room no 23 paris erotic story

Room No. 23, Paris – An Audio Erotic Story

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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. In her position, however, she thought about all the male eyes on the plane. Makes of all ages. 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 tight 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 anything 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 elevator’s 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 her hand and closed it with a gentle squeeze. “Anytime, come see me. No. 12.” 

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 Ill 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 noticed 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. “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 but 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 look-see at Darren’s dad. Maybe the teacher façade could be hung up. She was a chaperone now, not so 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, tipped an invisible 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 2200. 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 cursed when she said it. She would have avoided any divergence from Orlando’s special room if she would have said 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 whenever 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. 23:10. 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 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. 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. 

room 23 paris erotica story

“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 calloused 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 emeeting. 

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 her 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, so she tiptoed into the bathroom. She 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 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 to a heated red. 

“Nothing to say?” Misty asked.

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 pressed.  

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

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

“He knew right what to do.” 

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

“Only a few men know just what to do.” 

She turned back and saw Misty’s eyes scanning her body. 

“Details, Karen, details.” 

The room quickly steamed up because of the water and, as much, from Mrs. Mower’s retelling of the night’s tryst. 

“His dick is marvelous.” Mrs. Mower yanked back the shower curtain and stepped in. Her hair limp and sticking to her face, water draining off her chin. “It sounds cliché, but clichés sometimes are perfect descriptions.” 

“Amazing. You’ve got me bothered. I am going to … I mean I need to go to bed,” Misty said. 

Mrs. Mower peeled back the curtain once more. The room was empty. She ended the shower and towelled off. She cracked the door open slightly to let out the steam. With her ear against the cool door, she heard a ruffling of the bed sheets and a soft moan. Misty McGuire was releasing her own pent-up steam. 

She needed a little fun. She giggled. 

The next day was the third day of the trip. The chaperones were given three hours of free time in the afternoon in a shuffled schedule. 

Greg came to Mrs. Mower. “We have time for a coffee in a café along the Seine. Would you like to come with me?” 

His eyes that were a unique green under the streetlights now were sharp and even more distinct. She knew Orlando would have time off a few hours later. What else did she have to do? 

“Have a place in mind?” she asked. 

He led her out of the hotel lobby and to a Vespa. He gave Mrs. Mower a helmet and put on his. 

“This is going to ruin my hair,” she said. 

He started up the high-pitched motor. “I’ll pay for any damages.” 

She slid on the helmet and climbed onto the mousy machine. Greg revved the 125cc engine, pretending it was a huge, all-American Harley-Davidson. She locked her hands around his waist. They zipped down the narrow street. The breeze was light on her face. At times, it carried smells up from the river and exhaust from the cars. 

He drove between and around cars and buses, across bridges over the Seine and back, making extra turns to take in more sights. Mrs. Mower thought she might be a little tantalizing for him. She pressed her obvious breasts into his back, she lightheartedly shouted, “Yippee!” to encourage him. As they came to one stop, she let her hands slide lower than they should go. Only briefly. In sudden response, his shoulders broadened and his back straightened. 

They arrived at the Café de Seine. He parked the bike, and they took a seat in the warm sun beneath a bright red awning. The long, low boats wafted by lazily and passers-by chatted. 

He had an espresso, black, and a panini. She ordered a spritz and a salad. Mrs. Mower exhaled with satisfaction. “This has been a great trip.” 

“Glad I could come along too. I wasn’t sure if I could get time off, or if Darren would want his dad around.” 

“I’m glad he was okay with it, honestly.” She darted her eyes toward the arched bridge. 

“We have several agreements. I can’t act in a way that he would consider embarrassing. I can’t talk to him too much. I cannot, in no way, put my arm around him.” 

Mrs. Mower laughed. “That is a typical teenager.” 

“I bet he would consider it extremely and utterly embarrassing for me to take his math teacher on a ride through Paris and then lunch with her.” 

“Worthy of being kicked back home?” 


“Would our conversational topic change his mind? I mean school or … something else.” 

“I don’t think so. That means any subject is on the table.” He sipped from his tiny cup. 

“What have you enjoyed seeing in the city?” 

“You.” He responded frankly. Mrs. Mower was caught off guard. A Vespa beeped its miniature honk. 

He said, “You and I had a parent-teacher conference earlier in the year. And when I saw you, I was astounded. I thought that is a true woman.” 

“Math teacher never came to mind?” 

“Nothing like that. You’re not a teacher to me. You’re …” 

Mrs. Mower leaned forward as did the thought behind her question. The words released with a husky, intrigued tone. “I’m what? Tell me.” 

“You’re a woman I want to see alone, after dark, in Paris.” 

“A simple walk in the park?” 

“No. In a room, in the hotel, away from anyone else.” 

“Sounds Parisian.” 

He didn’t answer. Only his green eyes grew more intense. She didn’t need to wonder if her interest, or the fact that she didn’t throw her drink in his face, surprised him. Instead, she wanted to know what about her intrigued men enough to let them make such forward advances. She must not have a teacher-esque nature. 

Mrs. Mower leaned back, uncrossed her legs. “How much are you interested? In meeting tonight, even if it would not be alone.” She raised her eyebrows and brought her drink to her lips, studying him over the brim. 

He was startled. “Not alone? Someone else is going to know.” His face changed. A realization had suddenly appeared. “Have you been?” 

She put her hand on his knee and rubbed his thigh. “How badly do you want it?” 

“Is the other person a guy or a girl?” he asked timidly in gauging his answer. 

“This is why you came on the trip. Not the Eiffel Tower or Notre Dame. Certainly not the geometry of this city.” She shook her head, a devious grin appearing. “Just trust me. No. 23 at 2310, sharp.” 

The afternoon and evening dragged on. The City of Paris had lost its flair when compared to what might happen that night.

Mrs. Mower’s smartwatch vibrated at 10:50. The night was about to start. She sprayed her Chanel No. 5 on her neck and along her thighs, because of the jasmine and rose scent she loved. 

“Misty, I’ll be back. Got a meeting tonight.” 

She closed the door to No. 6 and headed to the secret room. The elevator did not move fast enough for her excitement. She knocked on the door of No. 23.

Everything on this floor was still. Extremely silent and unmoving. Is he here tonight? she thought. She knocked again. He wouldn’t not be here—not after last night

She checked her watch. 10:56. Maybe he was one who was punctual, always exactly on time. Never early, never late. An attorney might have that precision. 

She leaned against the door, concerned. The elevator dinged. 

She said excitedly, “You like being on time, I can see.” 

Around the corner came Misty. 


“Yes, it’s me, in the flesh. Let’s get inside. We don’t have time to piddle around. Visits to No. 23 are secrets, are they not?” 

“I’m waiting for No. 23 to open.” 

There was another ding from down the hall. Her watch showed 10:59. 

“Mrs. Mower … and Ms. McGuire?” Orlando scratched his head. “Funny to see you here. The kids aren’t making fools of us, are they?” 

“Calm down,” Mrs. Mower said, dragging her forefinger down his chest. “She knows and she was excited by it.” 

“Ah. There are no onlookers, mind you.” Orlando reached between them and unlocked the door. Inside, the room had been cleaned. The bedspread was without a crease or wrinkle. Orlando whipped open wide the curtains. 

“For Paris!” he said royally. 

He turned back and saw Mrs. Mower with her arm around Misty’s and the tips of their noses touching. 

Mrs. Mower was asking, “Have you ever kissed another woman?” 

Misty shook her head, not letting her stare unlock from Mrs. Mower’s. 

“You’ll find how rough men are.” Mrs. Mower took the hem of her shirt and raised it up and over her head. Like Orlando had done, Mrs. Mower left Misty entangled in the shirt so she could take down her shorts. Orlando walked behind Misty and released her small tits from her bra and ran his palms over her pointed nipples. 

Misty gasped when she felt his rough hands and then whimpered in the double-timing of Orlando and Mrs. Karen Mower. Orlando looked at the two women before him. Misty with her eyes closed and Mrs. Mower working her magic. 

“You look like a goddess when you’re on your knees,” Orlando told Mrs. Mower. 

“Oh, Orlando.” She shook her head and waved off his comment.

She found Misty had left off her panties. 

“Wow, Orlando, we have a woman with a nice buzz cut of dark hair. Lovely.” 

Mrs. Mower ran her palm over the prickly hair. While doing so, she stretched her neck and placed a soft kiss over Misty’s bellybutton. 

“I love a good bush,” Orlando said into Misty’s ear. 

Mrs. Mower stood up and led Misty to the end of the bed. “You’ve never kissed a girl, so I bet you’ve never been eaten by a woman either.” 

Misty only dipped her head shyly. Mrs. Mower had Misty lay back and set her heels on the bed. She then bent over, legs straight, ass high. 

Misty’s sex seemed to open as shyly as she had acknowledged no female fun before. Her inner labia were small, happening to match her form. Mrs. Mower dipped her face into her pussy and tickled Misty with her tongue. The woman gave an immediate squeal. “Oh my god! Oh my god!” She repeated the phrase each time she felt the tongue lap her precious place. When the tongue rubbed her clit, she gave a heave. “Shit, shit, shit.” She pressed her hand against Mrs. Mower’s forehead. 

Mrs. Mower raised her head. From the landscape of a prickly bush, the great plains of her torso to the rising and falling hills of her breasts, Mrs. Mower saw Misty’s teeth nipping her pink lips and her eyes shut tightly. 

The three of them heard a knock on the door. 

While Misty couldn’t care, Orlando stood abruptly. 

“It’s okay. Open it,” Mrs. Mower assured him. “Put a towel on though.” 

Orlando wrapped around a rough, white towel, which could not hide his erection. Mrs. Mower liked the contrast of his dark body and the bleached towel. 

He opened the door an inch. “Yes?” 

“Orlando?” came the man’s voice. 


They stood still, completely surprised, staring at each other.

“Well, let him in,” Mrs. Mower said. 

Orlando opened the door wider and Greg slipped in. It was locked again, along with one huge secret. Two teachers, two dads, one orgy. 

Greg noticed Mrs. Mower’s apple bottom ass and the deep, dark crevice separating the pair of cheeks. 

“And that is why I came to Paris,” Greg said and licked his lips. 

Mrs. Mower looked over her shoulder, her mouth smeared with Misty’s wetness. 

“Better join in or you’ll lose out.” Mrs. Mower smacked Misty’s butt. The flesh wiggled from cheek to cheek and down each thigh. She smacked her ass again and, this time, she grabbed a fist full of the abundance. 

As Orlando moved to Misty’s satisfied face, Greg kicked off his shoes, undid his belt and dropped his shorts. He stroked his dick, although just the thought of what might happen had straightened it to full girth.  

Greg pulled apart Mrs. Mower’s ass, straining her asshole taut. In sight too was the desired love. The lush lips were open and seemed to be accepting dicks willingly. He pushed the head of his cock passed the labia. 

Mrs. Mower’s neck arched with the entry. The cock was long, narrow, like an emperor’s scepter. It touched her depths over and over. She pushed back against him, taking it as deep as possible. The smack of her round ass and his hips was tantalizing. Suddenly, he grabbed her rumpled hair and pulled back her head. 

“Say my name! Scream it,” he ordered. 

“Greg! Greg! Keep fucking me.” 

Each time she shouted his name, he rammed her deeper. Finally, she squealed. All the build-up in her escaped in an orgasm and she felt flat on the bed panting. 

Greg got an order. 

“We need you on top, man.” 

He looked over at Orlando. He had climbed onto with Misty riding him like a cowgirl. 

“In my ass,” Misty cooed. 

“Our little angel is becoming wicked tonight.” 

“Let me do my part.” Greg spread her thin ass. The stretched glorious hole was bright pink. 

Misty hissed and whimpered as her body was stretched by the penetration of Greg’s dick and Orlando’s thick wood. The two men and Misty found a smooth rhythm. She soon was realizing the firmness of male strength. 

Orlando began to huff. Hearing it, Greg began to near his tipping point too. 

“Come on, come on. Finish it in me now! Don’t hold back, I want it all,” commanded Misty who had been timid only a few minutes ago. 

Both men grunted barbarically. In a moment later, Mrs. Mower saw three Americans in Paris, naked and slumped over in ecstasy. 

“My god, you three were a sight I never expected to see,” she said. “I figured the guys would be interested. But Ms. McGuire, you were a surprise.” She stepped forward and kissed Misty on her reddened face. 

The next day’s tour, the last before their flight home, was of the Paris Catacombs and the Versailles Palace. 

While on the Palace grounds, Misty came up to Mrs. Mower. 

“I will never forget last night,” she said. “I wasn’t sure how it would all go. I wondered if I would be forgotten among the three of you.” 

“You forgotten? Never.” She put her arm around the young woman to give her a light squeeze. 

Misty looked at her co-worker’s lips and mouth. They had kissed and licked her pussy so intensely, bringing her over her brink. 

“I just want to kiss you, Karen. I mean, to really kiss you, to pay back to you what you did for me.” 

Mrs. Mower saw her desire well up in her eyes. She tried to cool down the heat. “Not here. Soon, maybe. Consider what I did as a gift of a sort.” 

“You’ll get your payback.” 

“Wait, wait.  You made it sound like something I should be afraid of.” She winked. “Maybe I should be afraid.” 

“I plot.” 

Mrs. Mower gave her a friendly hug. “Come get me anytime. Maybe a teacher-teacher conference might be a good chance.” 

A girl shouted nearby and a guy ran away, laughing. 

“Time to play chaperone once more,” Ms. McGuire said. 

That evening, Misty was still keeping the girls in order and moving as packing became the focus of the night. “We need to be ready when the bus gets here in the morning. No lollygagging around.” 

Mrs. Mower started to gather her things when she found a key on the floor by her bed. The key was to No. 12, Orlando’s and Greg’s room. It was the last night, so she tossed her bra on the bed, along with her tiny, white panties. 

She sneaked upstairs to their room in her gray knit dress and those Nikes. She slid in the key and turned the latch. 

Orlando, standing in boxers, fumbled for words when Mrs. Mower appeared. “What in the world …” 

“What?” Greg called from the bathroom. 

“You have a guest,” Mrs. Mower answered. 

Greg stepped into view. He was in a pair of white jockey shorts. 

“Mrs. Mower, a surprise!” 

She took off one shoe. “Yesterday, Misty got to have you both.” She kicked off her other shoe. “I had to sit by. Tonight, though, our last night in Paris. I wanted to give you a gift.” 

She lifted up her dress. Her naked body drew the two men to her magnetically. Their hands patted her and touched her all over. Orlando ran his hand through her hairy bush and then twisted a dark nipple. Greg smacked her ass. 

“Stand there and strip.” She watched the boxers and jockeys drop to the carpet. 

The sight of the two fully erected dicks made her shiver. They were big and beautiful. 

She knelt between them, eye-level with the heads. 

Mrs. Mower looked up at Orlando and grabbed his cock tightly, nearly strangling it. The redness that she first witnessed via the emeeting that one midnight engorged the head again. “You said I am a goddess on my knees. Let me be a goddess in Paris one last time.” 

Before he could respond, his cock was being licked with her long tongue. The very tip started at its base and rose up the shaft. At the top, her mouth wrapped around the large head. Meanwhile, her left hand stroked Greg’s lean length. 

Both men were enjoying her. Their eyes were closed, and she saw they were soaking up the attention. Then Greg gulped when Mrs. Mower gently kissed his dick’s head. When she sucked on it, her tongue swirled and her mouth suctioned the pole. 

“You’re so good.” 

“Never had better. Your mouth and hands, they’re …” 

Before Greg could finish, Mrs. Mower bobbed hard on him. The power of her mouth quieted men. Soon she heard them each struggling, bodies tensing up and easing, toes pushing into the carpet, hands balled into fists. 

She gave them an order. “Cum on my tits. All over them, everywhere. Cover me. Please, let me be your bitch.” 

Hearing that, Greg stiffened and hissed. He was near his peak. She put her mouth on his cock to spur him to the end. She tasted a spritz of saltiness, so she pulled back and lifted her heavy freckled tits, wiggling and pressing the flesh together. His eyebrows scrunched to contort his face. Then she felt the first hot splotch of gelatin hit her breasts and begin to slide into her deep cleavage. Greg kneaded out the last glob of his juice, flicking it onto her as she demanded. 

Then she turned to Orlando. “Now you, daddy. Give it to me.” 

He stroked himself fast. The lube from her sucking flicked onto her. She stared directly at the reddened dick she had wanted for months. “I’ve wanted this for so long, the night we first met. Put your cum all over your goddess. I’m on my knees for you!” 

His precum sprinkled on her face, following almost immediately by a huge clump of thick, white cum. It landed on her chin and dropped down onto the base of her neck. His next shot landed on one of her large nipples. It dangled there until she lifted with her finger and smeared it on her other nipple to match. 

The two men collapsed on either bed, worn out by this woman. She drew on her chest happily.  Soon Mrs. Mower had her knit dress and her Nikes on. She left the two men on their beds. 

The chaperones were corralling and controlling kids, whose energy had returned, from the time they left the hotel through their flights and layovers. Eventually they arrived at their airport and gathered their luggage. 

Orlando and Greg shook hands. “Great trip, Orlando, I can’t say it enough.” Greg turned to the teachers. “Nice to meet you, Ms. McGuire and Mrs. Mower.” 

“I will never forget this trip,” Misty said. 

Mrs. Mower smiled at the three of them. “Till we meet again … perhaps in Paris.” 

Orlando said, “There are plenty of towns here in the U.S. named ‘Paris.’ That is, if we want another go of it.” 

Misty picked up her bags. “Or we can make another memory in another town in another part of the world.”