French Class

A little naughty tale to start your weekend.

French Class

By Damian Bloodstone (damianbloodstone@gmail.com)

Copyright © 12/20/2014 All Rights Reserved. This cannot be copied in whole or in part without the author’s sole express permission.


He noticed how empty the place was for the foreign film. The movie began as he got out some popcorn. The butter caused his fingers to become slick.
He hated French class. The trouble he had was the boring way it was taught. This aid told him she could help learn the language of love through movies.
A romance, he disliked those. When the love scene began, he surged and looked away in embarrassment.
The shock of her hand on his belly caused his breath to catch. He looked at her.
“Watch the film,” she said as she deftly unfastened his belt.
When her hand slid inside his waistband, he jumped. The scene had caused a little rush but the warmth of her hand made him hard. The slickness of the butter caused her hand to slide. Those fingers gripped him just enough.
“What?”
She placed her finger over his mouth a second. Her hand moved slightly faster.
He tasted the butter on her finger. Her hand held and caressed him. He didn’t make a sound as he came.
She smiled at him as she pulled out her hand.
French class became so much more than boring suddenly.
Facebooktwittergoogle_pluspinteresttumblr