** Francine Filbert 01
Francine grew up on the bayou, her father made his living as a shrimper. Shrimping was hard work and, while assisting her father whenever she could, she grew hale and hearty in body and spirit. She found the coastal rural life constricting to the dreams of an ambitious high school girl. High school graduation loomed and her future dreams seemed rudderless in the bayou waters.
Seeing his beautiful niece pining away in the backwoods, her father's younger brother, her successful bachelor uncle Bobby, invited her to live at his house in New Orleans and attend a college there, a safe place, Xavier University. She begged her parents and they relented. She moved to his historic mansion near the north edge of downtown.
As time passed through her first semester, she assimilated her girlfriends' habits, became more adventurous in her clothes, more revealing, teasing the boys at school with her toned body and flirty attitude.
Uncle Bobby enjoyed her presence in his big empty house. She added a vibrancy he hadn't even known was absent. He liked her Cajun hue and bouncy nature. And her curves were a relentless attraction to his libido, even as the leisurely big city life added a bit of extra curves to her flesh. Even though he was her uncle, he gave her some 'fatherly' advice, cautioning her to indulge less in the ubiquitous cappuccinos and beignets.
Then, through her college mates, she got interested in the Krewe parade floats and was a natural at the high stepping, ass, and boob shaking Carnival-style dancing.
Young, vivacious, and shapely, she was intrigued by the anonymity of being a masqued topless parade performer, ogled by the crowd. Her vain thoughts dwelled on the probable vulgar thoughts of the voracious men who watched her strut by. She did like being the tease.
Now her uncle was even more captivated by his shapely niece and her new sexy antics. He noted how her body slimmed back to her healthy Bayou days, recovering the hourglass curves built during her working youth on the family fishing boats. And now her bodacious form was even more on display in her evolving flirty college vogues.
Francine's second year at the college was nearing completion and he asked of her future intentions.
"Cajun Cuisine and Hospitality Services" was her reply. He thought Xavier a mediocre venue to pursue those subjects.
Creole gumbo ran almost naturally in her blood but he plotted to have the hospitality services trajectory take a decidedly exotic turn. As a surreptitious TWA Pledge Contributor, he stealthily arranged her transfer scholarship candidacy, confident she would acquire the erotic talents and techniques that a TWA coed devoted towards hospitably servicing elite alpha males.
Francine was subsequently vetted and rostered by the TWA Recruiters and informed that her final interview meeting for a recommendation would be sometime that week. The Interview schedules were running tight and she would only get one chance, so she mustn't hesitate when summoned. Her Coach Tutor would find her when he was ready and would, at his sole convenience, initiate her Evaluation Assessment forthwith. Until that time, she should go about her normal business.
"KAPS, South Louisiana Executive Regional Airport Control, this is TWA 001 requesting a vector for landing."
A distinct Cajun drawl came through her headphones.
"Roger, TWA 001, this is KAPS Executive, NOLA, proceed to the outer marker and turn for Runway 17, light winds off the Gulf at 10 MPH. Welcome to the Big Easy, Lil' Cher."
"Roger, KAPS. Descending for landing and taxi to VIP Apron."
"VIP, huh? Where ya' gonna be a-stayin', Lil Cher?"
Krystal grinned at the flight controller's sassy rap. She wondered what he looked like and how he liked his 'Lil Chers' that he probably courted to zydeco tunes in local bars off duty.
"Far away from you, 'bad boy'."
"Aw, shucks. Well, just the same, let the good times roll."
She keyed the jet's intercom.
"Five minutes to touchdown, sir. Please buckle in."
Ned fixed his seatbelt and watched the ground get closer in his window, broken by the wide roll of Old Man River, better known as the mighty Mississippi. The concrete runway popped into view and the jet trembled down the runway to a halt. The ground crew ran out and crowded around, alerted by the tower that a VIP passenger deserved their extra attention.
They thought the pretty blonde pilot was the special guest but she escorted a middle-aged gentleman to the black town car waiting on the apron, opened the rear door, and ushered him inside. Now they thought that Ned was either wealthy, or well-endowed, or both, to warrant an hourglass molded babe like Krystal for his personal aviator.
Either way, they were jealous all the same. Some guys have all the luck. She rolled the town car down I-10 towards the French Quarter.
She and Ned took their reserved rooms at the Hotel Montesino, setting the scene for his next Evaluation Assessment.
It was Fat Tuesday, the culmination of the Marti Gras Parades in New Orleans. The French Quarter crowds packed the streets near Jackson Square, and as dusk fell, the parades got underway.
Ned and Krystal stood out in front of the hotel on the sidewalk, checking out the multi-colored floats and near-naked performers. They watched for Francine.
Krystal pointed out her approach to Ned. She was dancing in the vanguard of her Krewe's Float, semi-anonymous in her feathered costume and masqued headdress. Her bared breasts were decorated with festive body paint.
Ned stood taller, looked over the crowd, and saw her, dancing in the middle spot of three abreast. He waited until she was moving almost directly in front of him.
He darted from the sidewalk crowd into the passing dance file, momentarily jumbling the parade flow, drawing attention as he got in front of Francine. She tried to sidestep around what appeared to be a callous drunk.
Ned called her name and yelled above the noise that her TWA interview rendezvous started right now.
She stutter-stepped, hesitated, unsure, a bit confused. So Ned took her hand and pulled her swiftly out of line. She pranced beside him towards the curb. Lewd catcalls rang out. Her headdress feathers wavered and her big decorated tits jogged as she quickstepped along in her dance heels. The crowd jeered as she was towed across the crowded sidewalk into Ned's hotel entrance.
He marched her through the lobby to the elevator. Krystal had gone ahead and now held the lift's doors open for them. It happened all too quickly for any of the bellhops to react.
The short elevator ride was total silence as Francine's mind fought to mentally digest what had just happened. The bell dinged as the door slid open on the Third Floor. Krystal guided them to Ned's suite, popping the door open and ushering Ned and his bewildered interviewee inside. She closed the door after wishing them 'good night' with a snicker.
She descended again to the lobby. Intrigued by the air traffic controller's cheekiness, she had called the control tower and invited him to meet her in the lobby of the Montesino this evening.
She spied a tall, young man in black wool slacks, a black dress shirt, and a necktie. He had dark hair, blue eyes, and a scruffy but trimmed 'bad boy' beard. He stood out from the cluster of fat tourists with his shoulders broad and his waist slim. His black Oxfords were spit-shine polished, a sure sign of discipline in a man who cared about his first impression appearance. Her tummy fluttered at the sight of the well-dressed man.
'Bless my dumb fucking luck!' she muttered to her excited self. 'He's gorgeous!'
He was scanning the crowded lobby, apparently trying to figure out which one was his 'Lil Cher' this evening. Krystal marched toward him. He saw her direct approach and his jaw fell open, then broke into a big smile. He liked what he saw, he liked it a lot and extended a gentleman's hand in greeting.
She saw his extended arm, looked up at his face, and left the handshake hanging. Her voice was assertive.
"I'm looking for a certain 'bad boy' tonight. Is that you?'
His eyes traveled up the chicly clad Krystal, from her strappy high heels, up past her short ass hugging skirt, pausing momentarily at the packed bra and blouse and arriving at her pretty blonde face with its blue eyes and perfect makeup.
"Yes? I mean, YES, MA'AM!" he stuttered.
His posture stiffened to gentlemanly attention and he assumed a respectful tone towards this stunning vision of womanly beauty, dropping his Cajun sassy slang.
Krystal took a grip on his tie and turned an about-face on the toes of her heels, draping his tie over her shoulder. She started walking back toward the elevator, her 'bad boy' in tow.
"Come along, 'bad boy'."
"Uh... sure thing, ma'am... By the way, my name's Kevin. What's yours?"
"Krystal. Come on, Kevin. You're going to show me how you 'let the good times roll' on Mardi Gras in New Orleans."
"Yes, ma'am!" he replied more docilely as he picked up the pace to stay even with hers. He was absolutely committed to showing this pretty 'Lil Cher' how he 'let the good times roll', whether it was here in NOLA or anywhere else on earth.
Soon after Krystal had installed the interview pair inside Ned's suite, he and Francine emerged on the third-floor balcony. He pressed her towards the decorative wrought iron railing.
He leaned her tummy against the balcony railing in full view of the street crowd below. She gave a tentative wave towards the gawkers watching from the street, who saw she was still enticingly topless.
Ned positioned himself behind her and tilted her forward over the railing. Her big tits dangled as her chest hung well beyond the edge. A few drunken catcalls rose from the street. She made another tentative wave, quickly returning both hands to gripping hard on the railing to balance herself.
Ned searched for the costume bottom catches and found what he sought. He unclipped her sequin decorated panties and yanked them off her butt. His hand thrust high in the air, displaying his prize to the crowd that yelled a jolly cheer that matched his smiling face.
He positioned himself square behind her naked ass, and needing both hands, placed her thong in his clenched teeth, the straps dangling over his chin.
He spread his stance, gripped her hips, braced, and drove his cock forcefully into her cunt. Francine's ruby painted lips formed a sudden 'O' at the potent penetration. The inebriated audience got a good look of big bouncing ass and tits and they cheered again. She grunted and braced her hands on the railing, expecting more, and she got it.
Ned hammered away at her pussy. Her tits bounced freely and she used one hand to brace against toppling over and the other to occasion a sheepish wave to the fully engrossed cheering crowd. Her colorful feathered headdress wavered to the pace of Ned's powerful strokes.
Whatever Francine had imagined in her vain thoughts about the probable vulgar thoughts of the voracious men who watched her, they never rose to being taken in an anonymous public fucking. But, although not planned, she was aroused by this sudden turn of events. She kind of liked it. She liked to tease.
Ned stroked his last, tilted back his head, and gave a mighty groan, unheard but well seen by the cheering onlookers. The sparkly thong dropped from his open mouth onto her naked bowed back. His first spew coated her womb, amplified by the following volleys. He laid over her in post-coitus fatigue, feeling the sequined thong trapped between her back and his belly. His slow deflation and fall out opened the escape path for his ejaculated spunk to drip from her cunt.
Francine felt the flood both times, the ejaculated jets and the unplugged cum trickling down her inner thigh. She hung her tired head lower, catching her breath; the feathered headdress blocked the crowd's angle of view of her trembling tits and they moaned 'NO' in disappointment. She and Ned stayed like that for a moment as Ned recovered.
He reached around and cupped her painted boobs, tightly gripped handholds that he used to haul her upright on her heels. Holding hands, they jointly waved a cheerful goodbye to the rowdy crowd as he pulled her into his room. A last cheer died below as he shut the balcony doors and closed the curtains.
The public indecency, though nominally enigmatic, fueled her lust and she tackled him onto the bed. She was fired up and Ned hugged her wiggling body but was unable to rise to the immediate occasion. He removed her face masque but not the headdress, held her close, engaged in a bout of feverish kissing, stalling for refraction time.
When he was ready again, he fucked her wildly, tearing away the few remaining pieces of her costume and feathers in the tumble. Vivid memories of her robust exhibitionist act energized her to repeated orgasms.
After another rest for refraction, and when she had wound down a bit, Ned hugged her soft, warm body in sidesaddle, rubbing his knob deeply within her welcoming channel. The smeared body paint added a skin slipperiness that aided her boob rubs and rolls on his chest as the somewhat satisfied Cajun maiden focused herself on his pleasure again. And she knew she had achieved her goal when she felt his body stiffen and his powerful jets of cum again struck the walls of her womb.
She cuddled him through his immediate afterglow and settled warmly next to him as he drifted off to sleep.
She awoke alone the next morning, the sheets stained with colorful body paint and splashes of cum. There was a handwritten note from Ned on the bed stand, a piece of the gold-trimmed hotel stationary.
'Francine, the room has an early checkout time of 7 AM, previously arranged by Krystal to accommodate our early dawn flight out. Go home. A representative from TWA will be in touch with our decision, and if favorable, you will be briefed on your immediate enrollment itinerary. Ned.'
Francine gathered her bits of costume but was unable to find the face masque. Her sequined costume panties were also gone. There were no bathrobes in the closet or towels in the bathroom. She would have to make her journey home on foot, unclothed.
She tottered back to her Uncle's house through the empty early morning streets, quickly scooting past the street cleaners hosing away last night's debris. They seemed undeterred by her condition, wholly accustomed to the sight of naked morning-after traipses following the bawdy parades.
Uncle Bob sat dining in the front pallor breakfast nook, scanning The Times-Picayune, dwelling on page three, which had a spread of pictures from the parades In the French Quarter last night. One, in particular, showed an unidentified near-naked Carnival dancer getting doggy fucked over the third-floor railing of an upscale hotel. The hotel manager gave a 'no comment' response to press inquiries, reasoning the free publicity and a saucy street cred were a welcome way to increase business.
Her uncle smiled when he looked up at a commotion out front and saw Francine skitter mostly naked across the front porch, then bound up the stairway to her room. He was smugly titillated when he glimpsed her jiggling half-naked body in its tattered remnants of costume, already aware of the unidentified railing fuck's identity.
His cock twitched at the thought of his frenzied voluptuous niece. The TWA Recruitment interview had obviously gone well, and he was confident that she had been thoroughly fucked all night by his TWA associate.
He hoped she would be available this coming year for TWA Freewill Weekends and a startling intimate poise lesson when her mysterious guest coach tutor turned out to be himself, her uncle. He smiled into his sugar-sweet chicory sip of coffee and daydreamed of the coming possibilities.
During the pre-dawn town car ride to the airport, Krystal asked Ned's verdict.
"How was she?"
Ned placed a hand on the Mardi Gras costume face mask and panties lying next to him on the seat. He had taken them in the morning as she slept. He had also stripped the room of towels and bathrobes; those went down the housemaid's laundry chute. Francine should have had quite a nervous scurry home.
He was pleased by Francine's embrace of the kinky costume lifestyle. She would surely become a favorite for the more fetish prone staff and guest coach tutors. He told Krystal to record his hearty recommendation for Francine's enrollment in the scholarship program.
"Will do, boss. Her uncle's scholarship investment should earn him a very kinky dividend."
** Francine Filbert 02
Francine mostly stayed in her room at Uncle Bobby's mansion after her bizarre night in town, emerging for meals but generally withdrawing from the world she had known before. She was still committed to enrolling in the TWA program and took this intervening time to steady her mind and soul for the personal changes she knew were coming.
It was three days after her Mardi Gras doggy fuck in full view of the rowdy parade spectators when she sat with Uncle Booby eating lunch in the front parlor.
Her cell dinged its 'text' alert. She read the message informing her of the next stage of her journey. She would be collected today for the scheduled journey to the TWA Enrollment gathering.
She was mostly packed but went upstairs to finish a few last things and prepare for her Escorting Coach Tutor to arrive. Uncle Bobby watched her stride the stairs and chuckled to himself at the wasted packing exercise.
As he continued to lounge in the parlor, he spied a limousine pull up to the curb and a tall dark Latino got out of the vehicle. A liveried buxom chauffer handed her alighted passenger a small valise. Uncle Bobby greeted his TWA colleague at the door, ushered him inside and they exchanged pleasantries.
Bobby's suggested a quick coffee and chat. He showed his guest the news article and the picture of Francine's boob and ass bounding fuck during the Marti Gras parade. The Latino dwelled on the photo and said she seemed to embrace the circumstances of the encounter.
It had been a long, lonely trek to get to New Orleans. He shifted and adjusted his pants. Uncle Bobby sympathized with the move; Francine caused that need for adjustment often in most men. His guest continued to stare at the newspaper picture. His words flowed mindlessly as he contemplated the chronicled scene.
"She's got great tits."
Uncle Bobby nodded and grinned mischievously.
"Go on, young man. No need to entertain me anymore. You seem eager to get on with your assignment."
The Latino nodded in agreement. He folded and laid the paper on the table. His host had encouraged his immediate relief and Francine was probably waiting restlessly for his appearance.
The Escorting Coach Tutor mounted the stairs, carrying the valise. He hesitated a moment at her door, gathered a deep breath, and brusquely burst into her room without knocking.
He stood with hands on hips surveying Francine, noting her casual travel attire. In turn, Francine got her first look at her Escorting Coach Tutor, a magnificently handsome man: tall, dark, close beard, dark eyes, well dressed.
She hadn't had sex since Ned left her in the hotel room, not even masturbating. At the sight of him, the butterflies flitted in her stomach and the tingles descended to moisten her pussy.
He left the valise on the floor and approached her without a word. Her eyes watched his eyes, mesmerized by his beauty and boldness. He fingered the tummy tied sleeveless blouse that she wore. It was filled with bountiful flesh. The cutoff jean shorts molded her ass. Her toned abs filled the space between.