Ecstasy on fire

Начало книги

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. People were also sparkling, gay laughter, bright smiles, winking.

Limousines, black, long, sleek, shiny and expensively cared for by their chauffeurs, adequately fueled, lush and plush, many of the rear seats pure velvet, padded footrests, chrome ashtrays, even a rug-were lined up directly facing the fabled Opera, the chauffeurs puffing imported cigars or just waiting-as they do.

They are supposed to wait. This would include Maurice and the vloackoca, an Armenian rug spread across his lap, covering his erect penis he plays with to pass the time. Maurice had a lot of time to waste. Most chauffeurs do, and his cock, more than ten inches long, is his closest friend; the limo comes next. A real, genuine phallic symbol.

Next in importance where Maurice is concerned is his splendid uniform. It's made of the finest Japanese silk, black pearl buttons. An inner velvet lining, hand-stitched. Altogether Maurice owns 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.

Читать дальше →