Fatima Pt. 01: Genevieve

'"Fuck me like I'm the only woman in your life," she says.'

'You say nothing in response but comply with her command, driving your penis into her sodden pussy, articulating your own arousal to her. She tells you to fuck her harder and to take her breasts in your hands and possess them. You do as she asks and watch as her orgasm breaks over her. With a cry of raw passion, you unload your sperm inside her. You wonder if she is using contraception. Part of you hopes she isn't.'

Scarcely had Fatima reached the end of her story than Hunter had shot his seed inside her. Not two minutes later, they were asleep in each other's arms.

4

Hunter and Fatima slept in late the following day, not bothering to set the alarm, knowing that their schedule for the following day did not start in earnest until around eleven o'clock. They ordered some coffee and croissants from room service, after which Hunter cycled into town to look around the shops and see what he could get for those back home. Fatima had told him that she would call him when she was through, which she was expecting to be any time between 12 midday and one o'clock. Much depended on what the girl had arranged for the rest of the day after she went off duty. Much of course also hinged on the powers of persuasion that Fatima could muster.

At about a quarter past eleven, there was a knock on the door and Fatima, who had just changed into the same blue satin silk negligee with white motifs that she had been wearing a couple of mornings before, answered the door. She had let one of the spaghetti straps slip off her shoulder onto her upper arm. The girl (about her own age, Fatima estimated) stood there, her mouth agape, as on the previous occasion, but this time Fatima sensed that her shock had been practised.

Fatima told her to come in. The girl turned to take various items such as clothes and detergents from her trolley, which was stationed in the corridor, but Fatima said 'Non!' in the severest tone she could manage. When the maid remained rooted to the spot, Fatima took her by the arm and bundled her into the room. She reckoned that by making her intentions clear, she could ascertain quite clearly without the need for words whether the girl was up for it. All the signs were that she was. Language was hardly likely to be a barrier when their mouths would be used for a different kind of communication entirely.

Fatima pointed to the bed, which had been tidied and smoothed down. The maid made as if to make it up in the approved hotel manner, but Fatima held her back.

'Comment vous appelez-vous?' she asked, almost exhausting her stock of French.

'Genevieve,' the girl answered, giving the word four syllables with the stress on the last in the French way.

'Très belle,' she replied. 'Je suis Fatima.'

The maid shook her hand, when Fatima was hoping for something more on traditional French lines, involving mouth and cheeks.

'All in good time,' she thought. 'The girl is still here. She's standing so close to me that I can smell her perfume. She's French, and she's up for it.'

Fatima leant in to her, her intention unmistakable - she meant to kiss her. Genevieve made her position quite clear too by leaning in, so that their lips touched down upon one another's in perfect harmony and almost perfect symmetry.

'God, she tastes good!' Fatima thought. 'I think she took a break to brush her teeth and even have a shower before coming to me. That would explain why she was a little late.'

Fatima undid the top button at the girl's neck and swiftly ran her fingers down five or six more buttons that were concealed under the placket of her dress, until she came to her starched white apron. It was so clean and neat that Fatima reckoned the girl must have put a new one on after finishing all her other work. Putting her arms round her body, Fatima (still kissing the girl) loosened the bow and removed the apron. Her fingers then made short work of the three or four more buttons that took her to the end of the road, which came at around hip level, just a matter of inches from the girl's chatte, as the French so quaintly call it.

If the girl was concerned about the whereabouts of Fatima's husband, she wasn't showing it. What she was showing, though, was an increased level of involvement in their liaison. Fatima couldn't imagine that this sort of thing happened with guests very often, but you would never have guessed that from the way Genevieve was going about her business. It was as if it were all part of a day's work.

'Would she expect a tip?' Fatima wondered.

Maybe she should ask Hunter to get something for her, but then she might not like it. Most people of her type preferred cash, anyway. On reflection, she could imagine a lot of men fucking her. Surely they would give her something. Maybe she'd put her foot down if Fatima tried to arrange a session with the three of them.

'God!' Fatima thought. 'I hope she's not part of a syndicate or whatever you called it.'

At least she wasn't asking for anything up front, mused Fatima, as she unclasped her white bra and took in her pretty pear-shaped tits. Fatima purred her approval before latching straight onto one of the nipples with her mouth. Genevieve moaned, a little too quickly and a little too loudly to quite convince Fatima that the response was entirely due to her skills as a lover.

With her free hands, Fatima pushed the dress down the girl's legs and could sense her stepping out of it. She was now dressed only in her panties and her trainers, one more item than Fatima herself was wearing. As Fatima worked on her tits - a bit harder now, nibbling at the responsive buds and using her tongue in a series of vain attempts to flatten them - Genevieve placed her hands on Fatima's butt, kneading the flesh through the satiny fabric. Fatima wondered if she would come up from underneath to access her bare cheeks, but she didn't. She did, though, Fatima reflected with approval, have something of the tease about her.

Fatima let one of her own hands cup the girl's ass cheeks - so much flatter and firmer than her own. Not content to rub her through the fabric of her panties, Fatima pushed down below the waistband and rubbed her in a circular motion, getting closer to her asshole at every pass. Genevieve moaned again - this time, Fatima thought, rather more spontaneously. Still, though, somewhat to Fatima's chagrin, she wouldn't let her own hands ride up onto Fatima's bare buttocks.

When Fatima withdrew her hand from Genevieve's ass, the girl signalled her displeasure with a French 'tsk!' Fatima's intention had been merely to lick her index finger before applying it to her butt hole, but now she wasn't so sure. She didn't appreciate being tutted at by anyone. Coming off the girl's tits, she wagged her finger at the Frenchwoman, who seemed to understand why she was being upbraided. She looked dolefully at Fatima, who kissed her to show that she was happy to let bygones be bygones before licking her finger again (this time in plain sight of Genevieve) and placing it without delay on her anus. The girl's reaction was so positive that Fatima was emboldened to push home her advantage, the finger penetrating her cavity up to the first knuckle.

'Mon dieu!' the maid sighed, this time without any trace of fakery.

Her finger in her ass, Fatima offered her breasts to the chambermaid by thrusting them into her face. Genevieve dropped the other strap and pulled the negligee down, revealing the Pakistani woman's splendid orbs. Muttering something in French, she grabbed the breasts in her hands, as if she were weighing them. Then she pinched the nipples, confirming the impression that she was treating them as if they were something you might find in the market. Fatima wasn't sure she was enjoying the experience very much. She thought the French were much more sensuous than this. Partly out of spite, she removed her finger from the girl's asshole and waited for her next move.

She didn't have to wait long. In a lightning movement, Genevieve's hand flew over Fatima's inner thigh and found her pussy, which lay under the bunched-up negligee but received absolutely no protection from it. A slender finger invaded her quim, which accepted it greedily, its wetness betraying the married woman's desire.

'Fuck!' breathed Fatima, instinctively opening her legs wider as an invitation for the maid to add more fingers if she so wished.

Finger followed finger, until finally only the thumb was needed to complete the full set.

'Please! Fuck! Don't stop!' groaned Fatima, wondering if she would be forced to collapse onto the bed if Genevieve started fisting her.

Rather than adding her thumb, the maid drove her fingers in and out of Fatima's sodden pussy, causing obscene noises to echo round the room. Language barrier be damned! Fatima wanted more; needed more. Making a fist of her own hand, she turned her head and brandished it at the girl.

'D'accord,' she responded coolly, withdrawing her fingers and spending a little longer than necessary with her hand poised, ready and waiting, at the sodden entrance to Fatima's sex.

'On y va!' said the girl, with a little more expression in her voice.

She drove her fist hard into the depths of Fatima's voracious cunt, eliciting a yelp from the Pakistani woman.

'Make me come!' Fatima told her, her breath coming with some difficultly.

The maid was in no rush. She had never come across a vagina like this woman's, one which was so deep, so cavernous - and so wet. She slid her hand in as far as she dared, until her wrist had disappeared from sight. She left it there and twisted it around a bit, enjoying the feeling very much - her enjoyment enhanced by the response she was getting from the exotic Asian woman.

Having experimented for a while to see how much of her slender forearm could be swallowed up inside Fatima, Genevieve started to get serious. In and out her fist went, the maid building up the pace until she knew the dusky beauty would be able to hold out no longer.

It was at this point that a picture of the woman's much older husband came into her mind. Men were much more likely to come onto her than women, but she been all but invisible to this handsome specimen, who hadn't seemed to notice her on the single occasion she had seen him in the corridor leading to the lift. He had been so attentive to his young wife, in the manner of newlyweds.

If, thought Genevieve, this woman had cleared her dalliance with the chambermaid with her husband, then maybe he would be looking for a liaison of his own as payback. The girl certainly hoped so. The idea of a threesome didn't enter her mind - unsurprisingly, since she had never been part of one.

Genevieve's musings were interrupted by the unmistakable sounds of a female climax. When she felt the Fartima's knees buckle, Genevieve extracted her hand from the depths and let the woman slump forward onto the bed - her negligee still bunched up around her waist. Still wearing her panties and trainers, the maid, not too gently, especially considering the state the hotel guest was in, flipped her over onto her back and went to work at once on her pussy. It was her first Pakistani cunt and she was determined to make the most of it.

She unceremoniously pulled off the flimsy nightdress which the woman had used to lure her into her room and onto her bed, and started licking the capacious quim which she had so recently been fisting. My, it tasted good! Before she knew it, Genevieve was reaping the rewards of the perfect storm which a combination of her own expert tongue and the married woman's incredible state of arousal had made something of a fait accompli.

Greedy to obtain release of her own, she kicked off her sneakers and stepped out of her panties before pushing Fatima onto the bed. Straddling her, she lowered herself towards her face.

'Bouffez la chatte!' she commanded Fatima, who didn't require a translation to know what was required of her.

Her long tongue traversed the girl's ornate folds, which boasted petals that were almost as dark as her own.

'Maybe she has a bit of gypsy in her,' she thought. 'That would mean we are ultimately from the same part of the world.'

Genevieve stretched herself out and began playing with her titties, clearly appreciating the attention she was receiving from the stunning newlywed. Suddenly, the thought of the woman's husband returning to the room, and roughly pushing her off his wife, as if he was angry with her for trespassing on their private space, flashed through her mind. But, in her fantasy, instead of ignoring her or dismissing her from his presence, he asked his wife to make herself scarce and, whipping out his stiff penis, plunged it inside her.

'Ne vous arrêtez pas!' the maid virtually spat at Fatima, desperate to come.

Fatima placed a finger in the maid's ass, since she seemed to like that so much, and thrashed her clitoris with her tongue. The girl's equipment was mighty impressive - it looked like what Fatima imagined a midget's cock would look like.

'Take that, you French serving girl!' she managed to get out, before getting back to work.

Her mind still on the Pakistani's English (as she took him to be) husband, the chambermaid told Fatima to fuck her harder. That long tongue made a decent substitute for what in her mind's eye would be the older man's mighty weapon.

'Oui! Oui!' she called out, the orgasm only a matter of seconds away.

'Et merde!' she cried, as the release she had been craving broke around her.

Fatima had much more that she wanted to do to the girl, but it seemed that time was up. Giving Fatima a quick kiss, the girl gathered up her scattered clothes, dressed swiftly and was out of the room within a minute. She hadn't asked for any payment, which Fatima thought was a bit odd. What she wasn't to know was that Genevieve had set her sights on Hunter, and that she was gambling on the fact that the honeymooners would contact her again to arrange a threesome. That nice Englishman was just the type who would make sure that she was well looked after.

5

With Genevieve leaving so abruptly, Fatima found she had more time on her hands than she was expecting. She called Hunter and was glad to find that he was still out and about. After looking around in Antibes, he had walked on to Juan-les-Pins, where he had found a little gift shop which suited his needs perfectly. He suggested Fatima took a taxi and met him at the rustic bistro he had been told about by someone he had stopped for directions, who had been effusive in praise of the place. So much so that Hunter thought he might be a relative of the proprietor.

Fatima slipped on a blouse and a mid-length skirt and made her way to the restaurant, still reflecting on the chambermaid. She couldn't quite work her out, and it wasn't just the language barrier. The original plan, which had been to have a threesome including Hunter, was now something that Fatima was rather unsure about. The girl seemed a little too flighty somehow - the type a man like Hunter could find very attractive. He would also almost certainly want to see that she was well recompensed for her time - something that Fatima thought was unnecessary, given how Hunter and she were a highly desirable couple. Someone like her should be grateful just to be allowed to be in the same room as them, let alone the same bed!

When they sat down for lunch (a late one, as was becoming their habit), Hunter was keen to know all about Fatima's encounter. He noted from the moment she walked into the bistro that she wasn't as chipper as she usually was, so instead of talking about her morning, he talked about his, showing her the things he'd bought for Hayley as well as for her, but deciding to keep the items he'd bought for the girls with whom he'd been on that life-changing holiday to Mykonos safely in his backpack. Today, he realised, wasn't the time to allude to any events in his life which Fatima might misinterpret, especially when she was in her glass-half-empty mood.

As was the case with Jade before her, Fatima liked to approach things from an oblique angle - indirectly, as if the topic had suddenly come up on her while she wasn't looking. It must be an Asian thing, Hunter thought.

'We never did get the room made up,' she said, in what Hunter (correctly) interpreted as a whimsical tone.

'Ha!' Hunter laughed, drawing the attention of the earnest German couple at the nearby table, who were studying maps and guide books which they had strewn across the table.

'I don't suppose there's much that needs doing, anyway,' he said. 'We seem to have plenty of everything.'

'We can ask for them to vacuum the room when we get back. They'll do the bed automatically when they see it's unmade.'

'Did she come up to your expectations, the maid - what's-her-name?'

'Genevieve. Well, she was very French, I think you could say.'

'A bit cool, reserved?'

'Exactly. Sometimes I wondered if she really had her mind on the job.'

'Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. I think we should forget any idea we had of taking things further, if that's her attitude. I knew as soon as you walked in the door that she hadn't come up to muster.'

'I don't want you to feel left out, my love,' Fatima said, the effect of the fine food working to make her more relaxed.

'Not at all. I'm totally fine with leaving it there.'

Which was more than could be said for his cock, which was straining against his trousers, as he imagined the girl entering the room and bending down to pick up a towel which he had casually left lying about.

'No, I would like to see you with her. I might see something which she does that I could incorporate in my own lovemaking.'

'Look, darling,' he said, reaching across the table and taking her hand. 'Let's forget the whole thing. You are woman enough for me.'

Hunter was sanguine enough to take what might in other circumstances be considered bad news with an easy grace. But the truth was that Fatima's report on her liaison, though brief, had piqued his interest: this girl seemed to have a certain je ne sais quoi about her. If she wouldn't let his new wife push her around, then he was pretty certain that she was the kind of woman who would be dynamite in bed - with him!

He wasn't sure that this was the best time to tell Fatima that the woman in the pool had talked about dinner together, but he decided to take the plunge. It was an altogether more preferable scenario to the one in which the woman, whose name - if not body - Hunter had already forgotten, mentioned it to Fatima somewhere in the hotel, and registered surprise that Hunter hadn't told her.

When he broached it with Fatima, being careful of course to emphasise that her husband would make up a four, Fatima was remarkably calm. She felt she had seen the woman around (mistakenly, as it happened) and she didn't consider her anything of a threat. As a Sunni, she had been brought up not to have anything to do with Shi'ites, the group which makes up 98 percent of Iranians, but having lived for so much of her life in a secular culture she was not so hidebound in her outlook as her parents and grandparents were. It would be interesting, she thought, to talk to people with whom she had much in common geographically and culturally, and yet with so much that set them apart.

When Fatima asked Hunter if he knew their room number or could otherwise contact them, he told her that he'd been at something of a disadvantage in the swimming pool paper and pen wise. Secretly happy that her husband hadn't done much to firm up the dinner date, Fatima suggested they spoke to reception when they got back to the hotel. It wasn't a big hotel, and they probably knew all the swimmers, who in the winter months would only be a handful, so it was quite likely they'd pass a message onto the couple.