Ectasy on Fire

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It was one of those sultry evenings on the French Riviera. The opera house in the grand square in Monaco, Monte Carlo, was all lit up, blazing. The crowd was sparkling with gay laughter, bright smiles, winking eyes. Sleek black limousines were lined up directly facing the fabled Opera, their chauffeurs puffing imported cigars, or just waiting — as they do.

It's a big part of the job, waiting. Maurice was waiting with the vloackoca, an Armenian rug, spread across his lap to cover the erect penis he played with to pass the time. Maurice had a lot of time to waste. His cock, more than ten inches long, was his closest friend. The limo came next.

Next in importance, where Maurice was concerned, was his splendid uniform. It was made of the finest Japanese silk, with black pearl buttons. It had an inner, hand-stitched velvet lining. Altogether, Maurice owned four of these costumes. His tailors, Le Canuet et Fils on the Avenue de Breteuil, Paris 07, also cut pedigreed cloth for royalty, politicians and IBM executives.

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