Traffic in Paris

Traffic in Paris – An Erotic Story by Venus O’Hara

In the heart of my university years studying French, an exciting opportunity unfolded—a yearlong internship in the vibrant city of Paris. This chapter, however, aligned with what I would dub my least attractive phase. Struggling with added weight and sporting a regrettable post-breakup haircut, I yearned for a change that mirrored the internal shifts I was undergoing. In an impulsive move, I decided to revamp my look, opting for bangs to signal this period of transformation.

Enter Pierre, a fellow colleague in his forties. Despite the absence of any professional collaboration, Pierre had a knack for striking up conversations. His geeky charm, intense gazes, and shared interests in art, nature, and his prized motorbike made him a captivating figure in my life. The attention from someone older and seemingly more experienced turned out to be a surprising confidence boost during a time of low self-esteem.

One fateful day, a citywide strike brought the entire Parisian public transport system to a standstill, plunging the streets into chaos. Faced with the daunting task of figuring out how to commute to work, a spontaneous thought crossed my mind—Pierre and his motorbike. On a whim, I dialed his number, and without hesitation, he agreed to pick me up.

“Meet me in front of La Tour Eiffel in an hour,” I instructed.

Determined to make a memorable impression, I carefully dressed for the occasion, choosing a pinstriped suit paired with kitten heels. When I reached our designated meeting point, Pierre was already there, his presence commanding attention as he dismounted from a sleek Harley-Davidson. The tight-fitting helmet he gently placed on my head felt claustrophobic, but the anticipation of this unconventional mode of transportation far outweighed any reservations.

As we maneuvered through the slow-moving Parisian traffic, the powerful vibrations of the engine created an unexpected and oddly erotic sensation. My firm breasts pressed against Pierre’s back, and the throbbing clitoris couldn’t help but stir with arousal, experiencing a unique form of stimulation from the luxurious leather seat beneath me. The pulsating acceleration and deceleration of the motorbike translated into a never-ending tease, prompting me to cling even tighter to Pierre.

Approaching La Défense, the business district where our office was located, a tinge of disappointment set in as our exhilarating ride neared its end. I awkwardly dismounted the bike and thanked Pierre, struggling to meet his gaze as we parted ways. While the physical ride had concluded, the mental one continued to replay in my fantasies, each iteration bringing forth different endings and outcomes.

In the solitude of my intimate moments, I revisit the sensations of that memorable ride. Whether I’m the one in control of the bike or Pierre takes on the role of the passenger exploring my body, the fantasy unfolds in various ways. The memory of his penetrating gaze, the sound of the revving engine, and the overall peculiar allure of Pierre linger, making each recollection a journey back to that ride of a lifetime.

As I prepare for an upcoming trip back to Paris, the mere thought of potentially crossing paths with Pierre again after all these years adds an extra layer of excitement. Will there be another adventure awaiting me, this time sans the motorbike but filled with the same allure and curiosity that marked our initial encounter? Only time will tell.

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