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because every few days one or the other knocked on my door.

Claudia and I fucked, although, “Marty, sometimes I feel like I’m getting too old for all this rolling around stuff. I’d be just as happy to get on my knees and make love to you like Frenchwomen are famous for.”

“Or?”

“Oh Marty, by “or” do you mean this morning you want to be like French men are famous for?”

“Madame St. Germain, it has been over twenty-four hours. A true French man would be hungry, starving for your delicious pussy.”

As for Margeaux, “Marty, every time we’re together, it seems that you become more and more like a Frenchmen, making love to my pussy with your face. Do you think it’s the water or something in the air in France?”

At the moment, I’d just come up for air after eating her still luscious seventy-year-old pussy. “Claudia, all I know is you have the most beautiful, tastiest pussy. The French cuisine you offer me is impossible to resist. I’m ready for more, if you are.”

More than once Margeaux or Claudia would stroll into my home, “Marty, your delicious French cuisine is here.” They’d get undressed, lay on my bed, spread their legs. “Bon appetit, Monsieur, bon appetit.”

They’d giggle and I’d eat.

It was a grand year even though there was no time for young pussy. I was satisfied. How could I not be: great blowjobs, delicious pussy. Who could ask for more?

I couldn’t, but as I’ve noted from the beginning women seem to drop into my lap.

One morning there was a knock at my door. I wasn’t expecting Claudia or Margeaux. When I answered the door, the most beautiful blonde, perhaps my age, was standing there. She was wearing a short, revealing black dress. By revealing I mean tight across the top and low cut.

“Hello Marty.”

“Hello?” Apparently, she knew me, but I had no idea who she was.

“You don’t recognize me, do you?”

“I’m sorry, no.” My brain was in overdrive trying to figure out where I knew her. Over the fifteen years I’d been in Agde, I’d bedded, willingly I might add, more women than I could remember. Many for just one or two nights. Many were on holiday and after at most a week in my bed, had gone home to wherever.

What worried me was she was stunningly beautiful, and why couldn’t I remember fucking her.

“Marty, it’s me Suzette. Suzette Blanchette from the airport when yo9u first came here. We spent a wonderful few days . . .”

“Yes, yes, of course. At the Classic.” Then nineteen-year-old, Suzette was a gorgeous girl with spectacular tits, who was a fantastic fuck with a talented mouth that belied her age.

Standing in front of me was an elegant woman, not girl. “I hope you’re not busy, Monsieur Marty, or I’m not interrupting anything.” She looked over my shoulder, hoping that I wasn’t ‘entertaining’ anyone.

I wasn’t. “Please, please come in. This is a surprise. I was just going to have my morning coffee. Join me?”

“Thank you.”

As I poured the coffee, “Madame Suzette, what brings you here? And by the way, you look beautiful and so chic. Like you’re going shopping in Paris.”

She blushed. “Thank you, Monsieur. I am here because I have a confession.”

“Madame, I am not a priest. I’m not even Catholic.”

“No, no, it’s not that kind of confession. Marty, I’m almost embarrassed to talk about it, but I just had to tell you.”

I was confused but promised to listen while we sipped our coffee.

“As you know when I came here the first time, I didn’t hesitate to entice you to take me to bed. I could tell when I saw you coming off the plane, that you had what I wanted. Marty, I wasn’t disappointed.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” I smiled. Trying to think back almost fifteen years. Remember, there’d been so much pussy.

“Marty, like I said, this is somewhat embarrassing. I’ve been with lots of men since then. I compare everyone to you. The way they make love to me; their cocks; the way they make love like a Frenchman is supposed to make love to a woman.”

“Should I be flattered?”

“Oh definitely. Marty, none of those men did what you did to me; had what you have; used their tongues like you did.” She took my hand, “Marty, I came here because I wanted more of that. No, let me rephrase that, I came here because I need what you have.” She stood up, “take me to bed, please.”

I was starting to remember that first encounter with Suzette. She’d been a fantastic fuck, and now I recalled a bare, smooth pussy and for a girl still in her teens, she knew how to suck a cock.

Now, as she slowly undressed, as I sat on the edge of the bed, and began to realize this was no teenage girl but a mature, thirty-five-year-old woman, with a mature body.

As she took off her bra I gasped aloud. Those tits had a vague familiarity, but those had been girl tits. These were perfectly formed, spectacular woman’s tits. Sculpted orbs, topped by the most ideal pink nipples.

“Marty, I remember you liked them fifteen years ago.” She leaned forward and shook them almost in my face. “I hope you still like them.”

“They’re beautiful, Suzette. I do hope you’re not going to let me just look at them?”

“You better not,” she giggled.

Then an even bigger surprise: Suzette stood back and took off her panties.

If you recall that first time her pussy was freshly waxed. Not this time. I was staring; couldn’t help staring at a perfectly groomed massive golden triangle.

As you know Claudia had a huge bush, and Rania’s was big and wild, and I never hesitated to rub my face in them. Over the years here in Agde, I’d bedded blondes from Scandinavia and Russia; Irish redheads, and olive-skinned women from around the Mediterranean. Many of the younger ones shaved or got a wax but there were always some who liked the natural look. My tongue enjoyed them all.

Now, I was mesmerized by Suzette’s look.

She noticed.

“I remembered that you couldn’t get enough of my pussy when it was bare, but my last boyfriend liked this look. I thought I’d keep it like this and see if you liked it. Marty, if you don’t, I’m sure I can get a wax here in Agde.”

“I think I need a sample to see if I like it,” I laughed. “Why don’t you sit on the bed?”

“Yes, a sample is a fine idea.” Suzette scooted on to the bed, and I scooted between her legs.

Although I was intrigued by that bush, my eyes slid up and down her body from that lovely face to those spectacular tits and back between her legs.

I started by rubbing my face in her triangle. Suzette laughed. “You do like it. I’m so happy.” She pulled me up by the hair and looked in my eyes. “Marty, I’ve never forgotten, you were the very best pussy eater. I hope my memories weren’t wrong.” She pushed my head down.

It was the best morning. My tongue never stopped, and Suzette insisted, “one more time, Marty. I want you to make me cum again.”

Of course, I was accommodating. After all, I’d never eaten a finer pussy. “Marty, you’ve adopted well to Frech culture. You could pass for a Frenchman.”

I remember what Margeaux Babineau and Claudia St. Germaine told me. “Suzette, there is nothing better than French cuisine.”

It wasn’t until early afternoon, “Marty, my pussy is so ready to get fucked. I recall how your big cock filled me up. Fuck me, Marty.”

It was a fucking afternoon. It was a fucking evening.

In the morning, I was up early and took a shower. Suzette was just waking up when I finished. “Marty, I hope you washed your cock good. I can’t think of anything better for breakfast than a long, fat, hard cock.”

“Well according to some women, I just happen to have a long, fat, hard cock.”

Suzette didn’t hesitate to go down on me. “Oh you do, Marty, you do.”

It was as good a blowjob as I’d ever had. Even Rania, who’d been trained in the art of fellatio would be hard pressed to match the way Suzette sucked my cock.

That was fifteen years ago, and she hasn’t left yet. Every day is a pussy eating feast. If not, then it was a cock sucking feast or a fucking feast.

THE END

Coming soon: Suzette’s story: A DECADENT LIFE: SUZETTE BLANCHETTE

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