The Banking Analyst 

We met for dinner. It wasn’t in the plan but the bar we were supposed to visit was closed for a private party. We ate tapas and talked about boxing, banking and bonking. 

He was French, with a beautiful accent and very large hands. I could not believe this Adonis was available. 

He told me about a sex party he had recently attended, near where he lived out in the wilds of Kent. The picture he painted was pretty sordid – especially the old man getting out of the hot tub and staggering to an empty dance floor. But still I was turned on, the fact he’d tried it and lived to tell the tale. 

We travelled home. He looked huge in my house. He had bright turquoise boxers on. He could remove my bra with one hand. My knickers were soaked through. His mouth and hands danced around them teasing me, pulling a part aside then putting it back. Oh god was this for real? 

It’s hard to remember the details. I came straightaway after his oral attention. He murmured in my ear in French which got me even more excited. His hands were gentle, coaxing my nipples hard and then lapping at them with his tongue. “C’est Bon” 

I mounted him easily and his hands were all over me. Holding me steady on that rod of his. It was so good my head went funny and soon he was telling me he was coming. 

But reader, here is the magic part. He kept going. I kept riding that Gallic member until I exploded too. Until the bed was wet with our sweat. Until my legs ached and I had to climb off. 

Vive Le France! 

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