The Girls of Villevieux Ch. 01 – Exhibitionist & Voyeur – Free Sex Story

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Everyone in Villevieux knew the Ledoux girls. Those shameless Ledoux girls, some might say, gossiping on their way back from church. Those little sluts, a bitter middle-aged woman might spit as she adjusted her screaming child in her arms while struggling to load the greengrocer’s tomatoes into her bag.

And if the Ledoux girls happened to hear her as they sailed by, radiant in their summer muslin, chances are they would merely smirk, perfect little smiles of contempt on their perfect lips.

I didn’t believe the stories, of course. The stories that Francoise, the younger daughter, would meet strangers on the coach to Ribelle and fuck them on the roadside. That she had sucked the parson’s cock in the vestry before service. Or that Margaux, the older daughter, had done…well, anything you could possibly imagine. She was the repository for the town’s filthiest thoughts, its most debased fantasies. I, Bruno Renault, was 18 when I left Villevieux and had known these girls all my life. Not well, of course–their father owned half the town, and my father was just the local inkeeper. I knew them–or thought I knew them–at least well enough to put all the stories down to the vicious gossip of provincial townspeople with too much time on their hands and neither virtue nor beauty of their own.

My father intended that I should apprentice at a merchant house in Marseilles, which I did. My masters were fair, and I enjoyed real freedom of movement after a youth spent stuffed in the backwater of Villevieux. The merchant house did a brisk trade with the East, and I traveled much in the Levant on business. I saw many women in that time and laid with not a few, from Naples to Aleppo; I’m accounted a handsome lad, and with a ready smile and ready money in your pocket, you need not die of desire. Many beauties there were in my travels, but I confess that I frequently thought of the Ledoux girls. There was something both fresh and provoking in them that I did not see in any other women, either in France or elsewhere.

I was 23 when I got the news of my father’s death upon my return to Marseille from a trip to Istanbul. He had been so healthy, so certain in all he did, that I had never really considered that this could happen. But happen it did, and I sadly begged a leave of absence from my masters to see to his affairs at home. This, of course, they kindly consented to, and I returned to Villevieux on the next morning’s coach. I was amused by the knowledge that I would seem very much a stranger, even to my old friends. My skin was burnt brown by the torrid sun of the East, and a certain strange accent had entered my French, picked up during many years on board vessels crewed by sailors from every corner of the earth. Indeed it proved to be so. When I climbed down from the coach in the village square, I was the object of the suspicious gazes of twenty pairs of eyes, many of which belonged to men and women I had known since my birth. I grinned to myself and thought about their surprise when they realized this swarthy stranger was just Bruno returning to settle his father’s affairs. As I lifted my bags down from the top of the carriage, I heard a strangely familiar voice behind me.

“Monsieur Renault! So the prodigal son has returned! I am so sorry to hear about your father’s passing.”

I turned quickly and was not a little shocked by the source of the voice. Margaux Ledoux stood before me, dressed in a filmy blue summer dress, her arm linked through that of a pretty, sharp-faced younger woman that I did not recognize. Margaux herself was just as I remembered her: slim, tall, with long legs and arms, firm small breasts, blonde hair, and eyes a peculiarly dark shade of blue. After blinking at her a moment or two–and, I am afraid, making my admiration of her form more obvious than I might wish–I recovered my wits enough to say, “I thank you for your kind words, Mademoiselle Ledoux. I must say, you look very well; indeed, I might believe that I had never left.”

“I cannot say the same about you; you are much changed, and I dare say it suits you well. And I am much changed as well, you see–I am Madame Delon, now.”

“Ah, so you are married now. Congratulations,” I said, with a slight bow.

“Married and widowed.” Seeing that I was preparing to offer some elaborate condolences, she quickly said, “It is not a subject I like to dwell upon. Please save your kind words.” She looked me up and down and, if her glance had less of coquettish desire than I might have hoped, it had quite a bit of interest. “Papa will want to see you and get the news of the world from you. And your conversation would be such a delightful respite from the usual local blockheads.” She turned to her friend. “Don’t you think, Cerisse?” The smaller woman, a smile playing on her red lips, looked me up and down as well and said that she thought I should do very well indeed. “Well then it is settled. When you have returned home and greeted your sweet mother, you will come to dine at our house this evening.”

“If you are certain I will not be intruding, I would be honored.”

I was to arrive at five to take a turn about the grounds with Margaux and her friend before dinner. They wanted some conversation with me to themselves, they said, before they had to turn me over to the bores at the dinner table. “For I am sure,” she said, “that you are full of adventures.” With those words and a curious smile, she and her friend departed.

I spent the rest of the day busy at the inn, greeting my mother and talking with the servants. My mother called me handsomer than ever; the cook called me dark as a Spaniard and vowed that I had been turned into a heathen. Though I was of course delighted to see my mother, I confess that my mind dwelt much more on my appointment with Margaux than on my conversation with my beloved parent.

I dressed hastily that afternoon, and, in my impatience, arrived at the Ledoux hall somewhat before the appointed time. The butler said that Madame Delon and Mademoiselle Terien were walking the grounds and I might find them if I searched. The house had belonged to a nobleman before the revolution and the grounds were massive, so I thought I might have trouble finding them; as it was a beautiful late-summer evening, though, I was happy enough to enjoy a walk through the garden on my own if that was all I got for my trouble.

After wandering through the garden for some little time, I heard voices quietly echoing from the cool shade of the garden’s artificial grotto and steered my course towards them. I was about to call out when I heard Cerisse saying, in her quick high voice, “You know what I think? I think that monsieur Renault is lying on his bed in his own childhood room at the inn thinking about you. I think that he’s stroking his pretty cock dreaming of you right now.” I could hardly call out after that; the thing would be too ridiculous. The gentlemanly thing to do would be to walk away and pretend I hadn’t heard anything. And yet I did not. In fact, I approached closer, careful to keep to the cover of the hedges that lined the grotto. By some maneuvering, I was eventually able to find a spot to the side of the girls, quite close, where I could both listen and observe with little danger of being observed myself.

The two women were stretched out next to each other in the soft deep grass of the grotto. Cerisse was idly running a long stem of grass up and down her friend’s bare pale arm. Margaux laughed, low and rich, at Cerisse’s words. “A naughty little slut you are. Whatever gave you that idea?”

“I saw him looking at you. Frankly, he stared, and not just at your face. If ever a man wanted a woman, he wants you.”

“Do you think so, you saucy thing? Well then, I wish he were here, putting that cock to some use. I haven’t been fucked in ages.”

“Bitch!” cried Cerisse playfully. “Haven’t I been giving you satisfaction?”

“You have a beautiful tongue, my Love, but you have no cock.”

“So you want him to spread your legs, do you?”

“God, I wish someone would.”

I saw that Cerisse had rolled over and now lay before Margaux. She grinned wickedly and pushed Margaux’s dress slowly up to her knees as she continued talking. “Shall he take your knees in those big strong hands and push your knees apart? Shall he lift up your dress, just like this?” She pulled the hem of the dress higher, exposing Margaux’s long, pale thighs.

Margaux’s voice was quieter now but more intense. “Yes. Yes he should.”

“I believe you’d open your naughly little cunt right up for him, wouldn’t you? You’d let him just grab you and take you.”

“Fuck, yes I would.”

Cerisse lifted the dress up higher still until, to my delight, she revealed Margaux’s Pussy, all soft and pink and rimmed with a light fuzz of blonde. She put one slim finger on those beautiful lips and slowly ran it up and down. “Shall he run his big cock up and down your slutty little Pussy? Shall he tease you?” She pushed one finger very slowly and gently into Margaux’s entrance just up to the first knuckle, then quickly removed it. She continued teasing, idly running her finger up and down those sensitive pink lips. “Shall he rub his hard cock all over your dirty little cunt before he fucks you?”

Margaux moaned quietly and spoke fast, “Yes, of course he should. Fuck.”

Cerisse pushed the finger in fully now and Margaux moaned louder. “Shall he push in all the way now? I know that he’s impatient. He’s been wanting to fuck you his whole life, I bet. The pretty rich bitch up on the hill. And now he has you, powerless below him. He’s not going to be gentle.” She slid another slim finger into Margaux’s Pussy, moving them in and out, in and out, hypnotizingly, gaining speed as she went. “Do you want him to be gentle? Or do you want him to fuck you hard? Do you want him to fuck you hard like the naughty slut you are?”

Margaux’s back was arched, her eyes closed, her breaths coming quickly now. “Yes. Fuck yes. Fuck me like a slut. God, he should fuck me hard.”

Cerisse leaned in closer, her red lips and sharp little white teeth only inches from Margaux’s soaking cunt now. “And while he’s pumping that fat cock into your pretty Pussy, shall your Cerisse join in as well? Shall she help you out?”

Margaux’s voice was low and urgent. “God yes, my Love, please.”

“Please what?”

“Lick my cunt. Please. Please. Lick me while he fucks me and make me come like the whore I am.”

“Your Cerisse will be only too happy to oblige.” She lowered her face now, her little pink tongue darting out and flicking Margaux’s clitoris. She kept up the rhythm with her hand, pumping her slim strong fingers into Margaux’s wet cunt, as she began to lash that swollen clitoris with her tongue. Margaux moaned loudly, pulling Cerisse’s head down further into her, and Cerisse obliged gladly. She took Margaux’s clitoris fully into her mouth now, kissing it with wet lips, sucking it in, her cheeks puckering as she applied suction.

Margaux began to jerk, whimpering, her voice higher now, calling out almost in anguish, “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop, fuck me.” Cerisse replied by redoubling the motion of her fingers, slamming them in hard now, the muscles in her forearm tensing and standing out. And then Margaux reached her climax, her hips jerking and spasming, her long lovely bare legs wrapping around Cerisse’s head and clenching until I thought the poor girl would suffocate. And yet what a way to die, I thought admiringly, as Margaux finally relaxed, her body still shaking slightly.

Margaux pulled Cerisse up to her and kissed her deeply now, then sat up abruptly. “Lord, he’s probably here already. How long have we been here? We must get back to the house; he may be wandering the gardens already.”

“And if he is?” asked Cerisse, moaning a bit herself as her lips greedily clung to Margaux’s. “I thought you wanted him to find you. I need you now. Or him. Something. God I’m Hot.”

Margaux disengaged her lips from Cerisse’s “Come now, we must play the demure maids for a while yet.”

“You’re just trying to avoid getting me off, aren’t you? You selfish bitch.” Cerisse’s voice wasn’t quite playful anymore.

“I’ll get you off tonight, don’t you worry. Keep that Pussy wet for me all evening and I’ll make it worth your while.”

Cerisse huffed in frustration but eventually was prevailed upon to arise and dust herself off. I realized with a shock that I had much overstayed my time and was in no small danger of being caught. I slid down the hill into which the grotto was built on my stomach and, keeping low and out of sight, ran to the edge of the woods that bordered the garden. I took a while to arrange myself as well as I could; I had an embarrassing grass stain on my shirt that could not be hidden, but the more pressing thing, literally and figuratively, was my swollen cock. I was rigid with desire, and I knew that if someone came upon me at the moment my tight trousers would make hiding it quite impossible. I concentrated hard, banishing from my mind with great discipline the scene I had just witnessed, and eventually my cock subsided to its normal proportions. I walked slowly back towards the house, giving the girls time to walk back before I arrived.

Despite my slow pace, I came upon the girls before they reached the house and had no choice but to hail them.

“Monsieur Renault!” cried Cerisse, her dark eyes twinkling. “We have been looking all over for you.”

“And I you, Madame. As I was not able to give myself the pleasure of your beauty, I have had to satisfy myself with the beauty of these lovely grounds, on which I have been walking an hour or more.”

Margaux smiled a subtle, questioning smile. “It seems as if your walk has been a strenuous one. I perceive, sir, that you are quite dusty and somewhat soiled.”

I must have blushed, then, though I am not an easy man to shame. I knew very well that she suspected just what I had seen. I smiled back, though, and said, “I am very clumsy, you see. I fell flat on my face, down there by the grotto. The fall gave me such a shock that I stayed there for some minutes. Your own walk must have been strenuous as well, Madame. I perceive that you are quite flushed. The sun must have been quite hard on you today–you are much more flushed than your friend.”

Margaux did not blush, but Cerisse did giggle. Margaux shot her a nasty glance, but she did it with a smile of her own. “It seems, then, that we all might need some time to compose ourselves before dinner. I will instruct the footman to bring a spare shirt for you, and we will retire briefly to arrange ourselves.” And so we headed back to the house, walking side by side into what I knew would prove to be a very interesting summer evening.

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