There was a little hiss from the bottle, not some big flowing gush of champagne bursting forth. She sat close to me on the sofa.
“Gee, Madeline, I don’t know what the big deal is. All I did was finish off some work in one room. It really isn’t that big a deal,” I said attempting humbly to put what I had done in perspective.
“Nonsense. I ‘ave waited far too long for that job too be done,” she said as she poured the wine into the two glasses and placed the bottle in a bucket on the coffee table in front of the sofa. “I ‘ave customers coming in all day, and it is more often than not that two or three ladies are lined up waiting for the fitting room. Your work is going to make my business more profitable, and for that I am very appreciative.” She said this and handed me a glass.
“Besides, you fixed the drawers in that old bureau and gave it a brand new finish, and you repaired the chairs and the table. You ‘ave done a wonderful job. That room is so beautiful I could rent it out, oui?”
“You flatter me,” I said with a little smile trying to sound a little sophisticated but probably failing.
“Oui, cherie. And it is deserved. A toast,” she held up her glass. I held up mine. “To a job well done.”
So I wasn’t old enough to drink yet. That didn’t mean that I never did. The carbonation of sparkling wine is different than that of beer. The champagne was dry and it tickled my nostrils as I drank it down. Madeline drank hers down too, but she kept an eye on me as she did.
“So, do you do such good work for Pat-teesh also, cherie?”
“Well, I take pride in my work.”
“Well, that is as it should be. ‘ere,” she said, “let me refresh your glass.”
A magnum is a big bottle that holds a lot of wine. I had the feeling that Madeline wanted to share to whole thing with me. After she touched up her glass she excused herself.
“Give me a moment, cherie.”
She rose from the sofa and walked over to a cabinet with her glass in hand. She opened up the dark walnut top and revealed a phonograph system. She placed her glass down on the table next to it and knelt down. She opened the front doors to the cabinet and took out several records. After placing several of them on a spindle in the turntable she turned it on. A record dropped and started playing some music. Madeline picked up her glass and started swaying to the sound of romantic piano.
After a minute or two, she dimmed the light to the room a notch and returned to her spot on the sofa next to me. I had sipped about half of the champagne in my glass while she was preparing the records, so she reached for the bottle and topped off both of us.
She turned to face me from my left and placed her right arm just behind my left shoulder. She crossed her legs painfully slow. It was the deliberate type of movement a woman makes when she is in the process of wrapping a man around her finger. Madeline’s legs were well shaped. Her body had soft, full curves to it and her somewhat matronly appearance was betrayed by an experienced sensuality. That, plus her meticulous grooming, made her quite an extraordinary woman to behold. I had a sense of what she was trying to do, even with my relative inexperience. The only question was whether or not I had the good sense to allow myself to be seduced.
“So cherie, how do you like the wine?” she asked.
“I thought it was champagne,” I said ignorantly.
“Champagne is wine; it is sparkling wine. That is the carbonation, cherie. It comes from a village in France called Champagne,” she explained.
“Yeah, but don’t they make champagne in California too?” I asked.
“Mais non, they make sparkling wine. ‘owever, many people meestakenly call that champagne as well,” she said.
“I’ll remember the difference,” I said as I took another sip of sparkling wine from a village in France called Champagne. I giggled a little as I sipped it.
“Yeah, it’s different. It tickles.”
Madeline smiled and sipped some more from her glass.
“How come you have a picture of a half-naked lady in your living room?” I asked. In retrospect it seems like a stupid and awkward question to ask a woman from out of the blue, but I think the combination of my own nervousness and the intoxicating effect of the wine conspired to weaken my judgment.
“You do not recognize ‘er, cherie?”
“Take a good look at ‘er.”
“I don’t know,” I said as I considered the picture from across the room. “Is she someone famous? Is she an actress or something?”
“Mais non, look closer.”
I did, but the face just didn’t seem to click with anyone I should know.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Who is it?”
“Silly,” she replied, “elle es moi.”
“What? I don’t understand.”
“She is me.”
I looked closer at the portrait. The girl in the picture had long black hair and a generous bosom. She appeared to be in her late teens, but her face – the shape of it and the little smirk on her mouth – quickly revealed itself to be the very woman I sat next to on the sofa.
“Hey, I see it now. That is you. When did you pose for it?” I asked her.
“Oh cherie, that was a very long time ago. I was but a girl, not long in Paris. I ‘ad high ‘opes of becoming a model back then. I modeled for that portrait, and others as well,” she explained.
“Who painted it?”
“The same artist who painted that one above the mantle,” she pointed to the painting of the sailboats. “That was one of ‘is impressionist paintings.”
“Who was the artist?”
“Oh, no one famous. Claude was very talented and expressive. He dabbled in one genre after another, but never really found the one that was right for ‘im.”
“Was he your husband?” I asked carefully. I didn’t want to probe too far about her marriage since I didn’t know how it had ended.”
“Mais non. Claude was not my ‘usband.”
“So you only modeled for him?” I asked. I took another long sip of champagne. I would need to refresh my glass in a moment.
“I modeled for ‘im, oui. But he was also my lover.”
That caught me a bit off guard.
“Don’t be so surprised, cherie. I was young and in love with ‘im. I learned so much about life by seeing it through ‘is eyes. I learned so much by seeing the world through ‘is art.”
“Really?” I was lost for conversation at this point. I picked up the magnum myself and refilled both of our glasses.
“Is it not the same way between you and Pat-teesh?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Does she not teach you much about love ‘erself?”
I blushed. The conversation was becoming very personal now and I didn’t know how to respond. I had tremendous feelings of affection for Patti, and I had learned a few things from her, but I never quite understood some of the lessons that she was trying to teach me.
“Non?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. She hinted that she knew better.
I thought that I had better clear things up for her.
“Well Patti is a good friend, but we’re not lovers or anything like that.” I took an aggressive drink of champagne.
“Never? Not even once?” She stroked her fingers along the back of my neck and combed them through my hair. My erection pressed hard against my jeans.
“No, never.” Another sip of wine.
“That is a pity, mon cherie. Tell me, ‘ave you ever been with a woman?”
Now the conversation was very personal. My heart was nervously beating faster, and I was worried that my voice might break when I spoke.
“Well, yeah. I did it once.”
“You deed it?” She put emphasis on her accented ‘did,’ but I didn’t understand what she was hinting at yet.
“Sure, I was in high school,” I replied.
I was seventeen at the time. I had a date with a girl I met at a dance early in my senior year. Until that time I had only masturbated with magazine pictures of women in panties for sexual release. Lisa Lewis was pretty and she seemed to like me. After we had gone out four or five times we both decided that we wanted to lose our virginity. It was certainly a departure for a boy who had up until then been obsessed with panties and not their contents.
I had the use of my father’s car, and we were going to go to a movie and then home. We missed the movie and drove out to an isolated spot just outside of the city where teenagers had been going all the way back to the end of World War II. We spent a lot of time nervously kissing each other, and it was doubtful if we were even going to take off our clothes or not. At some point I screwed up the courage to attempt a first awkward move. I wasn’t smooth, and I wasn’t graceful, but mercifully Lisa was expecting neither from me.
“Are you sure you want to go through with it?” I asked.
“Yeah, … I guess so,” she said.
“Do you want me to wear this thing?” I pulled a condom out of my wallet.
“Where did you get that?”
“Billy lent it to me.”
“Lent it to you?”
“Do you have to give it back to him afterwards?” she started laughing. It really broke the ice.
“No,” I said laughing myself. “Just let me put it on.”
“Do you know how?”
“Of course I do,” I lied.
A few minutes later we were finished. I just stuck my penis in her vagina, humped a few times, shot my load and figured that I was a man at last. I had finally screwed a girl. I thought that it felt good, but I wasn’t sure. I guess the idea of having had sex was more important than the sex itself. I didn’t spend any time trying to arouse her. Just to show what kind of asshole I was I didn’t even ask if it was good for her. I think that’s why she never saw me again after that night.
I hit the highlights of the story for Madeline.
“That is such a sad story, cherie,” she said.
“Because you went in so blind and eegnorant.”
“What else should I have done?”
“Cherie, all you were looking for was an opportunity to ‘do’ it.” She continued to stroke the back of my head and neck with her right hand. “You never considered that loving a woman is much more than just jumping into the back seat and getting sex over weeth.
“It is so much more.” She placed her glass down on the coffee table then turned to me. Her left hand was now free, and she placed it on my chest right over my heart. I had no doubt that she could feel my heart pounding out a beat totally out of rhythm with the romantic music playing in the background. My penis twitched in rhythm with my heart.
“Well, yeah. I mean I know that now.” I took another aggressive sip of champagne.
“Oh? And what exactly do you know?” she challenged my knowledge. It was a clever ploy if she was trying to embarrass me, but I do not think that was her intention.
“Well, like with my girlfriend?”
“So, you ‘ave a lady friend now?”
“Yeah, sure I do. Her name is Gail.”
“And you and Gail ‘ave been intimate?” She stroked my chest up and down with her left hand. My erection was begging for release.
“Does she never touch you like this?” Madeline’s hand roamed from my chest, past my belt, and down to the crease in my pants where she gave me a fondling I have never been able to describe in words. (Sorry dear reader.) Not even my aunt’s now infamous groping could compare.
“Ah, n… no,” I stammered.
“Does she keess you, like this?” She leaned forward and pressed her mouth against mine. The suction was moist and gentle at first. She added a little suction and parted my lips with her tongue. She gently licked at my tongue and our teeth scraped. Then she pulled back, but continued to fondle me.
“N, … n, ah, no.”
“Do you keess ‘er like this?” Madeline repeated her incredible kiss and she outlind the length of my ever hardening cock with her fingernail.
I was speechless. I forgot all about the glass of champagne that I was holding while Madeline fondled and kissed me. When I momentarily regained my senses I took a long sip of the wine and emptied my glass. I leaned forward and placed the glass on the coffee table, then relaxed back in my seat just staring into Madeline’s eyes.
“Cherie, there is so much more to loving a woman properly than simply ‘doing it.’ It takes patience and tenderness. You must take time, cherie, to explore each other and let all your senses enjoy the experience. Remember, it is all about the journey, not the destination. Comprenez?”
“Uh, yeah … yeah.” I looked for a refill of my glass.
“Oh? I theenk not.” She kissed me again then rose to her feet. “Cherie, I will be back in un moment. Please refill our glasses.”
She gracefully left the room, strolling out elegantly on her high heels. I briefly entertained the thought of bailing out while she was in the other room. This was a complete assault. But how stupid would I feel in the morning if I walked out on this? At least some part of me had the sense to stay put, my fucking erection. Even if I had made the decision to get up and bolt, that little (well, I wouldn’t say little really, but you know what I mean) bastard had me immobile.
The record stopped, I could hear the needle scrape against the label, then a couple of clicks. A second record dropped in place and the stylus swung back and down. Soft Spanish guitar emanated from the phono player. Madeline walked back into the room still wearing her high heels, but a different outfit.
She wore a sheer black robe that did little to conceal her body. She was obviously not wearing a bra; the robe parted revealing her ample cleavage. Yet her breasts were obscured by the material of the robe just enough to leave something to my imagination. What caught my eye of course were the champagne colored panties that she wore. They were made from a shimmering silk stitched with black lace trimmed all around the edges. Her sheer robe opened just below her waist as she walked back to the sofa. It afforded me a wonderful view of her legs, but more so of her panties which the opening of her robe highlighted. My heart pounded like a bass drum.
She sashayed towards me. The lace trim of her robe brushed against the outside of her legs as she walked. “I thought you would refresh our drinks, cherie.”
“Oh, sorry.” I took the magnum and poured the remaining contents into our glasses. The alcohol was taking full effect; or was it her perfume?
We drank down the remaining champagne silently. Madeline sat next to me, almost on top of me, smiling the whole time, devising some evil plot behind those sensuous eyes. Or was her plot already devised? She crossed her legs painfully slow once again. She continued to comb her fingers through my hair. When she was done with her glass she placed it on the table one last time. She took my glass from my hand and put it down also. She was in total control.
“Put your ‘and on my thigh,” she whispered into my ear. I obeyed.
Madeline unbuttoned my shirt with her left hand. She reached inside and stroked the warm flesh of my chest with long crimson polished nails. She guided her hand up to my face and tilted it towards hers. Again she placed a sensuous, moist kiss on my lips.
“So, Pat-teesh ‘as never given you a lesson in love?” she asked again in a throaty growl.
“N … no,” I fought to get the word out. It was stuck in my throat.
“Then why do you come into my store weeth ‘er to by such beautiful lingerie?” She kissed my neck and ear.
“They’re not … they’re not … for her,” I stuttered.
“Oh, then for whom? Your young lady?” Her fingers wandered to the crease in my pants and I could feel her unbuckle my jeans. Once unfastened, she reached inside.
“No … they’re, they’re…”
“They’re what, mon amour?” I felt her fingers gently travel the length of my increasingly hard erection.
“Mine,” I confessed meekly. “They’re mine.”
“Yours?” she asked unflinchingly. Madeline stroked my naked body between my chest and manhood. She continued kissing me.
“Yes,” I gasped for air as the confession came out. My sweaty palm clutched her thigh while my other hand clutched the arm of the sofa. “Yea … yea …yes. They … they’re mi … mine. They’re m … mine,” I spoke in a whimper.
“What do you need them for, cherie?” She reached down between my legs to stroke the length of my engorged cock.
“They’re m … my fe … fe … fetish. I ha … have a p … panty fetish.”
“And Pat-teesh, she ‘elps you?” She was nibbling on my ear and rolling the head of my member between her thumb and forefinger.
“Yes,” my chest heaved excitedly as I answered. I fought to control my breathing and to pace my sentence. “Yes, she helps me,” I could have started crying but for her next sentence.
“I will ‘elp you more.”
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Disclaimer: All posted stories include descriptions of sex scenes that could cause offence to some people. Please do not read this story if you are offended by perverse sexual material, or if you are under the legal age of consent for your own country. These stories are pure fiction and are not based on anyone living or deceased.
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