I sat in deep reflection on that bright Sunday morning on July 31, 1994, after Élise Marie Delvaux unexpectedly came into my life in the lovely city of Montréal. A woman of her caliber is truly someone special, and I was fortunate to have known her with such intimate finesse, and seemingly, without limitation. It was her soul that made an indelible mark upon me, and her perfect body, with its unique verve, and flavorful effervescence was an added gift. I am grateful that Élise and I encountered each other in this time and place, but I still feel as if she is familiar to me in a way that I cannot presently fathom. It has been a long and intense week of training with my Dallas shadow team and our Canadian associates, and the weekend came upon us quickly and will be a welcome break for all of us. I have so much to look forward to when our work is done, and I also wonder if I will ever see Claudia again.
During the week when I had a moment to myself, I thought of Élise often, and it was impossible to forget her for more than a couple of hours at a time. Luckily, it’s Friday again, and I am done with training and business obligations early today, and I am free until Tuesday of next week. I called Élise’s private number, and her concierge, Henri, took a message for her. A short time later, my phone rang in the apartment, and it was Élise. “Bonjour Marc. I got your message from Henri. How are you today? I replied, “I am fine Élise, I was calling to say hello, and perhaps to see what is happening for this weekend,” and she replied, “Marc, I have someone here that has just come back to us from France, and she is well rested, and has taken no clients in over a year. She has been inactive for all that time, and she is a delicate soul. I would like her to see you and experience your tender ways.” I replied, “Élise, it is not possible that she is as good-looking as you. Tell me this is true?” Élise replied, “Marc, I will see you again monsieur, for this you can be sure, but I would like you to see her this weekend, and she will stay overnight, and if all goes well, maybe she can stay again the next night. I know you will be happy.” I replied, “I will see her, Élise, and treat her well.”
I am looking forward to meeting and encountering this mystery woman just as she is with no preconceptions or rigid intuitive preconditions. I have everything set in my apartment, and the ambiance is exquisite, and I feel relaxed, while I wait for the usual call from the concierge. It is now 7 pm, and as expected, the front desk calls and announces that a Ms. Sandrine is here to see me, and I now wait and listen for her to approach my door. I can hear my guest approaching and wait for the knock, and it comes. I open the door, and a charming young lady, likened to an Egyptian queen, is standing in front of me smiling and said, “Bonsoir Marc, I am Sandrine Roux, and I am pleased to meet you, and have heard nice things about you.” I replied, “Bonsoir, Sandrine. The pleasure is all mine. You are so lovely, Sandrine, please come inside.” As Sandrine passes me, I detect a lovely perfume by Calvin Klein called “Eternity,” with blended floral and woody notes of freesia, lily of the valley, rose, sandalwood, and amber. I locked the door and said, “Please make yourself comfortable. I am looking forward to chatting with you. What can I get you to drink?” Sandrine replied, “I see your fine supply of liqueurs, but I have not eaten in a while, so perhaps a sparkling water?”
I replied, “Sandrine, the night is young, and we have so much time, let me take you to dinner, please.” She replied, “Really? You would take me out?” I replied, “Yes, of course. I am not like most men, who just want to get busy right away. I am sure that Élise would approve. Did she tell you anything about me?” She replied, “I know things about you, Marc. I am very close to Élise, Claudia, and Geneviève.” I replied, “This could be good news, or it could be awful news. Girl-talk is always so tricky.” Sandrine laughed and said, “You have nothing to worry about, Marc.” I said, “I am glad to hear that. I know a good place in the West Island called La Perle, which specializes in Szechuan and Thai cuisine. It is a fine restaurant, and I would love to take you there, Sandrine.” She replied, “I would love that, Marc, thank you.” With Sandrine’s approval, I called ahead to the restaurant and secured a reservation for 8:15 pm, and I must call Antonino to see if he is available to drive us. I also have to pick out a sport coat, shirt, and slacks, and will soon be ready to depart.
Sandrine Roux is the most delightful Afro-Caribbean woman that has ever graced my presence. Her delicious melanin-rich complexion has a buttery, deep, and alluring hue. She is sun-kissed, with a radiant glow, emphasizing a sense of vitality, brilliance, and heat. She has golden undertones and hues, and beautifully blended, caramel-mocha elements, that imbue a smoothness, and sense of warmth, and indulgence. Sandrine’s hair was lovely, and she embraced naturally defined curls and waves to shoulder length. Sandrine stands tall at 5 feet 8 inches, with a 38D full-bust, a 30-inch waist, and 38-inch hips, with a robust set of legs. She is well proportioned, with high cheekbones, and a striking facial structure, with a sharp jawline, and defined chin. Her lips are thick, moist, glossy, perfectly pronounced, and dramatic. Her décolletage is well-exposed, and deliciously curvaceous.
Sandrine was wearing a heart-stopping Azzedine Alaia black lace dress with a blush pink lining, and a molded bustier for 38D. A stunning eye-candy design from the early 1990s, with delightful horizontal black lace patterns. The shoulder-straps were about one inch wide, also with a pink lining underneath, and intricately made. A Louis Vuitton Ursula monogram-multicolor handbag perfectly matched Sandrine’s dress. Her shoes were a nicely matching pair of Gianni Versace Medusa medallion sandal heels, with three jeweled gold coins. Adorning her wrist was a Patek Philippe, golden-ellipse, yellow gold in 18K blue dial ladies watch with a Patek black leather band. A stunning pair of 18K gold, curved fluted, with ribbed design, clip and post earrings, adorned her perfectly symmetrical ears. Around Sandrine’s neck was an 18K gold rope chain that held a yellow-sapphire gemstone of at least 3 carats that was surrounded and mounted in 18K gold. The deep golden shade of this rare gemstone matched her skin-tones perfectly and was the highlight of her presentation to me.
In under one hour, Sandrine and I were on our way to the La Perle restaurant, and Antonino was driving us in a 1993 Mercedes S600-L, a common livery vehicle at that time. When he laid his eyes on Sandrine, he gave me a look, and a wink that suggested that I was very fortunate to be side-by-side with her, and I felt like a head-of-state being next to Sandrine. I am wearing a steel-gray sports jacket, black trousers, and a tailored shirt, all made by Maurice Sedwell. My feet are adorned with a smart pair of bespoke black Foster and Son plain evening Oxford shoes, and my watch is an Omega Speedmaster Pro, 1982, vintage. Sandrine and I are a good-looking couple, and we are well dressed and hungry. As we traversed the city of Montréal, I glanced over at Sandrine, and she smiled, but I sensed she was preoccupied somehow. My instincts detected sorrow, sadness, and heartbreak. I said, “Sandrine, tell me, love, what is on your mind? I can sense that you were distant a moment ago.” She replied, “I am fine Marc, it’s just being back in Montréal these past few weeks has brought back some memories for me.” We arrived at La Perle and were promptly seated and given menus, and our table was optimally situated in a quiet space.
Sandrine and I both love spicy Thai food, and we decided to order two dishes and share them. One dish was “Kan Ped Kound,” which are shrimps in red curry, with coconut milk and sweet basil. The second dish was “Pla rad Plik,” which was deep-fried fish fillets, topped with a spicy sauce, and jasmine rice on the side. We both wanted hot green tea with our meal, and I was delighted to take a break from wine or sake. So, with our food ordered, and tea dispensed, I said to Sandrine; “Tell me all about your sorrow, and what you are going through currently. Do not hold back, Sandrine.” She looked at me for a moment, smiling, then with a more serious look as she reflected on how to begin, and said, “I am not sure where to start.” I said, “Tell me about why you left Montréal and the agency and moved back to France?” She replied, “I left Montréal to escape the pain of the loss of my parents. One after the other, in short duration, they both died within a few months of each other. Then there was a relationship that I was in, which was complicated by my agency clients, and all three events came crashing down on me at once.”
Our food arrived as Sandrine finished the last word of her description of her current sorrows, and we began to construct our plates with rice first, then we placed the contents of each delicious dish neatly on the rice. I deduced a heavy burden was upon Sandrine, and even though her aura was purple and golden, I could see hues of gray to dark gray in her energy field. She is such a sweet woman, who just turned thirty last month, and we are close in age. Even as a young teenager, I would have similar feelings with the women I interacted with back in New York, who were also professional working girls. This business is tough, and with Sandrine, I got the impression that she may not be happy about resuming her career now that she is back from France and a one-year hiatus. I resumed the dialog, by saying, “Sandrine, what you went through is such a tragic thing, and it is still relatively fresh in your mind. When you were in France, how did you cope, and where did you live? What about friends and family there?”
Sandrine replied, “My family has an extensive property in the “Vallée du Rhône,” near Provence. The eventual abolition of slavery in the French colony of Martinique led to the migration of Afro-Caribbean people like me to France in the late 19th century, and this is how we came to France. All my family is in the Vallée du Rhône, and I came to Montréal to escape an arranged marriage, a true spectacle, and to finish my college degree here, and this is how I started in the agency at such a high level. And when my family called me back to France, I went right away, and now I am back, and I have all kinds of mixed feelings.” I replied, “Sandrine, I am glad that you are here with me tonight and thank you for sharing an important part of your life story with me. I imagine that I am your first client since you came back to the city?” She replied, “Yes, Marc. Élise said that you treat her girls very well, and Claudia is very fond of you, and wishes she could see you again. Geneviève said you were fun, and considerate too. We have been together now for only a couple of hours, and I can see that you are quite calm, and well put together, and kind. But you are a brute too.” When Sandrine said the word brute, we both started laughing heartily, and I said, “How did you know that Madame Élise always says, “Es-tu une brute, es-tu un vilain garçon Marc?”
Sandrine replied, “Because we can hear her talking to you at the agency office. She also told you, ‘No voodoo-love on my girls, Mr. Marc,’ and we were all dying laughing several times. Who says ‘voodoo-love’ and ‘vous brute, vous brute’ anymore?” I replied, “So do I have a good reputation thus far? How do I rate according to Claudia and Geneviève?” Sandrine replied, “You mean Claudia, Geneviève, and Élise? We all ramble, Marc, and we know about everything you do in great detail.” I replied, “So you know something about my moves, and how I approach lovemaking. This is an unfair advantage, Sandrine. How will I ever live up to what you already know?” Sandrine replied, “I was glad to come see you this evening, and yes, I know every little detail that was told to me, yet I am sure there is much more to you. And do not forget, Mr. Marc, you have no way of knowing what I will bring to your bed. What if I am a brute? What if I cause you to surrender to my voodoo-love, monsieur?” I replied, “Sandrine, you and I are going to have a lovely evening together, and I can imagine us seeing each other tomorrow evening as well. Just a hunch.” She replied, “do not get too far ahead of yourself, Mr. Marc. Let’s see if you can endure my lovemaking for even one evening.”
When approaching an Afro-Caribbean woman of Sandrine’s caliber, it is important to understand that you’re standing in-front of royal lineage. The first man and women, who lived in the garden of God, were melanin-rich, with elements of caramel and mocha in their skin-tone, and what we call melanin-deficient, light skin pigmentation, or Caucasian today, is a variation because of genetic drift, and is not of the original design from the garden of God. It was lovely people like Sandrine who designed and built the great pyramids, mastered stone cutting, science, technology, architecture, flight, interstellar travel, and all the things required to build the enormous underground cities and dwellings yet to be discovered. The Egyptians inherited these structures, and history is not as we have been told. For a Caucasian man like me, to please and pleasure a woman of Sandrine’s caliber, and royal lineage, it is necessary to acknowledge that you’re in the presence of a true Nubian queen, or perhaps a daughter of ancient Sumerian origin, and that you fully understand the cultural context of these labels. She must also know that you are privileged to be in her presence, and acknowledge her great beauty, regal stature, and strength. She must also know that you appreciate her heritage and her melanin-rich beauty, and she must be uplifted, and loved with great care. There are no exceptions to these rules ever.
After dinner, Sandrine and I left the La Perle restaurant and took a walk towards Shakespeare Park, just around the corner from the restaurant. Antonino was shadowing us close by, and he is a reliable bodyguard, and the best in the business of personal protection. As we were walking, Sandrine was on my right side, and she grabbed my right hand with her left, and held it as we walked. I smiled, then felt the warmth emanating from her fingertips, and said, “Sandrine, I can see that you’re energetic like me. I can feel you deeply, just by touching you this way.” She replied, “Yes, our spirits are introducing themselves presently. There is so much more to us than what we can initially see, Marc.” I replied, “I agree, Sandrine, and what I see in you is a woman of royal lineage, descended from a line of great kings and queens from the ancient land of Nubia. I am pleased to be in your delightful presence on this lovely evening. I acknowledge your status as a queen, the queen of Montréal, and I, being chosen to be your lover, am in awe.” Upon hearing these words, Sandrine stopped walking, and we both faced each other, and looked deeply into each other, soul searching, probing, sensing. She smiled, then leaned in, and we kissed for two seconds, closed lips, with light pressure, as we both inhaled each other’s scent; then we slowly broke off the delightful touch of two universes peering into themselves.
Sandrine, still looking at me closely as we embraced, said in a low sultry tone, “Oh mon Dieu, tu es un beau parleur Marc. Voulez-vous dire ce que vous dites? Est-ce que tu ressens ça profondément pour moi, Marc? Which means, “Oh my, you are a smooth talker, Marc. Do you mean what you say? Do you feel this deeply about me, Marc?” I replied, “Sandrine, every word came from my heart, not my mind. I can certainly see that you are precious and unique. I see you, Sandrine, and what I see, and feel, is beyond description.” She replied, “Let us go back to your place, Marc. You have swirled extreme passion within me, and I want us to be alone in a private place.” I replied, “Let us go then. Antonino is shadowing us. He is right there.” She replied, “Oh my yes, there he is in that Big 12-cylinder monster car, how convenient.” I wanted to tell Sandrine that the car had such power because it was armor-plated and bulletproof to large-caliber rifle rounds, but decided not to. We made our way to the car and were on our way back to my apartment. Sandrine and I sat together holding hands, and we smiled at each other often as we drove and listened to Antonino’s Italian hip hop on the stereo. It was a perfect segue to an evening of personal encounters with a most lovely soul, and a fascinating one too.
Once inside my rather large one-bedroom apartment, I lit my candles and got the ambiance set, and Sandrine was looking through my vast CD collection with enthusiasm. With Sandrine, I knew I was in the presence of someone divine, and I was going to let the love unfold as it emerged. Sandrine selected my Jan Hammer CD, with several of Giorgio Moroder’s hit songs and compositions mixed in, and she also pulled out three others, for a total of four hours of programming. I got undressed and changed into a nice pair of CK lounge pants, and a CK tank top, and Sandrine sweetly disrobed to her bra and panties, and I gave her a nice, lightweight, beige, Geoffrey Beene silk t-shirt to lounge in, and she looked fabulous. We both agreed to drink Baileys Irish Cream on the rocks, and we sipped our drinks, and held each other while standing, and slow danced. We embraced as we explored each other, slowly commingling our energies in beautiful unhurried movements. The room was glowing with multiple colors from my special candle holders, and the scent in the air was perfect.
Sandrine’s lovely brown, and mocha skin tones were glowing in the candlelight. She is silky smooth to the touch and well-muscled. Her eyes captivate me with a unique blend of chameleon-switching blue tones of oceanic, aquamarine, ice-blue, and ever-changing shades. A kaleidoscope of azure, with flecks of cerulean, appears, then sapphire streaks develop with cobalt highlights. After a tender kiss, she was inspired to produce a lapis lazuli hue, with a hint of cornflower-blue from the iris of her captivating eyes. Her lips are juicy-red-cherry, plump, bee-stung, and petal-soft, with a hint of rosebud blooms. Her upper lip contains a Cupid’s bow, and is well defined and shapely.
Her tongue was like velvet dipped in strawberry-jam, sweet and tart, perfectly matched to my own, and waltzing delightfully as we kissed. We slowly danced all around the room, our hands exploring each other as if our fingertips had eyes. Sandrine is a dream to touch, a delight to the senses, and nourishment for the soul. Her eminence is a healing balm, affecting every cell in my body that also rejoices in her presence. My hands roam everywhere, but I do not dare to venture near her paradise garden, as I have wicked plans to entice her, with the goal of ripening and harvesting her abundant yield.
Sandrine, having debriefed three of my previous lovers with such a thorough analysis, knows too much about my sensual moves, and I have no choice but to be supremely naughty with many unconventional methods that are in my tantalizing arsenal. I desire to bring her to a slow, subtle, yet dramatic first climax, while kissing her with the delicacy of a bee harvesting pollen. I want the sensations of my kisses, and lips upon her neck, to send signals to her paradise garden that will induce the production of an abundant yield as sweet libations. As we danced, I took her by the hand and brought her to my bed, but before lying down, I removed her t-shirt, bra, and undergarments slowly, while leaving my compression shorts intact.
We nestled face-to-face, well supported by my pillow-farm, which was fantastic, and we kissed pleasantly. My left hand moved towards her firm, young, supple breasts, which had light-brown, perfect, silver-dollar areolas, each adorned with a perfectly round orb likened to a snow-pea. I dabbed them with my smooth index and middle fingers. These two fingers are kept silky smooth, on both hands, with a special fine-stone that I used to remove the ridges, furrows, and hard-skin that form fingerprints. These two, well honed, and manicured, smooth as silk fingers will replace my delicate tongue and bring Sandrine ecstatic pleasure with a well-rehearsed symphonic technique that I have mastered. I now kiss her neck and breasts, as my left hand moves to her paradise garden, which is landscaped in a Hollywood style, full Brazilian.
As Sandrine and I playfully kiss with dueling tongues out in the open, I move my left hand into position, so that I can tickle her perineum with my pinkie-finger, which will always remain isolated from the garden up above. Sandrine says, “Mmm. That is a delicate area.” I said, “I know another.” And proceeded lower, and circled the areola of the forbidden area that was previously waxed immaculate, and Sandrine positioned her legs widely to allow full playful access. Now, I wickedly used my pinkie-finger to form small rotating circles on the perineum, and the sensitive area below it, while circling her most sensitive climactic area in the paradise garden, with my index-finger, applying light pressure that made Sandrine delight in the pleasurable sensation. I maintained a sensual rhythm with slow and delicate touching while focusing on kissing, and stimulating her mouth, lips, and tongue. Sandrine then whispered to me, “Put a pillow beneath me, and kiss me where you know you need to be, Marc,” and without hesitation I proceeded to do as Sandrine asked.
After Sandrine was in-position, I took a liberal amount of a fine, scent-free, oatmeal-based lotion, that also tastes good if it made its way to your mouth, and worked the lotion into my hands, and cupped them together to warm the lotion. I then massaged Sandrine’s lovely, round and robust breasts and worked the lotion in deeply, being sure to massage the surrounding musculature. I worked both sides of her body, and lifted, and squeezed both of her supple breasts together, then squeezed inward, and she moaned. Sandrine extended her arms above her head to give me access to her lovely axilla region, and I worked the muscles in this area, moving up each arm, while kissing her deeply on the way up. I then massaged both hands with deep tissue pressure, and she moaned. Sandrine was full of tension in different areas of her body, and I knew this would block her from a complete climactic release, so I had to get to work and help her unwind, relax, and feel safe.
I said to Sandrine, “Sweet girl. I sense tension in your body. Let me massage you for a time and relieve that tension,” she replied. “Please do, Marc, you brute!” The word “brute” made us both laugh heartily, and I kissed her, then quickly got to work on her feet and ankles. Sandrine was full of tension, and it was being released, moment-by-moment. I removed the pillow I had placed beneath her minutes before, and continued the full-body massage, flipping her over so I could work on her posterior aspects. I whispered into her ear, “Sandrine, release all those feelings we discussed earlier into my hands, let it all go, love. Let it all go.” She remained silent, and I got to work on her lovely body, focusing on her back and buttocks. I could feel deep emotion rising to the surface of her beautiful melanin-rich skin, with the mocha highlights gleaming in the candlelight. I would absorb this sorrow into my body, then quench it in the fires of my whirlwind of Chi-energy, and breathe out all that I took in. I labored intensively for over an hour, then lay beside Sandrine, and covered us with the heavy cotton sheet, and spooned tightly.
Sandrine remained silent as we listened to dreamy and soothing music by Jan Hammer. I held her tightly in the spoon and felt an entirely different energy emanating from her lovely countenance. We drifted off to a peaceful sleep, and we both awakened just after dawn arrived the next day. I left the bed first while she was awake, and I kissed her forehead, and said, “Good morning, sweet girl. I will be right back.” Sandrine smiled, and nestled deeper into the pillows, while I took a warm shower, and performed my full morning refresher routine. When I emerged, she was sleeping soundly like an angel, and I observed her from afar. Sandrine’s aura was golden-yellow, with streaks of azure blended-in on the outer fringes. I felt peace in the room, and a very positive vibe coming from her presence.
I slipped back into bed, but remained a slight distance from her to allow for a serene rising from slumber when she was ready, without smothering her delightful aura, and personal space. Eventually, Sandrine moved, and stretched. She looked at me and smiled, and said, “Good morning, Marc. You are an amazingly loving person.” I smiled but remained silent as she got out of bed and headed to the bathroom. I previously laid out a new wrapped toothbrush, towels, and all the items I thought she would need, and I even had lady-specific things and comforts available for her. I was glad that we had slept soundly throughout the night, allowing the dawn of a new day to come upon us. The early morning can bring tremendous passion with its renewed energy and fresh start. I heard the shower come on, and reflected upon many things, including the absolute beauty of Sandrine, and I could not wait to see her loveliness walk towards me when she was done.
I set up my candles and allowed just a small amount of morning sunlight to enter the large apartment windows, maintaining a peaceful ambiance. My music was low volume, and a mix of slow-tempo love songs emanated peacefully. I fixed all the pillows, smoothed out the bedsheets, and made everything perfect, then just relaxed under the sheets. It is important to understand the tempo and emotional state of a woman if you want her to be fully relaxed enough to enter ecstatic union with you. Most men in this situation would be selfish-bastards, and take their pleasure and not care about the lovely woman who has given herself to you, regardless of a contract or an arrangement such as the one I am in. I was trained early in life by women, who showed me what was required, and we worked together to explore all our options and learn together. With Sandrine, I knew she needed rest, and release from her emotions, so I deemed it was best to let the light of a new day dawn, and allow us both to be refreshed by rest, then discover ourselves again in the light of a new day.
Eventually Sandrine entered the bedroom area completely nude, and she walked towards me all refreshed, and glowing with the eminence of a well-rested body, mind, and spirit. She got into my bed, slipping under the covers, and approached me with a good morning kiss, and began to take charge in a passionate way. I surmised an entirely different aura, and vibe from Sandrine in the light of the morning, and I was encountering a new person, and the authentic Sandrine Roux. Our minty-fresh, and refreshed mouths, came together, and we began to kiss deeply, as Sandrine hovered over me. I felt her arms as she supported herself firmly, and detected great-strength, and muscular development. I caressed her breasts, which were hovering above me, round, full, and heavy, a delight to behold. She broke off the kiss, and made her way to my neck, then to my chest. She kept moving south, kissing, and came upon my rigid tree of life standing tall.
Without hesitation, Sandrine took me into her wet-velvet oral cocoon, from the tip of the glans to the base of the tree, and she pressed even further into the fat-pack above the Mons-pubis, until her juicy-red-cherry lips hit pelvic bone-bottom. She maintained this deeply engulfed position, and was humming a tune, while massaging my man-bits, and pushing them close to my body, to prepare for a firing, then a launch. The vibrations from her throat emanated into the tree of life, and oscillated in resonance through her nasal cavity, making for seismic sound pressure waves that tickled me perfectly. Sandrine then began the first of many up, then down-strokes, with perfect light-vacuum tightness. Her juicy-red-cherry lips moved from the pelvic bone basement to the tip of the glans, stopped, then went back down to the basement, paused, hummed, then resumed. This mind-boggling tempo continued until she detected the first wave of thin-silky-fluid that arrives prior to the life-giving coconut-custard delight, with its thick, rich, cultivated flavor. The thin-clear fluid is flavorful, and spiced uniquely, and activates the sweet and sour portions of the tongue.
I cultivated the flavors of my life-giving coconut-custard delight with great care by ensuring that all the humors in my body were pure and fresh. I eat food, and drink fluids that are conducive to producing a fine product that is not strong and funky. The most important thing that is done by me is to maintain a healthy flora and fauna internally and externally, ensuring a balanced microbiome, of which several exist in different locations throughout my body. I embark upon a quality control procedure, by always kissing my lovers after ecstasy has occurred, which also shows respect to my lover, who always considers this an erotic gesture, because when a woman takes you in, and imbibes your delicious delights, this is a loving gesture, and a privilege, which needs to be revered, and reciprocated in-kind. Sandrine, detecting the first fruits of my internal harvest, maintained her rhythm without fail, to the point of no return, causing a controlled, peaceful, yet forceful, ecstasy-wave to occur.
I felt a small pulse, then an abdominal tightening, followed by a buttock squeeze, and then a second pulse, and breathing stopped, and the orgasm began, followed by rapid-fire machine-gun type pulses, then back to slow semi-automatic firing, until the magazine was empty. Sandrine maintained a vacuum seal, and hovered high upon the tree, to ensure that no good humor was left behind. I said, “Come here, and kiss me,” and she dismounted, smiled, and came to me slowly with her juicy-red-cherry lips closed. Sandrine approached, and our lips touched, and I licked her closed lips with a single swipe carefully, then we coupled, and I slid my tongue past those juicy-red-cherry lips, and both of our tongues danced, and the flavors were perfect!
I can describe my humors as a splash of Baileys Irish crème liquor, with a splash of whole milk, a teaspoon of real-vanilla ice cream, and a dash of sea salt, a dash of cayenne pepper, two drops of simple-syrup, one drop of Worcestershire sauce, and one drop of rose extract. Mix well, then heat to 92 degrees Fahrenheit, and we have Hanson’s tincture. Sandrine was well lubricated, and the passion was flowing. We kissed deeply for two songs on the CD player, and the tree of life was standing tall, though still in recovery, but working towards full readiness. Sandrine then vaginally mounted the tree easily, and with no cover in-place, administered about 25 full-length strokes within the garden, then dismounted. She pulled the pillows out from beneath my neck, and my head now lies flat on the bed.
Sandrine moves into position and rests her hands on the headboard of the bed, and positions her paradise garden, with its perfectly smooth, Hollywood-Brazilian landscaping, into position above my face, and says in a sultry voice, “keep up with my movements, and apply pressure to my button, and lick like your life depended on it, and do not be shy. After my pleasure, you can taste, and enjoy me.” I love communicating with my lover! Sandrine wanted to achieve the climax straightaway, and let it all go, as it had been building in her for some time, and I followed all her directions to the letter. She moved according to her liking, and lowered the garden to the optimal position, and we got after it; no drama, just work. Three songs played on the CD player before she could achieve an explosive, quaking climax, and Sandrine made lovely noises for almost a minute before shifting her body position to move the “button” away from any further stimulation. Sandrine was now directly above me, standing straight up, and bent at the knees. This changed the angle of her paradise garden from 45 degrees to 90 degrees.
I now had a full view of Sandrine’s paradise garden, and could see a very wet, moist, almost dripping, melted strawberry sundae right above me, and I wanted it all, and she lowered the desert to where I could get it, and I dined with vigor, like a Deer lapping a salt lick. Sandrine was delicious, with a fruitful aroma, and a bouquet of freshly cut cantaloupe, with a hint of pineapple, and slices of kiwi drizzled in maple syrup, with a tincture of wild honey, and a dash of McCormick Montréal steak seasoning. I was losing my mind in culinary delight, and the flavor was nonstop, and ever-changing as spice descended from within the deepest depths of her lovely and heavenly body. I was freshly shaved, and stubble-free, and Sandrine’s Hollywood-Brazilian landscaping was perfect for gliding all over my chin, face, cheeks, and mouth. The sensation of her stubble-free paradise garden mopping my sensitive facial areas was itself a blissful event. This lovely organic and carbon-neutral facial went on for a few minutes; then Sandrine stimulated my tree of life mightily, and applied a cover, and mounted me deeply. My job now, and a job it will be, is to maintain a rigid, and orgasm-free tree, for a minimum of 14 minutes, and this can be torture.
As Sandrine gets into a steady gallop, and rides like the wind through the field of dreams within her own fantasy world, I enter my own world of dreams. In order for me not to reach a climax in 4 minutes, I have to visualize a brutal fight scene from my early youth, that began on a yellow school bus, that spilled out onto the streets with a tremendous ruckus. I can place myself on that frozen street and feel all the pain of those punches landing into the side of my head, knocking off my winter hat, which fell into a muddy puddle of dirt, and salt water from the rock salt. I play that over and over in my mind, with my eyes closed, until I feel Sandrine fall forward, and hover her breasts right over me, as she goes into the steep riding position in full gallop, heading for the finish line. Now it is safe for me to focus on this beautiful woman, and the beautiful love that is occurring, and I fondle her breasts, and squeeze, and she said, “wait for it, hold out for me, hold, hold, hoe, ho…” and boom, Sandrine brought it home, and kept going, and going, for a victory lap, before moving to a cool-down trot, and catching her breath. Sandrine opened her eyes, and said, “bring it home, join me in the field, Marc,” and she moved slowly, while gripping me with her levator ani muscle, and I had a mild, but peaceful, climax, of short duration, and we lovingly came to a stop, dismounted, and cuddled.
Sandrine and I cuddled for a long time in silence, moving from a spoon hug to facing each other, and looking deeply into our innermost sanctums, while our hands caressed each other’s faces, arms, and shoulders. I looked at her and said, “I have a feeling that you enjoy tea in the morning, right?” and she said, “yes, how did you know?” and I replied, “because you are from royalty, a line of kings and queens, and as such, you must be a dignified tea drinker.” She looked at me and smiled, saying, “You brute, you sweet talker, you. You are one special man, Marc Hanson.” I replied, “I would love to be a fly on the wall when you’re talking to Élise and the girls later today.” Sandrine said, “I will not tell them too much Marc, I am a private person, and besides, I will not see them too long, as I have to get home, and get ready for this evening, I have big plans.”
I quipped, “Big plans, oh do tell me, my fair lady, I want to know.” Sandrine replied, “Where are we going to dinner tonight, Marc? And will you take me dancing at Le Dôme discotheque, then take me home, and make mad dashing love to me again?” I replied, “Sandrine, you and I are going to make some memories for sure, and yes, I will set everything up, and we will have a fantastic time.” With those words, Sandrine and I hugged and kissed, and proceeded with our morning with a sense of excitement and purpose. When she left the apartment sometime later, as I was cleaning up, I noticed that she had not taken the envelope that I left in the usual place, which was obviously loaded with cash. I thought to myself, “Hanson, how lucky you are, man, to be treated so well in this lovely city?” And with that thought, I got busy with my day, looking forward to seeing the lovely Sandrine Roux again this evening.