I gracefully parted my long legs, raising my knees and then, overcome with lust, thrust two, then three fingers into my throbbing cunt, moaning with pleasure and writhing in ecstasy on the rumpled sheets.
Flowing with the sensations of my swollen breasts and clitoris, sexy bottom rubbing against cool white linen and cunt filled with mobile, questing fingers I climaxed with a rush of passion and warm, liquid honey which spilled forth onto my soft inner thighs.
Relaxing my body I allowed my breathing to become regular and even, smiling inwardly as I anticipated my next sexual encounter. 'I wonder who the lucky man will be?' I whispered to myself, little knowing how quickly I was to find out…
Later that day, lessons at an end, I felt compelled by the burgeoning freshness of the warm spring afternoon to explore the extensive gardens belonging to Madame Dupont's Academy for Young Ladies.
These gardens, which were beautifully maintained by an upright German gentleman of advanced years by the name of Franzmann, ran right down to a small private beach at the water's edge where we young ladies were frequently to be found in the warm weather, unbeknown to the stern Madame Dupont, dipping our bare toes in the clear water and giggling delightedly as the little waves splashed our legs.
A small wooden pier jutted out into the lake, to which was tied a gaily painted rowing boat belonging to Madame Dupont's son, Michel, whom none of us had met because of his being away at school, but who was the subject of a great deal of girlish speculation and more than a few romantic daydreams.
On this particular afternoon, there being a hint of a chill in the air, I made my way to the tall, heated glasshouse which lay at the very heart of the garden and which contained Madame Dupont's vast collection of exquisite orchids from all over the world. This glasshouse was one of the largest and most beautiful I'd seen, its clear panes glinting like a million diamonds in the sunlight, and its interior as green and scented as a tropical paradise.
Madame Dupont was often to be found in her moments off, aproned and with sleeves rolled up, a gentle expression softening her normally stern features, tenderly ministering to one delicate bloom or another, a tiny pair of scissors kept expressly for the purpose in her hand and a plant spray containing the finest spring water money could buy at her feet.
Franzmann, who shared Madame Dupont's love of orchids, carried out the more menial tasks involved in their cultivation, digging and planting alongside the great lady as she glided majestically from row to row, lovingly sniffing a scented bloom here and snipping away a dead leaf there.
It had been intimated amongst us girls that Franzmann who, to the best of our knowledge, was unmarried, shared more with Madame than a passion for exotic flowers. It was said that they shared pleasures of a far more intimate nature in each other's company, a fact borne out by my friend and fellow student Lisa who, when strolling through the gardens one balmy evening, heard the sounds of mature adult voices speaking in hushed, low tones, followed by much joyful chuckling and the rustling of headmistressy bombazine.
Swiftly crouching down in order to ascertain the true nature of what she was witnessing, Lisa clearly heard the voice of our revered Madame, exclaiming to her obviously male assailant: 'Franz, you naughty boy, I wish you'd stop tickling and find the time to free me from these dastardly stays. A moment longer in their confines and I swear I'll explode!'
There followed a quantity of male and female giggling, a hearty slap of manly hand against ample female flesh and a pink, whalebone corset sailed through the air and landed at Lisa's feet, whereupon she stifled the screams of laughter which threatened to divulge her presence and ran swiftly back to the school in order to regale the rest of us with the story of her horticultural experience, adding a great deal of speculative and lascivious detail for good measure!
I happened to know that on this particular afternoon Madame Dupont was engaged in marking French essays in her study, so I was a little surprised to hear the sound of a melodic tune being hummed within the sultry, scented depths of the glasshouse. I guessed the sweet music did not issue from the lips of the straight-backed, teutonic Franzmann, but it was clearly of male origin. Who could it possibly be?
Rounding a corner I chanced upon a glorious sight, the like of which I'd never before experienced, and haven't since. There, poised among the foliage and the delicately scented blooms was the most delicious male arse I'd ever had the pleasure to observe, clothed in charcoal-grey serge which clung provocatively to the tightly muscled masculine contours, leaving very little to my fevered female imagination.
Suddenly the whistling stopped and the young man to whom the arse belonged straightened and turned towards me with an amused and enquiring look.
'Bonjour, Mademoiselle,' he said, gazing levelly at me with eyes of melting chocolate. 'May I be of some assistance to you?'
'I'm sure I can think of a little something you can do for me, monsieur,' I murmured to myself, smiling.
'Pardon, Mademoiselle?'
'I said, I'm sure there's nothing you can do for me, monsieur. I'm merely out for a relaxing stroll before supper, and the glasshouse is one of my favourite destinations. By the way, my name is Rosie D'Argosse and I am a pupil at Madame Dupont's Academy for Young Ladies.'
'And I, Mademoiselle Rosie, am Michel Dupont, Madame Dupont's devoted son. I arrived here this afternoon en vacance from my college in Paris. I, too, had it in mind to explore the grounds before going to meet some friends in town this evening. The gardens are very beautiful, non? Maman and her friend, Herr Franzmann, like nothing better than to spend time together here, tending the flowers, and other things I have no doubt…'
His eyes met mine and a ghost of a smile played about his lips as he said this but then, swiftly changing the subject, he offered to introduce me to some of his favourite varieties of orchid.
Taking my slim arm in his, rather solicitously I thought, gleefully, he proceeded to lead me towards the very centre of the glasshouse, stopping now and then on the way to show me a particular variety or other which caught his eye.
As we drew closer to the very heart of this fragrant heaven, the atmosphere appeared to become warmer and more humid, and the foliage was so thick and luxuriant that a great deal of the light from outside was obscured, creating a lush green glow, heady with the scent of some of the rarest and most costly blooms to be found anywhere on earth.
By now quite drunk from this intoxicating place, and more than ever aware of Michel's arm, which had been lowered at some point during our stroll and was now circling my waist, I was surprised and delighted when we came upon a little pool of crystal-clear water, surrounded by smooth, flat stones and with a small fountain playing at its centre.
'How utterly enchanting,' I whispered, turning to Michel with sparkling eyes.
'But not half as enchanting as you, Rosie. A girl with your beauty and sensitivity deserves an orchid which will echo those qualities, which is why I've brought you here…' With that, he reached out and plucked a deliriously scented bloom from a nearly plant, its blush-pink petals as heavy and as sweet as honey.
Carefully tucking the flower behind my ear, he gently stroked my cheek whilst gazing longingly into my blue eyes.
Now I'd heard that the French are a romantic race, but never before had I been seduced in so romantic a manner. By now fully prepared to accept my fate at the hands (and cock, I hoped!) of this handsome young Frenchman, I smiled saucily up at him, snaked my arms around his neck and pulled his face to within an inch of my own.
Closing my eyes, I slowly extended my little pink tongue and licked Michel's lips. After a second or two, Michel found my tongue with his own and we stood, lips not touching, tongues lasciviously snaking around each other. Then, lunging towards me, Michel pressed his lips against mine, thrusting his tongue into my mouth and there commenced the most delicious French kiss I'd ever experienced. All the more appropriate, of course, since it was delivered by a Frenchman!