Marion the Divine

Marion smiled at the server as he placed her cappuccino atop the glass table, clinking on impact. Below the glass: a crystal-clear view of her thighs skimming the edge of her black velvet mini dress. Her sheer-black stockings didn’t hide the freckles that carried up toward her lacy black panties. She could feel the cool Paris air reach beyond the fibers, tickling the outer lips of her pussy. The breeze whispered against her, teasing her pubic hair, while she watched the waiter release the cup. 

"Merci.” Marion was shy in her delivery. She did not in fact live on Rue de Navarin. She wasn't accustomed to midday people watching. Her regular life did not have such quiet. A temporary stay. A find yourself trip. A getaway from the noise back home. She’d worked at the same employer for the last 5 years, and the toll from the monotony was getting to her. But right now, she was an anonymous woman in Paris writing in her notebook at a local cafe, people watching and practicing her French with gorgeous waiters. 

Marion looked beyond the outdoor seating of the cafe and into the slow-paced community surrounding her afternoon sips. She silently prayed to the universe that she would end up here or some version of here soon, permanently living on her own calm terms, even though she felt particularly chilly at that moment, and she had no sweater or cardigan to be found, leaving it behind at the hotel in an act of defiance.

Cardigans represented more than covered limbs to Marion. In width and height, Marion was very aware of the space she occupied. Cardigans were her security blanket since she was a kid; covering flesh and hiding her shape from the world so no one could get too close. 

And she wasn’t doing it anymore. She mentally couldn’t. She could, however, sit at this cafe and drink her cappuccino and feel fucking okay for once — her brain wrestled with her. She was determined to just exist and not worry what the world thought of her body. 

"Would you like some bread or a pastry with your beverage?" The waiter appeared out of nowhere at her side. "We get our baked goods fresh from an independent merchant down the street. It's quite good." 

"Oh, um. No, thank you. I appreciate it, though." The waiter smiled and began tending to his other tables. Marion checked her lipstick in the reflection on her phone. Her reddish hair and freckles dimly stared back at her from beyond the blank screen. Even though she was often stressed about the plumpness of her body, she quite enjoyed the features on her face. Her cheeks blushed red, her nose crinkled at times, her bangs fell into her green eyes — all accentuated by the winter cools she frequented. Berry lips and black dresses, her signature. 

Across the street from the cafe was a restaurant that had just finished setting up for service. A server from the restaurant paused for a moment to look down the narrow street. Marion followed his gaze. A tall woman wearing a black coat, oval sunglasses, and low-chunky heels sauntered toward the restaurant. Marion studied her. The way her feet clopped on the ground was imperfect and yet so very elegant. Clip-clop-clip-clop. Her footsteps sent a signal to those in her view.

The woman made her way to the restaurant and sat at one of the open outdoor tables, her white blonde hair coming loose from being tucked into the back of her coat as she rested lightly across the opposite chair. Everything felt effortless from the ribbed black dress that hugged her voluminous hips to the deep red lipstick applied without considering a mirror. Her eyebrows stood out even from Marion’s distant position. They were dark, much darker than her bordering-on silver hair that was now tucked behind each ear, resting right below her shoulders. The short-sleeved ribbing moved with each delicate motion of her arms — both bare except a rose and stem line tattoo that faced front on her right forearm. She didn’t even try to catch the attention of the servers — they were already at her table placing down utensils, water, and a filled wine glass. Marion tried to look at the rest of the scenery, the flowers, the petite store fronts, the people passing through. But she couldn’t. The woman was too fascinating.

Marion took another sip of her cappuccino and flipped the page in her notebook to suddenly start sketching lips—so many lips that the page looked like it had been kissed over and over. She felt silly — to be drawing something so elementary when anyone who has ever sat at a French cafe should be writing sensual poems to one of their many lovers. Marion was too careful, too concerned. Was it even worth being in Paris if she was just going to sit at a cafe and watch the world go by? 

Suddenly, Marion’s hand swayed and knocked her pen to the ground. The woman across the street took notice as Marion slowly shimmied down to rescue the pen. She gazed at Marion with an endearing smirk. As Marion returned upright, she locked eyes with the woman across the narrow street. 

The woman turned to the waiter and whispered something in his ear. Marion felt warm, silly again, self-conscious. The waiter walked across the street toward Marion, who gripped the crystal-clear table — her thighs still clearly on display.

“Madame would like for you to join her. She has offered to pay for your drink and relocation.” Marion, stunned, answered quietly. “Oui . . . Yes, I will be right there.” The waiter placed euros down on the table and softly gathered Marion’s coat. She turned and waved to her hot waiter — she’d remember him fondly — and followed her new waiter.

On the other side of the street, Marion stood in front of the table unsure of what to do. The woman stared at her and said, “So, what brings you to Paris?” The waiter pulled out a seat and gestured for Marion to sit. Marion nodded and accepted the seat. The woman smelled sweet, like pastries fresh out of an oven. 

“I needed a change in scenery.”

“No, that’s not it,” the woman declared. “You’re looking for more out of your life.” Marion blushed a little and noticed the tattoo that lived on the inside of the woman's wrist as she sipped her wine. An outline of a heart. Marion felt bold. “Why did you ask me to join you?"

The woman didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she stared at Marion for what felt like hours, but could have only been 30 seconds — her eyes roaming Marion’s soft face and black velvet dress. “Have you found what you’re looking for here in Paris?" Marion responded: “I’m not entirely sure what I’m looking for, if I’m honest. But you still didn't answer my question." 

A red wine appeared in front of Marion, “I didn’t order this.”

“It’s from me," said the woman. "It's a pity to sit at a café in Paris and not drink wine, non?” The woman’s hand reached to Marion’s and grazed the top of her palm — her fingers tapping lightly. Marion felt the electricity glide from the woman's hand to hers. She shivered in her dress, and her thighs pressed together. Marion stared at the woman across the table and smiled. “You’re very beautiful. Are you from here?”

“Thank you. I’m just a woman who lives around the corner. You’re my special guest. I should be asking you the questions.” 

Marion blushed bright. It was difficult for her to control. 

"So tell me about you, Red." 

"Well, I'm Marion. I am not from here, but I assume you're not either? Based on your non-French sounding accent? I’m guessing you’re from the east coast somewhere." The woman smiled and nodded. Marion continued, "I work in publishing back home, um, I haven't had a relationship in years but that's fine. It's not something I'm interested in right now." 

"Haven't found the right guy?"

"Ahhhh no. More like, I haven't figured out exactly what I'm looking for in a partner. I identify more queer, I would say. But truly I'm attracted to all types of people. Men are great, I like men. The waiter across the street is the sexiest man I've seen since I got here. But I know I need to concentrate on myself for a bit." 

"That is probably the most emotionally mature way to approach dating I've ever heard." 

"Oh yeah?" 

"Yeah. You're open to what comes next without expectation," said the woman. 

"I need to be comfortable with myself before I am comfortable with others. Does that make sense?" Marion sipped the wine she didn't order. 

The woman stared at Marion for a moment, twisting the stem of her wine glass, then leaned slightly across the table. 

"When I saw you from across the street," she whispered, ". . . I saw a divine woman with round breasts and piquant lips who knows she makes groins stiffen and vulvas wet by the way she wiggles into her seat. You're quite the sight, Marion."

Marion pursed her lips and grinned. "I'm aware of how I move through the world."

The woman leaned again into Marion with a deeply fearless look in her eye: “I want to know the last time you’ve had an orgasm explode across your body so intensely that it felt like the sky opened up all around you.” She waited and watched Marion’s pupils widen. The pause felt heavy. Marion didn't answer. 

“You’re here in Paris away from everyone else. This is the time to shake things up, flirt with people, write and drink and eat bread at breakfast.”

“I haven’t even had a croissant while I’ve been here. I don’t typically eat bread, but I really should change that,” Marion replied.

”You don’t eat bread? Why?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I do. I don’t want to gain weight.”

The woman stared at her and said, “Stress and sadness lead to an unhappy life. Bread does not.” She got up. “We’re going to fix this. Drink your wine, you're coming with me.”

Marion was stunned, “Wait, where are we going?”

“We’re going to get you the best bread in Paris.”

The woman pulled Marion away from her seat, waving to the waiters and gesturing that she would be back to continue drinking wine. The pair briskly traipsed the cobblestone street to a small enclave that was barely noticeable. Inside, a courtyard filled with flowers reached up toward the sky, eclipsed by the triangular, architectural peaks. Marion tried to note each detail as the woman, now arm-in-arm with her, led her to a wooden staircase that swirled three times before reaching a white door with an amber knob. 

Marion declared her latest Parisian fact, "The waiter from the cafe . . . where you spotted me . . . I think he mentioned this place." 

"Yes. It's a well-known little spot in the area. Beyond this door holds the secret to a happy life; the softest, the crustiest, the sweetest breads fitting a French boulangerie. All the restaurants and cafes on the street vie for their morning bakes." The woman held Marion's hand in hers, and circled her enclosed palm with the tip of her thumb as their eyes locked inches away from the white door. "Bread for the divine." 

A thrilling jolt sparked across Marion's stomach, meeting at her navel from under her velvet dress. This was not simply a kind, beautiful, voluptuous woman doing a good deed for a fellow non-French person in the area. She was flirting with Marion . . . hard. Marion did not always pick up on the crushes or seductive tactics of previous suitors. She had spent so much of her time and life feeling as though she was not good enough, beautiful enough, thin enough, interesting enough for others to find her attractive. And now, somehow, she was standing in front of a French bakery holding hands with a gorgeous woman who wanted to feed her bread. Stay in the moment, she told herself. This is really happening to you.

The woman twisted the amber knob with her free hand and pulled Marion past the glass cases of auburn pain au raisin, sky high baguettes, viennoiseries, and of course, croissants. The bakers and shopkeepers cried out, "Bonjour, Violet!" "Ah, Violet!" "Vio, mon amour." Marion was careful not to hit anything while being hauled across the wooden floor, her loafers crunching flour and semolina as her gaze traced the jarred madeleines on the counter.

They got to the other side of the petit boulangerie with a sudden stop. Marion caught her breath and pressed close to the woman. "Violet. Lovely to meet you." The woman smiled. "Can I show you something else, Marion?" They stared into each other's eyes, their outfits interlocking. Violet grabbed a freshly baked baguette from a corner basket. "Je paierai plus tard!" she cried to the room. The bakers kept baking, the shopkeepers kept packaging orders, and the patrons didn't bother to look up. Violet, still holding Marion's hand, moved towards a small door behind the back counter — a similar white with an amber knob. When she opened the door, a wooden spiral staircase beckoned the women to climb five coils to the top.

Violet pulled out a square-looking key from her black coat — it was different from the jagged edged keys Marion was used to — and fit it into the keyhole of the door at the top of the steps. She entered, Marion next, into an apartment where a large black and white checkered rug greeted the entrance and carried guests through a small, curated living room space filled with knick knacks and art books, toward the kitchen with a convex shape and two windows that peered into a courtyard and other apartments. Violet placed the baguette down on the circular kitchen table and then her coat on the back of one of the slim garden-esque chairs that surrounded it, exposing the shape of her full, spherical ass pressing against the confines of the ribbed dress. "Have a seat, Marion. Can I get you anything?" 

Marion stepped carefully through the apartment, taking in the art on the walls — there were ink drawings of naked women, abstract acrylics, prints all in different framed formations. "I'm good, just taking it all in." 

"You still haven't answered my question from the restaurant."

Marion knew what she was talking about but played coy, "Oh?"

"When was the last time you had an incredible orgasm?”

Marion replied, "I'll answer if you tell me how you found a beautiful apartment above a bakery in Paris." 

"I came here a few years ago from New York, trying to find something new with my life. You were right about me being from the east coast,” said Violet. “I discovered the bakery downstairs on a whim, and visited every morning until I had to leave. Information was exchanged, jobs were quit, and I saw an opportunity to have a whole different life when the apartment opened up."

"That's it?" Marion gasped. 

Violet countered. "Well, that and I had a lavish affair with one of the bakers at the time . . . He and his wife. We keep in touch." 

Marion looked down at her loafers, then back up at Violet. Be bold, Marion. "I can't remember the last earth-shattering orgasm that another person had a hand in giving me. But I can tell you that I travel with a suction cup dildo and vibrator, and late last night in my hotel room . . . I can't believe I'm saying this . . . I stuck it to the floor and rode it in front of the window. Completely nude. My belly hung down, my tits bounced, and a man in an adjacent apartment spotted me, and began jerking off just below the sill." 

The air became electric and the two women circled each other, moving closer and closer until the velvet and the ribbing pushed together. Violet kissed Marion hard, and Marion returned the energy by tracing Violet’s hips landing on her round and bouncy ass. Her fingers snapped the sides of Violet's thong, then curled down to lift and separate each cheek. The two pulled away briefly to discover lipstick tracks across each others mouths — a red, erotic symphony of lust. 

Marion's hands found their way underneath Violet’s ribbed dress, grabbing her flesh, skin on skin, adding a light spank to each handful. Violet let out a subtle gasp and moan as the two continuously pressed and kissed and pressed and kissed until she lifted Marion's velvet dress over her head to find her matching black lace bra and panty set. 

"You're delicious," uttered Violet, removing each of Marion's breasts from the bra cups, lowering her mouth to circle the bare nipples placed before her. Marion's left nipple piercing perked up and out when met with Violet's wet mouth. She felt Violet's knee gently pressing into her wet panties that had been damp since her first sip of wine. 

Violet leaned back from Marion's mouth, removing her knee from the wet spot saturating Marion's pussy. With a sudden twist, Violet moved Marion to face the curtainless windows, then bent her over the table so her breasts hung out of each cup and her ass stood promptly up in the air. She took a moment, running her fingers down the inner flesh of Marion's ass cheeks, hooking on to the fabric of her panties and pulling down to reveal a soft, plump peach ready to be devoured. 

Marion stared forward with her hands gripping the round table. Marion let out a pleasurable gasp when she felt Violet's tongue begin to rim her ass. Panties were off, cheeks were spread, tits now grazing the cold marble. She thought of the lipstick stain on her face, noting where it might live later now that her ass was being thoroughly eaten out. She spread her legs on Violet's command, feeling her thumb move inside to reach her g-spot and her palm orbiting her clit. 

"Oh fuck . . . oh fuck . . . oh fuckkkkkk," Marion let out a quiet moan, aware that she was only a few floors above a working French bakery. She felt a whhhhaaaappppp on her ass cheek from Violet's free hand.

"Oh, fuck that's hot." Marion turned to see Violet's face. 

Violet replied, "You can be louder than that, can't you?" 

Violet stood up, gently bringing Marion up with her as well. She held her tightly, pulling her red hair to one side. "I'll be right back." Marion felt Violet's release, her skin pricked from the cold air through the windows. She was bottomless, bare, full bush and belly visible in the Paris light. She rested her bare feet on the black and white checkered rug in front of the couch, feeling erotic and in the moment. A few minutes later, Violet opened up the door to what Marion assumed was her bedroom to reveal herself again. There stood a gorgeous, blonde femme with a pale blue bra and panty set, sporting a sturdy yet modest leather harness with a hefty-thick, cyan blue strap-on dildo jutting out from from her pubic area. In her hands, she held a metal butt plug and lube. 

Marion was too turned on to say anything. She wanted to be adored, to be fucked, to know she deserved pleasure. Her feet lifted off the black and white rug to move towards Violet; the dildo poking between her legs. "Fuck me by the window." Violet didn't hesitate. She turned Marion toward the light and bent her over like before, except now Marion's upper body fit within the frame of the window. Her breasts were pushed together by her arms and held up by her elbows resting on the window sill. Violet felt Marion's ass, and deeming it ready for penetration, teased the metal and lube on precipice of Marion's anal canal. Marion let out a moan and pushed back to allow the spade-shaped plug to enter her. 

"Good girl," Violet whispered, adding an upward slap across Marion's cheek. "Now, you're going to take even more. Are you ready?" 

"Yes, give it to me . . . but go in easy. You'll know when I want more."

"Absolutely." And with that, Violet used firm but controlled pressure to help guide the meaty, blue dildo into Marion's pussy — feeling the pressure from the plug as she moved forward. "Fuck . . .  oh my god," Marion yelped feeling the dildo go beyond her entrance and certifiably into her guts. She felt like she could see herself from the outside looking in — head cocked back, arms stretched out, the cold moving against her skin as Violet moved in-out-in-out cautiously, applying more lube when needed. 

The thrusts became harder, the pacing got faster, and the butt plug moved along with Violet's force. Wetness ran down Marion's spread legs and onto the floor, letting out a squish with each connected force. The pleasure was so much that Marion bent her body down to rest her chest on the window sill, leaving her hands free to spread her ass. 

"I want you to fuck me in the ass." Violet grinned at the command, pausing mid-stroke to bring her legs together and manage the pull out easier. The dildo fell out of Marion, and her body buckled with ease. She felt Violet's hand wiggle the anal plug out of her ass, giving the outside muscles a moment before being met with the bulky blue cock hanging between Violet's legs and Marion's cheeks. Violet pressed in, adding lubricant to the edges for easier insertion. Marion grasped on to each cheek with her hands, watching a cloud float through the sky as the dildo pushed in inch-by-inch. 

Violet watched as her massive cock disappeared between those two perfect cheeks. She was proud of the red spanks she added, and the care she took to make sure Marion's pleasures were being met with the utmost attention. Her hips moved slowly at first, getting into Marion's rhythm, allowing her to control the speed, depth, motion — taking moments to simply stand and let her bounce back and forth. Violet moved Marion's hands away from the spread and toward her clit. 

"Touch yourself. I want you to come all over me." Marion took the order and circled her clit with her right hand, holding Violet's leg with her left. "Pound me, hard. I want to cum." Marion's voice was much louder than before, motioning Violet to thrust faster, harder, deeper into her ass. Her hips and Marion's ass thrust together beautifully with a passionate force. 

Marion felt herself about to burst, so she slowed the pacing of her fingers to long, drawn out circular motions. Her tits felt heavy and swollen as she stared out the window to let out a long moan. She gushed from her pussy as her ass clenched and climaxed, engulfing the dildo and pulling it more inside. Her arms held the sill as the orgasm moved from her ass to her clit and exploded at her navel. She shivered and held tightly to the sides of the window, hoisting her body to a standing position with Violet's arm holding her midsection for support. Marion turned to face her and saw the satisfying look in Violet's eyes. 

"Well, that's a way to get me to come back to Paris," Marion quipped. 

Violet kissed her, undoing the harness to drop with a thudddd on the floor. She wrapped her arms around Marion's bare ass and back, holding her close and kissing her face on each side of her face and the top of her nose.

"And . . . you haven't even tried the bread yet." 

The women laughed as they ripped into the baguette that was in fact, better than Marion could have dreamed, simply divine.