Chapter 2b

With her answer, she questioned whether she was reading too much into Greg’s proposal. Only coffee and discussion. Or was it more? These initial overtures were often hard to gauge for her. It may have been her overanalyzing. She knew though that Orlando had dirtied her mind, so the simplest comment meant much more. Maybe Paris was dirtying her mind too. 

“I’ll check the schedule for any downtime,” Greg offered. 

Before he could say more, the train arrived at their departure. 

“Time to corral the herd.” He stood, tipped an invisible cowboy hat, and slipped away. A man from the Wild, Wild West in Paris. 

The hotel lobby doors slid open a moment later. She knew they were chaperones again. No longer intrigued adults volleying for potential trysts. 

Later that evening, the students were settled and only talking lightly. Paris had worn them out, like the city had worn out Greg’s feet. Such a victory, nevertheless, came with its own casualties. Mrs. Mower was tired. Yet her deep insides ached with a heat but more than her feet ached when she remembered Orlando was close by. A floor away and likely waiting for her to show up that night. 

“Karen,” Misty said, seeming to have just remembered something, “this was under the door for you. It may have been for a different room. I didn’t understand it. But whoever it’s for, they’re wanted in Room No. 23 at 2300.” Misty handed her the note. 

The handwriting was scribble. 

“Kids may have tricks up their sleeves. Beware and don’t become prey.” Misty slipped into the bathroom with her toiletry bag and bathrobe. 

This was not a note from a high school boy, or girl. The handwriting was too professionally sloppy. And these kids didn’t know military time. Orlando, you are crazy, she thought. She pressed the note to her chest in excitement. Her smartwatch showed 2200. She had an hour to hurry up and wait. 

She slipped into her long, knit sweater dress and Nikes. She didn’t get to show it to him last night. It and the shoes could give her a more solid reason for being out of her room than wearing slippers and a teddy. Still she left off her bra again. Easy in, easy out. 

She left the key to room No. 12 under her pillow. “I’ll be back soon, Misty,” she called. 

The elevator pinged and the door slid open. Greg was there. 

“Mrs. Mower, you’re out. Going for a walk in the Parisian night?” 

She was thunderstruck and muddled an answer. “Just for a quick picture of the tower. I can’t get a good shot from my window.” She cursed when she said it. She would have avoided any divergence from Orlando’s special room if she would have said anything related to nannying kids. 

“Mind if I come along?” he asked. 

“Sure,” she said, her voice wobbling. 

The hand above the elevator moved away from the floor she wanted to get to. 

She tried to wrap her arms around her breasts to keep them from swaying, making it obvious she was braless. Outside, the cool night breeze snaked up her legs and tickled her pining pussy. 

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Greg took his eyes off the tower to look into her eyes. 

She noticed they were green under the streetlights. More than the color, they had a distinctness. He wanted more, Mrs. Mower thought. His proposed meeting at a café would be a step to his main intension. Mrs. Mower was not opposed to men who knew what they wanted. 

She lifted her phone to grab the picture when she noticed him lick his lips. His eyes had glided across her chest and down her legs to the Nikes. 

“We chose a great hotel,” she answered finally. 

“The walls are somewhat thin.” 

She laughed. “What have you heard?” 

“I uh… I will let your mind wander.” 

A breeze swept by. “It’s chilly. Time to go back.” 

To her surprise, he put his arm around her and gave a gentle squeeze. Maybe to offer warmth on a cool night. Maybe not. 

With the squeeze, her breasts pressed together and slowly broadened like balloons. His mouth oozed a sweet sound. The same as hers whenever she saw chocolate. 

He led her inside to the elevator. They pressed buttons for different floors. While rising she was twirling in excitement. She always loved the attention of men and a new man was a thrill, a thrill to any woman, assuring her about her evident beauty. Standing there, heat burned beneath her dress despite the cold. Her nipples had hardened and were ready for thick lips and a wet mouth. 

She checked her watch. 23:10. Would Orlando be there or given up his post? 

A soft knock and the door opened into a grand room, the curtains spread wide with the city lights gleaming on the floor. 

Without a word, they hugged each other and kissed deeply. She felt his strong hands slide through her hair and tug back her head. His tongue sought out hers. Her tongue touched his gently and escaped, like a little girl playing tag. She would be caught. Her hands pulled up his shirt to reveal the waist and chest that had been her image of stimulation since that night. Her hands now were roving through the dark forest. She tweaked his nipples and he jumped and covered them. She giggled as he rubbed the unexpected pinches. He grabbed and lifted her over his shoulder. She was laughing and slapping, until he heaved her onto the tall bed. She grabbed the waist band of his shorts and pulled his close. 

“I’ve waited and waited to see you in person. I have not waited so long for one dick.” She reached into his shorts and felt the abundance, strong and ready. 

“We don’t have a lot of time,” she warned. “My roommate will be wondering about me soon. Just fuck me hard. I need it so bad.” 

Orlando’s calloused hands disappeared under her dress and she felt their roughness rub up her thick thighs. They dragged along the curvature of her waist and torso, and then grip her tits. In his play, he raised her dress to expose her nakedness to the lights of Paris shining through the opened windows. Soon her body was uncovered except her face, which was covered with the dress. 

Meanwhile, his cock was aligning itself with her pussy. She felt, more intimately than his kneading hands, the tip of his penis brushed the folds of her sex. The hardness swept by, this time waking her clit. She twitched and the large head of Orlando’s long-desired cock passed into her. She gasped and gripped the blanket. 

“Fuck me hard, hard!” she gave a muffled shout through the cloth. 

Orlando obeyed gladly. He rammed her deeply. She immediately felt his balls slap on her ass cheeks. Her body tightened and her teeth clenched. She could not open her eyes because of the sensations. They connected in their bodily twists and thrusts. Her breasts twirled around and around in circles as he rocked her. She tried to grab them so they wouldn’t hit her chin, but her arms were trapped by her dress. 

Orlando grunted once and she recognized it as the same huff as she heard through their emeeting. 

She urged him. “Cum good for me. All over me, daddy.” 

He said nothing but it worked. He simply drove deeper, spreading her wide and making her pussy swell so as to trap him as best as possible. He grunted again and then followed by other raw sounds.  He then said, “Shit, shit, shit. I’m about to …” 

He pulled out his glistening dick, and she felt a hot spray land on her stomach and tits. He rolled over. She maneuvered herself from the binds of her dress. When her head appeared, her hair was bedraggled and her forehead was glistening with a soft perspiration. 

“I want more and I’ll need a cigarette after,” she whimpered, while drawing an O in the load he had blasted onto her torso. 

“As you wish.” He started to move but she stopped him with a giggle. “We need to get back.” 

“Right. 2300 tomorrow.” 

She wiped a bunch of his runny goo onto the bedspread. She stood and shuffled her dress to seem more presentable. 

“My roommate is going to ask where I’ve been, so I need to get back,” Mrs. Mower said. She placed a kiss on his heavy lips. “Tomorrow, please.” 

He nodded.

XXX

Mrs. Mower delicately pushed open the door to room No. 6. The lights were off, so she tiptoed into the bathroom. She almost made it. 

“Where have you been?” 

She cursed. Misty was awake. 

“Just a little time in Paris.” 

“Outside?” 

“I have some great pics. A great night.” 

“I saw Orlando go into No. 23.” 

Mrs. Mower went silent. 

“Then I saw you go in after 2300.” 

“You were checking?” 

“I was making sure you weren’t being tricked by some crazy teenager. A quick pic by a student and you could be in a world of embarrassment.” 

“I’ll tell you. He tricked me.” She forced a laugh. Her hand was gripping the door handle to the bathroom. 

“Tricked you, hmm.” She clicked on the light over her bed. Mrs. Mower saw the face of a teacher scorned. “I heard you enjoying his ‘trick’. Or should I say ‘dick’?” 

Mrs. Mower gasped. Her body tightened and her face flushed to a heated red. 

“Nothing to say?” Misty asked.

She only went into the bathroom. Misty hopped out of bed and made it to the door before Mrs. Mower could close and lock it. 

“How was it?” Misty pressed.  

No answer, only Mrs. Mower bracing against the door. 

“How was it fucking Jacob’s dad? Tell me, Karen. I want details.” 

Mrs. Mower was surprised by the last comments. She opened the door. She wanted to talk about the night’s adventure. 

Misty stepped in, wearing running shorts and a tight sports bra. Her taut stomach and her lean legs bare. 

Mrs. Mower kicked off her Nikes and pulled the knit dress over her head. 

“Is that … on you?” She pointed to the dried cum on Mrs. Mower’s stomach. 

She put her hand under the faucet and wiped water over the dried cum. 

“He knew right what to do.” 

She flicked on the shower water and let it heat up.  

“Only a few men know just what to do.” 

She turned back and saw Misty’s eyes scanning her body. 

“Details, Karen, details.” 

The room quickly steamed up because of the water and, as much, from Mrs. Mower’s retelling of the night’s tryst. 

“His dick is marvelous.” Mrs. Mower yanked back the shower curtain and stepped in. Her hair limp and sticking to her face, water draining off her chin. “It sounds cliché, but clichés sometimes are perfect descriptions.” 

“Amazing. You’ve got me bothered. I am going to … I mean I need to go to bed,” Misty said. 

Mrs. Mower peeled back the curtain once more. The room was empty. She ended the shower and towelled off. She cracked the door open slightly to let out the steam. With her ear against the cool door, she heard a ruffling of the bed sheets and a soft moan. Misty McGuire was releasing her own pent-up steam. 

She needed a little fun. She giggled. 

The next day was the third day of the trip. The chaperones were given three hours of free time in the afternoon in a shuffled schedule. 

Greg came to Mrs. Mower. “We have time for a coffee in a café along the Seine. Would you like to come with me?” 

His eyes that were a unique green under the streetlights now were sharp and even more distinct. She knew Orlando would have time off a few hours later. What else did she have to do? 

“Have a place in mind?” she asked. 

He led her out of the hotel lobby and to a Vespa. He gave Mrs. Mower a helmet and put on his. 

“This is going to ruin my hair,” she said. 

He started up the high-pitched motor. “I’ll pay for any damages.”