[ ver 1.3 Most of the French is obvious or soon implied. Longer or more difficult wording is translated in square braces like these. Until after the cop flirted, this is all true --- I did change the names and ages of those involved. Mich’s behavior over the bill is also true. If all you want is the hot scenes, skip to == Police == ]

Sirens screaming made us all paranoid and put worries of arrests in our guts. Is four people in a two-seater sports car illegal?

This happened some years ago in France when I was eighteen. I spent the summer with a family of five. The oldest of the three boys was older than I and came to the USA for most of that summer, so we spent little time together. The youngest was a child of ten and stayed with kids his own age. The middle kid, Dom, had just turned eighteen, so we hung out most of my time there.

Dom urgently wanted me to meet his older friend, Mich, and his fiancé. Mich and I shared a special bond with our sports cars. Mich was twenty. Dom warned me not to be too ‘friendly’ with Mireille since they had a devoted, and special kind of romance. Suspiciously, he refused to elaborate. Though Mich wasn’t the jealous type, he did have a short fuse, he said. Dom seemed unusually giddy as he pressed for our encounter. When he said he had a surprise for me he was sure I’d like, I had to wonder what he was hiding. I sensed a trap or a prank.

Mich showed up alone on Valentine’s Day in his tiny Triumph Spitfire. That may seem redundant, but isn’t since my Triumph TR3 is also a tiny two-seater, yet as small and low as it is, the Spitfire is lower and smaller. Both cars have a laughable bench seat in the back — a padded plank was optional.

Though Dom was smaller than I was, he got the front seat. With one inch between the back of the front seat and the rear ‘seating,’ there’s no way to face forward unless you remove your legs. At least the top was down when I climbed in and sat sideways behind Dom. With no padding, the ride was harsh in the back.

We zipped through the rustic, bumpy, French country side with Mich beaming and bragging about Mireille. A huge grain of salt came with his syrupy description of how beautiful, smart, sexy and liberal she was, yet his deep affection for her was evident. Having recently missed out on my own belle amie, I tuned out much of his descriptions of their romantic trips, liaisons, and frequent public sex. I heard that the French love la fête de Saint Valentine, Valentine’s Day and with casual attitudes on sex, I wondered what we were in for.

Finally arriving at the rough, dirt driveway for Mireille’s home gave me a chance to get out and flex my bruised back. Mich blasted his horn and shouted for Mireille. When a French door opened at the second floor mini balcony, out of a darkened room stepped a beautiful, shapely, sexy creature. My jaw dropped at her perfect form and well-toned legs and abs. Nearly a second later, my eyes popped when I realize she was almost nude. Her pale pink panties clung snugly; her sizable bare breasts swung over the balcony. Too big for her small frame, they etched a perfect image in my head despite the relaxed softness of her rosy nipples.

Not surprised or concerned, Mich shouted for her to join us for a birthday brunch; her eighteenth was also that day. He casually suggested she get dressed first. She stretched languidly, arms over her head as she proved even a yawn could be sexy from a semi nude beauty. Sliding her legs apart to lean over the balcony not only got her tits swinging temptingly, but exposed the sultry shadow in her camel toe. She cupped a hand to her ear and pretended she didn’t hear him.

Taking her time as she enjoyed us all scanning her beauty, she stood and crossed her ankles as she turned in profile then flexed her runner thighs. Trying not to look so stunned, I sighed at the thought of those luscious thighs on my shoulders and her juicy peach in my mouth. She was very good at pretending not to notice our lust as she bent and stretched.

After some silly chatter and a delay which were at once too long, yet not long enough, she flipped her chin-length jet black hair and turned. Posing her well rounded, firm ass for us, she pulled her bikini panties up her sides to expose most of her fair ass. This woman was not shy and positively skilled in seduction even when nearly fully exposed. She bent enough to tease us with her swollen lips, then stepped inside.

Dom and I could breathe again. We looked at glowing Mich’s broad smile and he gave us an extremely proud thumbs up. I nodded and licked my lips. How open was she? Having seen her performance before, I’m sure, Dom was more blasé.

France once had a Valentine’s Day custom of ‘une loterie d’amour’ [drawing for love] where single people called out from their windows to pair off. Was her performance a throwback to those ancient times? I wondered, and was grateful.

Several minutes later, Mireille came skipping out of her door in a delightfully short blue skirt and translucent, white, buttoned blouse with three buttons open. Most of her deep cleavage was out for our enjoyment and the tease knew it. Her dancing nipples grew firm as she obviously delighted in her taunt. Just as she reached the car, her sexy pout became a brilliant, child like, innocent smile — with killer dimples. My slacks grew tight as I realized that I could love this woman as well as lust over her.

Being commando since my second week in France, I turned away to hide my tenting slacks, she hugged Dom and kissed him on both cheeks. He introduced me to her as Al, an American visitor and Francophile. I stammered, “Bon matin cherie, um Mireille. Enchanté.”

“Évidemment!” she giggled and glanced at my growing salute. Then she pulled me against her warm, plush breasts, pressed a strong thigh against my firm tribute making me struggle to suppress a moan, kissed me on both cheeks, and then the shocker. As she held my face in both hands for just five long seconds, we locked eyes; her baby blues pulled me in; my breath caught and I didn’t notice her moving toward me until our lips met for a gentle, sweet kiss. “Je n’ai jamais gouter un American.” Well, I can hope I will be the first American she tastes. What am I thinking? She’s engaged. Dom grinned widely and enjoyed my embarrassment.

Mireille slowly backed away then licked her hungry lips and smiled. She angled her head, cradled mine then pressed and nibbled my lips for several seconds before licking them. My world shrank and quieted until I was only aware of her warm tongue as it pushed past my teeth and hugged my own. Her sweet breath filled my lungs. My hands wanted to cup and expose her breasts to our pleasure, yet I somehow resisted in respect --- and shyness. Suddenly, she was gone and I felt the cold chill of abandonment. I inhaled deeply, opened my eyes and she surprised me again when I saw her licking Mich’s tongue.

He had the back of her skirt pulled up, had pushed her panties deep into her rear raphe and was proudly flexing her perfect, bare cheeks for us to see. What kind of romance was this? When their passionate kiss broke, I faked a supportive, confused smile and flashed him a dejected thumbs up. As she hung both hands on his shoulder and smiled broadly at me, I noticed another blouse button had opened at her nipple line. Though I tried not to stare at the tempting teat, I failed. “Vous êtes vraiment un homme chanceux,” I needlessly opined as if he didn’t know how lucky he was.

Visions of threesomes danced in my head before I wondered how open their relationship would be after marriage. Where was his short fuse? Were public and fetish sex with friends and strangers part of their plans? Though I wasn’t a virgin, my experience told me their openness was beyond casual flashing. It wasn’t my place to comment since this was the first time we met. It wasn’t his fault I immediately fell in lust with his fiancé. Yet I felt jealous and protective. That wouldn’t work if she didn’t want protecting, as I knew all too well. Wait; what am I thinking?!

Mich said we needed to move out to get seating in a special eatery called Monde Ouvert. It was out of the way, yet extremely popular with liberal people of a certain shared persuasion. Dom grinned at my confusion. He climbed into the rear ‘seat’ behind Mich. Once he settled in, I climbed in behind the passenger seat. Our backs were against the sides and our legs were bent and cramped, feet awkwardly between each others’ legs — the only way we could fit back there. Saucy Mireille climbed into the front seat, over the door, one leg at a time so her camel toe was in my face.

When her other leg joined her, my eyes closed, my nose and manhood twitched at the image of tasting her and inhaling her aroused aroma. Still standing on the seat and facing me, she lifted her skirt and shifted her wedgie out of her butt. More twitching! What a tease. Mich laughed and stared at my tented slacks. She bent to kiss me on the forehead which also exposed one full breast and nipple. Despite the implied permission, I resisted the urge to free the tempting mammary and savor it. I wondered why Dom kept staring at my surging crotch instead of Mireille’s bare tit.

With all three enjoying my breathless state, we sped out of the rocky driveway. Mich’s speed on narrow, twisting roads reminded me how much I missed my TR3; the painful back seat reminded me that I wasn’t driving. Mireille’s jouncy tits and billowing skirt kept my lust limb stiff. Lack of seat belts made me imagine how to roll if or when I bounced out of the tiny bench.

== Police ==

Sirens screaming made us all paranoid and put worries of arrests in our guts. Is four people in a two-seater sports car illegal? Any siren pattern in any country is nerve-wracking, but when a tall gendarme got out of his car and dramatically put on his cap, I felt the threat was real. The cop slowly approached, but walked directly to the passenger side. Because the Spitfire is as low as it is, his groin was at Mireille’s face level, and mine, just four inches away from her.

Without looking at Mich, he extended a hand and demanded, “Papiers, sil vous plaît.” Looking up at the perceived giant, I saw he was looking down Mireille’s mostly open blouse. Moving my head just two more inches over the car side let me see what he saw. Her left breast was completely exposed. He smiled. She smiled and passed him the papers, but he barely blinked at them.

Mireille flipped her hair at him and turned away, then in an innocent yet sultry voice said, “Je ne sais pas pourquoi, mais la police m’arrête toujours, même quand je ne conduis pas.” [I don’t know why, but police always stop me even when I’m not driving.] She sighed and ignored her exposed tit.

The gendarme took a moment then beamed, “C’est peut-être parce que tu as la tête qui plaît.” [Maybe it’s because you have a head that pleases.] I groaned at the double-entendre. He didn’t! Great come back, but what an odd thing for a cop to say. He was obviously flirting even as he said head instead of face, but did he expect...

He took a step closer to her and bumped his hips forward, slightly over the door. She briefly stared at his groin and the restrained, growing bump in it. I saw her smile, turn to Mich then point back to the cop’s bulge. He shrugged, she shrugged and turned back to the cop. When she unzipped him, he dropped his belt and unhooked his commando uniform slacks. After pushing them to his knees, his semi hard rod bobbed against her chin.

She cupped his sack and pulled him closer as she slowly stroked his cut cock with her other hand — just inches from me. Too close for my comfort, yet I couldn’t look away. He reached into her blouse and pinched her nipple, but quickly backed away to stay close to her mouth. His breath caught; his hips twitched; a clear drop formed as his shaft thickened to an impressive girth. Her tongue lapped the thick, sweet bead away before swirling around his bishop. My jealous side watched closely as she easily sucked him completely into her throat in two strokes — without gaging. My arm pressed my rigid shaft as I watched her use her pleasing head to bob and suck the gendarme.

He didn’t last long in her expert mouth. Within a dozen strokes, he slammed his hairy pubes against her nose and grunted several times; his mouth formed a small O on his cum face. At least his cream went directly into her belly; most of it did, anyway. As he breathlessly withdrew, she licked his stiffness clean, urged the last few drops up his shaft and into her mouth then proudly kissed his purple bishop. She gave his still rigid rod a squeeze which made him lurch and close his eyes. After a second, he handed her back the papers, went back to cop voice and whispered, “Allez vous-en.” We took off quickly, leaving him at the road side with his baton pointing across the road.

I didn’t understand fetishes then or how a loving couple could be so casual and accepting of their mate’s exposures, sex with strangers, or how swallowing their cum were so easily routine. Worse, Mich seemed to enjoy watching his future wife tempt and satisfy strangers, me included. They widely opened my shy eyes.

Mireille wiped her mouth with her tongue then tissues, kissed Mich’s cheek, and turned to us in back. Directed at both of us, but said to me, “J’ai vu que ça te plaisait aussi.” [I saw you enjoyed that too.] She reached into my lap and squeezed my tenting pole. “C’est bien ça. Pas de soucis.” My eyes may have crossed. It took me several extra blissful seconds to translate that to “That’s good. No worries.” Apparently, she was pleased with my stiffness and felt totally at ease to grip it and comment openly on it. Dom grinned and rubbed my leg with his foot.

Ten minutes later, we pulled into a glass front, two-story eatery in a dense forest. We went to the upper level for the wider view. On the way up, I noticed all the tables were glass top and most of the customers were in varied states of undress — tits out, hands on exposed shafts, two completely nude. I wondered how many secret places like this existed in the U.S. and how I could find them. We took a U-shaped booth against a side wall, the only seating open. It gave us a great view of the woods, the brook behind the place, and the lewd customers below us. Mireille sat between Mich and me.

A garçon in formal tails quickly joined us and enjoyed the show Mireille provided as she slid over — her sexy legs spread, her tiny skirt pulled high, her panties and camel toe prominent. He, Dom, and I silently stared through the glass table as Mich grinned. Le garçon moved opposite Mireille for the best possible view then slowly took our orders. When he left, Mireille chuckled, “Je pense qu’il a apprécié ce qu’il a vu.” Dom snorted; I smiled and nodded my head while looking through the table at my dream goal. I had to agree since the view was spectacular.