It was not until she entered the centre of the village and turned onto the square however that calamity struck. Eager to get home by now she took the corner far too fast and made a complete hash of the turn, veering wildly and coming into sickening contact with a parked automobile just outside the Cafe du Concorde and careering along its flank in a squeal of tortured metal. In shock Yvette recognised the car she had struck immediately. It was a large and expensive Mercedes, virtually brand new and the property, no less, of Madame Courvelle, the daunting matriarch of the Cafe du Concorde, parked in her usual place when she decided to sleep the night in her rooms above the cafe instead of driving home to her mansion. Panic and terror overcame Yvette and they led her to her second major blunder of the night. To have had an accident whilst under the influence of alcohol would mean the automatic loss of her driving licence, sullied as it was already by a sorry list of minor misdemeanours.. The butterflies low in my tummy fluttered around, dodging the electric sparks of arousal shooting around just below, and when I felt his hand on my bare thigh they all went crazy. “Ohh, god…” “Go ahead, play with it. You’ve been looking at it ever since we got on the train.” I started to object but realized it was foolish; he’d seen me looking, and every time I’d tried to look away my eyes had been inexorably drawn back to the unmistakable bulge of his big cock. I ran my fingers up and down the hard length of it and gently squeezed the softer bulge of his heavy testicles. My pussy was absolutely dripping, creamy-slick and feverishly hot. I desperately wanted to feel it, to stroke him, but… “My stop is coming up next; it’s only a few minutes away.” He smiled. “We already passed mine.” I looked up at him, and he continued, “I’ll need to cross over and ride back the other way, but I had a hunch it might be worth it.” His fingers slid slowly up the inside of my thigh, and as they did my.
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