Ass Over Tea Kettle

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They say absence makes the heart grow fonder. I will tell you now that it is absolute unadulterated horseshit. Absence and distance cut your heart into little pieces and leaves a hole inside that hurts.Katie. Oh my Katie…I had been attending a four-day seminar given by the International Business Women’s Association, hosted by the International Banque de France in Paris. The Wall Street financial company I was associated with was paying the bills, and so it was important that I made the most of my first official overseas trip.The seminar may have initially seemed like a soft jaunt, but it took its business seriously. Aside from the stated core topic, ‘Advancing Women into Leadership Roles’ the seminar also waded off into all business areas and in particular: monetary policy, banking supervision, and financial stability.I, Miss Junior Exec out of the financial canyons of Manhattan, had looked on my trip as more of a women-in-business hob-nobbing, some pleasant tête-à-tête time buffered by some extra days to go flitting around the shops and bistros of Paris. Oh well, it was all paid for so I could scarcely complain about the assignment.I was staying in the Hôtel Le Relais Saint Germain, which is a close walk from Saint-Germain-des-Près Metro Station. A place I had found to my liking on a previous visit some years earlier while on a university study trip.The International Banque was a tall modern structure affording fabulous views across the city. At the first break, I wandered out into the foyer and gazed out of the windows at the people and vehicles trying to avoid each other on the Champs-Élysées. I have never quite decided which is the more terrifying, driving in a Parisian rush hour or its Italian equivalent of piloting a vehicle around the Coliseum in Rome.I had long believed the surest form of suicide was to enter a taxicab in Paris or Rome and tell the driver to ‘step on it.’Aside from my vehicular assessments, I was also sipping some excellent dark coffee and stuffing my face with a complimentary assortment of éclairs and petit fours from a large table set up in the foyer.“I am getting fat just looking at the table.” Exclaimed a British female voice behind me.Without looking back, I responded. “Yes, and remember to leave some room for lunch.”I heard a guffaw and turned to face the voice.We looked to be of the same age, dressed similarly in business suits, jackets, blouses, and slim pencil skirts, her suit a light grey, mine darker charcoal. She had light brown hair that tumbled around her shoulders and a delicate face with a slightly upturned nose. She was as tall as me with a slender well-shaped body, lively and effervescent and in a word, cute.“I’m Katherine, but I answer better to, Katie,” she declared with one hand holding her coffee and the other wrapped around a chocolate éclair. She stuffed the end of the éclair in her mouth and held out her hand.Ignoring the chocolate smears on her fingers, I smiled and shook her hand.“Hi Katie, I’m Helen. Is this your first trip to Paris?”“Well my first trip without adult supervision,” she answered. “Just some school trips a few years back.”I smiled. “Had one like that myself. My first time in France we were chaperoned around as if we were a bunch of juvenile delinquents. Then again, some of us probably were.”She laughed, choking on her éclair. “I know what you mean.”  We found seats in the foyer and over coffee and pastries and exchanged pleasantries. Katie informed me that she was a junior exec for an advertising company in London while I explained how I held a similar junior exec position with a Financial Brokerage Company in New York. She asked if we could go exploring Paris together.I did have a tentative evening rendezvous arranged with a Monsieur Henri Robichaux, a French gentleman  I had the dubious pleasure of meeting on the flight over from New York. We had become somewhat acquainted during the night flight from JFK to Charles De Gaul Airport a few days earlier. I ankara escort found his business card in the pocket of my daily planner.‘L’Académie de Henri Robichaux pour les jeunes filles exceptionnelles.’Well, I was never sure of what that alluded to, but whatever it was, I called and left a message with Monsuer Henri Robichaux’s Secretary that I would be tied up at my seminar for at least a few days.Had it really only been a couple of days since I had made the airborne acquaintance of Monsieur Henri Robichaux?  The memory of him whispering, “J’adore votre culotte,” coupled with the slowly fading, mild red rash on my inner thighs from prolonged rubbing, reminded me that it was indeed.I was jarred out of my rueful recollections by Katie nattering on about the seminar, her work and asking me about New York. We were instantly comfortable with each other. Undeniably, there were some sparks flying between us that I could not dismiss as being static electricity from my nylon pantyhose or her silk blouse. The times she gently patted my arms and shoulders for emphasis as we talked or brushed her hips against me as we walked were more than accidental. There indeed were moments when I was looking at her slender legs and was undeniably aware that she was affording me a similar appraisal.Those moments when nothing is said… often speaks volumes.As we filed back into the conference room, I saw Katie quickly sweep up her books from where she had been sitting and relocate to a seat next to me. The woman who had been sitting there looked a trifle miffed at being usurped from her chair, but Katie beamed at her and said she was moving to sit next to her cousin. The other woman obligingly moved over one chair to accommodate her.Later as we ate lunch together, we chatted about her job in London and mine in New York. She also informed me that she had flown into Paris from London in the wee hours that very morning and needed to find accommodation. Tell me the gods of lust were not taking a massive hand in this chance encounter.At the close of the seminar lectures that afternoon, Katie gathered her suitcase from the seminar office, and we moved her over to the Hôtel Le Relais Saint Germain to stay with me in my room. I told myself, ‘why not,’ it was a case of economics. I received the same daily charge for my room whether double occupancy or single.After arriving in my hotel room, I shed my suit jacket and kicked off my high heels with the intention of exchanging them for something more comfortable such as pants and tennis shoes for our evening walk. I went over to my suitcase, opened it and took out a pair of dark blue jeans.As I turned back toward the room, Katie was standing in front of me.She looked directly into my eyes and then sank down onto her knees. She reached up with both hands and ran them up my legs, under my skirt and slip, and along the outside of my thighs, to the waistband of my pantyhose and panties. Placing her fingers into both waistbands, she rolled both my hose and undies over my hips and down my legs, then pulled them off at my ankles. She then took hold of the hem of my skirt and half-slip and pushed them both all the way up over my hips until they were bunched on my waist.Kneeling with her face inches from my bare pussy she then placed both her hands on the cheeks of my ass and pulled me to her, rubbing her face against my crotch and licking me.I should have been shocked, but that would have been childishly ridiculous. We had both felt the same primal spark between us from the first moment our skirts had brushed against each other. I looked down. Katie was still fully dressed in her grey business suit, kneeling with her pretty face pressed against my pussy.I grabbed a handful of her hair, held her against me and began thrusting my pussy against her face, allowing her just enough room to breathe between her licking and kissing.She continued licking and nibbling me until I was near to coming, and then she suddenly stopped.Looking ankara escort bayan up, she smiled. “How do I say, ‘Please make love to me’ in French?” she asked.I looked down at her kneeling in front of me. “You say, S’ll te plaît, fais-moi l’amour.”“Well, I can’t pronounce that so how about I just say, Parlez-Vous fuck me?”I laughed, grabbed her shoulders and stood her up. “That sounds close enough for me, Katie.”I still stood there with my slip and skirt bunched up around my waist as she stood and looked into my eyes. As we were kissing each other gently on the lips, Katie succinctly summed up the situation.“Want to get naked and fool around?”We hurriedly discarded our clothing, blouses, skirts, and bras dropping to the floor. I unzipped Katie’s skirt, and it fell to her feet to reveal baby blue bikini panties and self-support stockings.I reached out and cupped the mound in her panties.She put her head against my shoulder. “Do you like feeling my pussy?”I found her directness unnerving but incredibly sexy and challenging. “Oh yes, you sexy little minx.”She put her face against mine and kissed my cheek and neck. “Parlez-Vous fuck me, Helen?”“Yes, oh yes. Parlez-Vous fuck you, Katie.”Only one day at our business seminar and we were already applying the basic principles of direct marketing and product distribution.* * *We stood engaging in some exploratory kissing before finally taking off her hose and panties and wrestling each other naked onto the bed.Katie immediately pushed me onto my back and straddled my hips. I raised my hips to meet her, and we pressed hard against each other, pussy to pussy, bucking and grinding until I was racked with a massive orgasm and collapsed back onto the sheets. Our eyes never left each other’s face and body.“Parlez-Vous fuck me, Helen?”She slowly slid up my body, rubbing her pussy across my stomach, my breasts, and then she straddled my face. I grabbed her hips and pulled her down on me, holding her pretty pussy to my lips. I kissed, licked and tongued her deeply, and she soon started madly rubbing her pussy up and down against my face, until she came in a series of spasms.Afterward, she fell onto the bed beside me, and we gently touched and kissed each other.There was no awkwardness, no fear of embarrassment or intimidation between us. We were instantly comfortable with each other as if we had been intimate for years.When I could breathe again, I managed to stumble from the bed and locate some wine in the cooler. We took a break from our exertions, drank wine, and lay naked together leafing through the tourist brochures we had brought back to my hotel room.We lay on the bed next to each other, laughing and kissing and looking at the pictures and descriptions in the pamphlets.Katie’s hands were all over, exploring, feeling and fondling, which I encouraged with moans and spreading of my legs. After some minutes I pushed her over onto her back, kissed my way down her body from her face to her pussy, and very slowly licked her to another orgasm.It was here when I discovered another of Katie’s talents. She was a wordsmith of sorts and would get into these silly moods of making up parodies and singing.“Oh, what’s that French song that keeps going, ‘inky-dinky parlez vous?” she asked.“Oh, I think you mean, ‘Mademoiselle from Armentières.’ I replied.Yes, that’s it. Okay well, how about this…”“Oh, Mademoiselle from New York City, Parlez-vousMademoiselle from New York City, Parlez-vousMademoiselle from New York City,Kissed my tits and licked my clittySucksy-fucksy parlez-vous.”It was gross but so silly and funny and unexpected that I cracked up laughing.“Did you just make that up?”“Yes, I’ve always had a way with rhymes and limericks.” She looked at me laughing. “You forgot I work at a London Advertising agency. I often piddle around making up little ditties. Oh ditties, let’s see now that rhymes with…”“Yes, a whole lot of things. Tell me, did you scrawl on a lot of school toilet walls escort ankara when you were a kid?”Katie feigned shocked surprise. “Yes, how did you know?  Have you been to my old high school?”“Yes,” I said, “and now I know that you can’t be trusted with crayons!”Katie nuzzled her face against mine. “Bugger crayons. I can’t be trusted with your bare ass.”She affected a pensive expression. “Now what rhymes with knickers?”“Stop it you silly cat.”“Flickers, clickers, lickers, liquors, kickers…”I could not help myself laughing at her studied silliness. Katie was a vastly different creature from any of my more conservative acquaintances.  “I got it,” she cried out. “How about limericks?”Katie wrinkled her brow and recited,“Helen and Katie were two city slickersBoth were insatiable lickersThey loved to caress and lift up their dressAnd take off each other’s knickers.”It does not get sillier, but god knows she made me laugh. Those last years in college obtaining my Masters, the long hours and demands of starting into a financial brokerage career had taken its toll. In that instance, I accepted the rather startling self-diagnosis that I was, in fact, long overdue for copious amounts of silly. Miss Katie certainly provided plenty of it.I wrapped myself in a bathrobe, called down to the main desk, and ordered more wine. I accepted delivery at the door and opened the wine while Katie was powdering her nose in the bathroom.“Hey,” she yelled from the bathroom.I looked over to see her holding up a plastic bag and waving it.“Hey did you know there is an airline sick-bag in here with a pair of knickers in it?”Oops, Katie had discovered the souvenir from Henri Robichaux. “Yes, I had to change in the middle of the flight over here.”“Oh, okay. Makes sense. Better than having them loose in your purse I guess.”I could not help thinking that between Katie and Monsieur Henri, a girl could get her oil changed regularly.“Would Katie the Poet like to go out on the town and eat snails and frog legs?” I called out.Without a moment’s hesitation or trace of shame, she replied. “I would rather stay here with a bottle of wine and nibble what’s between your legs.”With that short utterance, Katie effectively negated any ideas I had for wandering the local Parisian bistros that evening.I poured two glasses and wine and stood before her naked. “So Miss Katie. Are you in the mood for an aperitif, entrée or hors-d’œuvre?”Katie studiously looked me over from my earlobes to my toenails.“I’m ordering the buffet,” she replied. “I want a taste of everything.”I toasted Katie with my wine glass. “Mmmm touché Miss Katie.”“As long as you to touché my tits and between my legs, I’m a happy tourist.”Oh, Katie, she did make me laugh.I stood in front of her with my legs wide apart. “Bon appétit, Katie. Bon appétit.”We played Parlez-Vous fuckme until we were exhausted. Up until that point in my life, she was the most uninhibited charmer I had ever known.Katie was not just a fresh breeze in my life – she was a damn whirlwind. * * *The following evening we actually made it out of our hotel room and over to the Peniche Marcounet Café, which is actually, a barge parked next to the Pont Marie and a great place to soak in some ambiance. It has tables, both on the barge and spread out along the embankment. It has good beer and wines and usually a live band.We dressed casual, jeans and light tops. Naturally, Katie was braless and checking out her backside in jeans, I had to admit that while my ass did not look quite as tight in jeans as hers did, I contributed an extra cup size in the bust. I deduced that equaled things out between us.We eagerly devoured grilled chicken skewers, quinoa salad, chips, and guacamole, sipped chardonnay and people watched while continuously talking about nothing in particular.The café was a nice place to hang out, with a relatively young crowd and Katie was getting down to the music. I have reservations about public displays, but Katie danced close, facing me, the front of her sweater against me, pressing her breasts against mine and shaking them back and forth. Of course, I have seen women dance together before in a provocative manner, but this was a little too public for me.

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