Chapter 3

I took her for a three day tour on my bike, and she held me tightly as we roared through the hot countryside. We found a secluded waterfall and she stood under it in naked splendor, but wouldn’t let me take a picture.

“Take a picture with your mind.” She insisted, “And remember me like this.”

Her big hair was pressed flat by the water, her firm little breasts stood proud, water shooting over her erect nipples. But mostly I remember her smile of excitement as she stood exposed in the full light of that bright morning, thrilled at the possibility she might be seen by anyone passing by.

Later we sat close on a log face to face, there were some locals working about 50 yards away.

As we talked, she opened my pants and pulled out my penis.

“But now it’s dry.” She said.

“You can use spit.” I told her, and she looked surprised at the information.

“Like this?” she asked as she gave me a handjob.

In the bright daylight, people chattering just behind me, I looked at the kinky grinning girl as she jerked me off in public. No one could see as far as I could tell.

Her hands felt so good there, but it was her face that really excited me. Her joy as she did it.

“Will you come?” she asked.

“If you want me too.” I said.

“Oui!” she said. Really, she always said yes in French. I liked that.

The breeze blew across us as her hands squeezed and stroked my cock in the bright afternoon. I felt the orgasm in my belly, and looked into her excited eyes while it grew.

I never had a hand job before, or since. I think it’s underrated, I remember it as a very pleasant experience.

I ejaculated, and she pointed it at my face and then laughed at my shock as my semen splashed off my mouth and eyes.

“So, how do YOU like it?” she demanded.

We got on my bike and later found a little hotel and checked in. “Just remember, I’m not your girlfriend.” She reminded me as we got undressed and into bed together for another night of hot sex.

The mattrass was hard as a plank and the sheets were like sandpaper. It didn’t matter to us; we kissed and fucked, her smooth little body tight against me as her smile lit the cheap room brighter than any palace.

As we relaxed in the darkness afterwards, she told me another story in her soft French accent;

“My Father was often away on business when I was young. Then my older brother would be in charge of my sister and I.

My sister hated my brother for what he did, but I didn’t. I think it was because I had orgasms when he did it with me, and she didn’t. Are you shocked?

Our father was very strict. As teenagers, we were required to come home immediately after school, dating or meeting boys was forbidden for my sister and I. Brother was allowed to do whatever he wanted, he used to go out with a white girl.

We girls were taught from an early age to respect and obey. But when my father left us with our older brother, he abused us.

I knew when he was with my sister, she’s slightly older than I am, and very pretty. I watched the odd movements of the blanket that covered them, and the first time I ever masturbated was listening to their strange breathing and gurgling as my brother had sex with her.

When I was fifteen, he came to me the first time.

My sister and I were in our room in our beds when I heard the door open. Our brother entered, but he didn’t go to my sister’s bed this time. He came to mine.

He lifted the edge of the quilt and climbed in. “Move over Emmanuelle.” He said.

My brother was bigger than me, and stronger too. But that wasn’t important, I would have done as he said anyway. It was what I knew, to respect my elders.