1. Conversational French (or the reluctant rapist). (CAW 24 Entry)


    Date: 7/21/2015, Categories: Dark Fantasy, BDSM, Consensual Sex, Author: stex, Rating: 84.6, Source: sexstories.com

    wouldn't get in the way much, you could rip it off, how much of a handful do you think her boobs would be." All through the movie, Aimée and me smooched, that was good, it was turning me on. Aimée kept up the fantasy about Hélène, that was turning me on even more. Hélène kept glancing over to us, if I looked her way, she'd look away. We were turning her on. Suddenly the movie was over. Typical of old movies, all the credits were at the beginning, so the movie ended and that was that. The lights came up, Hélène got up, threw her jacket over her shoulder and walked out. We ostensibly ignored her and smooched some more. Once she was out the door, Aimée motioned me to move and we followed Hélène out. She turned right out of the theatre, a block and a half, across the street and half a block. We followed casually along behind, just strolling. She was parked in the new parking structure, she walked up one level, we followed. She paused and fumbled in her purse, she found her keys, pushed a button and the car next to her flashed and clicked. Aimée nodded, I sprang up behind Hélène. One hand went around her mouth, the other caught the wrist with the keys. Aimée grabbed the keys and opened the car's rear door for me. I twisted Hélène's arm up behind her back and bundled her in the back seat. I piled in on top of her. Two car doors shut and the car started up. Aimée drove the car out of the garage, a flew blocks and we were on a quieter street. I let go of Hélène and turned her over. ...
    She said something, it sounded like “Barley pat.” French, I guessed. Maybe she was French, my French was never any good, and it's gotten pretty rusty. It was never on the conversational level, and it didn’t cover situations like this. Then she said “Salut!” though I don’t think it was a greeting. It was more like she spat it at me. Aimée snarled “The girl.” I’m pretty sure I was missing something here. Aimée has pretty good conversational French, tending towards the gutter really. Hélène snapped back “Salope.” That was a word I did know, she called Aimée a hooker. Aimée told me, “Shut the bitch up.” I put my hand over her mouth again. Then there was a long stream of French from Aimée, it's impossible to understand spoken French like that. It would help if the French could pronounce all the letters in their words. I just can't hear the words, it's just a jumble, I didn’t catch any of it. French maybe the language of love, but what Aimée was saying certainly didn’t sound like it. When Aimée was finished, Hélène was frightened and didn’t say a word when I let go of her mouth this time. There wasn't much traffic at that time of night, so it only took us ten minutes to get to our destination. I just lay on top of Hélène and gently fondled her, very nice. Traditionally you need a quiet country road for what we had in mind, but they're difficult to find in the Bay Area. We'd found something which maybe even better. Driving North to the bridge, we turned off onto a frontage road by ...
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