3 Erotic Adventures: Choose Your Own Fantasy in France

Written by Dr. Patti Britton, The Adventures of Her in France is the story of a happy, sexy woman who takes a trip to France to learn about art, but comes home with more steamy stories of love, romance and passion than she could ever dream of. Ready to treat yourself to a little fun in France? Take a break from your daily routine, picture yourself in Her shoes and let your thoughts run wild. You deserve it!

Choose your first erotic adventure here, then click through to read the next one:

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Reconnecting with Armand, my longtime love

Armand stands poised, staring out the huge patio doors to his rooftop garden with that irreplaceable view of the Eiffel tower in sparkling lights. He cups a blue cell phone to his mouth and motions me in, flashing a longing glance at me with that toothy white smile. I enter the room, releasing my baggage like a drape falling from an alabaster statue in the Louvre. I watch as he folds the phone into a tiny shape in his palm, then silently moves toward me like a mountain lion on the prowl.

"I missed you, Her…" he booms, and pads over to me in sepia velvet slippers with open arms to scoop me up.

"You, too, my love," and all I can feel is the warmth of his form enveloping mine as we embrace.

I feel his heat radiate all over my body. Hot, penetrating, "deep heat rub" sort of a hug that goes to the marrow of my bones. It's always like that with Armand, as if we board a space shuttle and pell mell shift into another dimension. It felt that way the very first time, fully clothed, when we hugged in front of the Palais de Congres years ago. His huge body, tall and standing like a redwood, encompassed my small frame, and the sheer energy surge made me feel like I would swoon. I remember lying with him back in Paris that night on the barge. There we lay, just holding each other into eternity and then letting go, with our mouths melting as our bodies went into orbit. We knew even then what love could be.

Those movements into outer space never cease with us. Like now. As I hold him tightly to me, I feel his mountainous body clutching for my essence, his arms holding me in like a mighty bear, and his breath warm and like the fire's glow around us. His eyes pierce mine, as we begin the journey back into us. I hear the faint bellow of a sound as he groans with loving purrs into my ear, pressing his smooth shaven cheek against my neck and soft cheek while he drags his lips down my neck now, like being kissed by a hummingbird in flight, hundreds of little kisses being planted into my heart through his touch. I surrender my heart to each kiss, kiss by tender kiss, as they flutter to grab my attention and my eyes close in joy at being loved so. I feel his strong hands outline my form, my hair being pulled through his fingers with deliberate searching and then down my shoulders, around to the front of my bodice and toward my raised nipples under my silk blouse. Ready, waiting for that special touch, that touch that knows my landscape like a frequent traveler to a distant land.

Armand knows this body like none other and I've missed him, I think to myself. I love this man -- Go ahead, Armand, undress me right here -- play with them -- they are all yours -- tender receptors of your adoration and your delicate touch and your manly ways with my femininity. Play my instrument for our symphony tonight ...

He leans into my ears and whispers, "What are you thinking, my love? Are you drifting away from me? Do you want all of me?"

The heat from his breath pours into me now like lava flowing. Deep, deep into the core of my listening, letting him penetrate me further.

"I want you so much I can taste you, I can feel you inside of me already. Oh God, Armand, don't stop," I whisper back, as my body writhes into his shape, becoming another extension of himself, not just me.

"No. Not yet, m'love, mon amour, we have a dinner reservation at a fine jazz club in 30 minutes. Shall we?" He picks me up in his arms, swirls me around, kisses me passionately on the lips and I melt in his touch. We grab our coats and off we go into the fresh Paris rain.

Ready for something steamier? We're just getting started! Choose another erotic adventure here, then click through to read the next one:


A steamy visit to an art museum with Lawrence

"You look radiant, Her ... shall we?" He offers his arm, and out the arched doorway we skip into the starry night. We met earlier in the day while I was out painting with my group. But tonight the air is crisp, and the sparkle of streetlights only matches the delight that I feel to be with Lawrence.

The gallery is full of life when we enter. I look around for familiar faces, but see none. I start to wander around the exhibition with Lawrence. His hand sidles into my arm as we walk, unified, down the aisles. A fleeting glance tells us that if we hurry, we can steal a look at a Van Gogh and a Courbet, if we're lucky, before the swell of the crowd manifests.

I pull him slightly behind me, in tow like a small puppy on a leash, and notice that his eyes are fixated on one thing alone -- my breasts. He stares at me, like a student of great art studies a work of the masters in an endeavor to reproduce it. I sit on a leather bench, poised for a lengthy viewing of one of the newer oils, and I feel Lawrence's stare fixed on me. Like hot wax pouring, drop by drop, he enters me, at the core, as his glance laces and then unlaces my beige suede bustier hidden properly under my black silk shawl.

I notice that there are few people around. In fact, we are sitting in a remote corner of the gallery, alone. Perhaps enhanced by the possibilities that are emerging, he lifts the edge of my silky tasseled shawl and runs his finger down the outline of my breast, carefully tucked away in my bustier. My nipple gets instantly hard and I lift my chest to take in a deep breath, audibly sighing.

"Oh Lawrence, you have such a nice touch." I succumb to his fingers as they move around to the lacing of the garment in the back and start to unwind its pattern in and out. Pulling at my bodice gently and glancing his head from side to side, he slowly loosens its grip on my ready breasts and leans down to lick my erect nipples. They drop into his open mouth, like birds waiting to be fed. I feel his hot breath on my soft, but firm breasts.

"Move the screen to hide us, Lawrence, so they cannot see."

"Never you mind, my darling. It's all taken care of ..."

Ready for the hottest experience of all? Choose another erotic adventure here, then click through to read the next one:


Sharing an erotic experience at an Internet café with Michel

"Bonjour! You must be Michel. Babette from our art group told me to say 'hi.' I'm here to get my email," I chirp at the concierge as I notice this hunk of a man standing in front of the tea selection. He smiles a broad smile, invites me into his cubicle and shows me around the small place, pointing me to one of the computer stations and set up for accessing email. He sits down at a desk, next to two other tourists who are also clicking away.

"I have hotmail," he says to me, breathing into my neck and leaning close to my chest. I can feel his broad chest touching against the edges of my breasts, now snuggled tightly in my new cashmere sweater. He places his hands on my shoulders, plants himself firmly behind me and embraces all of me while he leans over, placing his right hand on top of mine and helps me click onto the Net. "Will that work for you? Your name is ...?"

"Her," I purr back, turning my head as we speak. His face is now next to mine, lips almost touching and I begin to feel a melting sensation. A surge of heat passes through my body as he leans over me. It feels good. I like him. I am even beginning to fantasize about what kind of lover he might be, something that Babette had warned me about. "And I think he's single, Her," she had said with a twinkle in her eyes. Then she laughed. "But of course, he knows ALL of the foreign women in this town."

I can't help but let my eyes wander up and down his tight body, his well developed form with thick biceps, the huge tree-like legs, a chest you could sit on, topped by a finely featured face. He has a great thick mass of light blonde hair. His eyes are like rivers of light, sparkling and dancing as he glances back and forth at mine, and then back at the screen to focus on my home page for email. He seems to lean into me, almost wanting to make full physical contact with my body. From the start by body succumbs and speaks only a "yes" to his.

"I think I've finished now. How much do I owe you Michel? This is such a great place. How long has it been here? I indulge him in a fairly benign conversation for a few minutes, pay him the 30 francs and pack up my things. As I lean over the desk to grab my bag, I realize he is right behind me. The lights of the shop are dimmed and music has begun to play.

For what seems like hours, we sit in the comfortable leather armchairs in the back of the Internet café and talk from our deepest selves. Suddenly the music stops and he pushes the advance button launching another CD by Ramazzutti. He moves closer to me and pulls the drapes closed. Before we utter another word, Michel lines up a row of white candles, all scented with the famous parfum of lavender from Provence, sending winds of seductive scent into the air of the café. It is warm inside now that the door has been closed and we've been talking for hours. The candles add a touch of romance, not that it's needed, as we are merging with words. Michel begins to grin and then looks at me with adoring eyes and lifts the sweater from my waist, revealing my navel and torso.

He glides his fingers around both of my breasts, deftly unsnaps my bra, pulls the sweater over my head and lays me on the couch next to the chairs we have occupied. The room is swooning with lavender oils, the candle glow is making me succumb to his seduction. His voice propels me deeper and deeper into his moves ...

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