Little Bird IV: Coda

Big Tits

I was floating on a sea of honey, which was a bittersweet feeling. Martin always did this as a parting gift when he left on business, and Little Bird must have heard our orgasms through the wall.Awoken early, I could not doze: my heart ached with his absence. Showered, I fished one of his work shirts from the laundry, smelling of him. You might think that was quirky at the least, perhaps a bit disgusting, but I needed him close. This was how I would work, dressed in his shirt, wearing his scent, and carrying the remnants of his seed.It had been ten days of vices, and we rode this rollercoaster of sensual pleasures. Exhausting ourselves, we recovered as a torture device of libidos, fatigue, and tantalisation. The ever-present temptation was there to submit to Little Bird, and I was sure she noticed. With my husband’s assistance, our dynamic remained intact.Breakfast was sweet English Breakfast tea; I had no stomach for more. It was my sop to marrying an Englishman, but I had not taken his surname. There is a contradiction.-=-Working, I used the early light well and paused at the sound of bare feet on the wooden floor. Little Bird did not walk in; she glided. It was almost eleven o’clock. She wore her chantilly lace collar, and the black satin robe barely covered her body. It shimmered in the sunlight flapping with each stride as her body jiggled beneath it. Loosely tied, the long, open V-shape revealed the curves of her breasts down to her midriff.Fuck, if that was not a cry for attention, what is?The sway of her hips threatened to reveal so much more. Of course, my eyes went there, but the bow and the robe denied me a view of her naked sex. My mind was detached from the rational realm and dwelled in the artistic one. It was only a short jump onto these tracks.What was that I said about tantalisation?“A good night?” I muttered, trying to find my concentration.Shit, I am supposed to be the dominant, not a friend.“Yes, thank you.”“How was Angelique?”“Good,” her tone was nonchalant.Well, I fucked that up.Distracted by her beauty and this obvious petition, I lingered on her. Fresh-faced with no makeup, her natural beauty shone through. Her hair was unkempt, adding an evocative frisson to her demeanour. If she was doing this to be a distraction, it worked. I could pull at the bow and take her. My concentration was slipping, and this painting was a commission piece, oil on canvas. Using a palette knife, my hand started to tremble.Little Bird got up from the sofa.“You are restless,” I sounded so feeble and vacant.“It was the noises you two make.”So she did hear us, good. Her fingertips skimmed over the kitchen countertop. They would caress me like that.I knew that lopsided grin; she needed to fulfil those carnal vices. But what vice? Taken or the taker? I should assert myself, but the ambiguity shivered through me. Distracted by this sudden honesty, I indulged myself in this weakened state of mind.A swish of the palette knife followed, and I cursed.There was my mistake. Annoyed, I cleaned the palette knife and scraped it away with care. I had to stop. Looking upon Little Bird, she waited for the toaster. As another sop to my husband, we had sliced bread too.God, I really miss him, even his love of sliced bread.I admired the curve of her behind and those long sculpted legs. I wanted them xnxx opened wide to mash my sex against hers. Taking my palette, I put it into its plastic bag and sauntered over to the freezer; it would keep. Her eyes tracked every footstep as I tried to walk tall, proud, and unconquerable.“You are not working today, Little Bird?”I damned myself as soon as I said it. Her pet name sounded superfluous.“No, Lilou called me. I sold an expensive painting yesterday. She told me to take the day off and said I earned it.”Lilou Bouchard, I will see you later.Sitting opposite, I pretended to rifle through a magazine. I had to devour Little Bird, and she bit into some toast. Those baby blue eyes looked up. The tip of that fiendish tongue licked at some crumbs on her lips.No, this was the right thing to do.I stood, unbuttoning the shirt from the tail end upwards, and let it fall from my body. Little Bird’s wide angelic eyes conferred her submissive demeanour, and she sat on the sofa’s edge. A handful of her hair felt so soft through my fingers as I clenched it.“This is your breakfast.” My deadpan tone finally got it right.I gasped as her soft tongue slid between my folds. Yes, I was soaked, and my husband was there first. She went at me as if she was famished. That wide-open gaze displayed her obedience and poured it into my mind, lapping at my sex. Fuck, I needed this.“Did you masturbate listening to us having sex, Little Bird?”The sudden jerk of her head was so slight but enough of an affirmative that it made me purr with delight.“Touch yourself as you eat my cunt.”Watching the steam rise from her jet-black coffee, so did the passion she gave me. The zig-zag motion of her tongue mimicked it too. Now, she was restless as her nimble fingers stirred her sex. Tasting the effects of our congress, I smeared a copious fresh arousal onto her lips. She fidgeted, so I held her tight against my mound and pressed her delicate nostrils to my smooth mons.“Did you orgasm as we fucked?”Her reply was muffled, yet the thrum of its vibrations was enough to be understood. It was a direct challenge to my authority.“You will not do that again until I tell you!”Weak, Ines, weak!Those full lips sucked on my clit, and she flicked at it with the tip. She knew my guilty secret right here, right now. No, she will burn for me; I was in charge, yet my constant moaning said otherwise.We had done this enough times to know what approached. That sucking sensation was my Achilles heel, and I relented. Her deft tongue flicked and propelled me there. It wound my body tighter than a clock spring. I was not strong enough to endure this standing, and her shoulder provided the crutch, gripped tighter as it swelled forth. With rushing floods of air sucked and blown at speed, I shuddered as it peaked and purred as the convulsions surged through my body.Floating again, I staggered back a little and looked down at her. She reclined, her lithe body curled against the sofa. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, those sultry eyes carried a message of defiance, not submission.In no hurry to cover herself, she rested as a symphony of nubile curves, presented as the plat du jour, and very fucking edible. With heat-prickled cheeks, the rash on her decolletage and the heave of her breasts revealed her heightened arousal. Down her toned bakire porno body, around her hips to those slender thighs, I was there, fixated again by the bare flawless hillock of her mons. Her dew glistened around her sex. I had to remain strong even if there was doubt in my eyes.Clutching her breast, rolling its hardened nipple between her fingers. The middle two fingers of her other hand plunged into her sex with a low sticky sound as her thumb provided expert friction onto her clit. Oh, those eyes, filled to the brim with that unknown potential.And I watched, mesmerised.Oh, she knew, she fucking knew.My performance could have been more convincing this morning, so I dug deep. I had wavered too many times.“Stop!”Like a juggernaut applying the brakes, her hands obeyed slowly, “Yes, Madame Duprix.”The lush syllables conveyed her contempt with her searing eyes. Leaning over her, I pulled the robe to cover her body and plucked a kiss from her simpering lips.“I need to go out. When I return, we will continue.”Fuck, I ran away, but I had to.“Little Bird, I will know if you have touched yourself. So, do not.”“Yes, Madame Duprix. Will you be long?”“Long enough to make you beg for it.”-=-As a daydream, it ends, and my vision sharpens onto the rising bubbles in my glass. The world around me snaps into view. It should; this place is bustling with people.At a café table in Montmartre, I am amongst the ghosts of siege rebels, bohemians, world-famous artists and courtesans. I sit at its epicentre – Place du Tertre. The dome of the Sacre Coeur is stark white against the azure sky; it adds romance and spirituality to this magical place. Nowadays, art is created before your eyes in this square. You could pose for a portrait, watch artists at work, and buy some as a souvenir. It is so accessible, fun, and involving – I love this place.Sipping on sparkling water, I waited for my appointment with Lilou Bouchard.Working a pitch here years ago, she was little more than a teenager. She liked to peer over my shoulder, and I was happy to indulge her curiosity and questions. Lilou flowered into a striking, ambitious and intelligent woman; she rouses admiration and envy in equal measure. It does not help that she is a difficult person to like.Her father is a minor player within the Paris art elite, and she is the apple of his eye. Lilou is intensely photogenic and was on the front cover of Paris Match last year when her engagement was announced. Married into the crème de la crème of the art world, they are one of its power couples. Warm-hearted towards her friends, I am not sure if I am one of those, but she is a cold-hearted bitch regarding money, with no exceptions.This gallery was a gift as her wedding present, and it is where Little Bird works. Discretion is more than vital, and it is good she is not here. Lilou has a sixth sense for what is unsaid. I am here to discuss my participation in a forthcoming event and need to negotiate her commission fee. This is a world away from the hand-to-mouth existence of the artists in the square. I know how tough that is, and so does she.Whilst I am grateful, I snort with derision. Negotiate? I would be lucky to pay Lilou seventy per cent of the sale price, and I would still be a corporate drone if I was good at business.So I bedava porno enter the lion’s den, and the scent of jasmine is designed to calm. I resist as she appears from around a corner.“Coucou!”“Lilou!”With an air kiss on each cheek, she hugs me. That is reserved for only her friends, immediately putting me on guard.“Ines, you look amazing.”Flattery always works, not in this case, but I opt to play along, “Aw, you do too. Marriage really suits you. Congratulations.”“Oooh, I could say the same for you. You are glowing. Would you like a coffee?”“I will have an espresso, please.”Yeah, she will kill you with kindness, then strike like a cobra. I look at the picture that mine will replace. Lilou stops and gestures at it.Here we go… “Ines. You have an excellent eye for these things. What are your thoughts?”I peer at it and frown, “It is good,” I have to wear my glasses, which I hate, “Yet, these marks here lack urgency. See? They are more smeared. The colours are vibrant and should have a lot of life. It can only be a deliberate gesture of contempt unless the artist was tired.”Lilou smiles, “Perhaps. The subject is an older woman. Maybe it represents a loss of her vitality. Perhaps it is a statement that only fools rush in to conquer her?”If that is aimed at me, it is an insult. Or, might it unsettle me that she knows about Little Bird? I must be strong.My sweetest smile broadens, “Are we discussing your fee?”She laughs delicately, and it does not mock, “Ma cherie, really?” Lilou fixes me with her eyes, “It is seventy per cent, my best and only offer. And… you are right about this work. It is sold now. I will not miss it. I was so pleased I gave my assistant the day off today.”Well done, Little Bird, it is hideous.I nod sagely, “Perhaps that is for the best… on all fronts.”“Ines… your work will light up this place!” her eyes are beaming, and she leans in to share a confidence, “It arrived today, and it is wonderful. I will promote it to ensure it sells for an excellent price.”Someone is in a good mood, and I am a mix of emotions. My concern is dispelled, the insult rankles, and I am relieved about Lilou’s fee.She extends her arms and clasps my hands, “Come, we are friends. We will drink coffee and gossip.”Of course, I accept, and I am ready to do battle.Because I am fucking one of your assistants.-=-I jolt and gasp like a fish out of water. I am unaware of my surroundings and alone. Then, it lurches up from the depths, and the dent in the pillow next to me is cold. I must have dozed off.Darling, you woke me early, and I need you.There is light leeching through the curtains, and I check the bedside clock; it is only four in the afternoon.I cannot help it. I have to play it back in my mind. What have I done?Homeward bound, my carefree stroll down Rue Lepic symbolised the certainty of my world. I was content, helping with a contribution to provide for us. Martin would be pleased; we were rebuilding our finances after the last few years. The latticed metal lift carried me upwards with a frustrating weariness. The zip of the key in the lock matched the rush of blood, adrenaline, and sexual desire. Well-oiled, like myself, the muted closing of the front door was still loud enough to attract Little Bird’s attention.She was nowhere to be seen, not in the lounge, usually watching television and glued to her phone. For an unknown reason, I checked my easel, which was unmolested, and I called out to her.Nothing.Not in her room, and the bathroom was unoccupied.She was in our bedroom, which was presumptive of her, so I opened the door.

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