Samantha knew she had to be strong and not allow herself to break down and cry when her solicitor rang and told her the arrangements following Richard's death were completed and that she had lost the fight to keep her apartment. There had been times when it seemed the heartache, the pain of loss, and the misery of being confronted by Richard's vengeful wife would overwhelm Samantha as she fought to keep what Richard had said was hers. But now, suddenly, the fight was over.

"I'm sorry, Sam, but there was nothing in Richard's will that gave you ownership," the solicitor said. He paused and then added, "He paid the mortgage but didn't leave it to you in his will."

Sam did her best to be defiant. "I take it no one's going to mind if I go away for a few days? I mean can anyone change the locks or anything?"

"Oh god, no. You have three months before you have to vacate. Legally no one can do anything during that time." The solicitor paused and then asked, "What were you thinking of doing?"

Sam wondered if he really cared. "I'm not sure yet," she said. "I just want to get away from all the memories."

"That sounds like a good idea. Think about what matters to you so you can start rebuilding your life when you come back."

Sam didn't want to think about rebuilding or even coming back. As soon as she'd said the words she knew she wanted to get as far away from London as she could. And she knew exactly where she was going.

In the space of an hour she had gathered her passport and credit cards, pulled on a cashmere sweater and jeans, packed a suitcase, then rang the magazine she worked for as a freelance editor and told them she was going on holiday and would take the manuscripts she was working on with her. She backed her car out of the garage and headed for Portsmouth and the ferry services to the west coast of France.

Sam wanted to go back to the place she remembered from her teenage years, on holiday with her parents and finding out about the wonders of other places, other peoples, and other cultures. She longed to recapture some of that innocence, walking the beaches and cliffs of the Cote Sauvage, the windswept southern coast of Brittany that has been under assault by the mountainous waves of the Atlantic Ocean for thousands of years.

* * *

Leaning against a rail on the deck outside the passenger lounge, enjoying the feel of the wind in her hair, Sam offered a silent prayer of thanks that the sea was smooth; the waves turning a golden orange as the sun slowly sank beneath the horizon. She could hear the dull throb of the engines and see the trail of white foam thrown up behind the ship. In only seven hours she would be driving south from St Malo, every kilometre taking her further away from the loneliness that had enveloped her since Richard's death.

"Your hair looks very beautiful in the setting sun," a voice said and Sam turned.

"Oh?" she said coolly to the young man standing behind her with a slight smile on his face.

"Yes. If you don't mind my saying so," he said, speaking English with a strong French accent.

Sam noticed his gaze drop from her face to her breasts and she said, "I suppose not," and started to walk away.

"Oh, it is purely an artistic impression," the young man said quickly. "I am a painter so I can't help noticing beauty."

Something made Sam stop. She knew she was being too hard on the young Frenchman and it suddenly felt rather nice to be paid a compliment.

"It's kind of you to say so," she said, her voice softer.

Sam took in the thick mass of black, wavy hair the young man kept sweeping back from his face with his right hand. His fingers were long and slender, those of an artist. His eyes were blue behind tortoiseshell glasses, his smile natural and unforced. He did not look like someone who made a habit of picking up women through casual compliments.

The young man stepped forward and pulled open the door of the lounge.

"My name is Alain Bazon. Can I buy you a cognac...?"

"Samantha. Sam. Yes, all right, that would be nice." She went to sit down at a table while he made his way over to the bar.

Alain bought the drinks and said as he joined her, "It is a shame that you shorten your name to something so masculine. Samantha is so much nicer than Sam."

"Named after an aunt."

"But still a beautiful name," Alain said, raising his glass to her.

"Is everything beautiful for you?" Sam said sharply, regretting immediately that it sounded like a criticism. But she went on, "My hair, my name…"

"Merely as beautiful as the woman who carries them," Alain said.

Sam was about to laugh when she saw he was serious. There was no way she would describe herself as beautiful. She knew she was attractive, and her hair was a lustrous golden-blonde, but her breasts were far too big for her 5'4" frame, and her bottom was plump and curvy. But then she had always been too self-critical, although Richard had never complained about her body when he was making love to her. Sam sighed. She could barely remember when she had last felt a thick, hard penis moving within her and cried out in the blissful release of orgasm.

"Don't tell me," she went on. "In a moment you'll find the courage to ask if you can sketch me in the nude. Just slide out of those clothes, Madame, you'll say, and I will immortalize you. Before I ravish you, of course."

Alain laughed. "Nothing so predictable. A true artist would not combine the two. He would sketch single-mindedly until the portrait was finished. There would be no thought in his mind for lovemaking until he put down his charcoal."

He looked into Sam's eyes and lowered his voice theatrically. "However, once the work was done and he was sharing a drink with his delighted model who would compliment him on the accuracy of his portraiture, she might well be pleased to thank him in whatever way seemed appropriate…"

Sam couldn't help smiling. She rather liked the way Alain was trying so hard to seduce her.

Alain smiled and shrugged. "That, at least, is the fantasy," he said lightly. "Along with owning a huge studio apartment in the centre of Paris and selling my paintings to a world-famous dealer for millions of francs."

Sam laughed with genuine amusement. "It's lovely to have dreams when you're young," she said.

Alain gave her a piercing look and she wondered if she had said the wrong thing.

"Sam, you are no more than ten or fifteen years older than me, and it is obvious from your left hand that you are not the 'Madame' you claim to be."

"You're very perceptive," she said.

"An artist's eye for detail. Now, it is your turn to buy the cognac as I am a struggling artist, and I would be very willing to listen if you wanted to talk."

"Oh god, there's no way I want to tell you my life story," Sam said dismissively.

But she still found herself buying a bottle rather than just two more drinks, deciding it wasn't every day that a handsome young Frenchman was prepared to listen while she explained why she was running away from everything and everyone she had ever known.

* * *

Sam couldn't recall the moment she stopped talking and drifted off to sleep, but she woke to find her head resting in Alain's lap and felt his hand resting lightly on her thigh. The bar was empty, the bartender gone. She never could take too many drinks and it seemed she had done just that before sleep claimed her.

"Bonjour," a voice said from above her. "There is just time for coffee and croissants before we dock."

She sat up, a little embarrassed for having fallen asleep on the young Frenchman although he seemed quite unconcerned.

"God, I must look a fright," she said and ran her fingers through her tousled hair.

"Of course not. You are-" he started to say and Sam cut him off.

"I know. I'm beautiful."

Alain grinned, and Sam couldn't help wishing for a moment that their time together could have been longer. The phrase, 'strangers passing in the night' came to her mind.

She led the way to the top deck café, now serving breakfast, and asked, "Where are you going when we land? Is someone meeting you?"

"I am going home. To Auray," Alain said. "It is a pretty town in southern Brittany. I must hitchhike because I am a penniless artist."

Sam kept her voice light. "I'm going to the Cote Sauvage," she said. "And I have a car. I could give you a lift if you like?"

Alain shook his head. "I could not impose, Sam," he said.

"Why?" Sam knew his protest was for show but she played along. "I've said I'm going that way."

"Yes. To forget for a while," Alain said, his voice full of sorrow for her. He paused and then said, "All right, and my father will be only too happy to provide a room for you."

"Oh but I couldn't-" Sam started to say, thinking Alain meant in a private house.

Alain shook his head. "He is the patron of the best hotel in Auray. Very small but very comfortable and he is a true artist in the kitchen. Papa will more than repay you for the kindness of your giving me a lift."

"That sounds perfect," Sam said. And she meant it.

* * *

Sam smiled at Alain's sceptical look when he saw she was driving a Porsche, but he visibly relaxed when he saw how skilfully she drove out of St. Malo and on to the N137 south towards Rennes. They stopped for lunch just outside the city and then Sam turned southwest towards Vannes and Auray, driving into the small riverside town at around four in the afternoon.

Following Alain's directions, Sam drove carefully down a steep cobbled street that brought them out at a picturesque stone bridge across a river. There was a half-timbered building on the other side with tables and chairs outside.

"This is the old quarter, St. Goustan," Alain said. "There is the hotel. Will you park in front while I go in for a moment? I will not be long."

"Yes. Of course." Sam wondered how Alain's father would react to his having brought an unexpected female guest.

Alain's father turned out to be warm and welcoming, kissing Sam on both cheeks. He picked up her bags and led the way to a tastefully furnished room with a view of the river winding slowly and gently downstream.

"Oh this is perfect, Monsieur Bazon. Thank you," Sam said, genuinely pleased.

"Please, call me Philippe. You will join us for dinner? I hope you will not mind sharing a drink with Alain beforehand because we do not eat until after I have attended to my guests."

"Of course," Sam said. "I shall look forward to it."

Philippe Bazon smiled and left the room and Sam started to unpack, amazed to find herself happily humming a French melody she remembered from a holiday she had taken with her parents another lifetime ago.

* * *

The night was warm and dry. Sam walked down to the hotel's bar wearing only a light cotton print skirt and a sleeveless cardigan that buttoned up the front. Although her breasts were too heavy for her not to wear a bra, she still went without, wanting to be unfettered, free, to have the pleasure of feeling her nipples rub against the soft material. It was part of her new persona, a sensuous woman who didn't feel self-conscious wearing nothing under her skirt.

Alain was waiting for her and Sam felt a little thrill of sexual desire when she saw his smile of pleasure at seeing her. He was wearing a white cotton shirt and corduroy pants. He looked tanned, handsome, every inch the young artist, carefree and delighted to respond to her need for romance and laughter.

"I ordered you a Kir Royale," Alain said and handed her the mix of crème de cassis and white wine. It was strong and fragrant and Sam loved the way the alcohol instantly relaxed her, made her alive to the sound of the river, the smells drifting in from the dining room, the coolness of the leather seat against the cheeks of her naked bottom. The thrill of desire she felt earlier grew stronger and her pussy felt wet, making her aware of how long it had been since she had been fucked. Her arousal suddenly made her possessive as she listened to Alain's stories about his life in Paris.

"And are there girls, a girlfriend?" she asked.

"No one special," he said. "No one who would miss me if I was not there."

"That's a pity," Sam said, and Alain smiled at her.

They talked until Philippe called them for dinner and served gigot of lamb and locally grown vegetables. The food and wine were superb and Sam joined with Alain's toast to his father, agreeing that he had not exaggerated his skill in the kitchen. Philippe Bazon glowed with pleasure, delighted by the compliment.

"Will you come for a walk with me?" Alain asked when they had finished eating and Sam emptied her coffee cup.

She looked across at Philippe, half-hoping he would object. The wine had lowered her inhibitions and she was enjoying having not one but two attractive Frenchmen treat her as the centre of attention.

"But of course, you must," said Philippe, smiling at her. "You should see the gardens of the ruined monastery. They are beautiful in the moonlight and there are said to be ghosts from the time when Brittany had its own kings."

"That would be lovely," Sam said, grateful that Philippe showed no resentment at the attention his son was paying her.

She followed Alain as he led the way out of the hotel and toward the bridge over the river. When they reached the mid-point he stopped and leaned over, watching the waters as they swirled away into the darkness.

"When I was young I used to come here all the time," he said. "I would talk to my mother in my mind and believe that the river carried my words to her."

Sam asked, "What happened to her?"

"She died in an accident. A speeding police car left the road and smashed her into a wall. Papa bought the hotel with the compensation we were given by the government. I hardly knew her: I was only three when she was killed."

"I'm sorry."

"There is no need for you to be," Alain said and Sam saw him smile in the glow of the overhead streetlight. "I only tell you because standing here reminded me."

"Did it work, the river carrying your words?"

"I like to think so," Alain said and smiled. He started walking and Sam followed him up the cobbled street to the town square. There was a blaze of light from a bar that was still open and two old men were sitting on chairs outside, talking softly.

"Bonsoir," Alain called as he and Sam walked past.

They came to an iron gate in a high wall between two buildings. Alain pushed it open and said, "Here. This is the entrance to the monastery gardens."

Sam followed him, her senses suddenly filled with the scent of blossom on the night air. What was it Philippe had said? That the garden was full of ghosts from medieval times? Sam felt as if a much more recent ghost was standing beside her. The remembrance that she had so often shared such experiences with Richard was very strong as she walked with Alain along a gravel pathway between neatly mown lawns and rhododendron bushes heavy with flowers. Sam walked over to an iron-framed bench, resting her hands on the back as she closed her eyes, surrounded by the smells and the silence.

Alain came up behind her and bent his head into the curve of her neck, his lips barely touching against the smooth skin. Sam let out a soft sigh and Alain kissed her neck more firmly, sliding his lips up under her hair to the lobe of her ear. He bit it gently, making Sam shiver with renewed arousal. Instinctively she moved her legs apart and leaned back against his chest, unresisting as his hands closed over the fullness of her breasts, cupping them through her cardigan.

Sam opened her eyes and tried to turn so she and Alain could kiss but he held her with his body against the back of the bench. She gasped when he started opening the buttons of her cardigan and bared her breasts, filling his hands with their soft weight, caressing them and rolling the stiff tips of her nipples between his fingers. She felt him press the hardness of his cock into the furrow between her buttocks and realized she was moments away from being fucked.

"Alain...please," Sam said softly, her voice betraying her desire. "I want to, but not here. Can we go back to the hotel?"

"Of course," and he released her from his embrace and stood back so Sam could button her cardigan.

The sense of unease Sam felt in the gardens lessened with every step she took back towards the hotel. At the bottom of the stairs leading up to the guest rooms Alain paused for a moment and said, "I must just say goodnight to Papa."

"Of course." Sam leaned over to kiss him gently on the cheek. "Thank you for inviting me to stay," she said softly.

"It is my pleasure. I hope you will remain for as long as you like. At least until you find the peace you are looking for."

Sam smiled but didn't reply.

She walked to her room and closed the door behind her, leaving the light off and the curtains open so she could stand and watch the river, its surface shimmering in the moonlight. There was a soft tap and Sam drew Alain into the moonlit room and put two fingers on his lips as a signal not to speak.

She watched Alain's face as she unbuttoned the sleeveless cardigan and drew it off her shoulders. Then she hooked her fingers inside the waist of her print skirt and pushed it down over her hips. As she did so, Sam shook her hair to fan it across her shoulders and down her back, the movement making her bare breasts bounce and sway.

"Now you," she said softly as she sat on the bed, her face level with his groin.

Alain stood in front of her and unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it from the waistband of his pants. He dropped it on the floor and stood with his hands by his sides as Sam reached up and ran her hands down along the smooth skin of his neck and across the muscles of his chest. She moved her hands lower, marvelling at the flatness of his stomach, delighting in the warm smell coming from his skin. She put her lips to it, wanting to taste his flesh, the taut muscles rippling in response as she opened her lips and trailed her tongue across the smooth surface.

The young Frenchman rested his hands gently on her head as Sam reached for the buckle of his belt. She flicked the clasp, ran the zip down, and opened his pants. His cock was already hard, the head protruding above the waistband of his briefs. She hooked her fingers inside the waistband of his pants and briefs and pushed them both down his legs. He quickly stepped out of them and kicked them away. The movement made his cock quiver and sway and then it stood out hard and straight from his groin, the tip throbbing, pre-come dripping from the glans.

For a long moment Sam stared at Alain's cock. She loved its size, the smell of it. She wanted to taste it, make love to it with her mouth, suck his sperm from it. She stretched her arms up to lay her hands on his chest, spreading her body into an attitude of worship as she opened her lips and sucked as much of his cock into her mouth as she could.

Slowly and carefully Sam worked her ovalled lips down the length of Alain's cock, working the glans past her palate. She still hadn't captured all of him when the head entered her throat, his cock filling her mouth with its heat and salty flavour, semen trickling down her throat and into her stomach. He tasted wonderful.

Bit by bit, Sam released the saliva-slick length of Alain's cockshaft from the confines of her mouth. She swirled her mouth round the swollen head when it appeared, pressing her lips against the ridge behind his glans to squeeze out delicious droplets of sperm which she swallowed. Then she took him back into her throat, inhaling the masculine scent of his pubic hair and pendant balls.

A low groan of pleasure escaped the Frenchman's chest and he bent at the waist to reach under Sam's outstretched arms to take her breasts in his hands, squeezing their weight softly in time to the movements of her head and mouth as she feasted on his prick. She gurgled with pleasure and increased the hot suction of her mouth, hollowing her cheeks to draw at the long shaft and the bulging head.

Sam could feel the tension building in Alain's body as he released her breasts and straightened up. His legs started to tremble and his hips jerked as he tried to push every inch of his cock, right up to his balls, into her greedily sucking mouth. She moved her head tirelessly, pumping Alain's prick with the greedy embrace of her lips, faster and faster until his voice rasped in his throat and he cried out, "Oui, ah oui!"

Spurts of warm, creamy come filled Sam's mouth and she swallowed greedily. There was so much, some of the thick liquid was forced back between the pulsating shaft and Sam's slippery lips but she slithered and twisted her tongue around the pumping glans to suck up Alain's sperm, determined not to waste a drop.

When at last the flow of semen slowed, Sam let the head of Alain's cock slip from between her lips. She sat back on the bed, gazing up at him lovingly as he brought his breathing under control and tried to stop shaking from the intensity of his orgasm.

Alain rested for a moment and then put his hands on Sam's shoulders, signalling that she should lie back. He quickly climbed between her legs and lifted her thighs onto his shoulders, his face close to the lips of her cunt, the scent of her sexjuice filling the air as strongly as that of hot semen. He pursed his lips and blew out the gentlest stream of warm air onto Sam's erect clit.

"Ohh," she moaned, reaching up with her hands to thread her fingers through his hair.

He blew warm air along the lips of her cunt and over the pink pucker of her arsehole.

"Ohhh!" Sam moaned, a little louder.

Gently Alain used his thumbs to prise open the slippery lips of her cunt and this time he blew warm air from the erect bud of her clit back and forth along the divide, into the hole and then against the twitching muscle of her anus. He put his tongue out and worked it against the taut muscle of her anal sphincter, pressing it open until the wet tip penetrated her rectum.

"Ohhh…ohhh!" Sam moaned, moving her head from side to side on the pillow, cupping her breasts in her hands and caressing them.

Alain used his saliva as a lubricant to slide two fingers in place of his tongue into her arsehole, working them in and out to heighten her pleasure. At the same time, he moved his head back and pressed his pursed lips down the shaft of her straining clit, applying the gentlest pressure to the base and flicking the tip with his tongue.

"Ohhh!" Sam cried and she jerked her hips up, her head thrashing from side to side, her belly spasming as she climaxed, her sexjuice flooding the Frenchman's mouth as he licked and lapped up the sweet syrup pouring from the opening of her pussy.

Sam expected Alain to give her time to catch her breath. But he didn't. He leaned over her body and whispered in her ear, "Turn over for me," and she did as he asked, settling herself onto the pillow, the slightly rough cotton sheet deliciously sensual against her aroused nipples.

And then Alain settled himself between her legs and Sam felt him pull open the cheeks of her arse so he could lick up and down the divide, first squirming his tongue between the lips of her cunt, dripping wet from her climax, then up along the furrow to the tight bud of her anus. It was a delicious sensation as Alain feasted on her two openings.

Overwhelmed by the sensation, Sam moaned into the pillow as Alain's tongue slid deep into her cunt, greedily licking and lapping up her sex honey before sliding purposefully to the rosette of her arsehole to press inside the tight opening, easing the muscle open so the wet flesh could push deep into her rectum. Sam felt as if she was being buggered by something delightfully warm and slippery, Alain's tongue finding every sensitive nerve-ending and making her pussy vibrate in response to his thrusts deep into her arse.

Minutes felt like hours as Sam luxuriated in the sweetness of being rimmed and then the tongue gently withdrew. A second later she felt fingers reach between her legs and prise apart the lips of her cunt. The swollen tip of Alain's cock nudged against the opening. Sam raised her hips and moaned softly with intense delight as Alain settled his body on top of hers and slid effortlessly into the welcoming warmth.

For several minutes Sam bucked and shuddered in rhythm with the hot hard cock that shuttled back and forth in her cunt, one moment buried full length inside her body and the next withdrawn until only the head was lodged within her clasping pussylips. Alain reached his hands under Sam to cup her breasts, squeezing and kneading their soft weight as he panted and shuddered with lust, his mouth close to her ear while Sam fought to engulf him with her cunt, arching her spine so she could take in every last inch of his pounding prick.

Every stroke, from hard and deep to shallow and teasing, Sam absorbed, loving Alain's skill in judging just which type of thrust she needed next. She felt like a sexual plaything, entirely at the mercy of the prick that was one moment stretching wide the wet lips of her cunt, the next buried so far inside her she gasped from the sensation of being stuffed to the brim.

And then suddenly the movements of the cock in her body grew stronger. Alain ground his hips against Sam's upturned buttocks as he began to come again, the shaft of his cock throbbing in the sheath of her pussy. He cried out, jerked, shuddered, and Sam felt gushes of hot semen pour into her cunt, a liquid heat that set off her own climax, an explosion of sensation deep in her belly so intensely pleasurable that she screamed into the pillow.

The strength of Alain's thrusts gradually lessened. "Oh Alain, that was wonderful," Sam said, a little surprised when he withdrew his cock completely from the spasming depths of her cunt. She had wanted him to stay inside her as they fell asleep together.

"I will not be long," he whispered and Sam stretched contentedly, enjoying the delightful sensation of having had her mouth and pussy thoroughly fucked by the virile young Frenchman.

Two or three minutes later Sam felt the weight of a body settle once more between her legs. She was about to turn over when a hand slipped between her buttocks and another closed over her mons, the fingers pulling her pussylips back to expose the bud of her erect clit. She groaned with the delicious sensation as fingers wet with her slippery sexjuice rolled the tiny bud back and forth and she cried out as she felt the curvy globes of her buttocks being separated and felt the massively swollen head of a cock press against her anus. She was thrilled that Alain had regained his erection so quickly and she moaned, "Oh yes..." quivering with excitement at the realization that she was about to be fucked in the arse.

Within seconds the slippery glans had pried the taut muscle apart and lodged in the opening, the engorged shaft distending the puckered rosette. Sam gasped and gritted her teeth, suddenly realizing how long it had been since the invading length of a man's cock had plundered that part of her body.

The cock moved forward and pushed ever more deeply inside Sam's back passage. She could feel her rectum slowly relaxing to accommodate the thickness, each tiny advance sending waves of pleasure into her belly, heightened by the skilled fingers stroking and rubbing her clit and sliding back and forth in the dripping sheath of her cunt.

And then the huge cock was driven completely into her arsehole, belly and balls slapping against her upturned buttocks and she was being buggered, the pumping increasing in tempo as she moaned in ecstasy, "Yes - fuck my arse, Alain! Come in my arse - I want to feel you spurting inside me!"

As she spoke the vibrations radiating out from the depths of her over-filled rectum made Sam come, a liquid climax that faded quickly and only made her hotter, a brief stab of pleasure there and then gone. She felt stretched to the limits but wonderfully so and she wriggled her backside against her lover's groin, her bowels sucking in the head of his cock, her arsehole clenched round him, milking his prick, drawing the come up from his balls.

"I love this," Sam gasped, lost in the double pleasure she was feeling from the fingers working in the sopping depths of her pussy and the cock thrusting back and forth in her rectum. She was amazed how far Alain stretched the tight muscle of her anus, how big he felt in her back passage, how deeply he penetrated into her bowels, and she cried out, "Oh god, it feels so good!"

"Yes-yes it does," a man's voice said next to her ear, a voice deeper than his son's and Sam screamed, wriggled her arse in ecstasy, her breasts quivering as another intense climax burst within her belly. The cock buried in her bottom throbbed and Sam felt an explosion of sensation as huge spurts of stored-up sperm poured into her bowels. Time and again she felt Philippe Bazon's hips jerk as he emptied his spunk into her, his cock sliding back and forth in the slippery mass until finally the movements of his body slowed and the intensity of his orgasm ebbed.

Sam felt the coolness of the night air on the sweat gathered at the base of her spine as Philippe gently withdrew his cock from her rectum. She steeled herself and turned round to face the man who had just emptied his balls into her arse.

"You shared me," Sam said to Philippe, her eyes meeting his.

"Yes. Yes we did. I wanted you as much as Alain. But then you wanted us both also."

Sam was amazed that Philippe had guessed her thoughts after dinner. Had it been that obvious?

She paused for a moment. Then she said, "Is Alain coming back to bed?"

"He was not sure how you would react to his act of generosity…" Philippe said

Sam paused for another, longer moment. Then she leaned over and kissed Philippe gently on the lips, dragging the tips of her breasts slowly across his chest.

"Why don't you call him and you can both find out," she said softly.

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Samantha knew she had to be strong and not allow herself to break down and cry when her solicitor rang and told her the arrangements following Richard's death were completed and that she had lost the fight to keep her apartment. There had been times when it seemed the heartache, the pain of loss, and the misery of being confronted by Richard's vengeful wife would overwhelm Samantha as she fought to keep what Richard had said was hers. But now, suddenly, the fight was over.

"I'm sorry, Sam, but there was nothing in Richard's will that gave you ownership," the solicitor said. He paused and then added, "He paid the mortgage but didn't leave it to you in his will."

Sam did her best to be defiant. "I take it no one's going to mind if I go away for a few days? I mean can anyone change the locks or anything?"

"Oh god, no. You have three months before you have to vacate. Legally no one can do anything during that time." The solicitor paused and then asked, "What were you thinking of doing?"

Sam wondered if he really cared. "I'm not sure yet," she said. "I just want to get away from all the memories."

"That sounds like a good idea. Think about what matters to you so you can start rebuilding your life when you come back."

Sam didn't want to think about rebuilding or even coming back. As soon as she'd said the words she knew she wanted to get as far away from London as she could. And she knew exactly where she was going.

In the space of an hour she had gathered her passport and credit cards, pulled on a cashmere sweater and jeans, packed a suitcase, then rang the magazine she worked for as a freelance editor and told them she was going on holiday and would take the manuscripts she was working on with her. She backed her car out of the garage and headed for Portsmouth and the ferry services to the west coast of France.

Sam wanted to go back to the place she remembered from her teenage years, on holiday with her parents and finding out about the wonders of other places, other peoples, and other cultures. She longed to recapture some of that innocence, walking the beaches and cliffs of the Cote Sauvage, the windswept southern coast of Brittany that has been under assault by the mountainous waves of the Atlantic Ocean for thousands of years.

* * *

Leaning against a rail on the deck outside the passenger lounge, enjoying the feel of the wind in her hair, Sam offered a silent prayer of thanks that the sea was smooth; the waves turning a golden orange as the sun slowly sank beneath the horizon. She could hear the dull throb of the engines and see the trail of white foam thrown up behind the ship. In only seven hours she would be driving south from St Malo, every kilometre taking her further away from the loneliness that had enveloped her since Richard's death.

"Your hair looks very beautiful in the setting sun," a voice said and Sam turned.

"Oh?" she said coolly to the young man standing behind her with a slight smile on his face.

"Yes. If you don't mind my saying so," he said, speaking English with a strong French accent.

Sam noticed his gaze drop from her face to her breasts and she said, "I suppose not," and started to walk away.

"Oh, it is purely an artistic impression," the young man said quickly. "I am a painter so I can't help noticing beauty."

Something made Sam stop. She knew she was being too hard on the young Frenchman and it suddenly felt rather nice to be paid a compliment.

"It's kind of you to say so," she said, her voice softer.

Sam took in the thick mass of black, wavy hair the young man kept sweeping back from his face with his right hand. His fingers were long and slender, those of an artist. His eyes were blue behind tortoiseshell glasses, his smile natural and unforced. He did not look like someone who made a habit of picking up women through casual compliments.

The young man stepped forward and pulled open the door of the lounge.

"My name is Alain Bazon. Can I buy you a cognac...?"

"Samantha. Sam. Yes, all right, that would be nice." She went to sit down at a table while he made his way over to the bar.

Alain bought the drinks and said as he joined her, "It is a shame that you shorten your name to something so masculine. Samantha is so much nicer than Sam."

"Named after an aunt."

"But still a beautiful name," Alain said, raising his glass to her.

"Is everything beautiful for you?" Sam said sharply, regretting immediately that it sounded like a criticism. But she went on, "My hair, my name…"

"Merely as beautiful as the woman who carries them," Alain said.

Sam was about to laugh when she saw he was serious. There was no way she would describe herself as beautiful. She knew she was attractive, and her hair was a lustrous golden-blonde, but her breasts were far too big for her 5'4" frame, and her bottom was plump and curvy. But then she had always been too self-critical, although Richard had never complained about her body when he was making love to her. Sam sighed. She could barely remember when she had last felt a thick, hard penis moving within her and cried out in the blissful release of orgasm.

"Don't tell me," she went on. "In a moment you'll find the courage to ask if you can sketch me in the nude. Just slide out of those clothes, Madame, you'll say, and I will immortalize you. Before I ravish you, of course."

Alain laughed. "Nothing so predictable. A true artist would not combine the two. He would sketch single-mindedly until the portrait was finished. There would be no thought in his mind for lovemaking until he put down his charcoal."

He looked into Sam's eyes and lowered his voice theatrically. "However, once the work was done and he was sharing a drink with his delighted model who would compliment him on the accuracy of his portraiture, she might well be pleased to thank him in whatever way seemed appropriate…"

Sam couldn't help smiling. She rather liked the way Alain was trying so hard to seduce her.

Alain smiled and shrugged. "That, at least, is the fantasy," he said lightly. "Along with owning a huge studio apartment in the centre of Paris and selling my paintings to a world-famous dealer for millions of francs."

Sam laughed with genuine amusement. "It's lovely to have dreams when you're young," she said.

Alain gave her a piercing look and she wondered if she had said the wrong thing.

"Sam, you are no more than ten or fifteen years older than me, and it is obvious from your left hand that you are not the 'Madame' you claim to be."

"You're very perceptive," she said.

"An artist's eye for detail. Now, it is your turn to buy the cognac as I am a struggling artist, and I would be very willing to listen if you wanted to talk."

"Oh god, there's no way I want to tell you my life story," Sam said dismissively.

But she still found herself buying a bottle rather than just two more drinks, deciding it wasn't every day that a handsome young Frenchman was prepared to listen while she explained why she was running away from everything and everyone she had ever known.

* * *

Sam couldn't recall the moment she stopped talking and drifted off to sleep, but she woke to find her head resting in Alain's lap and felt his hand resting lightly on her thigh. The bar was empty, the bartender gone. She never could take too many drinks and it seemed she had done just that before sleep claimed her.

"Bonjour," a voice said from above her. "There is just time for coffee and croissants before we dock."

She sat up, a little embarrassed for having fallen asleep on the young Frenchman although he seemed quite unconcerned.

"God, I must look a fright," she said and ran her fingers through her tousled hair.

"Of course not. You are-" he started to say and Sam cut him off.

"I know. I'm beautiful."

Alain grinned, and Sam couldn't help wishing for a moment that their time together could have been longer. The phrase, 'strangers passing in the night' came to her mind.

She led the way to the top deck café, now serving breakfast, and asked, "Where are you going when we land? Is someone meeting you?"

"I am going home. To Auray," Alain said. "It is a pretty town in southern Brittany. I must hitchhike because I am a penniless artist."

Sam kept her voice light. "I'm going to the Cote Sauvage," she said. "And I have a car. I could give you a lift if you like?"

Alain shook his head. "I could not impose, Sam," he said.

"Why?" Sam knew his protest was for show but she played along. "I've said I'm going that way."

"Yes. To forget for a while," Alain said, his voice full of sorrow for her. He paused and then said, "All right, and my father will be only too happy to provide a room for you."

"Oh but I couldn't-" Sam started to say, thinking Alain meant in a private house.

Alain shook his head. "He is the patron of the best hotel in Auray. Very small but very comfortable and he is a true artist in the kitchen. Papa will more than repay you for the kindness of your giving me a lift."

"That sounds perfect," Sam said. And she meant it.

* * *

Sam smiled at Alain's sceptical look when he saw she was driving a Porsche, but he visibly relaxed when he saw how skilfully she drove out of St. Malo and on to the N137 south towards Rennes. They stopped for lunch just outside the city and then Sam turned southwest towards Vannes and Auray, driving into the small riverside town at around four in the afternoon.

Following Alain's directions, Sam drove carefully down a steep cobbled street that brought them out at a picturesque stone bridge across a river. There was a half-timbered building on the other side with tables and chairs outside.

"This is the old quarter, St. Goustan," Alain said. "There is the hotel. Will you park in front while I go in for a moment? I will not be long."

"Yes. Of course." Sam wondered how Alain's father would react to his having brought an unexpected female guest.

Alain's father turned out to be warm and welcoming, kissing Sam on both cheeks. He picked up her bags and led the way to a tastefully furnished room with a view of the river winding slowly and gently downstream.

"Oh this is perfect, Monsieur Bazon. Thank you," Sam said, genuinely pleased.

"Please, call me Philippe. You will join us for dinner? I hope you will not mind sharing a drink with Alain beforehand because we do not eat until after I have attended to my guests."

"Of course," Sam said. "I shall look forward to it."

Philippe Bazon smiled and left the room and Sam started to unpack, amazed to find herself happily humming a French melody she remembered from a holiday she had taken with her parents another lifetime ago.

* * *

The night was warm and dry. Sam walked down to the hotel's bar wearing only a light cotton print skirt and a sleeveless cardigan that buttoned up the front. Although her breasts were too heavy for her not to wear a bra, she still went without, wanting to be unfettered, free, to have the pleasure of feeling her nipples rub against the soft material. It was part of her new persona, a sensuous woman who didn't feel self-conscious wearing nothing under her skirt.

Alain was waiting for her and Sam felt a little thrill of sexual desire when she saw his smile of pleasure at seeing her. He was wearing a white cotton shirt and corduroy pants. He looked tanned, handsome, every inch the young artist, carefree and delighted to respond to her need for romance and laughter.

"I ordered you a Kir Royale," Alain said and handed her the mix of crème de cassis and white wine. It was strong and fragrant and Sam loved the way the alcohol instantly relaxed her, made her alive to the sound of the river, the smells drifting in from the dining room, the coolness of the leather seat against the cheeks of her naked bottom. The thrill of desire she felt earlier grew stronger and her pussy felt wet, making her aware of how long it had been since she had been fucked. Her arousal suddenly made her possessive as she listened to Alain's stories about his life in Paris.

"And are there girls, a girlfriend?" she asked.

"No one special," he said. "No one who would miss me if I was not there."

"That's a pity," Sam said, and Alain smiled at her.

They talked until Philippe called them for dinner and served gigot of lamb and locally grown vegetables. The food and wine were superb and Sam joined with Alain's toast to his father, agreeing that he had not exaggerated his skill in the kitchen. Philippe Bazon glowed with pleasure, delighted by the compliment.

"Will you come for a walk with me?" Alain asked when they had finished eating and Sam emptied her coffee cup.

She looked across at Philippe, half-hoping he would object. The wine had lowered her inhibitions and she was enjoying having not one but two attractive Frenchmen treat her as the centre of attention.

"But of course, you must," said Philippe, smiling at her. "You should see the gardens of the ruined monastery. They are beautiful in the moonlight and there are said to be ghosts from the time when Brittany had its own kings."

"That would be lovely," Sam said, grateful that Philippe showed no resentment at the attention his son was paying her.

She followed Alain as he led the way out of the hotel and toward the bridge over the river. When they reached the mid-point he stopped and leaned over, watching the waters as they swirled away into the darkness.

"When I was young I used to come here all the time," he said. "I would talk to my mother in my mind and believe that the river carried my words to her."

Sam asked, "What happened to her?"

"She died in an accident. A speeding police car left the road and smashed her into a wall. Papa bought the hotel with the compensation we were given by the government. I hardly knew her: I was only three when she was killed."

"I'm sorry."

"There is no need for you to be," Alain said and Sam saw him smile in the glow of the overhead streetlight. "I only tell you because standing here reminded me."

"Did it work, the river carrying your words?"

"I like to think so," Alain said and smiled. He started walking and Sam followed him up the cobbled street to the town square. There was a blaze of light from a bar that was still open and two old men were sitting on chairs outside, talking softly.

"Bonsoir," Alain called as he and Sam walked past.

They came to an iron gate in a high wall between two buildings. Alain pushed it open and said, "Here. This is the entrance to the monastery gardens."

Sam followed him, her senses suddenly filled with the scent of blossom on the night air. What was it Philippe had said? That the garden was full of ghosts from medieval times? Sam felt as if a much more recent ghost was standing beside her. The remembrance that she had so often shared such experiences with Richard was very strong as she walked with Alain along a gravel pathway between neatly mown lawns and rhododendron bushes heavy with flowers. Sam walked over to an iron-framed bench, resting her hands on the back as she closed her eyes, surrounded by the smells and the silence.

Alain came up behind her and bent his head into the curve of her neck, his lips barely touching against the smooth skin. Sam let out a soft sigh and Alain kissed her neck more firmly, sliding his lips up under her hair to the lobe of her ear. He bit it gently, making Sam shiver with renewed arousal. Instinctively she moved her legs apart and leaned back against his chest, unresisting as his hands closed over the fullness of her breasts, cupping them through her cardigan.

Sam opened her eyes and tried to turn so she and Alain could kiss but he held her with his body against the back of the bench. She gasped when he started opening the buttons of her cardigan and bared her breasts, filling his hands with their soft weight, caressing them and rolling the stiff tips of her nipples between his fingers. She felt him press the hardness of his cock into the furrow between her buttocks and realized she was moments away from being fucked.

"Alain...please," Sam said softly, her voice betraying her desire. "I want to, but not here. Can we go back to the hotel?"

"Of course," and he released her from his embrace and stood back so Sam could button her cardigan.

The sense of unease Sam felt in the gardens lessened with every step she took back towards the hotel. At the bottom of the stairs leading up to the guest rooms Alain paused for a moment and said, "I must just say goodnight to Papa."

"Of course." Sam leaned over to kiss him gently on the cheek. "Thank you for inviting me to stay," she said softly.

"It is my pleasure. I hope you will remain for as long as you like. At least until you find the peace you are looking for."

Sam smiled but didn't reply.

She walked to her room and closed the door behind her, leaving the light off and the curtains open so she could stand and watch the river, its surface shimmering in the moonlight. There was a soft tap and Sam drew Alain into the moonlit room and put two fingers on his lips as a signal not to speak.

She watched Alain's face as she unbuttoned the sleeveless cardigan and drew it off her shoulders. Then she hooked her fingers inside the waist of her print skirt and pushed it down over her hips. As she did so, Sam shook her hair to fan it across her shoulders and down her back, the movement making her bare breasts bounce and sway.

"Now you," she said softly as she sat on the bed, her face level with his groin.

Alain stood in front of her and unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it from the waistband of his pants. He dropped it on the floor and stood with his hands by his sides as Sam reached up and ran her hands down along the smooth skin of his neck and across the muscles of his chest. She moved her hands lower, marvelling at the flatness of his stomach, delighting in the warm smell coming from his skin. She put her lips to it, wanting to taste his flesh, the taut muscles rippling in response as she opened her lips and trailed her tongue across the smooth surface.

The young Frenchman rested his hands gently on her head as Sam reached for the buckle of his belt. She flicked the clasp, ran the zip down, and opened his pants. His cock was already hard, the head protruding above the waistband of his briefs. She hooked her fingers inside the waistband of his pants and briefs and pushed them both down his legs. He quickly stepped out of them and kicked them away. The movement made his cock quiver and sway and then it stood out hard and straight from his groin, the tip throbbing, pre-come dripping from the glans.

For a long moment Sam stared at Alain's cock. She loved its size, the smell of it. She wanted to taste it, make love to it with her mouth, suck his sperm from it. She stretched her arms up to lay her hands on his chest, spreading her body into an attitude of worship as she opened her lips and sucked as much of his cock into her mouth as she could.

Slowly and carefully Sam worked her ovalled lips down the length of Alain's cock, working the glans past her palate. She still hadn't captured all of him when the head entered her throat, his cock filling her mouth with its heat and salty flavour, semen trickling down her throat and into her stomach. He tasted wonderful.

Bit by bit, Sam released the saliva-slick length of Alain's cockshaft from the confines of her mouth. She swirled her mouth round the swollen head when it appeared, pressing her lips against the ridge behind his glans to squeeze out delicious droplets of sperm which she swallowed. Then she took him back into her throat, inhaling the masculine scent of his pubic hair and pendant balls.

A low groan of pleasure escaped the Frenchman's chest and he bent at the waist to reach under Sam's outstretched arms to take her breasts in his hands, squeezing their weight softly in time to the movements of her head and mouth as she feasted on his prick. She gurgled with pleasure and increased the hot suction of her mouth, hollowing her cheeks to draw at the long shaft and the bulging head.

Sam could feel the tension building in Alain's body as he released her breasts and straightened up. His legs started to tremble and his hips jerked as he tried to push every inch of his cock, right up to his balls, into her greedily sucking mouth. She moved her head tirelessly, pumping Alain's prick with the greedy embrace of her lips, faster and faster until his voice rasped in his throat and he cried out, "Oui, ah oui!"

Spurts of warm, creamy come filled Sam's mouth and she swallowed greedily. There was so much, some of the thick liquid was forced back between the pulsating shaft and Sam's slippery lips but she slithered and twisted her tongue around the pumping glans to suck up Alain's sperm, determined not to waste a drop.

When at last the flow of semen slowed, Sam let the head of Alain's cock slip from between her lips. She sat back on the bed, gazing up at him lovingly as he brought his breathing under control and tried to stop shaking from the intensity of his orgasm.

Alain rested for a moment and then put his hands on Sam's shoulders, signalling that she should lie back. He quickly climbed between her legs and lifted her thighs onto his shoulders, his face close to the lips of her cunt, the scent of her sexjuice filling the air as strongly as that of hot semen. He pursed his lips and blew out the gentlest stream of warm air onto Sam's erect clit.

"Ohh," she moaned, reaching up with her hands to thread her fingers through his hair.

He blew warm air along the lips of her cunt and over the pink pucker of her arsehole.

"Ohhh!" Sam moaned, a little louder.

Gently Alain used his thumbs to prise open the slippery lips of her cunt and this time he blew warm air from the erect bud of her clit back and forth along the divide, into the hole and then against the twitching muscle of her anus. He put his tongue out and worked it against the taut muscle of her anal sphincter, pressing it open until the wet tip penetrated her rectum.

"Ohhh…ohhh!" Sam moaned, moving her head from side to side on the pillow, cupping her breasts in her hands and caressing them.

Alain used his saliva as a lubricant to slide two fingers in place of his tongue into her arsehole, working them in and out to heighten her pleasure. At the same time, he moved his head back and pressed his pursed lips down the shaft of her straining clit, applying the gentlest pressure to the base and flicking the tip with his tongue.

"Ohhh!" Sam cried and she jerked her hips up, her head thrashing from side to side, her belly spasming as she climaxed, her sexjuice flooding the Frenchman's mouth as he licked and lapped up the sweet syrup pouring from the opening of her pussy.

Sam expected Alain to give her time to catch her breath. But he didn't. He leaned over her body and whispered in her ear, "Turn over for me," and she did as he asked, settling herself onto the pillow, the slightly rough cotton sheet deliciously sensual against her aroused nipples.

And then Alain settled himself between her legs and Sam felt him pull open the cheeks of her arse so he could lick up and down the divide, first squirming his tongue between the lips of her cunt, dripping wet from her climax, then up along the furrow to the tight bud of her anus. It was a delicious sensation as Alain feasted on her two openings.

Overwhelmed by the sensation, Sam moaned into the pillow as Alain's tongue slid deep into her cunt, greedily licking and lapping up her sex honey before sliding purposefully to the rosette of her arsehole to press inside the tight opening, easing the muscle open so the wet flesh could push deep into her rectum. Sam felt as if she was being buggered by something delightfully warm and slippery, Alain's tongue finding every sensitive nerve-ending and making her pussy vibrate in response to his thrusts deep into her arse.

Minutes felt like hours as Sam luxuriated in the sweetness of being rimmed and then the tongue gently withdrew. A second later she felt fingers reach between her legs and prise apart the lips of her cunt. The swollen tip of Alain's cock nudged against the opening. Sam raised her hips and moaned softly with intense delight as Alain settled his body on top of hers and slid effortlessly into the welcoming warmth.

For several minutes Sam bucked and shuddered in rhythm with the hot hard cock that shuttled back and forth in her cunt, one moment buried full length inside her body and the next withdrawn until only the head was lodged within her clasping pussylips. Alain reached his hands under Sam to cup her breasts, squeezing and kneading their soft weight as he panted and shuddered with lust, his mouth close to her ear while Sam fought to engulf him with her cunt, arching her spine so she could take in every last inch of his pounding prick.

Every stroke, from hard and deep to shallow and teasing, Sam absorbed, loving Alain's skill in judging just which type of thrust she needed next. She felt like a sexual plaything, entirely at the mercy of the prick that was one moment stretching wide the wet lips of her cunt, the next buried so far inside her she gasped from the sensation of being stuffed to the brim.

And then suddenly the movements of the cock in her body grew stronger. Alain ground his hips against Sam's upturned buttocks as he began to come again, the shaft of his cock throbbing in the sheath of her pussy. He cried out, jerked, shuddered, and Sam felt gushes of hot semen pour into her cunt, a liquid heat that set off her own climax, an explosion of sensation deep in her belly so intensely pleasurable that she screamed into the pillow.

The strength of Alain's thrusts gradually lessened. "Oh Alain, that was wonderful," Sam said, a little surprised when he withdrew his cock completely from the spasming depths of her cunt. She had wanted him to stay inside her as they fell asleep together.

"I will not be long," he whispered and Sam stretched contentedly, enjoying the delightful sensation of having had her mouth and pussy thoroughly fucked by the virile young Frenchman.

Two or three minutes later Sam felt the weight of a body settle once more between her legs. She was about to turn over when a hand slipped between her buttocks and another closed over her mons, the fingers pulling her pussylips back to expose the bud of her erect clit. She groaned with the delicious sensation as fingers wet with her slippery sexjuice rolled the tiny bud back and forth and she cried out as she felt the curvy globes of her buttocks being separated and felt the massively swollen head of a cock press against her anus. She was thrilled that Alain had regained his erection so quickly and she moaned, "Oh yes..." quivering with excitement at the realization that she was about to be fucked in the arse.

Within seconds the slippery glans had pried the taut muscle apart and lodged in the opening, the engorged shaft distending the puckered rosette. Sam gasped and gritted her teeth, suddenly realizing how long it had been since the invading length of a man's cock had plundered that part of her body.

The cock moved forward and pushed ever more deeply inside Sam's back passage. She could feel her rectum slowly relaxing to accommodate the thickness, each tiny advance sending waves of pleasure into her belly, heightened by the skilled fingers stroking and rubbing her clit and sliding back and forth in the dripping sheath of her cunt.

And then the huge cock was driven completely into her arsehole, belly and balls slapping against her upturned buttocks and she was being buggered, the pumping increasing in tempo as she moaned in ecstasy, "Yes - fuck my arse, Alain! Come in my arse - I want to feel you spurting inside me!"

As she spoke the vibrations radiating out from the depths of her over-filled rectum made Sam come, a liquid climax that faded quickly and only made her hotter, a brief stab of pleasure there and then gone. She felt stretched to the limits but wonderfully so and she wriggled her backside against her lover's groin, her bowels sucking in the head of his cock, her arsehole clenched round him, milking his prick, drawing the come up from his balls.

"I love this," Sam gasped, lost in the double pleasure she was feeling from the fingers working in the sopping depths of her pussy and the cock thrusting back and forth in her rectum. She was amazed how far Alain stretched the tight muscle of her anus, how big he felt in her back passage, how deeply he penetrated into her bowels, and she cried out, "Oh god, it feels so good!"

"Yes-yes it does," a man's voice said next to her ear, a voice deeper than his son's and Sam screamed, wriggled her arse in ecstasy, her breasts quivering as another intense climax burst within her belly. The cock buried in her bottom throbbed and Sam felt an explosion of sensation as huge spurts of stored-up sperm poured into her bowels. Time and again she felt Philippe Bazon's hips jerk as he emptied his spunk into her, his cock sliding back and forth in the slippery mass until finally the movements of his body slowed and the intensity of his orgasm ebbed.

Sam felt the coolness of the night air on the sweat gathered at the base of her spine as Philippe gently withdrew his cock from her rectum. She steeled herself and turned round to face the man who had just emptied his balls into her arse.

"You shared me," Sam said to Philippe, her eyes meeting his.

"Yes. Yes we did. I wanted you as much as Alain. But then you wanted us both also."

Sam was amazed that Philippe had guessed her thoughts after dinner. Had it been that obvious?

She paused for a moment. Then she said, "Is Alain coming back to bed?"

"He was not sure how you would react to his act of generosity…" Philippe said

Sam paused for another, longer moment. Then she leaned over and kissed Philippe gently on the lips, dragging the tips of her breasts slowly across his chest.

"Why don't you call him and you can both find out," she said softly.

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