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“I’m going on to earn my MBA.”

“Nice.” We shook hands.

Once he left, I closed the door to my room and opened the envelope.

I won’t bore you with the details, but she thanked me for all the wonderful days and nights we spent together. She was explicit in describing how much joy she got from blowing me (her words); how talented my tongue had become; and “Marty, oh the marvelous fucking.”

She strongly suggested that I seek out women to enjoy. “Enjoy their pussies and their mouths.” There’s enough money for you to lead a decadent life (that’s how I got the title for this story).”

She did some research and found that there was a small village on France’s Mediterranean coast where girls sunbathed topless and some bottomless. I can’t believe those same girls won’t be more than willing. Willing to make love to your magnificent cock, and “Marty, I’d just bet they taste much sweeter than my old pussy. The village of Agde is just west of Montpelier. There are some lovely villas on the beach for sale which you can well afford. Marty, they’re pussy magnets.”

In the next paragraph, she suggested that Mr. Mathers’ Financial Services firm had served Mr. Wilton and her well. She strongly suggested that I maintain that relationship.

Finally, “please, Marty, burn this letter. My reputation, you know.”

I met with Mr. Mathers’ firm’s financial advisors. I was satisfied with the plan they presented for my financial security.

At a celebratory dinner after graduation, I informed my parents that I wasn’t going to grad school. They were appalled. My father started to argue.

“Dad, mom, I’m moving to France. I’m leaving in about two weeks.”

I didn’t tell them anything about Mrs. Wilton’s money. Not a word. I didn’t tell anyone. They assumed that I’d hitch hike through France and bunk in hostels. I didn’t say anything to change their minds.

I flew to Paris first class, of course. Then it was by small private jet to Montpelier. As I deplaned, the agent on the ground took my bag, “Mr. Tremont, the car you ordered is waiting. Right this way. Should you need anything during your stay, please don’t hesitate to ask. Here’s my card. I’m Suzette Blanchette,” Her smile said that anything meant anything. Her face was beautiful, but her severely cut company uniform hid her tits and ass.

“I should be fine. I’m staying at the Classic in Agde.”

“I’ve heard it’s the most beautiful hotel in all of France.”

She handed my bag to the driver and held the door for me. There was that smile again.

I never got over my shyness, but I felt more confident now.

“On your day off you should drive over to Agde and the Classic.”

“Maybe I will.”

I wouldn’t have done that before Mrs. Wilton.

It was after dark before I checked in at the hotel. My suite was beautiful.

After the long trans-Atlantic flight, I slept and slept, trying to get rid of the jet lag.

In the morning, I ordered room service and opened the doors to my balcony overlooking the beach. And there they were, half naked and completely naked women sunbathing. “Thank you, Mrs. Wilton.”

There were old women, middle-aged women and women my age. There were big tits, medium size tits, small tits. I didn’t see one woman with a top on. As I said, some were bottomless, too. Some had a full bush like Mrs. Wilton; many of the younger women were hairless. I was curious about that.

When room service arrived, I chose to have them put everything on the balcony table. “Very good, monsieur.” I didn’t say anything about the view.

I spent the day on the balcony recuperating.

A few days later, I met a real estate agent.

Margeaux Babineau was a middle aged, chunky woman who had four or five villas along the waterfront for me see.

They were all beautiful; all within my price range. Okay, okay, I really didn’t have a price range, did I?

“Monsieur Tremont, are you sure I can’t show you something smaller. These all have at least eight bedrooms. Do you need that much room?”

“You’re right, but do you have anything smaller that’s along the beach. I like the view.”

Madame Babineau looked out the window, and there were four twenty somethings frolicking in the surf. Topless. She laughed, “I see what you mean about the view. After all, monsieur, you are a man.”

I ended up buying a five-bedroom home with a pool and gorgeous views of the bay. From my patio, the beach was right there. Madame Babineau introduced me to Claudia St. Germain, an interior designer who helped me pick out furniture, paint colors, carpeting, etc. The closing wouldn’t take place for another month. All the furniture would be delivered the day after the closing.

Meanwhile, I was comfortable in my suite at the Classic. Two days later; three weeks after I’d arrived in France, I got a call from the front desk that Madame Suzette was here to see me.

I was confused. I didn’t know anyone in France except for the real estate agent and the interior designer. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, monsieur, she asked for you by name.”

“I’ll be right down.”

“She’ll be waiting for you on the beach. She says look for the bright red towel.”

I was surprised. I’d forgotten all about Suzette Blanchette, the agent at the airport. As I came out to the beach, she waved to me.

My heart skipped a beat. Suzette was topless, which was not unusual here, but I told you she had a beautiful face. Now, I saw that she had the most perfect tits. Of course, my only frame of reference was Mrs. Wilton’s old saggy ones and the women on the beach, who I saw only from a distance.

Her thong-like bikini bottom showed off her long legs and almost everything else. “Madame Suzette, what brings you here?”

“When you told me you were staying at the Classic, I told you I’d heard it was beautiful, I just had to see it. The lobby is spectacular and since I remembered you were staying here, I thought I should call your room.”

“That was very thoughtful of you. You know I don’t know anyone in all of France and speak French poorly.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be glad to help you, but Monsieur Marty, even if I did not know you were an American, I’d know you’re an American,” Suzette laughed.

“What do you mean?”

“You are looking at me, without being obvious. European men look at us, and you can see in their eyes that they are admiring our titties, but you, you want to look, but only out of the corner of your eye. It’s very obvious; and very obviously American, Monsieur Marty.”

I blushed. “I-I-I . . .”

“You don’t have to say anything, it’s okay French women understand.”

For a while we didn’t say anything. We just watched as boats and ships entered and exited the nearby harbor.

When we did talk, Suzette wanted to know where I was from in America and what I was doing in Agde?

I didn’t mention Mrs. Wilton. I just said that I’d finished school and wanted time to think about my future.

It was then that we looked toward the water’s edge, and saw and heard two women about our age, laughing and splashing each other. They were completely naked.

“Monsieur Marty, which look do you prefer?” Suzette laughed.

I knew what she meant. There were numerous women sunbathing, walking the beach or in the water naked, but these two were just thirty feet away. One, a dark-haired beauty, had a full, thick bush, not unlike Mrs. Wilton’s; while the other, a brunet was completely bare. Hairless, waxed, bald whatever words you prefer to describe the woman without any pubic hair.

“I-I-I. . .”

“Come now, Monsieur Marty. A man like you must have a preference.”

I blushed. I couldn’t tell her that the only woman I’d been with was a sixty-year-old with a massive bush.

“I know men have preferences. My last boyfriend preferred me bare; I got a wax to please him.”

I’d known Suzette all of thirty minutes and I knew more about her than any woman except Mrs. Wilton.

“Suzette, it’s just about lunchtime, would you like to see the dining room of the Classic?”

“Monsieur, I would be so pleased, but I am afraid they would not let me in dressed as I am,” she smiled and stuck out her chest. Damn, they were beautiful. I was certain she was showing them off for my benefit.

Slowly, Suzette put her top on and then a cover-up.

She was awed by the dining room. She was awed by the service. She was awed by the food. “Monsieur Marty, thank you so much. The hotel is more than I expected. There is just one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ve seen the beautiful lobby and this dining room is like something Versailles would be proud of, but Monsieur Marty, I haven’t seen any of the rooms.” She smiled at me.

I knew exactly what Suzette had in mind. I was twenty-two-years-old. I hadn’t been laid or got a blowjob since before I left for Florida on Spring Break.

“Well, then let me show you the way.”

I led her through the spectacular lobby and well-appointed hallways to the elevators.

Suzette was stunned by the beauty, and then I opened the door to my suite. “Oh, my monsieur, I’ve never seen anything so spectacular, and your view.”

The suite had two rooms: a living room with a half bath and a bedroom with its own bath. There was a king-size four poster bed there.

“Monsieur Marty, you may not know this but most women, especially ones like me, find bras and halters uncomfortable. I hope you don’t mind.” Right there; right in front of me, Suzette took off her cover-up and her bikini top. As I said on the beach: damn, they were beautiful. Perfect.

“Monsieur, now you look at them,” she laughed, “but now that we are alone and in private, you can do more than look.” She took my hand and led me to my bed.

Then we were in an embrace; then a kiss; and soon we were lying on the bed, and my hands were all over them.

Like I said, they were perfect. They fit perfectly into my hand; they were firm and soft at the same time. Comparatively, Mrs. Wilton’s were huge blobs of flab. However, I enjoyed playing with them; especially when she was on top, riding my cock.

“Monsieur Marty, your hands feel like they know what they’re doing. I must confess, I did not come here to see the beautiful hotel.”

“Oh?”

“When I saw you get off the plane, I knew that I wanted to know you better. Monsieur, let me get to know you better.” Her hand when to the button on my shorts.

While my hands continued to enjoy her perfect tits, slowly Suzette wormed her hand inside my shorts and underwear. “I knew it,” she whispered. ”I can look at a man and tell if he has a big one. Hmmmmm, Monsieur Marty we’re going to have such a good time. Let’s get these off.”

In no time my shorts and underwear were off, and Suzette had her bikini bottom off.

“Monsieur, you never told me what you preferred. This is what you can have.” She spread her legs.

Except for the women on the beach, it was the first bare pussy I’d ever seen, and I had a close-up view.

“Suzette, you’re beautiful.”

“Not just my titties?” She laughed.

At the moment she was laying naked, legs spread. It was that view that had my cock throbbing.

Like I said above, I never got tired of looking at old Mrs. Wilton’s naked body while I fucked her, holding her ankles, but this was a gorgeous nineteen-year-old. My cock could not have been any harder when I mounted her.

Mrs. Wilton had a lot more experience than Suzette, but she couldn’t move like Suzette. We grunted and groaned, sighed and moaned. We rolled around on the big bed; sometimes Suzette was on top with those spectacular tits in my face. Other times, I was on top, holding her by the ankles, enjoying the view of her beautiful body and watching my cock go in and out of that bare pussy. It was quite a sight.

When I finished, “Marty, I’ve never been fucked like that, and your cock, oh my God, it stretched my pussy so good.” Then she laughed, “I still haven’t seen much of your suite, but the ceiling is beautiful.”

We were young, and it was only an hour or so later that we were both ready for more. “Suzette, your pussy looks delicious. I’d love to eat it.”

“Monsieur Marty, I would be delighted, but I must tell you. Frenchmen have a well-deserved reputation for making love with their faces. My other lovers’ tongues made me scream so many times. I hope you know how.”

At the moment I was staring at her lovely naked pussy; she spread her legs farther apart.

I’m sure by her reaction over the next hour or so that I surprised her. Mrs. Wilton was an excellent teacher and not just in Algebra. The softness and smoothness of Suzette’s pussy was a revelation. That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy sticking my face in Mrs. Wilton’s wiry bush, but you know that.

Suzette’s pussy was a treat; a very sweet treat. She fucked my face and shrieked as my tongue massaged her lovely pink little button. “OOOOOOH MONSIEUR MARTY, OOOOOOOOOOH. YOU DO KNOW HOW, OUI, OUI, OUI. FUCK ME, COME UP HERE AND FUCK ME. MY PUSSY NEEDS YOUR COCK.”

I didn’t want to stop, but my cock over-rode my tongue. I mounted her. “Monsieur Marty, you must be part French. You have the tongue of a Frenchman,” she smiled. “You can eat my pussy any time you want it, just not now. Fuck me, Marty. Let me feel that big cock.”

Suzette stayed for three days. We rarely left the hotel. “Monsieur Marty, Frenchmen aren’t the only ones who make love with their faces,” she smiled at me. “Frenchwomen do, too.” Then she went down on me.

Suzette wasn’t wrong. It was a blowjob every bit as good as Mrs. Wilton gave me. I was to discover, younger, prettier, more enthusiastic and with staying power goes a long way with me.

When she left, we didn’t make any promises, but we did agree that we’d see each other again.

We didn’t. I did see her again, but that was fifteen years later. She didn’t apologize for not coming back to Agde, but she did explain. “Marty, do you know how many cocks there are in France? I wanted to try them all when I was nineteen. They were so good to my pussy, but my panties still get wet when I think of the way you made love to me.”

TO BE CONTINUED

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