Dear Peter, My Loving Fiancé Pt. 02

Dear Peter,

I'm so sorry, Peter. I'm sitting at a cafe, alone, writing this letter. It's been three days since I sent my last one, so I doubt it's reached you yet. It was cowardly of me not to tell you all the details. If we're to have any hope of reconciling I think you should know everything. No lies between us. I'll tell you everything so you'll trust me again. I apologize if this is hard to read, so please know that I still love you and want you. I miss you so much.

I'll pick up where I left off. Just after I dropped my dress, Michel undid his zipper and slid off his jeans. He was wearing red boxers, and his bulge was so sexy (bulge made my mouth dry). He knelt on the floor in front of me and started softly kissing my belly, trailing kisses as he went lower. He gave each thigh one last kiss then licked my cunt from bottom to top. I let out a loud moan as his tongue penetrated me (like I said, French tongues).

I put my leg up on the couch to give him better access. (I need you to go down on me like that sometime, maybe I can tell you how he did it). I came once, just from that, even before he put his fingers inside of me. He had to work a bit to learn how I liked to be fingered, and he took directions well. Soon he was fingering me with just the right curve to hit the right spot. I came again and moaned out his name. He stood up and kissed me. I'll admit it didn't even bother me to taste myself on him.

After that, he lay back on the couch and I slid off his boxers. His cock was thick but cute. He was already leaking precum and I asked if going down on me had turned him on. He told me that he loved seeing a beautiful woman orgasm as much as he liked making love to them. I've never liked the phrase "making love", but his accent made it sound lovely.

I wasn't sure what to expect really. It's been a long time since I've had any other cock in my mouth but yours. To my relief, he tasted clean and just a little sweet (if cock can taste sweet). My jaw began to hurt after a while as I'm not used to stretching my mouth open so wide when I go down on someone. I jacked him off for a bit and he pulled me up to kiss me. I went willingly as I continued stroking him. His precum and my juices mixed for the first time in that long sensual kiss.

I swung a leg over his hips and he rubbed the tip of his cock over my clit. I was so turned on that I had a little orgasm. When I was ready, I took a deep breath and guided his cock into me. He filled me up so well, Peter. It's hard to describe it, but it felt so good. I was so wet by then, it wasn't hard to take it all in.

He fucked me slowly at first with long hard thrusts with pauses in between and my stomach filled with butterflies. I don't remember much of the specifics, but his dirty talk was a mix of French and English. He made me feel like the sexiest and most beautiful woman in the world. Phrases that would normally be awkward or funny from a native speaker didn't bother me so much from him.

I asked him to fuck me harder and he responded with gusto. After I came again I took control and rode him. I know it sounds farfetched to say I orgasmed every other paragraph, but I swear I did. My mind drifted to you while I was rubbing my cunt on him and I remembered how much you like to be ridden like that.

It made me ashamed to think of you, but I must confess that it also made me hornier. I asked him to call me a slut. He had only given me compliments till then, but seemed to understand and he turned his talk to describing how much of a bad girl I am. He called me a dirty little American whore, and asked if I opened my legs for any half-handsome frenchman who winks at me. I laughed and asked if he likes American whores. He said he loves them, and that he picks up a different one every summer (though I think that was in jest). He said American women couldn't resist him even if they wanted to. It felt good to lean into it, the shame mixed in with the pleasure. Sluts enjoy sex, all kinds of sex. They enjoy the sex they're allowed to have, and the sex they're not. So if I'm a slut, then fucking a frenchman makes sense, even if the man I love is still waiting for me back home. It doesn't make it right or okay, but it does make it make sense.

He asked me if it was okay to be rough and I told him yes. He said to let him know if it got too much and I said I would.Then he grabbed me by the hips and pushed me back on the couch, turned me around and shoved his cock in me again, without taking care to be gentle. "This is how you fuck a whore" he said. He spanked me hard again and again. He fucked me hard till I screamed out another orgasm. Then he took his boxers off the couch and told me to open my mouth. I stuck out my tongue and opened my mouth wide for him. He pushed his boxers in my mouth as a makeshift gag and all I could do was moan as he continued to fuck me for ages. He pulled my hair as he pounded into me and I felt like the sexiest and sluttiest woman in the world. I loved it.

Now comes the worst part. He quietened down for a moment to ask where I wanted him to cum. I should have told him on my back, or offered to suck him off and take his load in my mouth. I didn't. I told him to cum inside of me. I pushed you out of my mind as hard as I could and blushed as he filled me up. I've always loved the idea of a creampie, and (if it has already happened once, no need to use but) I'd never had one from anyone but you. I'm sorry.The only thing I can say is that I wasn't thinking. If anything happens, I'll take care of it. But the feeling of the first time he shot inside of me, it's one I don't think I can ever forget.

Afterwards, we cleaned up together in the bathroom. I said in my previous letter that the guilt only returned the next day, but that's not true. I started to cry a little, but he held me and comforted me. He tried to apologize, but I convinced him that it wasn't his fault. He told me we could do whatever I wanted and if that was to just be friends, he'd be okay with that. I spent the night with him, and after I woke up in the morning I wrote you that first letter. I felt okay after slipping it in the post box, but this morning the guilt returned again. I felt that if there was any chance of us staying together, then you'd have to know every last detail. I think I've been as honest as I can be this time.

Please write to me and tell me your thoughts. I won't be able to sleep properly until I know you don't hate me. I love you and I want us to be together. Please forgive me.

- Jennifer

P.S. They do have a kind of plan B here. I've done what I can to make sure I don't get pregnant, but I'll have to watch for when my next period comes before I'm sure. Michel says he gets tested for STIs regularly and that we can go to a clinic together when we get a chance.