Madame Cartier's Wind-Blown Skirt

Madame Cartier's Wind-Blown Skirt

It was one of those hot summer days in Southern California when the unrelenting humidity motivated even the most modest women to shed more clothing than was decent for them to be seen in public. Sheer tops were selected, bras were a nuisance, and no hemline was too short. Stiletto heels clattered about the streets; sheeny pantyhose reigned supreme and glistening lip gloss was ubiquitous.

For some women, panties were deemed optional.

At bus stops ladies continually crossed and uncrossed their legs. Leaning forward, they put their cleavage on full display, and never with all the buttons properly fastened.

The balmy weather drove the ladies mad, seeping into every pore and going so far as to tempt them to abandon the last of their inhibitions; 'respectable women' who would otherwise never entertain the thought of giving a random bloke a panty peek or a down-blouse flash were instantaneously transformed into full-fledged exhibitionists, shamelessly showing off their feminine goodies.

Every middle-aged woman became a Cougar - horny as hell for young cock, as barely legal eighteen-year-old boys were now their preferred targets of sexual affection.

Madame Cartier, however, didn't require high humidity for her libido to be prompted. A teacher at the local Junior College, her outfit of choice was always above the knee skirts or dresses, and pointy-toe shoes that stood atop towering heels -- clicking loudly whenever she traipsed down the hall.

Selecting fluttery skirts to wear on windy days made her quite the campus tease.

Nearly fifty years old, Madame Cartier's sexy legs and ass still drew attention from testosterone-flooded college boys. That and her saucy walk left 'mes petits chéris' (my little darlings) saucer-eyed and dry mouthed -- and frequently with embarrassing bulges filling their trousers.

"Jeune homme, nous devons parler," (young man, we need to talk) was all it ever took to conjure up sexual fantasies in their adolescent minds and send the boys running to the nearest washroom for a spontaneous wanking session. The 'vieille femme fatale' was aware how seductive her French accent sounded to American boys.

When speaking one-on-one with her male students she would often drop her tone to a breathy timbre. Madame Cartier treasured young male attention, at school as well as in the harbor, where she occasionally went sailing.

Every woman in town was momentarily sex-crazed due to the climate situation, she thought, so why not give the boys on a nearby nude beach an experience they'll never forget? She decided on a daring course of action, something too provocative for a school setting but that only she would have the audacity to do: sailing in a skirt so flimsy -- all too subject to the vicissitudes of the waves rocking the boat, and the ocean breeze that would surely blow her skirt skyward.

She was determined to put on an upskirt tease like no other, and its teasy nature would be determined by the random meanderings of the water and wind. Adding an element of unpredictability to the mix would keep those young eyeballs glued to her wispy frame.

Boys were sure to wank it for her all afternoon.

Her closet was filled with minidresses and short skirts, and Madame Cartier knew exactly the sexiness of her 'backside view' as she sashayed down the halls at school. Clingy material accentuated her tight derriere, directing the boys' unbroken gaze upward from her heels and legs to her hypnotically eye-catching ass.

But for this adventure, she would choose something that would catch the breeze.

The weather conditions this fateful weekend, 'on shore breezes' as they are called, or 'santana winds' occur only half a dozen times a year for the Angelinos. The desert winds howl down the canyons and passes, across the Los Angeles basin, then out to sea. No woman can avoid its seductive influence; some boys call it 'nipple watching season,' due to the stimulative effect it has and the clingy braless tops that so many ladies wear. Others call it 'MILF season,' as mature women seem to be the most affected.

It is during these weather conditions that grown women publicly wear their skankiest outfits: sheer lycra tops, open halters, shiny skintight leggings, or for the most desperate to have young male eyes fixated on them, flighty miniskirts over thong underwear. (Or maybe no underwear whatsoever.)

Time to break out the fire engine red lipstick, ladies.

In the city, the scorching pavement, heavy air, and intoxicating barometric pressure beckon the masses to flock to the beaches -- but even that provides little respite. Down a cliffside trail, just beyond San Onofre, the 'Boys Nude Beach,' as the locals call it, is swarming with glistening young males. Young iridescent bodies covered in nothing more than a thin layer of baby oil. Lying on their backs, like overturned starfish, their 'boyhoods' are turned upward, uncovered, and flaccid.

Meanwhile, Madame Cartier's daysailer was cruising just outside the swell of the breakers, wing on wing, in full view of Orange County beachgoers. Alone on her 'pocket cruiser' sloop, heading south from Dana Point, the leggy woman ditched her sweatpants and sweatshirt once she cleared the breakwater. Unashamed to admit it, Madame Cartier relishes the sensation of the sea breeze freely passing under her skirt whilst concurrently stimulating her hard-as-rock nipples -- covered only by a mesh top.

Her breasts jiggle, the chiffon skirt flies about, haphazardly, and her lady-parts moisten. The thought of a thousand pairs of young male eyes, soon to be glued to her slender body deepened her sexual response.

The sensation of the wind -- often in unpredictable gusts -- seductively brushes against her scantily clothed body, causing her to arch her back and stand on her tip toes, straddling the tiller. Briefly, she loses the point of sail -- direct down wind, then regains her composure.

"Vous aimez les taquineries?" (Do you like the tease, little boys?)

Madame Cartier always loves putting on a tease show for boys this age. "Their adolescent eyeballs start at my ankles and drift upward," she giggles. Craving an adventure and a dose of salty air running over her erogenous zones -- and nearing the demarcation line with the Boys Nude Beach, Madame Cartier removes her panties.

"This should get those young peckers good and hard."

The wardrobe change also provides Madame a more intense stimulation. "Oui, oui, oui!" Her hips rock forward and aft, rhythmically, and her stance widens. Wing on wing is a delicate point of sail; gusts overtake the boat, and the hemline of her wind-blown skirt mischievously rises and falls. Over and over again. Teasing the boys with what they cannot have, but only hope for, the French woman turns her head to shore, and bites her lower lip. In response, every young penis on the beach immediately bolts upward in submissive obedience.

"Oh, combien vous en voulez, n'est-ce pas?" (Oh, how much you boys want it, don't you?)

Stroke after stroke -- boys this age are too weak to resist. But then again, boys this age are always too weak to resist.

As the sailboat cruises past, again on her tip toes, through the open transom, every young male eye runs up and down her sexy legs, only catching momentary glimpses of her ass, rhythmically rocking forward and aft, when the wind randomly catches her skirt. "Voila!" she cried out, practically at the point of climaxing.

"Oui, oui, oui!"

It was one of those hot summer days when the unrelenting humidity motivated grown women to shed more clothing than was decent for them to be seen in public, and adolescent boys were treated to sensational spectacles they will never forget.