Midnight That Same Night

"He is two hours late, Michel," the man standing by the window of the abandoned warehouse announced, the light from the quarter moon illuminating the face of his wrist watch. Sliding down his sleeve he asked, "How much long are we going to wait?"

"Until he gets here, Jacques," Michel Berger answered. He was a thin man, with nervous mannerisms. His hairline had began to recede, his nose was too large, and his chin weak. The type of man one finds in accounting offices and insurance firms the world over. Just by looking at him, no one would ever suspect him of being the head of the French Resistance in Casablanca. "Gerard, are you sure it was he that you spoke to?"

Gerard's lifted his head from where he was sitting on the floor, leaning against a wall and almost dozing off. "He matched the description and answered 'the challenge' correctly. I was able to slip him the address." He rubbed his hand over the top of his head and yawned. "He even read it back to me."

"Yes, yes," Michel Berger waved his hand dismissively. "You have already answered my questions a half-dozen times before." He tugged on the end of his nose. "Sorry to be badgering you, Gerard. It's just that this is so damn important."

"I know, boss, I know." Gerard did not seem the least offended and lowered his head, his eyelids closing again.

"Father," the young woman, equally thin like Michel Berger, stepped out of the shadows, lifting the shawl around her shoulders to cover her head. "I think I'm going to be headed home. Please be careful." She stood up on her tip-toes to kiss his cheek.

Michel Berger nodded his head and as she strolled away called out, "Gerard, walk Michelle home."

Before Gerard could get to his feet, Michelle scolded, "Oh, Daddy, I am finished with finishing school and they are finished with me. You are just going to have to accept that I am a grown woman now."

She did not wait around for Michel Berger's response.

"It is dangerous for her to be here," Jacques observed as he walked up behind Michel Berger.

"I know," the leader of the Resistance replied, his eyes focused on the door. "But with her mother dead and our home in Dijon occupied by the Germans..." He shrugged as only the Gaelic can shrug.

***** ***** *****

Once on the street, Michelle began to run. And run. And run. And run. The hem of her full, knee-length skirt flew up around her thighs. With one hand she clutched the shawl tightly to her breast. She could feel her heart pounding as she raced through the empty streets of the city. For ten blocks she ran, until she skidded to a halt at the alley in the back of Rick's Cafe' Americain. She prayed that she was not too late. Breathing deeply, trying to catch her breath, she ducked into a recessed doorway.

She did not have long to wait. Soon the door to the employee's exit opened. Men in white dinner jackets emerged, carrying the cases with their musical instruments. Parting words and jokes of camaraderie were exchanged, the men too far away to be heard distinctly. All of them drifted off in the same direction. Except one musician, who lived in a different part of town than the rest.

"Hello, Sam," Michelle said as she stepped out of the dimness of the door way, blocking his path. The startled piano player jumped, but when he saw who it was, he said in a whisper, "Miss Michelle, what are you doing out at this time of night?"

It was a rhetorical question. He knew full well why she was out. "How did your sets go tonight, Sam?" the eighteen year asked as she stepped up close to him. So close that he could smell her familiar perfume.

"You've got to stop this, girl," he chided her, "I've already told you that."

"I know, Sam," she agreed, slithering up against him, her hand descending to the front of his pants.

The black piano player quick looked around the alley to see if there was anyone around. Then, grabbing her by her upper arms, he pushed her into the darken doorway. "We both know who your daddy really is. If he finds out about us, I'm a dead man."

"Then we will just have to make sure he doesn't find out," she smiled up sweetly, your youthful, innocent-looking face barely visible in the shadows. She could feel him growing beneath her hand as she rubbed her palm up and down. Sam did not say any more, they had been over all of this several times before. The easiest thing to do was just to give her what she wanted. He felt the button to his jacket being opened and then her delicate hands fumbling with his belt buckle. Sam did not offer to help, he figured taking it out of his pants was half the fun for her. Kind of like a kid unwrapping a birthday present.

With his pants opened, the eighteen year girl squatted down in front of him; she did not want to kneel on the dirty concrete of the doorway. Slowly she tugged his pants and shorts down past his knees, down to his ankles. "It...is...just...so...big!" she exclaimed as she wrapped her fingers around Sam's Louisville slugger. Even holding him with both hands, there was still more meat-stick left over than most boys carried around with them. And she had seen plenty of those; usually in the backseat of a car.

Michelle rained down kisses all along the shaft, licking and lapping it. Opening her jaws as wide as she could, she put the head of it in her mouth and gave it a hard, long suck, all the while slowly working her hands up and down the shaft. It looked like she was playing an obscenely large clarinet. Her elbows moved up and down as she twisted her hands around his slab of salami.

"Back at school in Switzerland," she said when she lifted her mouth from the head of Sam's cock, "All we did was talk about colored penises. Well," she tilted her head to the side, studying the penis that was now in her possession. "Penises in general. But one of the girls from Marseilles said that she had once seen the penis of a Nigerian sailor, and it was HUGE." Michelle continued her stroking, squeezing and relaxing her grip as she moved back and forth. "We all made a vow that we would see one for ourselves as soon as we graduated." She planted a loud, kiss on the end of Sam's dick, as if claiming it as her own. "I wonder if I am the first one to do it."

By now, all or Michelle's talk and stroking had gotten Sam thoroughly aroused, and he reached around for the back of head. She willingly let him to lead her back to his dick, opening her mouth wide and letting him slide in between her lips. Sam did not try to get all of his Johnson inside her mouth, he just leaned back against the wall as the long haired teenager slobbered his knob. He had only met one or two women who could handle his whole cock. And they were....professionals. Except for that English Lady, the wife of some Earl.

Pulling her mouth away again, she looked up at him, his slimy, spit covered anaconda in front of her eyes partially blocking her view. "Oh, I do so want this inside me," she yearned.

"Girl, it will split you into," he replied, pulling on the back of her head again. Although inwardly she knew he was probably right, she still wanted to try. Taking a deep breath, the squatting French girl got down to some serious cock-sucking. She locked her lips around the head of it and began pumping back and forth as fast and as hard as she could. It was like working a butter churn. Only it was a load of sperm she was trying to churn up.

Soon Sam's hips began to hunch and his breathing became much louder. Michelle knew what that meant, time to face the music and dance. She shifted her feet around, re-arranging herself for the grand finale.

And it came! She was surprised the intensity of the first blast did not knock her head back. Moaning and sighing happily, the girl worked that exploding dick. She had to swallow repeatedly, for as soon as she gulped one mouthful down, Sam's erupting cum cannon filled her up again.

When the show was finally over. When Michelle had pulled Sam's pants and shorts back up and together they had zipped and buckled him up. When she had gotten to her feet. She lifted herself on her tip-toes and whispered in his ear, "I desperately want us to get a hotel room some night so that you can fuck me."

Despite what had just transpired, using the 'F' word caused her to blush.

Stepping out of the doorway, Michelle promenaded out into the night, her hips swaying happily and she fought the urge to start singing.

"Damn," the fifty year old Sam said to himself, slowly shaking his head as he watched the eighteen year old vanish into the night. "That girl's got some serious daddy-issues."

Heading back to his own apartment, the Piano-man wondered if that girl would be back tomorrow night.
He chuckled to himself and muttered, "Five will get ya ten that she does."