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In fact, it was Charles who in his own way introduced me to Milan Branovich, a wealthy businessman from eastern Europe. “Suzette, his plane is due tomorrow at 11 AM, why don’t you wear something that shows them off.”

Off course, I knew what ‘them” were. Charles liked me to ride his cock while he played with ‘them.’

Milan was twenty-eight, handsome and I guess I showed ‘them’ off enough that he asked me out. Out became in, which became in and out; in and out of my pussy and my mouth. He wasn’t French but Milan knew how to make love like a Frenchman; that is with his face. My pussy was grateful.

That was our week together. Then he left.

I was disappointed, but Damiel assured me that there would be other men; he told me this while he was on top of me, giving my pussy his big cock. It had been a few days since Milan left and I was in need. I mean my pussy had been neglected once he was gone. “Your pussy is so good to my cock, Suzette.”

“Keep giving it to me, Daniel. Fuck me harder. My pussy loves your big cock.”

“How about if you show me how much your mouth loves my cock?”

“Yes, Daniel, I will. You know I love to suck your cock; just not now. My pussy, oh my pussy.”

Three days later, Charles spent an afternoon, with his tongue in my pussy. It was heavenly for me. I’m sure that at fifty-five, Charles thought it was heavenly to be eating my nineteen-year-old pussy; my nineteen-year-old sweet pussy, as Charles and Daniel called it.

In exchange, Charles and Daniel made sure that I knew when a wealthy man, married, single or divorced would be landing his private plane at our little airport. All along the Mediterranean coast near Montpelier there were private villas, 5-star hotels, etc. where these wealthy men spent time with their wives, girlfriends, even prostitutes. I was none of those, but I was available. Agde was known for its nude beaches.

Here’s the other thing. I have a sixth sense about men. After the first time Charles fucked me, while still a teenager, I could look a man in the eyes and I could tell if he had a big cock, and if he was a good pussy eater. I was rarely wrong.

If you go back to that A DECADENT LIFE: MARTY TREMONT story, I knew as soon as Marty stepped off the plane that he had a huge cock and even for someone so young, and American, he knew how to eat pussy. I was so, so right, wasn’t I?

Besides a man like Milan, there were numerous others. Some were young and some old, but given that sixth sense, all had nice big fat cocks, and their tongue work was beyond words.

Take Francois DellaCroix. Like Charles, he was in his late fifties; like Charles he had a thing about eating pussy. I didn’t care who else he might be eating because when he was doing my pussy, I was climbing the walls.

The walls of his villa; the walls of his private jet when he flew me for a weekend in Paris; the walls of his apartment in Paris. Charles and Daniel covered for me when I flew to Paris with Francois. They knew what they’d get from me when I got back.

Francois and I didn’t fuck very often. How could he stick his cock in my pussy when his tongue was always in there? I’m not complaining. A girl could get used to having her pussy ravaged by a man whose tongue knew exactly what she needed.

If there was an advertisement championing Frenchmen and their love of pussy eating, they could do a lot worse than having Francois as their spokesman. Francois was a true Frenchman.

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