Missing Monique ~ A short Story

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In hindsight I can’t really say anything special had ever happened to me until I met Monique. Or Nique. But I am jumping ahead as she only used to call herself that when we were, well, fucking. Damn. Now you know we were lovers and I have taken all the anticipation out of this tale. But, you’ll have to wait to learn how we loved. It was ten years ago and I still get off on the memories from that time. Particularly when I’m in the shower, stroking my dick. The spurting hot water from the head pummels my knob and I can never hold back as I recall that first time I laid eyes on her.

I was teaching music at an all boys comprehensive in Lincoln. It was my second teaching job and I’d learned to handle the self-centered youngsters in my class. Phones were the must have item. As soon as they entered my studio I shut all their mobiles away in the cupboard. It worked. I realised music was a subject that could bring out the best in them. However, French lessons were not.

Monique had only been teaching at the school for a few days when I walked past her lesson and, peeping through the window, beheld a raucous scene. The kids of 4B looked as if they were actually from a David Attenborough documentary about marmoset monkeys and poor Miss Leblanc seemed to be losing the will to live. There was nothing for it, I had to intervene.

Striding into the room I grabbed Edwards by the ear and removed him.

“Get down to the deputies office this minute. Tell him I sent you.” Our faces close as my splattering spittle let him know there was no way he was going to wriggle out of this.

Robbed of their ringleader, the other monkeys climbed back onto their seats. All except Davis who had never left his chair. On further examination I realised he was sketching a rather striking picture of the new French teacher. I picked it up, admiring his skill, and compared his sketch to the young woman at the front of the class. The French teacher was indeed beautiful. Slightly plump and very sassy looking. Long straight dark hair fell past her shoulders and her 1980’s style – shoulder pads – suit showed off her voluptuousness perfectly.

“Merci beaucoup. Mr eh…” She said in that sexy accent the French all seem to use.

“Mr Williams. Eric Williams. Eric.” I replied. “And you are?”

She told me her full name, shaking my hand. The moment her fingers wrapped around mine I felt electrified and call it intuition or what you will, I knew that very soon those soft finger tips would be caressing my balls. And soon turned out to be just two weeks later.

I was packing up instruments in the music room when Monique let herself in. I had often walked past her class, just to check all was OK, but my solo intervention seemed to have settled the scoundrels. I’d also thought about her while soaping myself in the shower of my lonely flat. Not having had a steady girlfriend for over a year, I was ever ready to say the least. But being a master of restraint I hadn’t pounced on her the afternoon she came over to thank me for my help with her classroom of apes. Instead, I waited until that night when I walked her home after sharing a pizza and two bottles of wine at Bella Itatlia in the high street.

She responded to my ardent kiss without hesitation. Grabbing my crotch with one hand and unlocking her door with the other. Consequently we fell through onto her living floor and were both naked within a minute. Not by chance, I always kept a condom in my jacket pocket. The scene reeked of urgency so I slipped it on my cock and was about to enter her sopping cunt when she spun round and presented her beautifully rounded arse, doggy-style. Grabbing some lube from the coffee table drawer and handing it to me, she made it clear what was wanted. Still on her knees.

I didn’t need telling twice. I coated her arsehole with a liberal amount of moisture and then slowly sank my dick. As I plunged ever deeper, Monique wailed,

“Oui, oui big boy! Nique’s a baaad girl. Take my butt hole, maintenant!”

After that I can’t say it took long for me to fill the rubber and fall back on the floor. Immediately she straddled my face and my tongue sought out her clit as yet more glorified sounds came from her rosebud mouth. It was only then that we noticed the draught. The front door was still wide open.

We ended the evening by spooning comfortably in bed. I didn’t go back to my flat to sleep for three months. Being with her felt so right. Her arse always ready for me. I’d never met a girl like her. I’d heard that French birds were forward but assumed that was a stereotypical description, but it certainly applied to Monique.

One afternoon I had to travel to Nottingham to pick up some musical equipment and came across an adult store. I couldn’t resist popping in. The range of products had certainly expanded since I last ventured into one about eight years earlier. They now had the most amazing silicone sex toys. As soon as I spied them I was struck by an irresistible idea. I handed over a couple of notes in return for a purple butt plug and an impressively large red dildo.

That weekend I got them out to show Nique. Immediately we began horsing around with the toys. Within a short time she had the anal sextoy in her arse, the dildo in her cunt and me in her mouth. As I intruded deep into her warm moist hole she pumped her cunt with the dildo and we both exploded with pleasure simultaneously.

Occasionally we would alternate and I actually got to fuck her. My cock pulsed against the plug in her butt and Monique relished in being full to the brim.

To be honest I wished we could have lasted forever. But unfortunately, Monique had been posted to England as part of her Masters degree, and after three months had no choice but to return to the Dordogne.

We swore undying love for each other and I was to visit in the summer. But life is strange and often gets in the way of promises made. Ten years slipped away and regretfully I never did make it across the Channel. I’d be lying, however, to suggest that I never thought about Nique. Initially, I missed her with a passion. And even now not a month goes by without me indulging my memories of the fantasies we lived out together.

The light thud of the letter box as the postman delivers my mail brings me back to the present and I realise it is time to get to school. Enough reminiscing, I better grab the letters before I leave. What’s that on the mat? A picture postcard.

I pick it up to examine it more closely. Vividly green trees, small stone building and the sunlight licking at a river flowing through the valley. An extremely attractive vista. I read the small printed words in the top left corner out loud, grinning to myself,

The Dordogne.”

 


This post was written by me for Maison Du Plug. The content has not been influenced in any way. And the tale has nothing what so ever to do with the prompt of lockdown but if you would like to read a clever little story about a made-up village going through a lockdown then take a look.

missing monique
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11 thoughts on “Missing Monique ~ A short Story

  1. This saucy tale of Monique and Eric the music teacher, hits all the right notes May. Interesting to see that that you wrote this for Maison du Plug. xx .

  2. Ooh, very hot story May! Not sure if I could have resisted Nique when she returned to France.

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