MY SECRET LIFE IN PARIS
Lucy Salisbury
Table of Contents
Paris, the last day of spring, the scent of fresh-baked bread in the air and the strains of la Marseillaise faint in the distance. Paris, the Aire de Villabé, a truckstop on the E15, the taste of a long-haul driver’s cock in my mouth and the feel of his hand on my bare skin as he fondled my bottom. Ah, romance!
Well, dirty, smutty, shame-filled sex anyway, but I wasn’t complaining. After years of reserved, correct behaviour as I climbed the greasy pole of corporate success I’d finally managed to live out one of my favourite fantasies, being made to pay for a lift by sucking the driver’s penis. Well, not made exactly, because both Claude and Jean-Luc had taken quite a bit of persuading before accepting that the very English blonde they’d offered a lift was really up for it, but once they’d got the idea they’d both been everything I could have hoped for.
Three times Jean-Luc had made me go down on him during the long drive, and now was my fourth, and last, to say thank-you for my lift before going into the city to take up my place as 2IC in the company’s French office. I was taking my time, savouring the taste and feel of his cock in my mouth and enjoying the mauling he was giving my bottom, with his hand well in down the back of my panties and one finger teasing the mouth of my cunt. He’d fucked me the night before, with my thighs spread to his thrusts in the little sleeping space at the rear of his cab, but the Aire de Villabé was a little too public for me to strip off, for all that my jeans were already unfastened and my jumper and top up over my boobs.
I was fairly sure I was about to get my mouthful when he did it, suddenly and with no warning at all. He didn’t even bother to ask, but merely pulled me off his cock, flipped me over and scrambled around to mount me from behind. I hadn’t even had a chance to get my jeans and panties down properly before he was up me, his massive, calloused hands gripping my hips as he pushed his cock in. Fortunately I was soaking wet and took it easily, but as I came up onto my hands and knees to get more comfortable I found myself looking out of the cab window and through another, into the face of the astonished driver.
For one awful moment we were staring eye to eye, no more than a few feet apart, before I put my head down, my face now burning with blushes and painfully aware that he still had a prime view of my upturned white bottom as I got humped from behind. I was sure he could even see Jean-Luc’s cock going in and out, but my babbled pleas were ignored and my struggles achieved nothing, my hips held in a grip like a vice. If he even knew then he didn’t care, thrusting ever harder into me and grunting like a bull gorilla as I squirmed on his cock, then suddenly whipping it free – not out of sympathy for my embarrassment, but to finish himself off all over my bare bottom, in full view of the other man.
I was left like that, wide-eyed in shock and humiliation, my rear cheeks sticking up like a pair of plum puddings with cream topping running down the sides and his cock rearing up between them as he gave himself a last little rub in my slit, then considerately wiped my bottom down with an oily rag. And that was that, my thank-yous said, my shame and embarrassment brought to a final peak, as wonderful as it was unexpected. I hadn’t even explained to Jean-Luc what I liked. He’d just used me, without the slightest thought for my privacy or dignity, an unspeakable thing to do to a woman – and exactly the sort of thing that’s always going on in my head when I come.
I didn’t know whether to thank him or slap him, but I’ve always been taught not to make a fuss so I simply adjusted my clothes, tidied up as best I could, retrieved my shoulder bag from the sleeping cubicle, kissed him goodbye and left. The man who’d watched me get my fucking was still staring, and he wasn’t the only driver in his cab along the line of maybe thirty lorries, which left me with a long walk of shame, pink-faced with embarrassment and painfully aware that at least a dozen pairs of eyes were fixed on my rear view as I made for the services.
Fortunately there were lots of facilities, allowing me to make myself look more or less normal, if not actually respectable. My intention had been to end up looking like a smart, professional woman fresh off the Eurostar and not a dirty little tramp fresh off a lorry driver’s cock, but thanks to Jean-Luc’s rough handling I hadn’t quite succeeded. I’d repaired my make-up and put my hair up in a bun instead of the long blonde ponytail that had allowed me to pass for a student hitch-hiker, but there was no dealing with the oily handprints on the flesh of my hips and bottom cheeks, and on my jeans. Anybody who gave me more than a cursory inspection was going to realise that I’d been fucked from behind, but I had it all under control.
One of the good things about being turned on by embarrassment is that I can cope with things that would leave many women wanting to curl up into a ball. Another is that I’ve gained plenty of experience in extricating myself from awkward situations. I plan, and this occasion was no exception, but I still started at the sudden sharp voice from behind me.
‘What would do you good, Lucy, is a taste of the whip.’
I’d dropped my lip-gloss and had to squat down and scrabble under the sinks to get it, which put a small, cruel smile on the face of the woman who’d spoken. She had pronounced my name in the French fashion and she looked the part too, quintessentially French and Parisienne – petite, with dark hair cut in a gamine style and wearing
