrated perfectly with all the works of art in the room.
We reached our first orgasm at different times, but we didn't stop.
I represented the novelty in a ménage that was evident for a long time, a novelty to be savoured for a long time yet, sweetly and exclusively female.
I must say that, as much as I adore men and their morphological characteristics, at that moment I didn't miss them at all... and neither did my friends, I think.
We started kissing again in threes, without doing anything else on purpose, until that practice became almost torture. We were back in the Intergalactic Space of Stellar Excitement demanding more, daring more, ready to begin that exploration of the Maximum Pleasure System aboard the Saffo spacecraft.
I moved first, looking again for Mireille's wonderful curves, I said to her: "I adore you, you are driving me crazy". After a fraction of a second, Claudette, 'jealous', took her and made her lie down beside her with one leg on her shoulder.
He started kissing her again on the vagina, repeatedly and overbearingly sticking that exceptionally long and full-bodied tongue which in his intentions at that moment must have represented the member of a man and which in any case did all the functions worthily.
Each more violent blow corresponded to a slight recoil of Mireille's towards one of my fingers, which she had in the meantime searched for and found her other pertube, the back one, giving her double pleasure.
I touched myself with my other hand. The concert of moans, sighs and groans from all sides was melodious, it would have delighted every ear present.
After a long time and several changes of position we were again in the frenzy that preceded the orgasm, with the common desire to prolong those moments indefinitely.
I lived them from lying on my back, surrounded by Claudette's firm, smooth thighs that I had around my head and felt with great pleasure. At the same time I contributed to making her vagina more and more wet. I did it through fast and decisive tongue strokes, receiving in return the nectar that dripped on me and that I savored with voluptuousness and immense excitement.
It escaped me: "Come on, more, more, I want a sex juice". With words, I had never gone this far, while a hand of Mireille's was doing an impeccable job on my clitoris and I on hers: this time all three of us came at the same time.
Immediately afterwards, it was very pleasant to 'scatter' around the living room. We lay down at a certain distance from each other, to observe better and calmly the still distorted faces and bodies of the other two, capable of having given, and received, so much pleasure.
The crossed glances and the complicit smiles that we silently exchanged in the different combinations and for long minutes at the end of childbirth, expressed satisfaction, mutual gratitude and awareness of having lived together moments to remember for a long time.
I would also meet Mireille, my French correspondent.
The Versailles Hotel was swarming with people coming and going, I would stand curious and excited in the lobby betting with myself, for fun, to spot her without ever having seen her face.
In the middle of the morning I saw a beautiful woman come in with a briefcase with the company logo under her arm and I bet a euro. Tall, slender, long raven hair, very elegant in her cream suit on matching sandals with dizzying heels, very similar to those I was wearing. I won the bet: it was her.
Monsieur Lechateau, our coordinator, whom I already knew as she often came to Rome, introduced her to me. She smiled at me, I did the same and we hugged cordially, after the many hours spent together on the phone in the previous months.
In spite of Skype, WhatsApp and all the modern devilries, we preferred to reserve a surprise for ourselves, just for the moment we were living.
It impressed me a lot, not only for its beauty, but also for its way of speaking, even more appreciable live, with that charming 'erre' typically French and with that very kind way of posing that characterized it.
After sitting next to her for the entire first day of work and becoming even more familiar with her, late in the afternoon I asked her: "Are you busy? Would you like to show me around town before dinner?"
"Wow," he replied, "I'd love to, but tomorrow afternoon Claudette, a dear friend of mine who is a painter, is going on tour and will be out for almost a year. I promised her we'd spend the evening together, dinner included."
"Ah, you're not even dining here?"
"No. But... but... wait a minute, let me make a phone call."
Mireille walked away and returned in a few seconds with a radiant smile: "It's all right.
Claudette not only doesn't mind, but is happy that my Italian friend is joining us."
An hour later, just enough time to get dressed, we set off.
Claudette was waiting for us under the house, on rue Des Abbesses: we had warned her on her cell phone that we were coming.
I saw a redhead about forty years old with shiny, wavy and long hair, really beautiful. Not extraordinarily beautiful, but she showed a youthful aspect more than pleasant, besides being without doubt a charismatic and very sexy woman.
She was an appreciated painter, quoted and of a certain notoriety. She presented herself literally dressed in coloured rags, but put on with such incredible skill that they were on a par with a dress of haute couture: she was, in her way, elegant and particular. Some of my provincial acquaintances would have called her 'eccentric'.
"She was never married, nor had a lasting relationship," she told me almost immediately, confirming her 'eccentricity'.
The program: short tour of Montmartre, as promised, then dinner. The evening would end at his house, having a drink.
As we walked around chirping nonchalantly, I considered how much the whole world was country.
We seemed to be at the head of a flock of starlings: one in front and all the others behind, hundreds of them, circling the sky forming changing patterns from moment to moment.
We had, in fact, a considerable number of sexting men following precisely our path, and looking up to us with admiration, who from time to time gave us polite praise.
In fact, three women, so striking together, so different and so variegated, a brunette, a blonde and a redhead, moreover, set in the way we were, is not a common sight anywhere in the world.
Meanwhile, it was dinnertime. The Chamarré Montmartre, one of the best restaurants in the city, was waiting for us with its creative cuisine. We were given the chance to recommend a mix of specialties that turned out to be really excellent, accompanied by two bottles of excellent wine, a very expensive Chateauneuf-du-Pape Cuvée Cadettes from 2003, expressly requested by Claudette who obviously knew her way around, as well as being a local regular.
"Come on, come on, girls, what do we care? I'm buying you dinner, I'm buying you dinner, and I'm more than happy to do it... Ouììì, vive la vie, viva la vita!"
Mireille was right to say her friend was friendly and outgoing. Also very generous and spontaneous, I might add. Not at all superb, moreover, in that couple of hours she never talked about herself nor about the success she had, let alone her economic and social position, which was evident.
We were really good together, so I went very willingly, as per the setlist, to finish the evening at her house.
How can it be the home of an established artist, in the artists' quarter, in one of the most beautiful cities in the world? But splendid, of course, a work of art!
Furnished in an informal and tasteful way, with a combination of antique and modern furniture that is not easy to compose and with many special objects from the most diverse corners of the globe. With many paintings, his and other authors', on the walls and with several sculptures distributed everywhere.
Even distracted or disinterested eyes would immediately understand that this was a 'higher' level.
I was confused by all that luxury and thought that alcohol was the most likely cause of the slight dizziness that was attacking me.
At the third glass of the 'obligatory' Cointreau, added to the dinner wine, after half an hour of chatter and laughter, heightened by my improbable French, I even had the impression of seeing the landlady approach her friend with an enigmatic look.
The latter was standing in front of a magnificent aquarium of enormous dimensions, watching the dozens of colorful tropical fish that populated it.
Immediately afterwards it seemed to me that she was leaning her lips between the base of her neck and her left shoulder, at first slightly, then with more and more pressure, while the other one, not at all surprised, was slowly turning around. My imagination even went so far as to see a tongue sticking out of those splendidly fleshy lips, until it reached, just as slowly, a mouth that seemed to want nothing more than to welcome it, and then to slip into it with voluptuousness.
All this in a decidedly suggestive environment, with soft music and oriental perfumes, illuminated only by the white and violet lights of the bathtub and by the very dim lilac colour of a futuristic floor lamp, placed on the other side of the immense living room.
No attitude of theirs had made me foresee, until that moment, that I might witness a scene like the one I suspected was opening in front of me. Looking more carefully I understood that it was not an impression, nor a suspicion, nor the consequence of the alcohol I had taken.
I let myself fall, in order to get rid of the effect of the surprise, on a comfortable white leather armchair.
In the meantime they were moving towards a large low sofa in front of me, also in white leather, with chaise longue. They stretched out and began to get rid of their clothes, exchanging kisses and words more and more ardent in their language: exciting just to hear them.
From time to time they looked at me.
After the initial bewilderment I regained awareness of who I really was, of my past experiences in particular, significant, and of my 'technical baggage', relevant.
At that point I reminded myself: "They are probably observing how you respond to what could be a trauma for you. Maybe they think they're shocking you and waiting for a reaction to laugh about it, or maybe they're just toying to see if they should try to seduce you, who knows...".
To get the doubt out of my mind, I got up in a hurry and walked towards them, making this consideration: "I think these two haven't quite understood who they are facing, the time has come to provide.
Once I reached the sofa, the first one that came into my sights was Claudette. I said to her, peremptorily: "Move over a little bit, bitch! Make room for me." She obeyed promptly, without batting an eyelid: I understood that she wasn't joking.
So, looking into her eyes with voluptuousness, I spread her legs and bent down slowly to kiss, lick and even bite her sex. The excitement I had accumulated in the meantime seemed to me to be that of great occasions.
She, I could tell from her moans, was very pleased.
This time the surprise was theirs, my way of doing it was certainly not a beginner's way, like the naturalness I showed with my cheeky attitude.
I raised my head from time to time and saw that Mireille, after the initial amazement, had the desire to taste me. I could see it from the fact that sometimes she opened her eyes and looked at me languidly, she seemed to call me, in fact she whispered: "Come closer, please. Have I ever told you that I have always wanted you, just because of the voice I heard on the phone? When I saw you, then..."
I said, "Hey, sweet vicious colleague, surprises make us even!" Impossible to resist his call, however, I added: "I'm coming, little piggy, open your mouth and legs".
I approached her and put my lips to her, in the middle of which she immediately introduced her tongue.
She tasted at the same time the taste of my mouth and that of Claudette's sex, which in the meantime she had brought with her head down, to return the 'favor' of before and savor my moods.
An ecstatic "pincer".
I started sighing, then moaning, then screaming and, as the excitement surged, taking more and more imaginative and refined initiatives, under the pleasantly surprised glances of my partners who were beginning to become fully aware of who, from that point of view, was me.
Soon after, all three of us were completely naked between the sofa and a very low crystal table, above the immense high pile carpet on which they rested.
A harmonious whole was taking shape, made up of three tangled women's bodies that ceased to be so and became only terminals of pleasure, with dozens of mouths, hundreds of hands, thousands of fingers, infinite sexes. Mouths and hands that were eagerly looking for another mouth, breast, clitoris or any other part to attach themselves to, having become erogenous zones every inch of our skin.
We closed several combinations of 'circles', initially with Claudette kissing Mireille's sex, who in turn kissed mine. Then to turn.
At a certain point she pushed me towards her friend, whispering: "Go, rub your pussy until you orgasm, I'll masturbate in front of you".
We immediately fulfilled her, continuing to exchange tender and passionate kisses as we watched her, or rather, as we admired her.
Mireille, on the couch peninsula, was frantically moving her fingers on her vulva, her head reclining backwards and her long black hair touching the ground, in an expression of ecstasy accompanied by moans. It was a moving sculpture that integrated perfectly with all the works of art in the room.
We reached our first orgasm at different times, but we didn't stop.
I represented the novelty in a ménage that was evident for a long time, a novelty to be savoured for a long time yet, sweetly and exclusively female.
I must say that, as much as I adore men and their morphological characteristics, at that moment I didn't miss them at all... and neither did my friends, I think.
We started kissing again in threes, without doing anything else on purpose, until that practice became almost torture. We were back in the Intergalactic Space of Stellar Excitement demanding more, daring more, ready to begin that exploration of the Maximum Pleasure System aboard the Saffo spacecraft.
I moved first, looking again for Mireille's wonderful curves, I said to her: "I adore you, you are driving me crazy". After a fraction of a second, Claudette, 'jealous', took her and made her lie down beside her with one leg on her shoulder.
He started kissing her again on the vagina, repeatedly and overbearingly sticking that exceptionally long and full-bodied tongue which in his intentions at that moment must have represented the member of a man and which in any case did all the functions worthily.
Each more violent blow corresponded to a slight recoil of Mireille's towards one of my fingers, which she had in the meantime searched for and found her other pertube, the back one, giving her double pleasure.
I touched myself with my other hand. The concert of moans, sighs and groans from all sides was melodious, it would have delighted every ear present.
After a long time and several changes of position we were again in the frenzy that preceded the orgasm, with the common desire to prolong those moments indefinitely.
I lived them from lying on my back, surrounded by Claudette's firm, smooth thighs that I had around my head and felt with great pleasure. At the same time I contributed to making her vagina more and more wet. I did it through fast and decisive tongue strokes, receiving in return the nectar that dripped on me and that I savored with voluptuousness and immense excitement.
It escaped me: "Come on, more, more, I want a sex juice". With words, I had never gone this far, while a hand of Mireille's was doing an impeccable job on my clitoris and I on hers: this time all three of us came at the same time.
Immediately afterwards, it was very pleasant to 'scatter' around the living room. We lay down at a certain distance from each other, to observe better and calmly the still distorted faces and bodies of the other two, capable of having given, and received, so much pleasure.
The crossed glances and the complicit smiles that we silently exchanged in the different combinations and for long minutes at the end of childbirth, expressed satisfaction, mutual gratitude and awareness of having lived together moments to remember for a long time.
