A Taste of Twilight

The hour was twilight on an old cobblestone street somewhere on the outskirts of Paris. Though old, businesses still thrived and shopkeepers signs could be seen wobbling ever so gently in the breeze by the old chains that promised to support them for years to come.

There were a few stragglers, last-minute shoppers, and brave tourists still wandering about, but not many. This was a peculiar night with a feeling that accompanied it akin to someone looking through your curtains just as you finish lovemaking. Sex, as it was, was in the air.

A man was walking down the road. A man with good hair, a beard, and a cane. He had a fine face and a good build—-his boots hardly making a sound on the cobblestone.

Beside him was a young woman, fair-haired in heels which made her barely as tall as her suitor and a soft pink dress that opened at the sides, revealing a hint of breast and a bare hip. It had a small gold chain from the V in her front, going around her neck, and back down. The chain itself disappeared near the top of the swell of her bosom.

The two of them stopped just outside a closed cafe. The patio partitioned inward, taking some space from the building, but providing more privacy for their customers. The furniture was iron metal meshwork. The man pulled out the chair for his companion.

Another man was seated there as well, flipping through a travel brochure, his phone the only illumination in the dark area. Feeling self-conscious he turned it off and took a glance at the couple. They were both staring at him.

He turned his attention back to the brochure when the man cleared his throat. The traveler looked back up.

"Come join us, good fellow, it would make my date more comfortable," he said. The traveler shrugged, for he was about to leave himself, but the prospect of conversation was much more interesting.

The woman smiled sweetly at him and he could smell alcohol coming faintly from her. She held out her hand like he might inspect her knuckles and he grasped it gently and kissed it, looking at the man to her right who nodded.

"What brings you to Brost, my friend?" asked the gentleman.

"I raise chickens, and Brost is known to have bred the fattest chickens known to man. I'm hoping to learn from the breeder," said the traveler.

"Fascinating, don't you think love?" he asked the woman. She nodded shyly. "You'll have to forgive Brunhilda here, she's had too much to drink this evening. My fault I suppose, but I couldn't help it. She's so desirable after a few drinks, but she talks too much, so I've given her a little something for that too. Now she is the perfect woman!" he said and laughed. His hand went to the chain at her throat and he lifted it up a smidge. She shifted in her seat, heat flushing to her cheeks.

The traveler felt like he was peeking through a window, watching them interact, and found his own endowments tingling at the whoosh of air Brunhilda made when the man let go of the chain.

"And what about you, sir?" asked the traveler, hoping the lust he was holding would not strain his voice. The answer would determine whether he left or stayed.

"Yes, we've just been to a local voyeurism meeting. The gents and I couldn't get into the technology. Besides, we believe watching any performance is best done live, eh love?" Brunhilda nodded shyly.

The stranger shifted, his dick suddenly awake by the man's words. Had they really come back from watching live sex? He loved this town more every day.

"Look at the light in his eyes, Brunhilda, he's interested," the man laughed will jolly vigor, he too, it appeared, had been drinking. "What's your name old chap?" asked the man.

"Steve," said the traveler.

"Marco," said the gentleman and they shook hands.

"Now, Steve, you seem like a fit fellow, eager to participate in the underground. Would you be interested in coming to a meeting?" asked Marco.

"Well, sure," said Steve uncertain, unwilling to believe that anything in life could be that easy.

"Of course you would, we as human beings are attracted to the strange, to the unusual," he said, taking out an actual pipe and preparing the tobacco. "Brunhilda, be a doll for me, my legs are killing me," he said.

She stood up and walked around the table, got on all fours and Marco put his feet upon her back. Steve had a nice view of her ass against the material. He started to sweat and could feel it cool in the slight breeze.

"We can't just let anyone in off the street, Steve. Stay with me here. I'm open to bringing guests with me, but I can't have them walking out if they feel uncomfortable. That's just rude. I'll not be bringing rude guests, you understand?"

Steve nodded and Marco smiled, happy again, and lit his pipe.

"Get ready for two more feet, darling," he said and Marco looked at Steve. Steve's eyes widened when he realized Marco wanted him to put his feet on his date. But Steve had gathered the price of the ticket into Marco's club was not completely free, and slowly put his feet next to Marco's.

"Now then, tell me more about chicken farming," said Marco. Steve tried his best to relate to him all of the breeds of chicken there were, the kinds of feed, but it was difficult, because of his position. As time wore on, however, he became more at ease, talking about his profession, why chickens interested him so, and his endeavor to create the biggest chicken known to man.

"You sound like you know what you're doing," said Marco, impressed. Steve felt a bit of pride at his praise. "How are you doing down there, darling?" asked Marco, and Steve was surprised for a second that Marco wasn't addressing him. He had completely forgotten Brunhilda.

She mumbled below the table, something unintelligible.

"Well, you better get up here, girl. You know I can't understand you on a normal day," he said and disengaged his legs. Steve followed suit, feeling guilty as she stood up.

Marco pulled her onto his lap, then looked at Steve.

"Don't feel bad, young fellow. She doesn't," he said and pulled the little chain that deceivingly went below the V in her dress and did not start there. Brunhilda fidgeted in his lap, moaning.

Steve could feel his breath coming in a little quicker.

"Open your mouth, my sweet, and show our new friend what I've done to you," he said. Brunhilda opened her mouth and Steve could see something like two small sticks of wood clamped around her tongue, making it impossible for her to speak.

Marco jerked on the chain and she yelped, but the clamp did not come off, it must have been tighter than it looked. Steve's dick came back to life, slowly weighing in his trousers.

"It goes all the way around, the chain," he said gripping both ends by her breasts and back and moving it up and down. Brunhilda closed her eyes and moaned.

It was dark on the street now and deserted. Steve realized this was what Marco had been waiting for.

"Bend over the table, Brunhilda. This is our friend's final test," he said, caressing her cheek. She did as he said and looked up into Steve's eyes as her breasts pressed into the metal and her ass extended. She spread her legs and Steve could feel his heart pumping in his neck.

"Steve," said Marco, "You may watch from anywhere, I encourage it. I only ask that you not touch her. If you can do that, I will bring you to the club," he said. He unfastened his trousers and walked around, penis extended, and lifted up her dress. "You can see the gold chain if you look hard enough," he said softly, like a whisper.

He inserted his penis in her, hard, and he could feel the breath whoosh from her lungs. Steve sat there, unable to move, eyes locked with Brunhilda while Marco fucked her from behind, thinking just how much it was he loved Paris as she smiled at him and her ecstasy reached its first peak.