"A Nice Touch".
Their footsteps echoed, along with their laughter,
as they dashed down the staircase and out into the street via the enormous,
heavy front door.
The bar did indeed serve gin. The happy faced,
round bellied proprietor greeted the pair like old friends, with a handshake
for him and a peck on each cheek for her. Being the first continental greeting
she’d experienced, the kisses left behind flushes of pink. They were shown to a
little booth at the back of the hostelry and the proprietor shuffled off to
fetch their drinks, although was immediately side tracked by having to greet
and kiss more customers. Service a-la-France, where there’s never a need to
rush.
She rested her elbows on the blue and white
chequered, cotton table cloth and cradled her chin on her interlaced fingers,
smiling brightly. He winced, uncomfortable in his seat, and wriggled. The
memory of his leather lashed backside made her laugh a too-loud laugh before
apologising. He grinned and leant forward, kissing her lips.
The drinks arrived as they kissed and he spoke
briefly with the proprietor, explaining that his companion was his “cher ami”
and that she didn’t “parle Francais”. The proprietor could speak some English
and politely asked her how she was enjoying her stay.
She began to answer but the words turned into a
stammer and her eyes widened as she felt her lover’s fingertips squeezing
gently in between her knees. She glanced at him but his face showed no
indication of his covert caresses.
“I, erm, it’s, it’s erm…”
“She’s not very good at English either,” He
interrupted, “Stupide Anglais.” The proprietor roared a deep laugh before
returning to his little bar and kissing some more patrons.
Her attention once more on him, her chin back in position
atop her nest of fingers, she parted her legs and shifted in her seat, moving herself closer to his
fingers and allowing them to find their goal.
“No underwear,” He smiled and winked, “nice
touch”.
She ran her tongue around her lips as she felt the
feather light touch of his fingertips against the soft flesh of her already
moist folds.
“Stop it,” She whispered without conviction. Disappointingly, he obeyed, sitting back in his seat and wincing again. He
brought his fingers up to his mouth and gently sucked the one that had probed
deepest. He looked around the room, at the customers chatting as they waited
for their orders and at the proprietor kissing his way through a new group.
“Follow me,” he winked again, “if you want to
live.”
He stood up and headed quickly toward a plain
green door that stood in the darkest corner of the bar, disappearing through it
without pausing.
She watched him
go, nervous and unsure if she should follow, then took a deep swallow from the
tall glass before her, stood, straightened her skirt over her hips and
went to find him.
Continue to chapter seven.
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