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Subject: The Widow's Passion (Nicole Flandre, f/m, 1/1)
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This is an extract from an Obelisk Library Etext title
available via Email or on disk. For more information
about this and other Etext titles, ask for the
Obelisk Library Catalog at: <specpress@earthlink.net>

This text is for adults only.

from Nicole Flandre: PRIVATE LIVES
Copyright (c) 1991 Spectrum Press Inc.
All Rights Reserved
Published by Spectrum Press Inc.
ISBN 1-57138-110-4
<specpress@earthlink.net>



The Widow's Passion

     Germaine Borel liked to think of herself as a woman of
accomplishment. After her husband died, she used the money he'd
left her to open a restaurant in an old barn outside the town of
Dampierre. Everyone said she'd go broke, but it didn't happen.
Instead she coaxed the restaurant along.  She hired an expert
chef from one of the schools in Paris, and eventually she turned
the place into a gourmet attraction with a rating of three stars.
She made a great deal of money from the business, and she now had
one of the larger houses on the road between Dampierre and
Versailles. In the town of Dampierre to have a house on that road
meant that you'd arrived, and to have one of the larger houses
meant that everyone in town knew you were someone important. She
had three grown children in Paris and a pile of money in the
bank. She was forty-five years old, still attractive enough to
draw the eyes of men, and undoubtedly one of the more eligible
widows in the region. She was also lonely enough to marry again,
but she thought all the men she knew were either too dull or too
obviously after her money. She consoled herself with the
understanding that she was one of a million women in France with
the same problem. But at least she had her comforts, didn't she?
She went off to the C“te d'Azur whenever she was in the mood for
it. She kept her body firm, her skin tone good to look at. She
had an occasional intrigue with this or that man in her circle,
went to one party or another in Dampierre or the towns around it
or sometimes in Paris, but these days she'd almost given up any
idea of a serious liaison. She minded it not at all, but what she
did miss was the active sexual life she'd had with her husband.
Poor Albert, if only he were alive to keep her content! None of
the men she knew could live up to his memory. When she did let
something happen with a man, he was usually too clumsy or too
selfish to satisfy her completely. Since the death of her
husband, her affairs had been with older men, men in their
fifties and sixties, and she'd come to realize they were not
suitable for her. What she liked was a man adept enough to know
how to get her clothes off without a fuss, and then gallant
enough to make certain she had sufficient pleasure out of their
connection. What she'd learned was that very few men in her
circle were adept, and those who were adept usually had more
interest in younger women or were more directive than she could
tolerate. She would not be subservient to a man, not completely
anyway. She'd made a success in a highly competitive business and
she understood the value of her personal independence. All of
which made it extremely difficult for her to find a man who might
be a suitable replacement for her dead husband. She was a
different woman anyway from what she'd been when Albert was
alive. She was something else now, more mature, more poised, more
in control of her life. She understood all of it. The entire
profile ran through her mind each time she studied herself in a
mirror, each time she wondered what she ought to do to make her
life a happier one. So far the answer continued to escape her.
What do you want, Germaine? A new hairdo? She wore her red hair
short now, long bangs in front and the hair cut close to the
shape of her head. She thought it looked interesting with large
hoop earrings and a loose colorful blouse. Anyone could tell what
was under the blouse. She was well provided in that department,
ample enough to get the stares from the men, the envious looks
from the women with small developments. Her dead husband Albert
had adored her large breasts, and now that she was a bit older
they were even larger and more sensitive. What she wanted was a
man to enjoy her body, kiss it, fondle it, but it had to be
someone who would complement her life and not destroy it, a lover
easily controlled, a skillful lover who would bring her the
ecstasies she needed so much. Did such a creature exist?
     One hot afternoon in June, Germaine's amorous desires took a
turn she afterward realized was quite remarkable. She was alone
in the big house, the cook and one maid on holiday, thinking
about whether to give the other maid the afternoon off, when she
noticed a young man riding the grass cutting machine on the broad
lawn. For a moment Germaine had no idea who he was. Then she
realized it was one of the busboys from the restaurant, a local
boy she'd asked to come out and trim the grounds around the
house. She'd had to fire the gardener last month because he drank
too much and often ruined her flowers.  What a babbling old fool
that one was!  And now the grounds needed tending.  She never
liked the way the professional services did it and she also
thought they were much too expensive. Did they need to charge her
as though the house were a grand chateau? The boy had said he'd
be more than happy to earn the extra money trimming the grass,
and now there he was doing the job. She guessed he'd arrived at
the back of the house, told the maid who he was and obtained the
keys to the tool shed.
     What a fine looking boy! Germaine thought. She looked at him
now. He was nineteen or twenty, not more than that, dark hair and
a lean strong body, sweating in the hot sun and the sweat showing
as a large stain on the back of his cotton shirt. She tried to
remember his name, but it escaped her. Which busboy was he? She
ran through the names in her head and she decided he had to be
Tony Sadou. Yes, that was the one; it was young Tony Sadou she'd
asked to work at the house. She stood there at her bedroom window
looking at him, and the more she looked the more intrigued she
became about certain feelings he provoked. Why him? Maybe it was
the way he was sweating, that wiry body on the machine reminding
her so much of her dead husband Albert when he was in his prime.
A long time had passed since she'd been with a boy like this one,
so many years. He was younger than her son, much younger, and it
seemed awful to be thinking of him in a sexual way. But the knot
in her belly won out and she decided it wasn't any different than
a man her age thinking about a twenty year old girl. Was it any
different? Such a long time had passed since she'd had a man in
her arms. How many months was it?
     She went downstairs and she sent the maid away for the rest
of the day. "I'll see you tomorrow," Germaine said.
     Rosalie nodded. "Yes, madame."
     After that Germaine went up to her room and she had a shower
and some rum to fortify her convictions. She'd started drinking
rum one time during a holiday in Mexico and after that she'd
adopted it. She drank one rum and then another, and then after
that she went down to the lawn to see what she could do about
Tony Sadou. She talked to him about the grounds awhile, and then
about his job at the restaurant, and then about his family in
Dampierre. She discovered two things about him: first, that his
family was from Marseilles; and second, that young as he was he
had much experience with women. She could tell all about his
experience with women by the way he looked at her, by the way he
dropped his eyes to her breasts and smiled, by the way he flirted
with her without any awkwardness. She quivered as she imagined
him sucking at her tetons, those attractive masculine lips
tugging at her fat nipples. He seemed to understand her needs,
this boy, and it wasn't long before she had him in the kitchen
opening a bottle of wine and then pouring some of it into two
glasses.
     "I'm sure you'd rather be here than riding that machine in
the heat," she said, her eyes moving over his chest and shoulders
so clearly revealed by his tight cotton shirt. What a lovely
specimen he was, so young and healthy!
     He smiled at her. "It's a pleasure, madame."
     "Is it really?"
     "I think I'm under your spell."
     "Maybe I'm a witch," she teased, keeping her shoulders
pulled back to give him the full effect of what she had under the
blouse she wore.
     He said if she was a witch, she was the loveliest witch he'd
ever seen. Germaine liked that; it amused her. It occurred to her
he was as much seducing her as she was seducing him, and that
amused her even more. After all the mature and moneyed men she'd
known, here she was maybe about to bed a busboy who worked in her
restaurant. She looked him over, the finely boned face with a
hint of a hard edge at the corners, the mouth twisting now from a
boyish grin into something approaching a leer as he looked at the
swell of her breasts again. She could see his young body hard and
muscular under his jeans and cotton shirt, his trousers clinging
to his sturdy-looking legs and strong thighs. And there, just
below his belt, a sloping bulge stood out unmistakably. He
certainly looked capable enough. From the look of the mound in
his jeans, it seemed he had all the equipment a woman might want.
A large and aggressive sex had always been of prime importance to
Germaine, and suddenly with this boy it became a compelling
attraction. She remembered her dead husband's magnificent penis
and she wondered if Tony Sadou could compete with Albert. The boy
was large down there, wasn't he? What a lovely big bulge it made!
As they looked silently at each other, she couldn't help
wondering what his obviously large penis would look like
unsheathed, erect, emerging from the loins of such a youthful
hard body. She imagined a long thick shaft rising over a pair of
bulging testicles.  She chastised herself, tried to get the
picture out of her mind, but she only succeeded in sharpening the
image, and in a moment she found herself trembling, her belly in
a knot again. "Why don't we sit in the living room?" she said.
     The boy nodded, his hands in his pockets, the fabric of his
jeans pulled even tighter. There was no doubt about what he was
showing her. It was evident now that he had an erection and that
he was boldly exhibiting it. She could not miss the clear outline
of the erect penis, the brazen display, the offer. She'd thought
seducing him would be a difficult trial, but now it seemed so
ridiculously easy.
     As he followed her into the living room, she sensed his eyes
boring holes in her as she walked. She allowed her hips to sway,
and with every step she imagined she could feel the wetness
soaking through the gusset of her panties and dampening her inner
thighs. By the time they were in the living room she was
trembling again, this time in a complete surrender to the
excitement of the moment. How strange it was to be doing this
with a boy half her age!
     "This is more comfortable," she said, facing him again with
a smile, and then feeling a sudden jolt in her chest as she saw
what he had done while her back was turned.
     His organ was out of his open fly, the knob a fiery red and
dripping at the tip.
     "Dear God, what are you doing?" she said.
     He locked his eyes with hers. "You disapprove?"
     Her face flushed, Germaine stared at the enormous swollen
penis. "Aren't you rushing things?"
     He made as if to tuck his member inside his pants again.
"All right, we'll return to the pretense again."
     "No, please..."
     "I thought you wanted it."
     "Yes, I do."
     She was vanquished.  She hadn't expected him to be 
sophisticated enough to be so bold, to understand everything so
completely...

-----------------------------
End Extract

This is an extract from an Obelisk Library Etext title
available via Email or on disk. For more information
about this and other Etext titles, ask for the
Obelisk Library Catalog at: <specpress@earthlink.net>


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