Loading...François Renard was a stagehand and handyman at the theater of the Ballet De Paris. He was a huge man, almost seven feet tall with wide shoulders and hands large and strong enough to crush a coconut, but he was very gentle giant. Most of those who saw him thought he was slow witted because he seldom spoke. Also he had a foolish smile which came out any time Monsieur Tibault the theater manager scolded him, or if one of the dancers from the corps de ballet made fun of him.
François loved his work. It was sometimes hard because he was expected to move heavy scenery and stage props alone that would ordinarily take two or three men to move, but he did not really mind because he loved to be near the women of the corps de ballet. They were so beautiful! Tall and slim with small breasts, slender hips and long legs; François thought of them as long stemmed flowers, especially when they were dressed in the short stiff tutus. He was very shy however so he never spoke to any of the beautiful women, but contented himself with gazing at them as they passed in the back stage. Those gazes were not mere distant lust however, for François was an artist with a photographic eye and skilled hands. His gaze fixed the memory of each dancer’s face and body in his mind so that he could reproduce each one in ink and paint at his studio; and there was none of the impressionistic blurring popular with artists of the time. Renard’s paintings were so photographically precise that viewers felt as though the subject could step from the canvas and twirl away en pointe.
The dancers noticed the handsome giant staring at them, but they thought him a cretin so none of them ever spoke to him, but some of them were very cruel and would go out of their way to torment François with their beauty. They would brush close to him as they passed so that he could catch a drift of their perfume, or they would pause a moment on their way to let him look at them, then haughtily turn their noses up as if to say, Look and lust fool, but you will never have me!
There were some that were yet more cruel. One dancer of the chorus named Giselle, a heart-stoppingly beautiful blond with wide blue eyes, sometimes went out of her way to brush her hand against the front of François’ pants in such a way as to snag against his manhood. One night Giselle happened to find that François was tumescent, and she smiled like a lean cat about to spring on a huge mouse. “I hope you will not tire your hand too much when you think of me tonight François,” she said. “Monsieur Tibault will be angry.”
François blushed and said nothing, but followed Giselle’s shapely legs and perfect behind with his eyes as she walked away laughing. Later, after the ballet was through and most of the dancers were changed to street clothes and leaving the theater one said to François, “You are wanted in the chorus dressing room. There is something needs moving,” a knowing smile touched the corners of her mouth.
François went. He stopped at the door and knocked rather than just bursting in. He waited until he heard the voice of Rene, another dancer, say, “Come in.”
Rene and Giselle, both wearing satin dressing gowns, sat side by side on a couch. Their dressing gowns were only loosely closed and any movement would make them flare open to show stockings and garters. Giselle, her legs uncovered, knees crossed, smiled her wicked smile.
“The marble top of that dresser is broken François. The break is very rough and many of us have snagged our stockings on it. Show him Rene.”
Rene, a woman of pale skin, black hair and black eyes, threw back the dressing gown bottom and lifted her leg to show François. She wore high reach silk stockings held in place with a pink satin garter belt, and when she turned her leg to show the snag in the inside of her left thigh François could see that she wore no panties. Her vulva’s curly black fuzz was carefully coifed so that it covered only a small area of her mons. The vaginal lips were completely smooth and a slightly darker pink than the insides of her thighs.
“Well, don’t stand there at the door,” Giselle said. “Come closer so that you can see.”
François crossed to the couch and stood before the two dancers. “Kneel down so that you can see better,” Rene said, lifting her leg. He did. “Do you see it?” she asked.
“Oui,” the kneeling giant said. “I see it.” He carefully kept his eyes off Rene’s womanhood.
“Are you sure? I think you should look closer,” Giselle said sweetly.
François glanced up at her then moved so close to Rene’s thigh he could feel the warmth of it on his face; so close between the dancer’s legs he caught a rich gossamer coil of perfume mixed with feminine excitement, and that was the instant Giselle popped to her feet and shoved his face deep between Rene’s legs as Rene hunched her hips up and closed her thighs around his head.
Giselle laughed wildly, clapping her hands as she danced joyfully. “Now my giant, you must kiss Rene’s cunt before she will let you free!” But her laughter turned to wonder the moment she looked at Rene’s face. It was a study in concentrated arousal. Her eyes were closed, but her eyelids were fluttering; her rouged lips were open and her breath was coming in short groaning gasps.
François had begun kissing and tonguing Rene’s fleur de la femme the instant his mouth touched her flesh. He stroked his tongue from the cinnamon bud of her anus to the top of her coifed mons taking an extra moment to circle the delicate bead of her clitoris, before beginning the circuit once more. At last he closed his lips to a tight kiss and sucked her clitoral nubbin until it swelled to a super tactile ruby of pleasure. The scratch of his day’s growth of beard on the insides of Rene’s thighs and against her silk stockings added to the sensitivity of her loins, adding an excitingly erotic warmth she had never felt with Giselle. After a few moments François moved his tongue down to the opening of Rene’s chambre du pleasur, driving it in deep, then deeper, then deeper yet until Rene moaned, “Mon Dieu! Don’t stop!”
The cascade of orgasm flowed into Rene’s body from the tip of François’ tongue, and she could not stop her hips from humping François’ mouth. Without volition she brought her hands to the back of his head to hold his mouth against her so that he could not escape without giving her every scintilla of pleasure in him. Her knees pulled up and her legs opened wide to expose more of her wanton flesh and she half rose into an orgiastic crescent with François’ head at the center of focus. Her breathy, grunting scream of release caused the mirrors of the dressing room to vibrate and the crystal prisms hanging on the lampshades to ring like wind chimes.
Giselle watched in alarm. This had been intended as a tease to the gigantic fool and a preliminary to a sexual session between her and Rene. But, though alarmed and piqued by what she was witnessing she was also excited by it. Tingling heat between her legs made her lubricating fluids begin to flow. She had never seen Rene so taken out of herself by sex. She had certainly never brought Rene to such an earth-shaking climax, but neither she nor Rene had ever experienced sex with a man. Technically both she and Rene were virgins since neither had ever been penetrated by a male organ. They had been lovers since they were children in the Ecole du Ballet and most of the men they knew had little interest in women, so they had never felt any need for men—until now.
François lifted his face a little from between Rene’s legs and gently kissed the insides of her thighs before sitting back on his haunches and turning toward Giselle. She noticed that his chin and throat were shiny-wet with Rene’s sexual essence and felt her own catkin echo that wetting.
François stood, towering over Giselle. He smiled down on her with a look she had never seen in him before. His green eyes smoldered and she could feel his gaze travel from her face down her body, stopping a moment on her small breasts which were half seen where the dressing gown was loose, then traveling on to her pubic triangle. She glanced down to find that by habit she had taken the left knee bent right knee stiff preparatory position for a plie. Her bent knee held the dressing gown open, exposing her stocking tops, garter belt, and dark blond pubic curls. She quickly straightened and pulled the dressing gown closed.
“Sil Vou Pleis Mam’sel,” François began. “Do not hide this treasure from me. I promise I will not touch. I wish only to see.”
“Por Qua?” She said with what she hoped was disdain. She looked at the rising in his pants. “So that you may use the memory when you play with your cock?” The breathy quiver in her voice gave away her excitement.
“Oui, that, but also that I may paint a picture of it to hang beside the painting of your face in my studio.”
“Mon Dieu Giselle!” Said Rene, who had somewhat recovered. “Let him look! Beg him to look! Beg him to—Mon Dieu! Beg him!”
Giselle looked to her friend then back to the bulge in François’ pants. She lifted her blue eyes defiantly to his green ones. “I will show you between my legs if you will show me between yours,” she said.
Rene gasped and stepped to Giselle’s side. “Brilliant, Cheri! Brilliant! Yes my giant, show us your— equipment.”
François laughed, his habitual shyness overcome by the two dancers. He began unbuckling his wide belt. “I have not played the ‘I’ll show if you’ll show’ game since I was a child.” He unbuttoned the fly and slid pants and underwear down to his knees, then threw his arms wide.
Rene and Giselle both stared with open mouths and wide eyes. François’ manhood was like a thick sausage extending from a nest of shining brown pubic hair. It was longer than the breadth of two hands and as thick as an altar candle with a slight downward curve. He was uncircumcised but his virility was so engorged that the foreskin was like a straining collar behind the reddish purple head. At the tip, glistening from the tiny mouth of it was a single crystal clear drop of liquid.
Giselle’s eyes widened yet more and her hand, as if of its own volition, extended toward François. When she noticed what she was doing she pulled the hand back and used it to hold the dressing gown more tightly closed.
Rene, whose lust was already raging from her previous encounter, did not hesitate, but reached forward with her forefinger extended to touch the clear drop at the tip of François’ masculinity. She found it smooth like oil but sticky like spider silk. It attached to her finger and pulled out in a gleaming strand when she took her finger away. “It is so huge!” She said.
François shrugged. “Not so big,” he said. “There are many larger.”
“May I touch it more?” Rene asked.
A bit of his shyness returned and he blushed. “That Mam’selle is my fondest wish,”
François answered.
Rene stretched forth and closed her hand gently around the erect member. Her touch was so gentle, so silken that François could not stop a groan of pleasure escaping his lips. She snatched back her hand. “Sorry, Sorry, I did not mean—”
“No, no Mam’selle. It was pleasure not pain. Please.”
Rene again reached out and put her hand around him. Her fingers and thumb could not reach all the way around. “It is so hard but so…soft.” She said moving her hand up and down the length of it. “May I kiss it?”
“Oh yes! But you must be careful. I am so—your touch and the taste of your honey, have brought me very close to climax. I may not be able to hold it off.”
Rene knelt and carefully kissed the tiny mouth at the tip, which had produced another drop of clear fluid. She licked her lips and the taste sent a tingling from the tip of her tongue down to her catkin. She immediately moved in and took the tip in her mouth.
Giselle was so surprised that she cried out, “Rene!”
Rene turned to her friend with a wide smile. “The taste is wonderful, Cheri! Salty, sweet, and bitter all at the same time and it makes me so wet between my legs I am sure there will be a puddle in only a moment.” She turned back to François and licked at the head of his member.
“If you take it into your mouth and suckle like a baby, moving your head in and out—”François began.
Rene began to do just that, bobbing her head back and forth and stroking the underside with her tongue.
“Ah, oui, oui! Like that! Mon Dieu!”
After a few more bobs of her head François, his voice breathy and barely controlled said, “I am going to erupt into your mouth. Don’t stop! Please, don’t stop!” She did not.
Giselle could see the giant’s orgasm in his face. His eyes squeezed shut, his head was thrown back, his mouth open, as the spasm clenched his middle and exploded through his body. His rich white cream exploded into Rene’s mouth spurt after spurt in such volume that, though she tried to swallow it all, she could not. Much leaked from the corners of her mouth, ran down her chin and dripped onto the carpet.
Giselle was both appalled and inflamed. Her nipples had hardened into points that showed clearly through the satin of her dressing gown; melting heat between her legs caused her sexual honey to flow out and wet the insides of her thighs to her stocking tops. Her clitoral jewel throbbed and cried for attention so much that she brought her finger to it and began stroking it, but it was not enough. She wanted François’ tongue to replace it. She wanted the rigid, spurting thing in Rene’s mouth to pump its creamy liqueur into her chambre de femme.
Rene continued to draw the rich liquid from François until there was no more, and with the last drops came all the strength from the giant’s legs. He took a wobbling step back and sat down on the couch where the dancers had been.
Rene, more ardent now than when she had first tasted François’ decoction, stood and turned to Giselle, embraced her and, with François’ essence still on her lips, kissed her lover full on the mouth. Giselle tasted François on Rene’s lips and immediately drove her tongue into the others mouth seeking more. Rene responded by pulling open Giselle’s dressing gown then sliding it off her shoulders. She took her mouth from Giselle’s only long enough to drop her own dressing gown onto the carpet leaving them both dressed only in garter belts and stockings.
François watched as the dancers began to caress one another; first breasts then thighs then between thighs. The light from the gas lamps was a warm golden sheen on their skin. His painter’s eye saw the flex of each muscle; the strain of each ligament, and the sight of these two perfect bodies entangled in one another made his heart catch with the awe of their beauty. There was the scent of feminine excitement mixed with perfume rising from Rene and Giselle also. Some vagrant draft carried the aroma to him and as it touched his nose it touched his manhood which came to attention once again.
The dancers had gone down onto the floor and were lying with their faces between one another’s legs. Giselle was on top concentrating her kisses and the caresses of her tongue on Rene’s opened fleur de la femme, while receiving the same ministrations from Rene. The liquid sound of the women’s excitement was like another gentle stroke on François’ erection. He could taste coppery desire on his tongue, but he hesitated to interrupt the pair on the floor so he began slowly to masturbate.
Rene glanced in François’ direction and saw what he was doing. She pulled her mouth away from Giselle’s sensual gate. “No my giant! Do not waste any of your delicious sauce homme! Come here!”
Giselle, remembering the desire that had been born as François’ climax had emptied itself into Rene’s mouth, lifted her face from between Rene’s legs and panted, “Yes, yes François, please come and put you tongue in me! Put your cock in me! Please!”
François was suddenly more inflamed than ever before in his life. He had dreamed of the moment when Giselle, the ballerina he had most desired from all the Corps de Ballet, would call him by name and beg him to do that which he most wanted to do. It had been a physical ache in his heart and in his loins since the first time he had seen her. Now the very sound of his name in her mouth made his breath shorten. He did not waste a moment stripping off the rest of his clothes. He went down onto his knees behind Giselle, first bending over to kiss and taste her blond-fringed fleur, stopping only a moment to kiss Rene’s lips. She kissed him hungrily while moaning with the ministrations of Giselle’s mouth between her legs.
François rose to his knees and moved to Giselle’s deliciously heart shaped bottom with the two pink satin garter straps stretched over it. He put his hands on her sides just above the garter belt at her hipbones and lifted her higher on her knees. When she was up he began running his fingers around the opening of her chambre to spread the copious lubrication evenly, stopping after each circuit to plunge his finger into her. He did not find that she was still a virgin for her hymen had long since been broken by the exertions required by the dance, but he did find that she was very tight and he feared that he would hurt her with his huge member. He took a little while putting first one finger, then two, then three into her and turning them carefully to bring all the elasticity he could before putting himself into her, but at last Giselle lifted her face and said, “No more! I want you in me now François. Now!”
Because of his size François was forced to bend his knees to lower himself to the level of Giselle’s opening. He held his erection in his hand and carefully rubbed the head of it between the lips of her vulva to lubricate it before beginning to push himself into her tight confines. Slowly he pushed himself into her and with each centimeter Giselle moaned. She continued to lick and kiss Rene but the excitingly sensual reality of François’ member sliding into her belly distracted her somewhat.
At last François was buried all the way to his pubic hair in Giselle and he began a slow deep rhythm that made her cry out “Uhn!” each time the head of his manhood touched the bottom of her womb.
Rene meanwhile continued to stimulate Giselle’s swollen clitoris, but she also began to drag the point of her tongue down the center of François’ testicle sack. Giselle’s sexual honey, which was being forced out of her by the huge member, was trickling down and dripping from François’ balls. Rene lapped the ambrosial liqueur, a blend of male and female, and found that the taste of it was causing her own honey to well up more copiously. That welling added to Giselle’s excitement so she kissed and licked Rene’s pleasure channel more avidly, flicking her tongue over Rene’s throbbing, swollen clitoris
François drove himself with more and more power into Giselle and just as he felt that he could not contain himself much longer he felt the clutching, squeezing paroxysms of her orgasm. The electrifying spasms of ecstasy caused the ballerina, that most coordinated, most graceful of beings to lose control of her body as the clenching, vibrating bolts of orgiastic lightning shot through her. Her release was so great that even the most basic bodily training was lost and a stream of urine flowed out and into Rene’s face. Some of that golden wine found its way into Rene’s mouth. She found the taste sweet and the excitement that had caused her young lover to release it was so contagious that she felt the squeezing climax herself and began humping her hips, though Giselle was so distracted she had stopped her ministrations.
Feeling the quiver of Giselle’ body through his hands as well as his loins
François released his straining control, but he was not so foolish as to allow his powerful essence to spill out into the beautiful dancer’s womb. The instant before his creamy quintessence erupted he pulled himself from Giselle’s still craving belly. He continued to hunch his hips in such a way as to stroke his raging manhood between her buttocks at the top, and with only one further repetition his climax gushed forth, tearing a scream of ecstasy from his very center. The first spurt reached her shoulder with subsequent jets falling like liquid pearls along the channel of her spine. The three collapsed in a heap on the floor of the dressing room completely spent.
# # #
Who knows how such information is passed along, but in a very short time the menage a trois found its way into the whispered gossip of the Corps de Ballet, and in following days other dancers including the prima ballerina found their way to test the gigantic painter to their infinite satisfaction.
François continued to be the plaything of the Ballet de Paris for many years thereafter, and during those times François, while taking great joy in the sexual congress of beautiful women, also etched memories of the dancers’ every curve and line on his mind. From those memories he painted hundreds of pictures, and sold them to discreet collectors of erotic art. He drew the bodies of the dancers in such a way that their faces were hidden and, even though he was offered fortunes to show the faces, he never did. He made only two exceptions: Rene and Giselle. Of them he painted all including their beautiful faces, but those paintings he kept hidden in the private chamber of his studio, keeping them only for his own pleasure.