Chapter 2c

She slid on the helmet and climbed onto the mousy machine. Greg revved the 125cc engine, pretending it was a huge, all-American Harley-Davidson. She locked her hands around his waist. They zipped down the narrow street. The breeze was light on her face. At times, it carried smells up from the river and exhaust from the cars. 

He drove between and around cars and buses, across bridges over the Seine and back, making extra turns to take in more sights. Mrs. Mower thought she might be a little tantalizing for him. She pressed her obvious breasts into his back, she lightheartedly shouted, “Yippee!” to encourage him. As they came to one stop, she let her hands slide lower than they should go. Only briefly. In sudden response, his shoulders broadened and his back straightened. 

They arrived at the Café de Seine. He parked the bike, and they took a seat in the warm sun beneath a bright red awning. The long, low boats wafted by lazily and passers-by chatted. 

He had an espresso, black, and a panini. She ordered a spritz and a salad. Mrs. Mower exhaled with satisfaction. “This has been a great trip.” 

“Glad I could come along too. I wasn’t sure if I could get time off, or if Darren would want his dad around.” 

“I’m glad he was okay with it, honestly.” She darted her eyes toward the arched bridge. 

“We have several agreements. I can’t act in a way that he would consider embarrassing. I can’t talk to him too much. I cannot, in no way, put my arm around him.” 

Mrs. Mower laughed. “That is a typical teenager.” 

“I bet he would consider it extremely and utterly embarrassing for me to take his math teacher on a ride through Paris and then lunch with her.” 

“Worthy of being kicked back home?” 

“Exactly.” 

“Would our conversational topic change his mind? I mean school or … something else.” 

“I don’t think so. That means any subject is on the table.” He sipped from his tiny cup. 

“What have you enjoyed seeing in the city?” 

“You.” He responded frankly. Mrs. Mower was caught off guard. A Vespa beeped its miniature honk. 

He said, “You and I had a parent-teacher conference earlier in the year. And when I saw you, I was astounded. I thought that is a true woman.” 

“Math teacher never came to mind?” 

“Nothing like that. You’re not a teacher to me. You’re …” 

Mrs. Mower leaned forward as did the thought behind her question. The words released with a husky, intrigued tone. “I’m what? Tell me.” 

“You’re a woman I want to see alone, after dark, in Paris.” 

“A simple walk in the park?” 

“No. In a room, in the hotel, away from anyone else.” 

“Sounds Parisian.” 

He didn’t answer. Only his green eyes grew more intense. She didn’t need to wonder if her interest, or the fact that she didn’t throw her drink in his face, surprised him. Instead, she wanted to know what about her intrigued men enough to let them make such forward advances. She must not have a teacher-esque nature. 

Mrs. Mower leaned back, uncrossed her legs. “How much are you interested? In meeting tonight, even if it would not be alone.” She raised her eyebrows and brought her drink to her lips, studying him over the brim. 

He was startled. “Not alone? Someone else is going to know.” His face changed. A realization had suddenly appeared. “Have you been?” 

She put her hand on his knee and rubbed his thigh. “How badly do you want it?” 

“Is the other person a guy or a girl?” he asked timidly in gauging his answer. 

“This is why you came on the trip. Not the Eiffel Tower or Notre Dame. Certainly not the geometry of this city.” She shook her head, a devious grin appearing. “Just trust me. No. 23 at 2310, sharp.” 

The afternoon and evening dragged on. The City of Paris had lost its flair when compared to what might happen that night.

Mrs. Mower’s smartwatch vibrated at 10:50. The night was about to start. She sprayed her Chanel No. 5 on her neck and along her thighs, because of the jasmine and rose scent she loved. 

“Misty, I’ll be back. Got a meeting tonight.” 

She closed the door to No. 6 and headed to the secret room. The elevator did not move fast enough for her excitement. She knocked on the door of No. 23.

Everything on this floor was still. Extremely silent and unmoving. Is he here tonight? she thought. She knocked again. He wouldn’t not be here—not after last night. 

She checked her watch. 10:56. Maybe he was one who was punctual, always exactly on time. Never early, never late. An attorney might have that precision. 

She leaned against the door, concerned. The elevator dinged. 

She said excitedly, “You like being on time, I can see.” 

Around the corner came Misty. 

“You!” 

“Yes, it’s me, in the flesh. Let’s get inside. We don’t have time to piddle around. Visits to No. 23 are secrets, are they not?” 

“I’m waiting for No. 23 to open.” 

There was another ding from down the hall. Her watch showed 10:59. 

“Mrs. Mower … and Ms. McGuire?” Orlando scratched his head. “Funny to see you here. The kids aren’t making fools of us, are they?” 

“Calm down,” Mrs. Mower said, dragging her forefinger down his chest. “She knows and she was excited by it.” 

“Ah. There are no onlookers, mind you.” Orlando reached between them and unlocked the door. Inside, the room had been cleaned. The bedspread was without a crease or wrinkle. Orlando whipped open wide the curtains. 

“For Paris!” he said royally. 

He turned back and saw Mrs. Mower with her arm around Misty’s and the tips of their noses touching. 

Mrs. Mower was asking, “Have you ever kissed another woman?” 

Misty shook her head, not letting her stare unlock from Mrs. Mower’s. 

“You’ll find how rough men are.” Mrs. Mower took the hem of her shirt and raised it up and over her head. Like Orlando had done, Mrs. Mower left Misty entangled in the shirt so she could take down her shorts. Orlando walked behind Misty and released her small tits from her bra and ran his palms over her pointed nipples. 

Misty gasped when she felt his rough hands and then whimpered in the double-timing of Orlando and Mrs. Karen Mower. Orlando looked at the two women before him. Misty with her eyes closed and Mrs. Mower working her magic. 

“You look like a goddess when you’re on your knees,” Orlando told Mrs. Mower. 

“Oh, Orlando.” She shook her head and waved off his comment.

She found Misty had left off her panties. 

“Wow, Orlando, we have a woman with a nice buzz cut of dark hair. Lovely.” 

Mrs. Mower ran her palm over the prickly hair. While doing so, she stretched her neck and placed a soft kiss over Misty’s bellybutton. 

“I love a good bush,” Orlando said into Misty’s ear. 

Mrs. Mower stood up and led Misty to the end of the bed. “You’ve never kissed a girl, so I bet you’ve never been eaten by a woman either.” 

Misty only dipped her head shyly. Mrs. Mower had Misty lay back and set her heels on the bed. She then bent over, legs straight, ass high. 

Misty’s sex seemed to open as shyly as she had acknowledged no female fun before. Her inner labia were small, happening to match her form. Mrs. Mower dipped her face into her pussy and tickled Misty with her tongue. The woman gave an immediate squeal. “Oh my god! Oh my god!” She repeated the phrase each time she felt the tongue lap her precious place. When the tongue rubbed her clit, she gave a heave. “Shit, shit, shit.” She pressed her hand against Mrs. Mower’s forehead. 

Mrs. Mower raised her head. From the landscape of a prickly bush, the great plains of her torso to the rising and falling hills of her breasts, Mrs. Mower saw Misty’s teeth nipping her pink lips and her eyes shut tightly. 

The three of them heard a knock on the door. 

While Misty couldn’t care, Orlando stood abruptly. 

“It’s okay. Open it,” Mrs. Mower assured him. “Put a towel on though.” 

Orlando wrapped around a rough, white towel, which could not hide his erection. Mrs. Mower liked the contrast of his dark body and the bleached towel. 

He opened the door an inch. “Yes?” 

“Orlando?” came the man’s voice. 

“Greg!” 

They stood still, completely surprised, staring at each other.

“Well, let him in,” Mrs. Mower said. 

Orlando opened the door wider and Greg slipped in. It was locked again, along with one huge secret. Two teachers, two dads, one orgy. 

Greg noticed Mrs. Mower’s apple bottom ass and the deep, dark crevice separating the pair of cheeks. 

“And that is why I came to Paris,” Greg said and licked his lips. 

Mrs. Mower looked over her shoulder, her mouth smeared with Misty’s wetness. 

“Better join in or you’ll lose out.” Mrs. Mower smacked Misty’s butt. The flesh wiggled from cheek to cheek and down each thigh. She smacked her ass again and, this time, she grabbed a fist full of the abundance. 

As Orlando moved to Misty’s satisfied face, Greg kicked off his shoes, undid his belt and dropped his shorts. He stroked his dick, although just the thought of what might happen had straightened it to full girth.  

Greg pulled apart Mrs. Mower’s ass, straining her asshole taut. In sight too was the desired love. The lush lips were open and seemed to be accepting dicks willingly. He pushed the head of his cock passed the labia. 

Mrs. Mower’s neck arched with the entry. The cock was long, narrow, like an emperor’s scepter. It touched her depths over and over. She pushed back against him, taking it as deep as possible. The smack of her round ass and his hips was tantalizing. Suddenly, he grabbed her rumpled hair and pulled back her head. 

“Say my name! Scream it,” he ordered. 

“Greg! Greg! Keep fucking me.” 

Each time she shouted his name, he rammed her deeper. Finally, she squealed. All the build-up in her escaped in an orgasm and she felt flat on the bed panting. 

Greg got an order. 

“We need you on top, man.” 

He looked over at Orlando. He had climbed onto with Misty riding him like a cowgirl. 

“In my ass,” Misty cooed. 

“Our little angel is becoming wicked tonight.” 

“Let me do my part.” Greg spread her thin ass. The stretched glorious hole was bright pink. 

Misty hissed and whimpered as her body was stretched by the penetration of Greg’s dick and Orlando’s thick wood. The two men and Misty found a smooth rhythm. She soon was realizing the firmness of male strength. 

Orlando began to huff. Hearing it, Greg began to near his tipping point too. 

“Come on, come on. Finish it in me now! Don’t hold back, I want it all,” commanded Misty who had been timid only a few minutes ago. 

Both men grunted barbarically. In a moment later, Mrs. Mower saw three Americans in Paris, naked and slumped over in ecstasy. 

“My god, you three were a sight I never expected to see,” she said. “I figured the guys would be interested. But Ms. McGuire, you were a surprise.” She stepped forward and kissed Misty on her reddened face. 

The next day’s tour, the last before their flight home, was of the Paris Catacombs and the Versailles Palace. 

While on the Palace grounds, Misty came up to Mrs. Mower. 

“I will never forget last night,” she said. “I wasn’t sure how it would all go. I wondered if I would be forgotten among the three of you.” 

“You forgotten? Never.” She put her arm around the young woman to give her a light squeeze. 

Misty looked at her co-worker’s lips and mouth. They had kissed and licked her pussy so intensely, bringing her over her brink. 

“I just want to kiss you, Karen. I mean, to really kiss you, to pay back to you what you did for me.” 

Mrs. Mower saw her desire well up in her eyes. She tried to cool down the heat. “Not here. Soon, maybe. Consider what I did as a gift of a sort.” 

“You’ll get your payback.” 

“Wait, wait.  You made it sound like something I should be afraid of.” She winked. “Maybe I should be afraid.” 

“I plot.” 

Mrs. Mower gave her a friendly hug. “Come get me anytime. Maybe a teacher-teacher conference might be a good chance.” 

A girl shouted nearby and a guy ran away, laughing. 

“Time to play chaperone once more,” Ms. McGuire said. 

That evening, Misty was still keeping the girls in order and moving as packing became the focus of the night. “We need to be ready when the bus gets here in the morning. No lollygagging around.” 

Mrs. Mower started to gather her things when she found a key on the floor by her bed. The key was to No. 12, Orlando’s and Greg’s room. It was the last night, so she tossed her bra on the bed, along with her tiny, white panties. 

She sneaked upstairs to their room in her gray knit dress and those Nikes. She slid in the key and turned the latch. 

Orlando, standing in boxers, fumbled for words when Mrs. Mower appeared. “What in the world …” 

“What?” Greg called from the bathroom. 

“You have a guest,” Mrs. Mower answered. 

Greg stepped into view. He was in a pair of white jockey shorts. 

“Mrs. Mower, a surprise!” 

She took off one shoe. “Yesterday, Misty got to have you both.” She kicked off her other shoe. “I had to sit by. Tonight, though, our last night in Paris. I wanted to give you a gift.” 

She lifted up her dress. Her naked body drew the two men to her magnetically. Their hands patted her and touched her all over. Orlando ran his hand through her hairy bush and then twisted a dark nipple. Greg smacked her ass. 

“Stand there and strip.” She watched the boxers and jockeys drop to the carpet. 

The sight of the two fully erected dicks made her shiver. They were big and beautiful. 

She knelt between them, eye-level with the heads. 

Mrs. Mower looked up at Orlando and grabbed his cock tightly, nearly strangling it. The redness that she first witnessed via the emeeting that one midnight engorged the head again. “You said I am a goddess on my knees. Let me be a goddess in Paris one last time.” 

Before he could respond, his cock was being licked with her long tongue. The very tip started at its base and rose up the shaft. At the top, her mouth wrapped around the large head. Meanwhile, her left hand stroked Greg’s lean length. 

Both men were enjoying her. Their eyes were closed, and she saw they were soaking up the attention. Then Greg gulped when Mrs. Mower gently kissed his dick’s head. When she sucked on it, her tongue swirled and her mouth suctioned the pole. 

“You’re so good.” 

“Never had better. Your mouth and hands, they’re …” 

Before Greg could finish, Mrs. Mower bobbed hard on him. The power of her mouth quieted men. Soon she heard them each struggling, bodies tensing up and easing, toes pushing into the carpet, hands balled into fists. 

She gave them an order. “Cum on my tits. All over them, everywhere. Cover me. Please, let me be your bitch.” 

Hearing that, Greg stiffened and hissed. He was near his peak. She put her mouth on his cock to spur him to the end. She tasted a spritz of saltiness, so she pulled back and lifted her heavy freckled tits, wiggling and pressing the flesh together. His eyebrows scrunched to contort his face. Then she felt the first hot splotch of gelatin hit her breasts and begin to slide into her deep cleavage. Greg kneaded out the last glob of his juice, flicking it onto her as she demanded. 

Then she turned to Orlando. “Now you, daddy. Give it to me.” 

He stroked himself fast. The lube from her sucking flicked onto her. She stared directly at the reddened dick she had wanted for months. “I’ve wanted this for so long, the night we first met. Put your cum all over your goddess. I’m on my knees for you!” 

His precum sprinkled on her face, following almost immediately by a huge clump of thick, white cum. It landed on her chin and dropped down onto the base of her neck. His next shot landed on one of her large nipples. It dangled there until she lifted with her finger and smeared it on her other nipple to match. 

The two men collapsed on either bed, worn out by this woman. She drew on her chest happily.  Soon Mrs. Mower had her knit dress and her Nikes on. She left the two men on their beds. 

The chaperones were corralling and controlling kids, whose energy had returned, from the time they left the hotel through their flights and layovers. Eventually they arrived at their airport and gathered their luggage. 

Orlando and Greg shook hands. “Great trip, Orlando, I can’t say it enough.” Greg turned to the teachers. “Nice to meet you, Ms. McGuire and Mrs. Mower.” 

“I will never forget this trip,” Misty said. 

Mrs. Mower smiled at the three of them. “Till we meet again … perhaps in Paris.” 

Orlando said, “There are plenty of towns here in the U.S. named ‘Paris.’ That is, if we want another go of it.” 

Misty picked up her bags. “Or we can make another memory in another town in another part of the world.”