A Whirlwind Trip To Paris

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The wheels of the airliner screeched against the runway, bounced and then screeched again. The sudden pressure of the stop tightened the seatbelts against the waists of the travelers.

Mrs. Mower startled awake in the cramped seat, her hips aching where the armrests had pressed into them throughout the flight. As the plane stopped at its gate, Mrs. Mower shook her mind awake. She pushed her son’s wobbly head from her shoulder. The boy was still deep in sleep. He and his classmates had been rambunctious before and after takeoff, but in a few hours over the Atlantic Ocean, most of them had collapsed. Mrs. Mower dreaded them waking up full of energy and excitement.

She knew the kids would be pumped, and there would be no break as a chaperone of twenty-five young teenagers. This was just the start of a five-day, whirlwind trip to Paris and back.

She checked her smartwatch. 5 in the evening, Paris time.

Twisting to stretch, she immediately glanced toward Orlando. He was already standing to get his bags. This was the first time she had seen him and he had seen her in real life. For weeks, she had enjoyed reminiscing about their one-time, midnight rendezvous. A dirty thought crossed her mind. Knowing men, after sleep, they can wake up happy. Was he stiff after his sleep?

Glancing, nothing was detectable at the moment. Mrs. Mower’s mind meandered further. She wondered if she could coax his cock from several rows away. She reached higher than necessary into the overhead compartment. She hoped his eyes would outline her contours. From her shoulders to her heavy breasts, along her waist and to the ass she had been toning, despite the closed gym. In her position, however, she thought about all other eyes on the plane. She straightened herself. She had packed her ass into workout pants, leaving little more than a color as covering. The students didn’t need to see that.

However, her bag hadn’t loosened from the overhead compartment. She daintily tried to wiggle the bag free from the cramped space.

“Let me help you with that,” a man said.

She turned to him.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Greg. Darren’s my son.” He pulled down her bag.

He had a cute butt. “I’m Mrs. …”

“Mower, yes. It’s nice to meet you in person. I’ve heard you’re a great teacher. You know your calculus.” He smiled.

“An important subject.”

She noticed his sly eyes, making her wonder about this trip to Paris. This would be an aching weekend, on several fronts.

She might be in need sooner than she planned.

On the bus, the students had their noses pressed against the windows as the Eiffel Tower came closer and became brighter in the dark sky. Soon the twenty-five students and the chaperones arrived at the Hôtel de la Tour Eiffel. She didn’t expect to be so close to the centerpiece of Paris.

The bus was barely able to drive down Rue de l’Exposition to the hotel, because the road was so tight. When getting off the bus, students essentially flooded from the bottom step of the bus directly into the lobby.

After unloading bags and divvying out suitcases, the students went to their assigned rooms. Mrs. Mower was assigned to Room No. 6, on the floor with all the girls.

She corralled the young ladies onto their floor. But before unpacking her things, she had to grab some personal items for several absent-minded girls.

The bell on the elevator pinged, and her pulse suddenly rushed when she saw Orlando standing in the elevator. She was befuddled and couldn’t think of something to say.

He eased her. “Got a few forgetful kids who need more supplies?”

“Many of them.”

He was twisting Mrs. Mower’s thoughts. This man had thrilled her that one midnight. She had watched him stroke his dick. It was lusciously thick and long. It had been deep, dark red with intensity and stimulation. She recalled seeing his taut waist and a thick patch of dark hair. A full-blooded man.

“These kids are so unprepared, but that’s Paris for you.” He glanced up at the antique hand that was moving. “Paris twists minds, makes people punch-drunk. They do things here, all sorts of things.”

Mrs. Mower gulped. Orlando had read perfectly what Paris was doing to her. She tried to steady herself, as her mind and body continued to be twisted.

He winked cunningly at her. His lips stretched into a grin. “The City of Love is conducive to love-making.”

A heat wave rushed up and down her spine, making her stiff. Her cheeks flushed. A familiar warmth flooded down to the base of her neck. It tightened her throat. The feeling was the same when Mr. and Mrs. Simon and her husband were climbing over her body and kissing everywhere.

Mrs. Mower wanted to say more, but she still couldn’t think of anything witty. Orlando was so easy to talk to through Zoom. She never expected it to be so when they first met in person.

The elevator’s soft ping broke Mrs. Mower’s haze. To her surprise, Orlando took her hand. He placed a key in Mrs. Mower’s hand and closed istanbul travesti it with a gentle squeeze. “Anytime, come see me. No. 12. It’s where I’m staying.”

He leaned to her ear, and said, “I’ll be up.”

He stepped off the elevator.

She watched him walk away. His back was to her, but she gave him a twinkle of a wave as the doors closed.

More than three hours later, the teenage girls had settled as much as they would for the night, so Mrs. Mower slipped away to her room. She was sharing the room with Misty McGuire, a history teacher who was cute and young. Silvery-green eyes and blond hair. Word was that Misty was a “TILF.” It was a term Mrs. Mower had recently heard gossiped in the hallways of school. She didn’t know Misty well but was looking for the right opportunity to bring up the subject. Mrs. Mower was unsure if other teachers liked being a bonified TILF, like she did, or if they thought it was humiliating and degrading to them and all women.

Misty was in bed reading Gone With The Wind when Mrs. Mower came in.

“Ready for this trip? It’s going to be a wild ride,” Mrs. Mower said.

“I am as ready as I’ll ever be.”

Just then, they heard a screech next door.

“I was hoping to be a tourist with some kids to watch. Now though, I think I’m doomed to be a nanny,” Mrs. Mower said.

“Let me nanny for a moment.” Misty giggled, and set down her book. She slid her feet into slippers and headed to the door. Mrs. Mower liked her quiet body, soft, small. A body that would make innocence shine in the night.

Mrs. Mower slipped into a gray knit sweater dress—easy access—and a pair of gray Nikes. Before leaving, she undid her bra and tossed it on her bed. One less hindrance for Orlando.

Stepping into the hallway, Misty was still settling the girls, so Mrs. Mower opted to offer a little help, despite the agitation inside her that Orlando had already quelled and could quench.

However, the girls were talking and yelling, giggling and dancing. That night, the bubbly ones kept Mrs. Mower from visiting Orlando’s room.

The next day, while sailing down the River Seine, Mrs. Mower’s mind was lost in the alluring sights and sounds of the capital of France. She felt a soft pat on her butt. She spun, ready to slap someone. But she saw Orlando.

“Missed you last night.” He rested his elbows on the railing of the boat, barely touching her arm.

She saw his eyes drawing the contours of the Victorian era buildings. Her eyes contoured the breeze ruffling his black hair, heavy eyebrows, arched nose, chin, his thick neck that was lost in the shirt’s sharp white collar.

She fumbled out the reason for missing it. “The girls, they didn’t settle down until late. I fell asleep before they did—at least I think I did.”

Orlando didn’t turn to her. “I had to alleviate myself but I had to wait until Greg, my roommate, dozed off.”

“Did it take long?”

“For him to get to sleep or me to get off?”

Mrs. Mower was not expecting that response. She stifled a sudden giggle, which turned into an uncontrollable laugh.

“Didn’t take me long. We’re both Americans in Paris.”

After settling the laughter, she felt giddy and proud at once, knowing she had such sway over him. As much sway, maybe, as the City of Love. Orlando notices two boys readying themselves to jump to see if they touch the bridge their boat was about to cruise under.

“Time to nanny,” he said. “Try to come by tonight. Be ready with a reason though. In case Greg answers.” He patted her hand.

She gave that same twinkle of a wave as she had the night before in the elevator.

The group went to the Montparnasse Tower for a panoramic view of Paris, and the day of sightseeing ended by visiting Notre Dame and Sacré-Cœur.

In the Paris Metro car, Greg sat down next to Mrs. Mower.

“My feet hurt,” he said, leaning back on the seat. “Paris has already worn me out. How about you? Got enough stamina for Paris?”

She smiled back. She put on her more formal teacher front. She had noticed his cute butt on the plane but still he was Darren’s dad, first and foremost.

“This has been a very informative trip. The city is more than I anticipated.”

“Coming from a math teacher, I am impressed.”

“From a math teacher, what do you mean?” She could easily have allowed herself to be offended. But she had learned being and staying offended is hard work.

“Trigonometry, the study of the angles of triangles. Calculus, the mathematics of continuous change. Geometry, shapes, distances, size. And algebra, arranging life in an intelligible equation. Paris may be the city of mathematics.”

“Very well put. You broke down Paris in an understandable form.”

“X plus Y equals …”

She was confused as to what to say. “Not very sure in terms of Parisian lights and sounds.”

“Then we should talk about it together while we’re here. Mathematics and philosophy and art. No chaperoning.”

She took a more intricate istanbul travestileri look-see at Darren’s dad. Maybe the teacher façade could be hung up. She was a chaperone now, not as much a teacher. Indeed, she thought this could be more than a school trip.

“That would be nice.”

With her answer, she questioned whether she was reading too much into Greg’s proposal. Only coffee and discussion. Or was it more? These initial overtures were often hard to gauge for her. It may have been her overanalyzing. She knew though that Orlando had dirtied her mind, so the simplest comment meant much more. Maybe Paris was dirtying her mind too.

“I’ll check the schedule for any downtime,” Greg offered.

Before he could say more, the train arrived at their departure.

“Time to corral the herd.” He stood, acted like he had tipped his cowboy hat, and slipped away. A man from the Wild, Wild West in Paris.

The hotel lobby doors slid open a moment later. She knew they were chaperones again. No longer intrigued adults volleying for potential trysts.

Later that evening, the students were settled and only talking lightly. Paris had worn them out, like the city had worn out Greg’s feet. Such a victory, nevertheless, came with its own casualties. Mrs. Mower was tired. Yet her deep insides ached with a heat but more than her feet ached when she remembered Orlando was close by. A floor away and likely waiting for her to show up that night.

“Karen,” Misty said, seeming to have just remembered something, “this was under the door for you. It may have been for a different room. I didn’t understand it. But whoever it’s for, they’re wanted in Room No. 23 at 2300.” Misty handed her the note.

The handwriting was scribble.

“Kids may have tricks up their sleeves. Beware and don’t become prey.” Misty slipped into the bathroom with her toiletry bag and bathrobe.

This was not a note from a high school boy, or girl. The handwriting was too professionally sloppy. And these kids didn’t know military time. Orlando, you are crazy, she thought. She pressed the note to her chest in excitement. Her smartwatch showed 10. She had an hour to hurry up and wait.

She slipped into her long, knit sweater dress and Nikes. She didn’t get to show it to him last night. It and the shoes could give her a more solid reason for being out of her room than wearing slippers and a teddy. Still she left off her bra again. Easy in, easy out.

She left the key to room No. 12 under her pillow. “I’ll be back soon, Misty,” she called.

The elevator pinged and the door slid open. Greg was there.

“Mrs. Mower, you’re out. Going for a walk in the Parisian night?”

She was thunderstruck and muddled an answer. “Just for a quick picture of the tower. I can’t get a good shot from my window.” She curse when she said it. She would have avoided any divergence from Orlando’s special room if she would have anything related to nannying kids.

“Mind if I come along?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said, her voice wobbling.

The hand above the elevator moved away from the floor she wanted to get to.

She tried to wrap her arms around her breasts to keep them from swaying, making it obvious she was braless. Outside, the cool night breeze snaked up her legs and tickled her pining pussy.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Greg took his eyes off the tower to look into her eyes.

She noticed they were green under the streetlights. More than the color, they had a distinctness. He wanted more, Mrs. Mower thought. His proposed meeting at a café would be a step to his main intension. Mrs. Mower was not opposed to men who knew what they wanted.

She lifted her phone to grab the picture when she noticed him lick his lips. His eyes had glided across her chest and down her legs to the Nikes.

“We chose a great hotel,” she answered finally.

“The walls are somewhat thin.”

She laughed. “What have you heard?”

“I uh … I will let your mind wander.”

A breeze swept by. “It’s chilly. Time to go back.”

To her surprise, he put his arm around her and gave a gentle squeeze. Maybe to offer warmth on a cool night. Maybe not.

With the squeeze, her breasts pressed together and slowly broadened like balloons. His mouth oozed a sweet sound. The same as hers when she saw chocolate.

He led her inside to the elevator. They pressed buttons for different floors. While rising she was twirling in excitement. She always loved the attention of men and a new man was a thrill, a thrill to any woman, assuring her about her evident beauty.

Standing there heat burned beneath her dress despite the cold. Her nipples had hardened and were ready for thick lips and a wet mouth.

She checked her watch. 2310. Would Orlando be there or given up his post?

A soft knock and the door opened into a grand room, the curtains spread wide with the city lights gleaming on the floor.

Without a word, they hugged each other and kissed deeply. She felt his strong travesti istanbul hands slide through her hair and tug back her head. His tongue sought out hers. Her tongue touched his gently and escaped, like a little girl playing tag. She would be caught. Her hands pulled up his shirt to reveal the waist and chest that had been her image of stimulation since that night. She would not even let her husband trim the hair on his chest. Her hands now were roving through the dark forest. She tweaked his nipples and he jumped and covered them. She giggled as he rubbed the unexpected pinches. He grabbed and lifted her over his shoulder. She was laughing and slapping, until he heaved her onto the tall bed. She grabbed the waist band of his shorts and pulled his close.

“I’ve waited and waited to see you in person. I have not waited so long for one dick.” She reached into his shorts and felt the abundance, strong and ready.

“We don’t have a lot of time,” she warned.

“My roommate will be wondering about me soon. Just fuck me hard. I need it so bad.”

Orlando’s hands disappeared under her dress and she felt their roughness rub up her thick thighs. They dragged along the curvature of her waist and torso, and then grip her tits. In his play, he raised her dress to expose her nakedness to the lights of Paris shining through the opened windows. Soon her body was uncovered except her face, which was covered with the dress.

Meanwhile, his cock was aligning itself with her pussy. She felt, more intimately than his kneading hands, the tip of his penis brushed the folds of her sex. The hardness swept by, this time waking her clit. She twitched and the large head of Orlando’s long-desired cock passed into her. She gasped and gripped the blanket.

“Fuck me hard, hard!” she gave a muffled shout through the cloth.

Orlando obeyed gladly. He rammed her deeply. She immediately felt his balls slap on her ass cheeks. Her body tightened and her teeth clenched. She could not open her eyes because of the sensations. They connected in their bodily twists and thrusts. Her breasts twirled around and around in circles as he rocked her. She tried to grab them so they wouldn’t hit her chin, but her arms were trapped by her dress.

Orlando grunted once and she recognized it as the same huff as she heard through their e-meeting.

She urged him. “Cum good for me. All over me, daddy.”

He said nothing but it worked. He simply drove deeper, spreading her wide and making her pussy swell so as to trap him as best as possible. He grunted again and then followed by other raw sounds. He then said, “Shit, shit, shit. I’m about to …”

He pulled out his glistening dick, and she felt a hot spray land on her stomach and tits. He rolled over. She maneuvered herself from the binds of her dress. When he head appeared, her hair was bedraggled and her forehead was glistening with a soft perspiration.

“I want more and I’ll need a cigarette after,” she whimpered, while drawing an O in the load he had blasted onto her torso.

“As you wish.” He started to move but she stopped him with a giggle. “We need to get back.”

“Right. 2300 tomorrow.”

She wiped a bunch of his runny goo onto the bedspread. She stood and shuffled her dress to seem more presentable.

“My roommate is going to ask where I’ve been, so I need to get back,” Mrs. Mower said. She placed a kiss on his heavy lips.

“Tomorrow, please.”

He nodded.

Mrs. Mower delicately pushed open the door to room No. 6. The lights were off. She tiptoed into the bathroom and almost made it.

“Where have you been?”

She cursed. Misty was awake.

“Just a little time in Paris.”


“I have some great pics. A great night.”

“I saw Orlando go into No. 23.”

Mrs. Mower paused. She went silent.

“Then I saw you go in after 2300.”

“You were checking?”

“I was making sure you weren’t being tricked by some crazy teenager. A quick pic by a student and you could be in a world of embarrassment.”

“I’ll tell you. He tricked me.” She forced a laugh. Her hand was gripping the door handle to the bathroom.

“Tricked you, hmm.” She clicked on the light over her bed. Mrs. Mower saw the face of a teacher scorned. “I heard you enjoying his ‘trick’. Or should I say ‘dick’?”

Mrs. Mower gasped. Her body tightened and her face flushed.

“Nothing to say?”

She only went into the bathroom. Misty hopped out of bed and made it to the door before Mrs. Mower could close and lock it.

“How was it?” Misty asked.

No answer, only Mrs. Mower bracing against the door.

“How was it fucking Jacob’s dad? Tell me, Karen. I want details, details.”

Mrs. Mower was surprised by the last comments. She opened the door. She wanted to talk about the night’s adventure.

Misty stepped in, wearing running shorts and a tight sports bra. Her taut stomach and her lean legs bare.

Mrs. Mower kicked off her Nikes and pulled the knit dress over her head.

“Is that … on you?” She pointed to the dried cum on Mrs. Mower’s stomach.

She put her hand under the faucet and wiped water over the dried gook.

“He knew right what to do.”

She flicked on the shower water and let it heat up.

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