Private Locker Confession: My Raw 90s Affair in a VW Coach and Lyon Hotel

I unlock my Private Locker now. The mental vault where this burns hottest. Heart races. Pulse thumps. No more hiding. This Lyon secret from the early 90s spills out raw.

Early mornings. My VW Coach van towers the road. High perch. Thighs flash at red lights from women drivers left of me. Routine to La Part-Dieu. That day, bus stop. Sidonie waves frantic. Pretty, flustered. Mid-40s fire. I stop. She begs lift to Bellecour. Can’t refuse. She climbs in. Tight skirt hugs hips. Steps up those two stairs.

The Tease That Shattered My Restraint

Chats flow easy. Late for strict boss. Praises my ‘4×4’. I grin. No tech talk. Weather sucks. Traffic jams. Neighborhood gossip. Twenty minutes fly. Drop her at Bellecour’s end. Saône behind. Old hotel there then, not Bocuse’s Institut now. She walks off. Sidonie. I watch.

Routine builds. Bus misses her. Or she times it. Daily rides. Pre-BlaBlaCar. Coffee stops. Talks turn flirty. Intimate. Loves husband. Respects him. But craves secrets. Adventures. I’m hooked. Ego swells. She’s stunning. But home crisis. Kids’ mom. Patchwork fragile. I’m loyal. Hard to cross. Not easy prey.

She pushes. Dune perfume wafts. Vanilla heavy. Traces her. Jabs at my wife. One day, her blouse buttons. I joke undoing them slow. She locks eyes. ‘Not undress. Effeuille me.’ Boy, move!

Morning flips it. Tight pencil skirt. Can’t climb without hiking. I stare. Frozen. Skirt rises. Knees. Thigh tops. Sheer stockings. Garters snap view. Pale skin glows. Ballet of flesh. She kisses me quick. Sits. Skirt stays hiked. ‘Caught you eyeing thighs at lights. Look here now.’

Drive hell. Eyes glue to her legs. Drop off. ‘Park. I’ll book room.’ Shock. Lean in. Kiss deep. Lips soft. Tongues tangle slow. Weeks tension explodes. She nibbles lower lip. Hungry. Pull back. Can’t. Meetings. Team. She slips out. Eyes shine.

Midday. Zombie meeting. Call her. Reassure. Loved kiss. Dinner tomorrow? Afternoon free. Maybe long service. Book Sofitel room. Radisson now. Risky. Worth it.

Raw Surrender and Sweet Closure

Next day early. Nervous kid. Restaurant wait. She arrives. Long skirt. Broderie blouse. Blazer. Red heels pop. Kiss lips. Hand hers. Table tucked away. Eyes lock. Mine promise. No backing. Hers soften. Laughs. Teases. Coffees. Bill. ‘Ready?’

‘Au bout du monde.’ Hotel room huge. City view ignored. Dim lights. Arms crush. Kiss fierce. Hands roam. Clothes peel slow. Effeuille. Lips everywhere. Neck. Breasts heavy, nipples hard peaks. Suck them. Tongue flicks. Moans low.

Her scent. Dune vanilla mixes sweat. Pussy shaved smooth? No, 90s bush trimmed. Wet already. Fingers slide in. Hot clamp. She grips my cock. Thick. Veins pulse. Strokes firm. Mouth takes it. Warm suck. Balls tight.

Bed. Her on top first. Guides me in. Tight heat swallows. Rocks slow. Clit grinds. I thrust up. Deep. Slaps wet. Flip. Legs wide. Pound hard. Garter straps taut. Thighs quiver. She cums. Walls pulse. Milk me. I pull out. Shoot ropes on belly.

Pause. Cuddles. Fingers trace. Round two. Doggy. Ass up. Pink folds glisten. Slam in. Balls slap. Hand her hair. Pull. Faster. She begs. ‘Plus fort.’ Cum inside this time. Flood her. Leak out.

More. Slow missionary. Eyes locked. Vouvoyer always. Formal heat. Respect.

After. Sated. Light. No strings. Amour gratuit. Rare. Dress. Part sweet. Lock snaps shut. Secret safe. Lighter soul.