Videostore Michelle (with Luis Fernández)

 ONLY FOR MATURE READERS OVER 18 YEARS

🇪🇦 spanish version

As Colette had promised, the best and most spectacular part of the film was from minute 46 onwards. But before we get to that point, there was a lot more to tell.

As usual, every Friday, after leaving school, I dropped by the video store to get the latest releases. I have to remind you that before, when I was young in the late eighties, there was no Netflix or Amazon Prime, and the idea of streaming was unthinkable. Internet? It was music of the future and as far away as getting to the Moon. We were lucky having a telephone at home without having Internet. Public channels were terrible. If you were lucky, you had a handful of them that would fill you up with adverts. If you didn't have enough money to go to the cinema regularly or you spent it on other things, you went to your local video store to watch "cinema".

The video store Michelle was a place where you could rent a feature movie in VHS or Betamax format (I know that these technologies don't mean anything to you) for a small fee, and years later, on DVD. Before you could take the tape home, you had to become a member, give your ID card to avoid fraud and be overcharged in case you were late returning the tape. You had 24 hours on weekdays and 48 hours on weekends to watch the tape and return it to the shop, and you had to bring it rewound, otherwise you would be charged extra!

If you weren't super late (which was almost always my case) you could get the new releases and you didn't have to confirm with the latest David Carradine action thriller or a horror movie with a number from four onwards. Oh, I forgot and it's important: there was also a section inside the shop, usually a room covered with a discreet curtain, where the X films were. The pornographic ones. The forbidden ones. The good ones. And the object of desire of the kids. You never went into that room if they were watching you and even less so if you weren't old enough. A sign the size of the Schweppes advert on Madrid's Gran Vía with the sentence "Only over 18" vehemently dissuaded you from doing so. Of course there were ways to get into the room without embarrassing yourself with one of the forbidden tapes. It basically depended on whether it was Jérôme, the owner, at the counter or his young wife Colette. I'll explain it to you.

Colette (her real name was Marie Colette Dubois) drove me crazy. She and Jérôme had been married for a few years and, despite living in Spain for a long time, she had not been able to get rid of her strong French accent. He, on the other hand, had lost it completely. She was much younger than good old Jérôme. I loved the way Colette was babbling in Spanish. How she embellished each word with the little "oui". Every time she spoke to me, I could barely hold her gaze, tense as a spring, my face flushed as if I had a fever and I began to stammer like an idiot. I felt like a French mime with a wilted flower in my hand. And yet I had already passed the age of 17. She looked at me intrigued with her flirtatious short brown hair as she laughed at my indisposition and took a puff on her Gauloises cigarette.

Smoking Gauloises was for the French a patriotic affair. The brand was irrevocably associated with the French infantrymen of the trenches and the glorious Resistance. And yes, it used to be smoked in shops too.

Just seeing the mark of her left by his carmine red on the mouthpiece of her fag and how she would take a long drag on the lucky cigarette with her fleshy hell-red lips would bring me to my knees in bitterness. Such a sight immediately got my nobler parts up in arms, ready to fight any war that came along.

"Quelle beauté," she said mockingly as she watched out of the corner of her eye as my cock tyrannised my fly. Colette looked away and went back to flicking disinterestedly through her fashion magazine while she swirled a wisp of hair behind her ear with a pencil. No doubt she was amused by the power she had over me. Her light eyes were to blame for global warming, or at least mine, though that was not known at the time. Her fluffy, plump wineskins, which she had for breasts, bulged her tight silk blouses libidinously. Of course she never wore a bra. What for? Her tits could have withstood a hurricane without losing her composure. She smelled of ripe quince, of the spring evening breeze. Her tight, tight black leather skirt made love to her ass all the time and her unperturbed sin-black ankle boots made her inaccessible to the common people.

Needless to say, her video store was the most visited in this part of town. More than a few women said that the slut could cover herself up a bit more. Even Blas, the young priest of the neighbourhood, had to come and analyse the unholy situation, only to leave in a huff shortly afterwards. Jérôme said that anyone who didn't want to go into his place should stay out, but that the bitter women should cut the bullshit. Well, I don't know if he said it verbatim like that, but it was similar. And I don't know whether Jérôme or Blas said it when he saw that divine creature of the Lord, Colette.

This weekend my parents wouldn't be home, so if Jérôme was there, as I expected, I would sneak into the forbidden room, take one or maybe two films. To disguise them, I would put them between the first and the last of the boring regular tapes. A master plan. Today, tucked in between "Lord Crime Part II" and "Cannon Fodder: The Revenge", was the exquisite "Inside Sunny Peaches". Between men we understand each other, we don't ask questions, and with a smile it was all said and done. And Jérôme, a saint, even though he knew he wouldn't be 18 for another five months, would collect them from me and put them in an opaque plastic bag and that was that. We would close our little caper with a nod of the head and a smile. The problem was if the beautiful Colette was there, then I'd chicken out and wouldn't dare rent anything but the normal movies. It was enough for me not to bump into the door.

And that was the plan. Jérôme present, a porn movie. Colette present, horror or action movie. Easy. Until Colette caught me in the forbidden room, checking out my next victim. She and Jérôme had switched shifts.

-Aren't you too young to rent this kind of movie from Moms and Dads?

-It's a test of courage I did with some buddies," I replied sheepishly, as I tried to put the cover back on the shelf, knocking over a whole row of other porn tapes in the process. Scattered on the floor were Taija Rae sitting on a wicker chair, Ginger Lynn on the bonnet of a car and Hyapatia Lee dressed as an Indian. Excuse me, miss.

She laughed, and kept repeating oui, oui as she bent down and squatted, one by one, to pick up all the carcasses from the floor. The narrow skirt could barely hide her delicate ivory-coloured panties and I got her delicate intimate essence of a grown woman, a mixture of voluptuousness, expensive perfume and moist heat, I don't know if you understand me. She lingered over the film she had wanted to rent, turned it over to look at the synopsis and wielded a mischievous smile.

-Call me Colette. I'm no more than ten years older than you, so I'm not too old not to be on a first-name basis, chérie. I'll keep it a secret, oui? But promise me that the next time you have such a special bet you'll tell me, d'accord? The actress in this movie, Sunny Peaches, is French, from Paris like me and very beautiful. I love her performances. They are very natural. She is spontaneous like a rain at sunset.

I nodded, got out of the forbidden pleasure room and to simulate, I took the legal part, a horror film of carnivorous bugs from space that, I think, ate your ass and I went home. I wouldn't have the porn movie but I wasn't going to pass up the chance to masturbate to the glorious sight of Colette's panties. I imagined her lifting her ass up and me shoving my veiny cock into her. That I was cumming over and over again on top of her as I kept pounding her ass.

Did you have a girlfriend back then? Yes, and I wasn't a virgin either, my girlfriend sucked me off, but I watched porn alone, I was ashamed to watch it with my girlfriend Alma. I didn't want her to think I was a degenerate. And so my days went by between my studies, the illusion of doing it without a condom with Alma one day, some blowjob or touching her tits in the park when we went for a walk. Once I asked her if I could put it between her tits, as I was in pain with my balls. She replied that only whores in France did that. Well, well. I told her that if she could just shake it between her tits, which were quite big for her age. Better than nothing, and I had jerked off with less.

Many months went by like that, where I didn't miss my Friday appointment and, depending on who was behind the counter, I took the usual Bo Svenson movies or the forbidden films (if Jérôme was there). I still couldn't bring myself to accept Colette's proposal. It was a hell of a cut.

There were days when she ignored me completely, as if she didn't know me at all. She smoked quietly, her legs crossed, her black fishnet stockings tucked behind the counter. I wanted to talk to her, to soak myself in her, to take her femme fatale image into my room and do everything to her. I still don't know what to think about it today: Is it dirty to masturbate with a "known" person? Am I disrespecting them? Was I being unfaithful to Alma if I was jerking off with a "real" person? I would love for someone to cum thinking about me, there's nothing wrong with that. I have no idea if women feel the same way. I don't dare to ask.

Alma had gone to the village of Los Olmos de San Juan in Avila with her parents and mine were away for the weekend as well. The occasion was a long shot. I picked up the latest Chuck Norris, another horror film about Satanist creatures at an American university and a porno of the chunky lady Peaches, the little neighbour we all wish we had, something like "Sunny's Whorehouse". Colette wasn't there.

Or so I thought. But when I left the room, there she was, behind the counter, painting her nails, and she was going to catch me again. Outside it was raining cats and dogs, and no one in their right mind would have left the video store until the rain had stopped. Lightning illuminated the place. The lighting began to dim. She looked out of the window curiously. She gave off a warmth that even today makes me feel very hard. Under cover of the gloom, I deposited the films on the counter, in a show of courage.

She picked them up with her slender long fingers with perfect nails, raised an eyebrow, and paused for an eternity looking at me and smoking. Studying me. She blew the smoke into my face. Then she flipped over the cover of the porn tape. She smiled again and affirmed that it was true that I really liked the actress.

-Do you watch the films with your girlfriend? - she asked me intrigued while she lit her umpteenth cigarette and looked for the movie in the drawer.

-We've split up," I lied.

-Oh, so you're going to be alone this afternoon? Then wait," she got up and went to the back room and started rummaging through some boxes. I couldn't help but gloat over his ass. How many times her husband would have fucked it. How lucky some of them were. Take this one for free. It's got some racy scenes, but a guy like you can handle it. It gets really interesting after 46 minutes.

-Promise you'll watch it alone and return it before it closes today, chérie? -Yes.

-Yes.

-And you have to tell me if you liked it, honnêtement. It's my favourite movie.

I came home wet as a stray dog, warmed up a pizza, and set out to watch the moviewith the anodyne title "Comrade Soviet III: The Dogs of War". It sucked. I didn't know how Colette could like such a movie. But from the 46th minute onwards... my goodness.

The film was interrupted by amateur footage of fleshy lips licking an imposing black cock in close-up. Thick drops of pasty semen slowly slid down a black phallus to end up in the fist of a Colette, much younger than she is today. That doesn't stop her from annihilating that monstrosity of a cock, even though the black guy must have cum a long time ago. Up and down... up to the balls. And again. And again. From the tip of the whitish glans, through the thick, marked veins, and finally devouring the whole cock. I couldn't believe my eyes. Not only how Colette was able to take such a member in her mouth, but also the fact that it was definitely not her husband's cock.

In the background a naked man masturbating on a burgundy sofa seems to say something to her. Colette sits up gracefully, puts the defeated and hopeless cock, clean as a whistle, to one side and walks towards the man. It's not Jérôme either. Colette is not naked, she is wearing garters and heels that enhance her legs even more than I could ever have imagined. I discover on the right cheek of her ass a small tattoo of two cherries. My goddess spits on the palm of her hand, and rubs her saliva on the lucky guy's erect, red-hot cock. His cock looks like it's about to explode.  She sits on top of him and starts riding him slowly in front of the camera. With all the intention in the world, the French babe lifts her hips so that the hard prick uncorked from her vulva and falls wrapped in vaginal fluids on one of the man's thighs. Her countenance knows that this vile action is making the man suffer. Colette grabs the man's member again and shoves the forty-year-old's fat, volcanic red cock back into her sex. She starts licking her pointed breasts and biting her nipples as she picks up the pace of the ride. You don't get to see the man being "punished" in such a vile way. The video shop assistant's bushy bunny is bushy but coquettishly groomed within its luxuriance. Ample drips of the man's pre-seminal fluid moisten Miss Dubois' pubic hair, creating graceful snails. The surprise signature presence of two hands on Colette's hips, then tearing with extreme virulence at both stockings, indicates to me that the man has ostentatiously cum inside her. She reproaches him and stands up. The torn pantyhose are pulled halfway down her legs. A voluminous cum silently leaves her vulva. In gushes. I notice for the first time that the video has no sound. The man with the long grey beard, exhausted behind him, sinks onto the sofa like a dead weight. His cock remains firm as a prairie dog for a few seconds before collapsing and losing itself in the man's silver-tinged pubic hair.

Colette lights up a cigarette, and kicks the man in the ribs with one of her heels to tell him unequivocally to leave the sofa free. Large, old semen stains adorn the long-suffering sofa as the last drops of the man's cum do their part in decorating the sofa. More than one has cum here. The embarrassed man gathers his things while the French woman spreads her legs and starts masturbating. Her thighs and ass are covered in bruises.

Colette doesn't make love, Colette fucks. Now the camera zooms in a little closer to get a better shot of her swollen labia. Her pubic hair has traces of sticky cum in the form of tiny pearls of semen. Her nipple dances like a cork in a raging sea at the touch of her nimble slender fingers. Another man approaches. 

This time it's Jérôme, he indicates something to her, she nods and soon her husband brings her a glass and a bottle of champagne, which he hands her. She continues to masturbate as she drains the glass, spitting the last of the contents onto her sex. Her husband is masturbating in front of her. Colette cums with exaggerated fuss while Jérôme, aroused by the situation, pulls his cock up and unloads, sticking his glans to the nipple on the French woman's right breast. A large, long-contained ejaculation (no doubt also because of the phallic ring that embraces the video store owner's cock) splashes Colette's breasts like a broken sprinkler. The man with the camera, I assume it's the black guy from before, turns off the recording as he approaches Colette again who pushes her whitish thighs apart with yellow and bluish marks from previous sexual collisions, waiting for the brunet's irremediable lunge of flesh. That there is still sperm left over from previous cumshots seems to matter little to him.

Captain Ivan Andreyevich aka Comrade Soviet returns to the screen to blast a bearded terrorist with a bazooka, shouting that no one is pulling Mother Russia's leg and calling a halt to the peace talks. He grabs his motorbike and heads into a burning forest. He stands up with his motorbike in motion, throwing grenades everywhere like someone handing out sweets at the Three Wise Men's parade.

I stopped the tape. I had just seen the first and undoubtedly the best Sex Tape of my life. I had a huge erection, which, by the way, was not due to the Russian comrade. I looked at the time. I had barely 20 minutes left to get to the video store before it closed. I hurried, even though the pain in my balls was driving me crazy with every step. The kilometre from my parents' house to Colette felt like ten kilometres, but I had made a promise and I was going to keep it. What I was going to say? I had no idea.

It was almost snow in the evening when I arrived breathless at the video store. Colette was smoking a Galouises as usual and her face lit up when she saw me. I got the feeling that she had risked a trick without holding the best cards. "Come in," she looked behind me and closed the door behind her. I threw the padlock, and she turned off the lights. She was barefoot. What beautiful feet. No one's waiting for you at home, are they?

Then she unbuttoned my fly, and with her free hand she grabbed my cock and led me like a penguin to the back room, full of boxes. She had a feline look on her face, like someone who had just killed Bambi. I didn't say anything.

 -There you are. I wasn't sure you were coming, but something told me you could be trusted. Now tell me... What did you like best, since your friend down here seems to be quite happy," she said as she tapped her index finger on my glans, spat a spit of saliva on her hand to continue masturbating with two fingers just the dick. Did you like the way Antoine came in my mouth? Have you ever come in someone's mouth?

I confessed that I hadn't. She crushed her cigarette in a Cinzano ashtray overflowing with victims that was on top of some boxes and lifted up her blouse. Her breasts were like two cream tarts topped with two fat aureoles in the shape of chocolate cookies. She pushed me onto a row of boxes full of old films and finished undressing. She elegantly picked up her damp panties with one hand and stuffed them into my mouth. They were burning like clothes being taken out of a washing machine without the drying programme. She ordered me not to say anything. I wouldn't have been able to either.

She straddled my cock and rode me mercilessly. She didn't ask any more questions. A French song was playing on the radio, distorted by the heavy rain that was pounding virulently against the shop windows. The ride was so violent that we moved more and more against the wall. I only wished she hadn't pulled my most important player off the field like she did with the man on the tape. I would have cum, no doubt, immediately.  Boxes with ribbons on both sides tempered with our thrusts. Her breasts slapped against my face. I took good account of their aureoles in the shape of thick slices of pineapple, just as sweet, the kind that crack your lips with their taste. My aching balls were spectacular and I sensed that my cock was going to explode inside her at any moment.

As if she could read my thoughts, she stopped to sit on my face and pull my hair. I licked and bit her nipple with devotion, with the religiosity of a cloistered monk. Colette gasped gratefully and to my surprise lit up a fag while my face was still sunk in her infernal wet heat. She blew the smoke towards the ceiling and cummed without asking. His modus operandi. An explosion of savage, odorous heat flooded my face. Extraordinary salty taste. My lips were full to drink, welcoming his most precious gift, his Manna. How wonderful to feel the intense smell and taste of a woman cumming. Without pausing for a moment, she rubbed her vaginal lips across my eyes, nose and mouth. I was in glory.

-Mon ami, now you can unload, but I warn you that this Parisian kitty likes to drink milk, so you will see how you organise yourself," she said, slurring her words as I liked so much while she was pouting.

To avoid getting into trouble later, I grabbed my desperate cock with both hands and shoved it all the way down her throat. She sucked my cock like no one had ever done in my entire life, and between sucks, she took long drags on her cigarette. French girls are the best at that. There's a reason why it's called French blowjobs. With each blowjob she stopped, looked at me and seemed to be looking for my approval. Which is totally uncertain and unnecessary. Are you enjoying yourself? Of course I was enjoying it, it was driving me crazy. Again she would stop and look at me, "Should I stop? I grunted. Unable to hold on much longer, I asked her permission to cum. She gave me the go-ahead with her eyes. I understood that talking with a cock in your mouth must not be easy. When Colette reached again with her lips to the base of my phallus and moved up with her tongue stretched out like someone enjoying the last ice cream of the summer, I could not take it anymore and I unloaded like a titan. It was like releasing weight. Released. Not a complaint from her. She swallowed it all, without complaint. The same thing I had seen hours before being done to the black guy, was being done to me. I had finished cumming and she was still sucking, licking, biting. Worshipping my cock like the last supper of a condemned man on death row. My sore yet grateful for the treatment, my sore cock rose again generously in the warmth of her mouth.

Colette stopped sucking, and took me this time into the forbidden room. She pulled back the curtain with a bang. She pulled me to the floor and whispered in my ear while biting my earlobes:

-Fuck me, chérie. Here in front of all the movies you love so much. Imagine that I'm the thieving whore Nicole Moloko performed by Sunny Peaches and that you, the incorruptible inspector Arsène Putain, are finally going to throw me in the slammer, but not before throwing something else in for good measure. For all the headaches I've caused you, chasing me across the rooftops of Paris.

She got down on all fours, lifted her perfect ass again marked by recent bruises and with her right hand pushed her wet labia aside. Deal? And please don't faites pas l'imbécile by asking if you can cum inside, we've already talked about that. Full stop. We are not children who need to ask for permission.

I replied that I would and that Sunny Peaches wasn't half the woman she was and then gave her a meaty lunge that made her mute and hit the shelf. For thieving. With each blow I gave him, covers and covers of X-rated films snowed on our heads. For me, there was no woman more erotic than Colette that rainy night. In the background, on a radio a thousand kilometres away, Jean-Jacques Goldman was singing "Puisque tu pars" with a choir and I don't know what else.

We fucked until midnight. I came twice more that night (something unthinkable now) and both times inside her delinquent cunt like a runaway horse. She was not far behind and unloaded with my cock embedded in her at least once more. Since she wasn't one to warn, it could have been more. I don't know either. It was enough for me not to cum like a modest traffic warden giving tickets instead of the famous inspector Putain, scourge of crime and jewel thieves.

We would fuck again and again over the next few months, but far less often than I would have liked, and they could never top that night. You don't cum the same way when you're 17 as you do when you're 30. Once I even cum on a still-rolled-up poster of Marilyn Jess and once inside an open shell of Sunny's new tape, but nothing could ever top that night. I suspect that every now and then a hidden Jerome would watch us fucking. He was into that stuff. I know he was.

But everything comes to an end and a year later I went off to the army. When I came back, the videostore was locked up tight. My mother told me that the neighbourhood had long ago put the cross on the french libertine of the blouses and that they closed down in the end because of the lack of customers. They sold all the films on sale weeks ago and left in a ramshackle Citroën 2CV a la française. Now a shop with Delicatessen from Extremadura shop will open in their place. Don Manzano, the shopkeeper, says he knows exactly what the neighbourhood needs. I doubt it.

The most surprising thing was not that the video store closed. That was a foregone conclusion, my mother said as she cooked dinner, but what surprised her most was that a few days later, Colette turned up at our house. She must have had the address written down when I became a member of the video store. She had a package with a tape in it. She told my mother that this film was my favourite. He wanted to give it to me as a present for being such a loyal customer.

-I left the package in your room," said my mother, upset that the little French girl knew where we lived and that she now had to justify herself to her friends. When a mother applies a diminutive to a word, you can already sense her displeasure.

I rushed to my room to discover inside the package, the wonderful "Comrade Soviet III" with a handwritten note impregnated with her unmistakable perfume. 

Mon Inspecteur, I don't have to tell you at what minute the movie gets really interesting. Don't forget to make it to the end credits, I've recorded something just for you. You've made me feel like a schoolgirl back in my native Paris. Knowing that I have been and always will be your first time makes me feel powerful, important. Enjoy your movie...you know, alone. And never ask for permission. Ask for forgiveness later... Your Colette, you white-collar thief.

I haven't heard from her since. Is Nicole Moloko plotting her next robbery at the Louvre? I know that when I grow up, my offspring will ask me why I so vehemently treasure a VHS war movie. I'll tell them that it has a lot of sentimental value and that it's old people's stuff.

Thanks to Luis for daring to write an erotic story with me. I admit that I was unaware that a video store could deliver so much fun. The ending that we decided on is 100% his and I think you´ll recognise it inmediately 😀

The soundtrack of this l'histoire érotique!

Jean-Jacques Goldman - Comme toi

Jean-Jacques Goldman - Puisque tu pars

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