Nympho Girl

It all started two Fridays ago with Kelsey, my sexy boss-girl, saying, “I hope you can stay and help me.” “Why? What’s wrong?” “I need to find a letter from last summer. It seems to have been misfiled. A customer claims they never received a notice, and I know they did because I wrote it myself, but our copy seems to have been misfiled, so we need to go through the files till we find it. The lawyers won’t accept an electronic document.”

Kelsey’s always been good to me (she gives great head!), so of course I agreed. She was so happy she took us to Carabbas Italian Restaurant for dinner…yum!

Kelsey actually used to be a fashion model. Now in her 30’s, she too old for the runways, but she is full of wild tales about the nightlife led by the fashion model. Don’t envision some anorexic stick figure though. While I’m sure she weighed less when she was a model, she’s no stick figure, and her boobs are a right proper C-cup, not a B or A. Best of all, she has those puffy nipples which I love. They get puffier when I suck on them, of course…heh heh.

After dinner, we started poring over the files. I felt for Kelsey. She was in no serious danger of being fired, but a serious fuck-up could easily have stalled her upward mobility. She was a good friend and I wanted to help. And I really could help since I was not only more familiar with the files, but with the most likely ways things become misfiled.

Time dragged on: 7 p.m., 8 p.m., 9 p.m., 10 p.m. At around 10:30, I threw my arms up in the air and yelled, “I found it!” Kelsey put down the file folder she was looking through and smiled. I ran over and showed it to her. “Yes! That’s it! Oh thank you, thank you!!!”

She took me in her arms and hugged me. I hugged her back. The next thing I knew, our mouths were open and our tongues were caressing, when all of a sudden she stopped dead. I looked into her face and saw she was looking over my shoulder. I turned to see one of the cleaning crew, a handsome young black man, frozen like a deer in the headlights.

Kelsey said, “Hi, my name is Kelsey, what’s yours?” “Ned,” he replied softly. “Let’s do him!” I whispered eagerly in her ear. “Just what I was thinking,” she whispered back.

“Ned,” she said, “close and lock the door.” “Why?” he asked. “For privacy, silly.” “We’re going to fuck your brains out, and we wouldn’t want you to lose your job.” The precious boy was almost terrified. “Don’t worry about anything,” Kelsey said. “If anyone asks where you were, we’ll tell them you were doing some special work at my request.”

“Ummm,” he said, looking around, as if for someone to give him advice. For a moment, I almost wondered if he would turn us down, but at last he locked the door and headed our way.

When he got there, Kelsey pulled down his zipper and out came what I can only describe as a black anaconda. As big around as my wrist, and though still flaccid, nearly as long as my forearm, it was a cock of mythic proportions.

“My oh my,” said Kelsey, bug-eyed, her comment followed by a lascivious leer. My jaw was on the floor.

Kelsey pulled him close and pulled his cock up and down rhythmically. I unbuttoned my top, exposing my breasts which, compared to his cock, I admit, look rather normal.

Since she was Frenching him, I broke her grip on his cock, dropped to my knees, unhinged my jaw (I’m kidding), and did my best to suck him off without scraping the skin off his cock with my teeth.

Unfortunately, the more I blew him, the bigger his cock got. Finally, all I could do was lick it.

I stood up took off my skirt and then my panties. I then pressed his cock up against my pussy, holding it there with one hand while I moved my hips. He respondes with a rhythmic motion of his hips. I tipped my hips so that his cock rubbed my clit and did all I could to fight off an orgasm.

Kelsey let go of him, took off her own skirt and panties, sat on the table, and hooked her heels into the table edge, her knees far apart. The invitation was obvious and he accepted, dropping to his knees to worship and lick her furry vulva.

Dropping to my own knees, I pulled his pants down, jacking him off slowly. This went on for a few minutes. I then licked the “fuck you” finger of my other hand, making it plenty wet. I slid my finger into his asshole slowly, until I was all the way in. This allowed me to massage his prostate while still working his cock, which frequently makes guys come right there, but Ned resisted, and I could tell he was plenty excited from the rock-hardness of his dick.

So could Kelsey, because his attentions to her pussy became quite a bit more vigorous and effective, and she made sounds as if she was about to cum. This made him even more vigorous in his efforts on her pussy.

She came hard and pushed him off and sliding down into a heap on the floor. I pulled Ned up and sat him on the table, his feet on the floor and his huge cock pointing straight up at the ceiling. I had been masturbating him before, but now I could do it even more vigorously. As I pumped his stupendous cock I sucked the wrinkled sandpapery skin of his balls into my mouth.

When he seemed on the verge of ejaculation, I would stop jacking him off and just lick the shaft, feeling the bulging veins sliding up and down my tongue.

When he calmed down, I would suck and lick his glans to get him started again.

All of a sudden, he stopped being passive, pushed me to the floor and fucked me hard missionary while licking my neck and cheeks and giving me deep, probing Frenches on the mouth. Gathering up my legs and pushing them up to my shoulders, he pumped me deep and hard and had me coming like crazy, but his pumping was so violent and mindless, I’m sure he was unawares.

And so I came…and came…and came!!!

Then, he rolled me over, pulled my hips up so that my butt was up in the air but my shoulders and cheek were laying on the floor in a “low doggy” position. At the same time, I was signaling Kelsey to slide over, and when she did, I tongue-fucked her as hard as I could while she clamped her hands on my head to help me.

After a few minutes, Ned pulled out. The next thing I knew, his cock was pushing into my ass and, of course, I was cooperating as best I could, though he was so big it was a real effort. When he was finally full in, it was painful. But it was that “It hurts so good” kind of pain!

I helped Kelsey roll over and while I was being butt-banged, I rimmed Kelsey, enjoying the stinging taste of her asshole as it filled my mouth.

Once again, Ned had me cumming like crazy and once again he was totally oblivious, concentrating as he was on getting his own rocks off.

I could tell he was getting there, so I pushed him off and rolled over, grabbing his cock and, holding the tip over my chin, I jacked him off until he ejaculated sloppily into my mouth, over my nose and eyes, forehead and hair. And when he was done, I sucked the jizz off his dick, off my hand, and I ate whatever cum I could gather off my face. …It was tasty.

Ned stood up, pulled his pants up, rearranged his clothes, and said “I better get back to work.” Grabbing the two wastebaskets, he unlocked the door, dumped them into the bin in his cart, and disappeared.

After he was gone, and while Kelsey and I were getting dressed, Kelsey remarked,”I don’t think he said more than 10 or 15 words!” I thought and said, “I think you’re right!”

“Want a drink on the way home?” Kelsey asked, adding, “There’s a new Martini bar near the mall.” I had a Martini and Kelsey and I agreed, the Martinis tasted a lot like Ned.

Which was nice…

I figure it’s about time I wound up my trip to Europe.

Erik had to stay behind at the last minute. He got sent to Australia to save an important sale and had left at 4 a.m.. So, I found myself alone the last day in my Bremen hotel room after he had left, packing my things, and wishing he were there with his great sense of humor, his irritating jokes, and his tender hugs and kisses. I missed him!

By 11 a.m., I was at the airport waiting for the Lufthansa to London. On the way to the airport in a Mercedes-Benz taxi (they all seemed to be Mercedes, everywhere I went!), I got my last appreciation of this beautiful and friendly city.

Sometime after 3, I was London’s Gatwick airport in a bar nursing a Spanish Coffee and reading a Vanity Fair.

“American?” said a male voice with a mild accent I couldn’t quite place. He was toting a rather small suitcase with a tall extender handle.

“Yes. Is it so obvious?” I replied.

“Just a guess. I don’t think Vanity Fair is a big magazine outside the U.S., except possibly in writer’s circles. But mostly it was due to the tag on your suitcase.”

I blushed at not realizing I was carrying around a dead giveaway.

His accent, I had decided was German, and he would have been, had we been in the 1930’s an exemplar of Hitler’s Aryans: blond in the hair, blue in the eyes, and the picture of good health. (Of course, in reality, the real Aryans were dark in the hair, brown in the eyes, and came from modern-day Iran, not Viking country).

“May I join you? I have a little time before my flight, and you look like good conversation.” “And you look like a good fuck!” I was thinking. “Sure, have a seat. I was just finishing the last of the articles I had wanted to read anyway, so you’re probably saving me going over to the magazine rack and buying me another one.”

He sat down opposite me, sinking into the plush lounge chair and crossing his legs.

He asked me what I had been reading, and as I told him about each article, it set us off in a different direction. Politics, travel, music, automobiles, and food are among the topics we discussed for several hours. Somehow, we never got into the personal area.

The more we talked, the hotter I got. Finally, I looked at my watch, realized I would be boarding my plane in less than an hour, and, looking around, said, “I don’t know about you, but I’d like to fuck!”

Somewhat shocked at my forwardness, he said, “Uh…well…so would I!”

“But,” I added, “I don’t know how to accomplish it here. Any ideas?”

He thought a bit and said, “I think I do. Come with me.”

At his side, he navigated the airport like he’d been there many times, which I guess he probably had. This was confirmed when he said, “There is an area I go to when I want to take a nap or just enjoy some peace and quiet.”

Before long, we were in an area of the airport used by official airlines of small and poor countries. Eventually, we had passed three or four waiting areas on each side without seeing a anyone.

He guided me to a row of seats facing a window and sat down. I sat down next to him. He looked at me appreciatively for a few seconds and then planted a dry kiss on my mouth. I kissed back, mouth open, and our tongues got busy.

He was fondling my breasts through my blouse and I was unbuckling and unzipping his pants, where I found a semi-erect penis. At least it wasn’t tiny! In fact, it was rather large-ish, if you know what I mean.

His cock grew in size as we kissed and petted each other. My nipples were by now rock-hard and had gotten very sensitive.

I got up and helped him get his pants and boxers down to his ankles. I knelt between his knees and took his stiff pecker into my mouth, circling the glans with tongue until I tasted some of his salty cock juice. Wow! That made my pussy kind of spasm and I got tingly all over. (The gals will know what I’m talking about.)

He’s moaning kind of low and sliding forward in his seat. I’m not sure why guys like that, but they like to get kind of almost on their back to get a blow job, and he was no exception.

I looked at his sopping wet cock and realized that in sucking it, I’d added at least another inch to it, and the girth had grown a bit as well. It now had thick bluish veins and a glans that looked like some obscene pink mushroom.

After a bit, I got up and standing first on one leg, then the next, I took my panties off, twirling them around my finger with a smile and winking at him.

I got onto my knees in the seat next to him, facing backward, in a doggy position. He took his boxers and trousers off, and flipped up my pleated skirt. Instead of fucking me right away, though, he got down on his knees and licked my pussy with a great degree of expertise. I laughed and said, “I see you’ve done this before!” He laughed as he licked and said, “Practice makes perfect!”

It sure does!

Woow!!! The next thing I knew, he was sticking his tongue deep into my asshole, which just gave me major shivers. And as if that weren’t enough, he was three-fingering my pussy with one hand and stroking my tummy with the other.

I just about passed out I was having so much fun. Just then, it got even better because he stopped what he was doing and I felt him enter my love canal, which you’d better believe was lubricated like crazy by then. He slid right in and started banging me hard. I crossed my arms and rested one cheek on them, closing my eyes, so I could think of snips and snails and puppy dog tails while he slowly brought me to a tumultuous and (I’m afraid) noisy series of wet orgasms because, as you may or may not know, I’m a squirter.

I thought he deserved a good finish, too, so I turned around in the seat to find him leaning against the glass, his cock still in full erection. I dropped to my knees in front of him and started blowing him with every trick in my rather extensive book, and he alternately growled and groaned as I did so. I could tell he was about to cum when he pushed me back and asked, “Do you like it ass-wise?” “Brother, do I!” I replied. “I thought you might, you little tart you! Lay down.”

I was on my tummy in a flash, and soon I felt him probing my pussy. He used my own wetness to lubricate my asshole and soon I felt his rigid rod pushing against my anus. I did my best to relax and, sure enough, he was slowly sliding in. Fuck! He felt big inside me. I raised my butt a bit to make it easier for him and even humped a bit myself once I found his rhythm.

This is when I thought I heard someone talking, and I whispered, “Quiet! I think someone’s nearby!”

So, he fucked my ass there, driving me crazy, and we did it without making a sound.

I was fiddling with my clit as he did so and I could feel an orgasm slowly rising within me. When at last I came, I don’t know how I did it silently, but I think I did. Somewhere in there he came, too, because when he pulled out, it was a very wet exit.

Because I had an asshole full of semen that I didn’t want in my underwear, I told him I needed to visit the restroom. He looked at his watch and said, “I’m sorry, but I have to go. I’m already very late for my flight.” I waved him off and he was gone in a sprint. I soon followed, looking intently for the nearest restroom, my anus bunched tight to keep his deposit from running down my inner thigh and possibly soiling my skirt.

It took a couple minutes, but I found one and, as I sat down on a toilet, I was glad to be able to let his whiteness drop into the bowl. Looking at my watch, I realized my flight was probably about to board, and, putting my panties back on, I myself trotted back to the main concourse, finding my gate just in time. Lufthansa was about to give my seat away to some stand-bys.

I wish I could tell you that I joined the “Mile High Club” on the way back, but actually I read about 100 pages of a paperback book I’d brought with me and slept the rest of the way mostly.

As I left the plane in New York, the crew was waiting at the door to greet us and wish us farewell. As I got there, Hilde and Renata, smiling, said a standard good-bye. At that moment, the Captain appeared in the doorway.

Guess who he was!

I don’t know why Erik never told me this story before, but recently while snowed in on Saturday night, he got very chatty reminiscing about his high school years, and this story has stayed with me.

Erik’s family came to Ohio from New England. His great grandfather was a Norwegian whaler sailor who (metaphorically) dropped anchor in Maine, taking instead a job as a fireman for a train line. I gather a fireman is the guy responsible for feeding coal to the boiler of a steam engine. As time went by he was promoted to an engineer, the guy who runs the steam engine.

Erik’s father came to Ohio, also working on trains as a mechanic in the Collinwood Train Yard. He was ambitious, went to night school, and got a business degree. Then, he got a law degree, started a legal practice, and became fairly wealthy in the intellectual property field.

Somewhere in there, late in life, Erik’s father met Erik’s mom, who worked as a legal secretary for another attorney. They dated for a year or so, his father proposed, and in another year or so Erik came along.

Erik’s father was very old school and Erik did not live a life of exceptional privilege despite his family’s circumstances. His dad insisted that he do chores around the house and, rather than receive an allowance, he learned to work for every dollar he got.

In his teens, Erik started a lawn mowing business in the neighborhood in the summer and a snow shoveling business in the winter, with leaf-raking and gardening work in the fall and spring. He took care of people’s pets when they went on vacation and he washed cars year round. He learned values that he carries with him to this day. He’s a workaholic in the good sense of the word. He’s not happy if he’s not doing something.

Miss Daphne Smada was a career woman in her 40’s who lived across the street and two or three houses down from Erik’s Beachwood, Ohio, home. She took pretty good care of herself and was frequently to be seen jogging or working in her yard in snugly-fitting short shorts with a blouse tied in a knot at the bottom and unbuttoned enough to show plenty of her rather ample cleavage. He thought of her as pretty hot.

It was winter and he was walking back from the bus stop amidst a squall. She was in tight jeans and a short down jacket with a hood. “Would you like some help?” he asked. “How much will it cost me?” she replied. “Oh, $20 should do it,” he said. She handed him the snow shovel and said “Come around the back when you’re done.”

Well, the driveway was long and it took him an hour to finish. He walked to the back door, propped the shovel up next to it and knocked. When she opened the door, he stepped in to discover that she was in an oversize T-shirt she was wearing like a dress.

“You must be cold,” she said. “I made you some mulled wine.” “I’m just 16,” he told her. She replied, “That’s okay. I brought it to a boil.” (She lied.) He doffed his jacket and drank several glasses.

Erik got a little drunk and she invited him into the living room to watch some hockey. He watched for a while but alcohol put him to sleep. When he opened his eyes, he found that he had an erection and that it was in her mouth.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said. “I couldn’t resist.”

“No…no. Not at all!” he replied.

He tells me that even though this wasn’t his first blow job, it was the best he’d ever had up till then.

She got him off…even letting him cum in her mouth.

When he left, he left with $50, not $20. Not a bad day for a 16 year old boy. Better yet, she asked him if he’d be available in the future.

Of course, he told her he was totally “on call.”

She called him pretty much weekly, and the pattern was pretty much shovel snow, get a blow job and $50. Help her plant pansies, get a fuck and $50. Help her plant grass seek, get an ass fuck and $50.

He was well on his way to financing his own higher education.

Early that summer, she asked him to help her set up a Canasta party and serve the snacks and drinks. No sex happened until the gals left, but this prompted Daphne to ask him if he could bring some friends to the next gathering. He said he thought he could, knowing exactly what she wanted.

More yard work and more sex went by. Three months later, she had another Canasta party with three of her friends. Erik brought along three of his best buddies. When the card game finished, the guys brought out the drinks and everybody got drunk and comfy and before long it was (as Erik described it) “Fuck and Suck City.”

These were all unmarried professional women who were a bit too old to be doing the “meat market” thing. At the same time, they were all very fit women with fine bodies and perhaps a wrinkle or two, and they were a lot more ready to “put out” (as the guys saw it) than the girls they went to school with.

Well, almost every month one of these women would throw a card party and the boys would show up and each go home with $50 and a pecker sore from overuse.

As Erik went on to college at a local private school, this relationship continued and even expanded. As the word got out, Erik was relied upon to supply help and entertainment for all-girl events put on by Daphne and her ever-expanding circle of friends.

No, Erik wasn’t really “pimping,” because he never took a fee, but he was relied upon to supply talent and for this he was highly regarded both by the women and male population of his school.

Eventually, Erik graduated and went on to a well-known East Coast business school, leaving this “business” behind.

After Erik and I hooked up, we were out shopping one day and Erik ran into Daphne, introducing me to this woman about whom I’d heard so much.

She was still hot, and so I invited her over to our place for dinner. She seemed a bit nervous about it, but agreed when Erik repeated the invitation.

When the day finally arrived, she came, bringing an expensive bottle of French Sauvignon, which was good, since I was cooking up some Tournedos Rossini.

We drank some wine to loosen up before dinner.

During dinner, as we all had more alcohol, we loosened up.

After dinner, I served my patented flan with a large strawberry on top.

We then retired to the living room to drink some Port.

I decided I needed to break the ice, so I went right to it: “I understand that were one of Erik’s first sexual experiences.”

I think she gulped. She looked at Erik who smiled and winked at her.

She didn’t say anything.

I said, “Unless I’m totally misreading Erik, he still thinks you’re hot. As a matter of fact, so do I!” Given this permission, Erik planted a kiss on her lips. At first she seemed tense, but she took a look at me, relaxed, and returned the kiss. I could see their tongues touching.

Soon, his hands were all over her, caressing her and undressing her from the waist up revealing rather large and perky breasts for a woman her age. And no, they weren’t fake. They were the real deal. By this time, I was massaging my pussy through the fabric of my slacks.

She got Erik’s big cock out of his pants and was licking the tip like there was no tomorrow. I like to see him get a blow job because I just like the look of his cock. He’s big: as far around as my wrist and about 2/3 as long as my forearm. Big as he was, she must have unhinged her jaw because, after toying with his glans for a while, she started deep throating him.

I took my slacks and panties off. Pulling a butt plug and a bottle of Astroglide out of a drawer in the end table next to the love seat I was on, I wetted it and slowly slid it in my ass. Wetting my finger in my pussy, I massaged my clit slowly but firmly while fucking my ass with the plug.

Daphne stood up and removed the rest of her clothes and Erik did the same. He sat down and she carefully sat down on his rigid cock, laying her back against his chest and resting her head on one of his cheeks. Her legs were hooked outside his, so she was open about as wide as she could be. He pumped her slowly and she moaned in appreciation.

Leaving the butt plug in place, I crawled across the floor on hands and knees until I was between their legs. She had the most beautiful hairy bush (even though I shave, I have a “thing” for bushy babes). She had kind of zoned out and jerked to attention the moment my tongue started flicking away on her unbelievably erect clitoris. My God! It was practically a little penis. I could actually get it in my mouth.

At first, she just looked down at me, but then she smiled.

Erik saw me down there and after a bit, pulled his cock out of her pussy and I sucked all of her pussy juice off it. The salty, musky taste made me quite excited. Before sticking in back in her dripping cunt, I admired it for it’s lovely mushroom-like pink tip and the bulging veins that gave it its power. With one last kiss to the glans, I popped it back in and this time he fucked her furiously, but she’s experienced at sex and was holding back for more. She wasn’t letting herself orgasm. Or so I surmise.

Anyway, she got up and turned around for some face-to-face fucking. Once again, Erik was insider her like a battering ram. I know well what this big cock feels like inside but I could only imagine the pleasure she was feeling, though I could tell from her moans and wails that she was well pleased.

“You can fuck my ass,” she said, and once again she turned, this time slowly squatting down on his cock until it was far in, then laying her back against his chest while drawing her knees up to her tits. Once again, I settled in between their legs, licking her pussy lips and clit as his cock, like a piston, drew in and out of her ass.

This time, between my attentions and Erik’s, she couldn’t evade orgasm and when she came, she came hard, with piercing cries and involuntary tremors.

At last, she had to fall off him onto the floor, and there the sounds she made seemed a mixture of laughing and crying. I turned away from Erik, in a low doggy position with shoulders, pussy, and cheek to the floor, that was an open invitation to fuck my ass, too. And that’s exactly what he did.

After a few minutes of mind-bending butt fucking and masturbating, he pulled out, and told me to lay on my back and bring my feet over my head in a position we both liked, with my legs spread wide and my toes pointing down toward the floor and my asshole pointing straight up. I like this position because I can watch him fuck my ass and he can easily cum on my face.

Before he came, he brought me to orgasm several times and I squirted all over my face.

When I’d had my share, Erik took his turn, fucking my ass hard until he was ready to cum, and when he came, he squirted all over my face and into my mouth.

Daphne, who had been laying on one side by now, her head braced on one hand, sat up now and applauded. I was laying on my back, catching my breath, but the applause made me laugh. She then crawled over and gently licked the jizz off my face and tits, depositing it in my mouth with tender kisses.

“Well that was nice,” Erik said, marking the end of the encounter. We all got up, grabbed our clothes, and after cleaning up a bit, donned our clothes again, and she politely bade us good-bye.

We never ran into her again and later heard the she had moved to Florida to be with her elderly mother.

Too bad. I liked her, and I often dream of her licking Erik’s sperm off my body and then putting it into my mouth with tender kisses.

Have you had the experience that many of the people you counted as friends in high school rapidly disappeared from your life, but then someone who hardly noticed turns out to be a much better friend later on? That’s the way it was with Adrienne.

Currently one of my best friends, I can remember seeing her in the halls or the library but I doubt if I ever said a word to her. Not that I was consciously giving her the cold shoulder, or her me. Our paths just never crossed, and you know when you’re a grade apart, it’s almost like being in different worlds.

I was reintroduced to her at a Christmas party last winter. The guys were off watching some kind of sport-oriented video (athletes running the wrong way or running into each other). I wandered into the kitchen to hang out with some of the other gals. The lady of the house had made some mead, which was both delicious and weird tasting. Kind of like wine but with no fruity taste.

We chatted about mundane things. I’m sure I could have made things interesting by going into some of my sexual exploits, but that was neither the time nor the place. Into the room walks this beautiful girl. The first thing I noticed was her wavy blond hair in a classic 1940’s-50’s wavy pinup girl hairdo that wouldn’t have looked out of place on Rita Hayworth or Marilyn Monroe.

She had the pinup girl build, too, with one minor exception. How shall I put this? She was “heavy with child,” to use the terminology of The Bible. And she was ready to pop. In fact, she looked like perhaps she should have popped two months ago. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a gal looking quite this pregnant. When she walked into the room, all conversation stopped and remarks were made about her size, when is it due? Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?

She politely answered their questions. It was due last week. It’s a boy. We also found out that her husband who had been around all last week when the baby was due, had had to go to Texas to handle a business emergency. We found out that he traveled a lot on business doing computer installations and troubleshooting sites that were experiencing problems. To me, it sounded a lot like my relationship with my cohabitor, Erik, who was out of town half to two-thirds of the time. In fact, I had come to this party on my own because Erik was working on a deal in Singapore, though he promised he’d be back for Christmas, still nearly a week off, no matter what.

We broke off at one point, and that was when we discovered we had attended the same school on grade apart. Suddenly, her face, which had at first been vaguely familiar, became quite familiar.

We hit it off so well what with common interests in books and movies, that everyone else left and our hostess finally had to guide us to the door.

Just as we were saying our good-byes at the door, Adrienne’s water broke right there on the front stoop! The poor girl almost instantly went into hard contractions. Our hostess called her husband and between him and me we got her to my car sitting on a towel, and I headed off to the hospital with him behind us to make sure we go there safely.

We got her into the ER, and I thanked him for his help. I told Adrienne I’d stay with her. It was a Friday evening, Erik was away, and I didn’t want to leave this newfound friend to get through the birth on her own.

A nurse took her into an examination room and determined that she was so dilated that the birth would likely happen before the obstetrician could even get there, and in fact, the litle boy popped out before a nurse or orderly could even get her up to the delivery floor.

The baby boy was quite large. Nine pounds, five ounces. This explained her size.

After the birth, the baby left for a quick pediatric examination, and she was wheeled up to the delivery floor. I was allowed to tag along, which required waiving or winking at a few hospital rules and regulations, but the nurses were quite accommodating once they learned that the boy’s father was halfway around the world.

After about 15 minutes in her room, and just before I was afraid she would become hysterical, her baby was finally brought up to her. The nurses said that the little boy could hardly be more healthy.

He was blotchy pink with surprisingly profuse black hair. His tiny little hands had fingernails no bigger than dandruff flakes. Like most infants, he had a voice that was loud and piercing and sounded more like a little buzz saw than human. I watched her bond with her baby and knew that someday…I’d want to be doing the same thing.

Before the nurse left, she encouraged Adrienne to try to nurse him, and so Adrienne exposed her breast. It was large and distended with milk. Her nipple no longer the natural pink of the woman who isn’t feeding a baby. Rather, it was brown and surprisingly large. Quite a bit larger, in fact, than, say, a silver dollar. When Michael (as he was to be named) started sucking, I saw an expression cross her face that looked almost like an orgasm.

By then, it was very, very late in the morning. She needed rest and I needed rest, and so I went home and slept. But I returned the next day and the day after that, spending all of the visiting hours with her. As she bonded with Micheal, so we bonded with each other, and now she’s one of my best friends.

The day of her release, having been given the key to her house, I got her infant carrier and installed it in my car. I drove her back to her car and held Michael while she installed the carrier in her car. I told her I’d stay with her until her husband returned, and she gratefully accepted my offer.

For several days, I cooked and cleaned and ran to the grocery store so that she could recover her strength and spend every available moment with Michael.

At last her husband, Keith, returned. We were introduced, and I returned to my own life. Erik returned as promised, Christmas and New Years passed, and life returned to normal, except that I would visit my newfound friend about once a week.

In mid-March I got a phone message at work to call Adrienne. It turned out that Adrienne had taken a bad fall on some ice while carrying out the trash, and that while nothing was broken, she was quite sore and had a great deal of difficulty moving about. Keith was away on business and could not return for what essentially was not a life-threatening emergency. He would be gone for yet another week, at least.

I told Adrienne that, while I couldn’t take off work, I’d be happy to move in temporatily, cook and clean and run errands in my spare time as I had done three months before when Michael was born.

Adrienne had been working on herself and was pretty much back in shape again, which I noticed was a very nice shape indeed. Curvy and voluptuous like Marilyn Monroe or Betty Page, and yet with no hint of cellulite. Her breasts, since she was still breast feeding, were big. I won’t say “huge,” because they were not, but they were certainly ample.

Adrienne could only hobble about the house, and so I was playing “gofer” quite a bit, but I didn’t mind. We were friends and I knew that were the situation reversed, I could certainly count on her help.

I slept in their king-size bed with her for practical reasons. I would wake up when Michael cried and bring him to her. If she needed a diaper or a wipe, I would get it for her. And by sleeping there rather in the guest room, there was one less bed to make in the morning, which was a blessing for me.

She was exhausted it seemed, and I understood why. Dealing with an infant and living by the infant’s schedule, recovering from an injury that prevented her from standing for more than a few instant, she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. The house was warmer than normal for the benefit of the baby, about 75 degrees, so Adrienne and I slept without covers dressed only in our panties. If we got a bit chilly, only a sheet was needed to warm us.

That first night, I masturbated while gazing on her goddess-like body, marred only slightly by a belly (miraculously free of stretch marks) that was still just a tiny bit distended, but had been getting smaller day by day.

Her breasts, which I’m sure were always ample, were all the more so swollen with milk. That said, they were, if not perky, surprisingly firm, and as she lay on her back, her boobs didn’t retreat into her armpits the way so many big breasts do. She was and is also naturally pale, which I like. I don’t especially like the look of deeply tanned women, especially blondes.

I had a quiet orgasm and went back to sleep.

The second night, after we climbed into bed, she put her arm under my neck and pulled me close, telling me what a good friend I was.

She kissed me and looked into my eyes saying, “I know what you did last night.” I’m sure I must have blushed. She laughed a bit and kissed me on the forehead. “It’s okay,” she said.

Before I knew it we were giving each other open-mouthed kisses. I rolled on top of her to kiss her better and her finger found first my pussy and then my G-spot. I stopped kissing and just buried my head in the billows of her golden hair as she guided me to a very intense and wet orgasm.

I relaxed on top her her body as I recovered.

Then, I dropped off to the side and started to give her a vigorous hand job. She orgasmed hard and then she was the one who needed to recover. Off to sleep we went.

That done, we chatted a bit more…and fell asleep.

The next day, Adrienne was feeling much better and was able to hobble around the house without too much groaning. We even took a little trip to a Cleveland suburb and shopped for about two hours, which was about all the energy Adrienne had to give. We returned and I made a gourmet dinner of Gorton’s fish sticks, homemade home fries, and baby spinach salad with oil and garlic dressing.

We watched TV all evening, taking turns holding Michael when he wasn’t sleeping. By then, he was quite alert, cooed quite a bit, and occasionally even laughed.

Finally, she drifted off. I put Michael in his crib, returned to the couch, and drifted off myself.

We woke up for the 11 p.m. local news and at 11:30 headed off to bed. I wasn’t really planning on sex because she had seemed so bushed all evening after our outing to the mall.

We took separate showers, brushed our teeth, checked up on Michael, and headed off to bed.

After we settled in she said, “I think my tits are about to explode, and Michael should sleep for a few more hours.” This had typically been the sign for me to get the breast pump, and so I started to get up, but she grasped my shoulder saying, simply, “No…come here.”

She pulled me close, guided my head to one of her breasts, and I knew what to do. I took a nipple into my mouth and gently sucked. My mouth tasted the nectar known as Mother’s Milk, and the unfamiliar but delectable taste sent a shiver through me. At the same time, I could feel her fingers stroking my head, just as she stroked Michael’s when he nursed.

“Oh, come on,” she said, “Michael sucks much harder than that!” And so I sucked harder, and at last my mouth flooded with mother’s milk.

I could feel a rhythm which told me she was rubbing her pussy, and so I rubbed mine as well, and it was a good orgasm when finally it came.

Michael is now walking, and since we both have partners who travel a lot, it’s not uncommon for Adrienne and I to weekend together. We take Michael to the local park or to the mall. We rent movies, pop popcorn, and enjoy each other’s company.

Her tummy is now flat and she is 100% healthy, and when Michael goes to sleep, we watch movies and make love and, of course…

(A bit of explanation: This is a story I wrote one afternoon on a return trip to Portland, Oregon, which provides the basic setting, although you can imagine any city set against small mountains. Don’t worry: It’s sexy, only in this story the fictitious Helen Palmerston is the central character, not me. I hope you enjoy it!)

Almost everyone has been past our house. It’s up in the West Hills, a stone’s throw from the Japanese Gardens, on a street where the last time a property sold for less than two mil, hard rock was something you quarried.

At least fifty people have answered our word-of-mouth invitation and are now downstairs soaking up the live piano jazz and single-malt Scotch whisky. They’re probably oohing and ahing over our collection of oil paintings and the original art books, too.

I live here with Nadja, who’s calling up to me because I’m late, as usual. So, I put the finishing touches on my eyeliner and tone down the rouge just a bit. Next, I wet my lips and turn my head this way and that to get one last look at my blond hair. “Helen,” I tell myself, “you’re a knockout, as always.”

No point in denying the truth.

I stand in front of the full-length mirror and adjust the slit on the side of my short black evening dress, and then I go downstairs to find–or, more precisely, to select–a man. I’ve been looking for a good one for so long now.

An hour or two later, I’m almost ready to throw in the towel and drown myself in scotch, when I notice a tall, thin, strikingly handsome man standing off by himself. Obviously, a lone wolf. He has slicked-back black hair and a severe widow’s peak.

I work my way over to him and introduce myself.

“Hello, I’m Helen Palmerston.”

“Pleased to meet you,” he says in a thick accent. “I am Anton (his last name is unpronounceable, but ends with a hard “u” sound).” He shakes my hand, adding, “You sound English.”

“I guess I’ll never lose the accent.” I love his eyes, their darkness, their almost lupine intensity. I don’t know about his suit, though. It’s a big-lapeled model of a kind that went out of style with Neville Chamberlain.

I ask, “What about your accent? You can’t tell me you’re American, either.”

“No, I’m from Transylvania…in Rumania.”

“Transylvania? Ha! Vampire country.”

“According to the legends. But no one believes anymore, except maybe for some of the more backward villagers in the high valleys. Perhaps the vampires have scattered all over the world now. There might even be one or two right here in Portland, eh?” His voice and manners are pleasant, and even though he’s pretty weird, I have to admit he’s fascinating, much like the men Nadja and I knew back in St. Petersburg.

After fifteen or twenty minutes of conversation, Anton looks around conspiratorially and says, “I have been here for quite a while already without meeting anyone interesting–other than you, of course–so I am going home where it is quieter. May I have the pleasure of your company?”

He has been chosen. I accept without hesitation.

The next thing I know, we’re wedged into his low, red Ferrari, and we’re screaming up West Burnside at about 5000 RPM deep into the West Hills.

We take the Pittock turn-off and continue uphill. I lose count of the turns and switchbacks until, with a spray of gravel, we finally turn onto a winding unpaved road and from there into an even more tortuous driveway.

After thumping heavily across a rough-hewn wooden bridge, we park on a small plateau in front of a crenellated stone house. Anton presses a button on the dash and behind me I hear a creaking sound. When I turn, I vaguely see something moving. I also have the impression the ground is moving under my feet.

“My drawbridge,” he explains. “We have privacy now.”

Inside, I’m put off at first by the dank smell of the place, but Anton pours me a Sherry out of a cut crystal decanter and shows me around. Soon, I begin to feel comfortable.

Like the exterior, the interior walls are masonry. Faded tapestries hang everywhere, as do portraits of slender, dashing men with widow’s peaks posing in old-fashioned European officer’s uniforms. These portraits are interspersed with paintings of gaunt, drained-looking women in a variety of fabulous gowns.

“Anton, what do you do for a living?”

One side of Anton’s mouth curls slightly and he says, “I inherited more money than I could ever hope to spend. In fact, I devote much of my time to figuring out inventive ways of doing just that. And you, Helen, what do you do?”

“I’m a photographer’s model. Fashion spreads and ads mostly; some figure work.”

We retire to the drawing room, where I settle into a huge leather couch with Rumanian folk motifs tooled into it. Meanwhile, Anton starts a fire in a fireplace so huge that I could almost stand up in it. Before long, I feel its warmth on my shins and breasts, which is good, because the gloom and coldness of the stone walls is chilling.

Sitting down at the opposite end of the couch, his slender, spidery legs crossed tightly, like a woman, Anton is entirely at ease, exuding self-confidence. He is not the least bit nervous with women. “So,” he says, “you mentioned vampires. Do you believe in them?”

“Oh, yes.”

He looks at me with amusement and asks, “Could you ever believe that I am a vampire?”

“I think I would know if you were. You aren’t telling me you are, are you?”

“You obviously wouldn’t believe me anyway,” he says with a sly chuckle. Then he steers the conversation to literature, taking me over to his bookshelves, pulling down books as he talks, showing me pictures and translating passages for me from a variety of languages.

My interest in Anton has been growing steadily. I now realize just how much more complicated and interesting he is than almost any other man I’ve ever met. And when I take a Russian text out of his hand and give him what I feel is a better translation of a passage from Dostoevsky, he says, “You read Russian! Imagine, a scholarly photographer’s model. Where did you learn?”

“Nadja taught me. She’s a Russian, you know, and a Russian teacher. I’m quite familiar with Russian literature by now.”

“Ah, yes, Nadja. Your Russian roommate. You and she are such a beautiful pair.”

“Well, Anton, you’re not her type. I can tell you that right now.”

He raised his eyebrows, but otherwise let that remark pass without comment. I assume he took it as jealousy.

After an hour or so of increasingly more entertaining discussion, Anton asks if I’d like more Sherry. I accept, just so that I can watch him move some more. He’s become almost overwhelmingly attractive to me. Not only is he smarter and more complex than any man I’ve ever met, but he’s handsome in an offbeat way, too.

When he sits down and hands me my drink I say, “You know, Anton, I’m attracted to men who are intelligent and worldly.”

He’s not the least taken aback by my forwardness, saying, “And I have always been attracted to beautiful, smart women who know what they want, and go after it.”

“May I take off my clothes, Anton?”

With a casual wave of his hand that no American male could ever duplicate, he says, “It will whet my appetite.”

I get up and turn off the lights one by one, his dark, intense eyes following me all the while. Then I walk in front of the fireplace.

I’m an exhibitionist–and I mean that quite clinically: Showing my body and arousing men (or even susceptible women) is exciting for me. It helps when the way you earn your living is to show your body.

So, in the amber warmth of the fire I slowly disrobe until I’m wearing nothing but my black garter belt, dark stockings, and five-inch heels. I spend a few minutes slowly posing for Anton, just as I would for a top lingerie photographer. Then I lay down on the now-warm stone floor, posing for him as I would (and have) for a raunchy magazine shoot.

I can’t help it…I let my hand wander between my legs. I need to take advantage of the excitement I’m feeling transfixed in his gaze. Still, I like the fact that he is not watching my cunt. Instead he’s looking directly into my eyes. This is where most men judge me. They think I’m a whore for simply being what I am and for acting out my fantasies. But not Anton; he doesn’t judge.

When I sense we’re both ready, I get up, walk over to him, and drop to my knees between his spidery legs. His eyes give me tacit permission, so I unzip his trousers and reach in.

After two or three minutes of massaging, caressing, and kissing his cock, I can sense his almost overwhelming need for release. I like this part best: the part where I become the delivering angel.

The sounds he makes as I take him into my mouth are so eerie and feral that my skin goes goose-bumpy, and I tell myself that he might make a pretty good vampire after all.

* * *

It’s about 3:30 a.m. Anton is sleeping, so I dress silently. I look for his trousers, and on finding them I search his pockets for his car keys, discovering his passport in the process. I examine and return it.

I draw his drapes shut and, gathering up my coat, shoes, and purse, go down to the car.

Luckily, I have driven Ferraris before, and after a few seconds to familiarize myself with the controls, I start the car, lower the drawbridge, and drive home.

* * *

It’s almost 4 a.m. and the house is dark and quiet now and Nadja is sitting alone in the backyard next to a bottle of champagne, seemingly mesmerized by the lights of the city far below. She asks how things went; I tell her they went just fine. I ask her what I missed–not much as it turns out. Finally, we both grow pensive and silent, just absorbing the cool night air.

I say, “I saw his passport. He’s a real count, you know.”

She laughs nervously. “The Count from Transylvania. That’s really rich, Helen.” I knew she would make fun of him. I can’t hold it against her, really, since I’ve created a difficult situation.

At the crack of dawn, we gather up our things and stalk off to bed. There we embrace, kiss, and caress each other for a few moments, for Nadja and I are not roommates, as Anton thinks; we are lovers.

When I nip Nadja too sharply on the neck, she squeals and pushes herself away, saying, “Helen, you maniac. I’m too tired.”

“I’m just trying to show you that I still love you.”

She turns to me and says, “I know you do. I trust you. It still hurts, these episodes with men.”

Then, sitting up, I ask, “Did you unplug the phone? We don’t want poor Anton interrupting our beauty sleep, do we? He’s going to be sore when he wakes up, and when he finds out what I did, he’s going to call.”

Then she asks point blank, “Where did you do it?”

“I’ll give you a clue. I did it when I went down on him.”

After a few seconds of thought she yelps, “You what?!” Now she laughs hysterically. “Oh, he will be sore, then, won’t he? When he goes to pee.” When she regains control of herself she says, “Well, at least he’ll have an interesting story, won’t he? So few of us have really interesting stories anymore.”

A long silence follows. Just before it becomes uncomfortable, she says, “Since you’re already half-up, be a dear and shut the door, will you?…the light is hurting my eyes.” Closing the heavy door–which shuts out almost all remaining light–I return to her side, lay my head on that ample, soft breast of hers, saying, “Thank you for understanding, Nadja. I’ll always love you and be what you want, but…well, there are some things you can’t be for me, no matter how hard you try.”

She strokes my hair gently and says, “I know. You find men attractive; I don’t. As long as you still love me and treat me with respect, I don’t really mind.”

I kiss Nadja goodnight one last time. Not a lusty lover’s kiss as before, but an old friend’s kiss. And as I lay down to sleep, my thoughts turn to my father’s residence in St. Petersburg–the Crown’s embassy to the Russian Czar. It was just a few minutes by horse carriage from the Czar’s Palace, where I met my Russian tutor, Nadja Anna Borsakova.

Even back in 1771 I thought Nadja was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen.

It was Nadja who stole into my room one night and tasted the dampness of my incipient lust. While my fingers alternately stroked and clutched her black hair, she not only gave me more pleasure than I had ever imagined possible, but she left in the tender skin of my outer lips the two tiny puncture marks that made me what I am…And what Count Anton with the unpronounceable last name has become.

Anton shall sleep all day tomorrow. At nightfall, Nadja and I shall pick him up, and together the three of us shall go cruising for burghers.

Her name is Gwen, and she’s a new intern at work. She has straight reddish-brown hair and a slender gazelle-like figure. She resembles Claire Danes quite a bit and like Claire has that ability to appear both plain and gorgeous. Also like Claire, she has that look of subsurface sadness that made Claire so appealing in My So-Called Life, a show whose own so-called life ran roughly in parallel with my own high school years. Claire was my alter ego without even knowing it.

There’s a German restaurant in town and since my trip last year to Bremen, I’ve enjoyed going there for lunch from time to time. After a week or so of cordial contacts with Gwen, I invited her to lunch. She offered to drive, which gave me the special treat of watching her shapely legs work the pedals with her skirt gradually hiking up almost to her crotch. I’m sure if I’d been a guy, she’d have pulled her skirt down from time to time, but ain’t I lucky? I’m a goil!!!

The restaurant has cheesy decor (and in fact, few restaurants in Northen Germany have paintings of men in Lederhosen and maidens in Dirndls). However, the food is pretty good and would probably pass muster in mid-range restaurants in Germany. She ordered a brace of sausages with fried potatoes and I ordered Sauerbraten with potato dumplings. We both had a glass of Beck’s and after we left, I let out an ear-ringing burp, which made her laugh and somewhere in the gale of laughter she burped involuntarily, which started me laughing furiously and got her laughing even harder.

We got into the car and I commented that it was nice to see her laugh, because normally she seemed fairly somber. No longer laughing, she forced a smile and simply said that she had been through a series of losses in recent years. She didn’t go into detail at that time.

I invited her on a weekend fall colors trip out into the farm land around the area, a trip which would included several parks. She had grown up in Arizona and was new to autumn in the Midwest. Maple leaves mottled red, orange, yellow, green, and brown were something which, previously, she had only seen in photographs. She accepted my invitation.

I drove that Sunday, and after picking her up at 10 a.m., we wandered the backroads, stopping frequently for her to jump out and photograph a lovely tree, a homely old barn, or a cow or horse in a field. She was like a child seeing things for the first time that I had grown up with in Northern Ohio.

Along the way we lunched in a small-town restaurant that served Amish fare “family style,” which is really basic, rib-sticking food like chicken or roast beef with very fresh vegetables and certainly no alcohol.

We spent the afternoon driving around more. I showed her a couple of the local fishing lakes and we spent about two hours round-tip hiking a trail to a waterfall. It was one of those sublimely beautiful fall days which give you your last glimpses of rich color before the world turns into the gray and white of winter.

It had become too dark to take photos, so I invited Gwen back to our apartment for ham and waffles. She accepted and we chatted, mostly about guys at work, while I worked on dinner. She had never had real maple syrup before! Just that artificially maple-flavored stuff you can buy under various brand names. My syrup came out of a tin, not a plastic bottle, and had been purchased at a sugarbush out near Burton, Ohio. (A “sugarbush” is a grove of sugar maples.)

Real maple syrup, to the sugar lover, induces a gastronomic ecstasy approaching that of sex, and I could see she was savoring each bite, and she had not one but two additional helpings of waffles just so she could have more syrup! I made a joke about injecting it directly into her veins which doubled her up in laughter.

It was so nice to see her happy.

I could see she wasn’t even thinking about leaving, which was fine with me, since Erik was up in New Brunswick on business and I certainly would enjoy having the company.

I showed her our video collection and she asked me to pick something good. I pulled out House of Games, one of my favorite movies, written and directed by David Mamet. It was also one of Joe Mantegna’s first major roles and it introduced me to Lindsay Crouse, then Mamet’s wife, who, with her uniquely resonant voice and short blond hair still makes my panties damp.

As the movie started, I fired up the fireplace and the room got warmer and warmer.

When that movie was over, I let her pick one while I went back into the kitchen to clean up a bit. She soon joined me, asking me about The Unbearable Lightness of Being. I told her it’s a wonderful movie, which it is. It was my first exposure to Daniel Day-Lewis, Juliette Binoche, and Lena Olin. That’s a trio I’d hop into bed with anytime. I told her that it was a very sexy film, which didn’t turn her off. She helped me do the dishes and tidy up the kitchen (a trait I always appreciate in guests).

I popped up a big batch of popcorn and made my special butter and spices drizzle (butter, brewer’s yeast, powdered garlic, cayenne, and Kraft Romano Cheese). We returned to the living room, which had become quite warm, so I stepped out of my jeans and took off my top. She was taken aback at first, but followed suit. So there we were, eating popcorn in our bras and panties.

Did I mention we were drinking Hearty Burgundy, too? Oh, yeah!

As we sat there picking up popped kernels one or two at a time, we watched this movie. I had forgotten (or neglected) to tell her how sexy the movie is…and how sad. I’ve seen it five or six times and it always has me bawling at the end.

As the final credits rolled, I looked over at Gwen, and she was staring at the ceiling, tears running down her cheeks along with some of her makeup. I ran off to the kitchen and grabbed the box of tissues I keep there. I wiped the tears and makeup off her cheeks and took her in my arms. When I did this, she cried even harder and clutched me as if I was her mother.

“What is your story?” I asked. And here is what she told me.

Her father had come back from Vietnam a changed person, according to her mother. Before leaving for duty, he had been a happy-go-lucky guy, always ready with a joke or quip. A bit of a prankster, but nothing ever vicious. After returning, he had no sense of humor and while he was never abusive, he was also never fun again. He had frequent nightmares and never enjoyed life. In fact, she said, she’s lucky to even exist because shortly after she was born, according to her mother, he had lost first his interest in sex and then his ability to perform.

Her home was a sad and quiet place, devoid of joy. Her one joy in life was her brother, who somehow managed to take it all in stride, and frequently included his younger sister in the things he did.

On the way home from his senior prom—one occasion when she could not be with him—he and his girlfriend were killed when a truck driver dozed at the wheel of his semi. It wasn’t a head-on collision, but the glancing blow at their combined speed knocked her brother’s car out of control. This happened near the middle of a bridge over a canyon, and his car hit the curb, flew into the air, and went right over the side falling several hundred feet and landing on a pile of rocks killing both him and his date, who happened to be one of her best high school buddies. She and her brother had even met on a sleepover she had had for her school friends, and their romance had been a source of happiness for her.

This sent her father over the edge. He descencded into a deep depression which cost him his job as a mechanic at the local Ford agency. The night he got fired, he never came home from work. His car was found out in the desert. He drove on a seldom-used side road till his pickup ran out of gas, where he took the shotgun which hung in the back of the cab, stuck it into his mouth, and I don’t need to tell you the rest.

Her mother hasn’t talked since then and now resides in a state hospital.

I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who had endured so much loss. I had to admire her for persisting in her studies and keeping it all together as well as she had.

At the same time, it hit me how beautiful she was and how happy I wanted to make her.

“Take me,” I said. She said, “What?” Slowly, I settled first onto my elbows, and then onto my back, with one leg on the floor, effectively inviting her to lay on top of me. “Take me,” I repeated.

She drifted onto me so slowly I almost didn’t feel her body touch mine.

At first, she just looked into my eyes. Here eyes teared up a little bit more, but when she started kissing me, I closed my own eyes.

At first, she just pecked at my lips and cheeks and nose, nibbled on my ears, and licked my neck. She was good, I’ll tell you that. She got me pretty worked up. I had decided to be totally passive, and so it took quite a bit longer than I had wanted for her tongue to start probing my mouth.

Wow, what a kisser she was! I was enjoying it in one part of my mind but the other part was screaming “Get me off! Get me off!”

Reaching behind her as we kissed, I unhooked her bra and she helped take it off. Then I rolled to one side, she unhooked mine, and soon we were breast-to-breast. After kissing a while longer, she slid down and took one of my nipples into her mouth, teasing it with her teeth by moving her jaw from side to side. Chills were going up and down my back and legs. When she lifted her head slowly, stretching the nipple until it snapped out of her teeth…fuck!…I almost had an orgasm right there!

Now she was licking her way down to my navel and further on down to my pelvic area where she rubbed her cheeks in the roughness of my pelvic “five o’clock shadow,” groaning with pleasure as she did so. Oh, man, was I lubricating. Soon she was rubbing her face in my pussy juice, as I ran my fingers through her silken hair.

Her cheek had found a sweet spot, and so I started groaning encouragement. She pretty nearly got me off with her cheek before I suggested we throw down some pillows in front of the fireplace and continue. I didn’t want it to end there.

“Lay on your tummy,” she ordered, and I obeyed. She sat on the small of my back to start with and massaged my shoulders. Then she slowly moved back and sat on my lower legs as she massaged my lower back and butt.

I don’t know if she can read minds or was just as horny as I was, but I was really happy when her fingers wandered into my butt crack and started teasing my asshole. For a while, it was tease, tease, tease and so at last I said, “Go on…I want you to do it.”

Chills again as I heard her suck an a finger. The next thing I knew, s finger was going in nice…and…slow…and…nice…and…deeeep. And then she was finger-fucking my ass, which I raised in the air, stuffing some pillows under my hips to keep it up and make the finger action easier for her.

Well, if you’ve been reading my stories, you know how much I like ass play! I was in heaven. Then, the finger came out, more sucking sounds, and soon two fingers were in, then three.

I told her where there was some Astroglide in a little end table drawer she could reach, and soon it was four fingers. Oh, man, I was hot.

Curling up into a fetal position, I said, “I want more. Grease me up good.” So, she slopped Astroglide onto her hand and into my ass and ever so slowly I accommodated her fingers and then her cupped hand, until I could feel the bulge of her hand slide in.

“Roll onto your back,” she whispered and her whisper was my command. As she fucked my ass with her forearm, she licked and sucked on my pussy lips and clit. This was one of those orgasms that sneaks up and surprises you. I came explosively, squirting onto Gwen’s chin, and her hand popped out of my butt when she felt my sphincter contracting in the throes of orgasm.

This time she held me as I recovered from this powerful orgasm.

When I was ready, I reached into the drawer and found my little Pocket Rocket vibrator, about the size of a lipstick.

I held it in my hand and rubbed her pussy with it as I kissed her. But there isn’t really much to tell. She locked her legs around my hand and said “Just hold me…kiss me.” After about maybe 10 minutes of hoding and kissing her, she stiffened, whimpered, and relaxed.

She agreed that it was too far, too late, and too much trouble for me to drive her home, so she shared my bed with me, and I held her in my arms all night long.

I think Kelsey, my boss, recognized that the new intern had shown up at work wearing clothes from my wardrobe and gave me knowing looks the rest of the day.

As for Gwen, we’ve become real buddies and she often comes over to keep me company while Erik is out of town. I’ll miss her a lot when she retutns to Arizona.

But I must say, she seems much happier lately.

Today, we checked out of our hotel in Bremen and hit the road to Amsterdam, getting there around Noon. The ride, which took about 2.5 hours, was beautiful and interesting. We passed through lots of farmland and many small towns which, frequently, were almost within sight of each other.

I’m told that Bremen’s little corner of Germany, being so close to The Netherlands, shares a lot of cultural traits with The Netherlands, and it’s true. Towns on both sides of the border are very clean and tidy. No, I didn’t see any housewives on their knees scrubbing their stoops or sidewalks, but the houses frequently looked like they had been prepared for a photoshoot to take place that very day, with rows of flowers in their yards, flowerboxes overburdened with colorful flowers, and sculpted hedges or whited fences separating one yard from another. Even rowhouses were taken care of with this loving care.

This was true on both sides of the border, though I suppose things got quite a bit neater once we crossed into The Netherlands.

The same can’t be said of Amsterdam, though, which, while being far from the vilest city I’ve ever been to, was nowhere near as well-groomed and immaculate as Bremen, whose citizens will frequently chase a candy wrapper blowing down the street rather than litter even inadvertently. Several times, I’ve observed people walking down the street stoop to pick up some litter, for no other apparent reason than to make their city more pleasant to be in, for themselves and others.

Our hotel overlooked one of Amsterdam’s innumerable Grachten (canals). The building was unbelievably narrow and our suite consisted of three rooms all lined up in a row from front to back. We had the entire floor, which may sound special, but the building was so narrow that there was only room for one suite per floor. At six stories tall, this family-owned structure could handle only five parties a night.

That said, it was quite luxuriously furnished with modern furnishings including very large and colorful abstract paintings. The shiny hardwood floors rolled gently, because the building had been settling for several centuries. Modern rugs made the place feel warmer. We were on the top floor and had a nice view of the canal below, where boats or barges or whatever they were tied up, obviously now used more for housing than transport.

After a quick sandwich lunch, we did some of the usual tourist things, such as taking an early afternoon boat tour of the city’s major canals, followed by a visit to the famous Rijksmuseum (National Museum), which is certainly a major museum up there with Le Louvre in Paris, the Prado in Madrid, or The Guggenheim in New York. Cleveland has a great museum, but it certainly doesn’t have room after room with major Rembrandt’s and Vermeers (Vermeer being my favorite Old Master, especially since Girl With A Pearl Earring, one of my favorite movies).

The museum isn’t limited to Old Masters, though, because I saw Van Goghs along with other impressionists as well as a wealth of fascinating contemporary art by artists with names I didn’t recognize. I confess to not being that “up” on contemporary art.

Afterward, we shopped around for a place to dine, eventually ending up at a restaurant several blocks from out hotel, where we sampled Dutch beers, staying away from the ones commonly available in our local supermarket and beverage shops in Ohio. I remember really enjoying the beers, but probably more because of the ambience than the beer. To be truthful, the Germans have it all over the Dutch when it comes to flavorful beer.

Erik had some cold pickled herring in a creamy-looking sauce. I had a delicious seafood chowder (not the word they used). It was quite a bit like an American Manhattan clam chowder but with fish and squid or octopus in addition to chopped clams. These dishes, the beer, and a bottomless basket of heavenly rolls and sweet butter made for a very satisfying meal.

It was a pleasant evening, neither warm nor cold, and the air was still, so we took a long walk, tourist map in hand. The architecture in the old parts of Amsterdam (which seems to be most of it), it quite quaint, with more narrow buildings mortared right into each other. Being a surveyor here has to be a very interesting and difficult profession, as well as a stressful one. I’m sure the value of a square foot of land in Amsterdam must be astronomical.

I think Amsterdam could also join that club of cities like New York, Las Vegas, Paris, Rome, and Madrid, that “never sleep,” because even though we walked until well after midnight, pedestrians were everywhere, and since 10 p.m., there hadn’t been the least sign that foot traffic would be slowing down.

Nevertheless, Erik did find a tiny little alley between two buildings, and as we passed it, he took my hand and dragged me into it.

Now, no woman likes to be raped, but often we do like to be taken roughly. Erik knows that, so from time to time he drags me off somewhere and takes me, fucking my brains out, the more public the location the more exciting it is.

The fact that it’s virtually a consensual rape makes it exciting. The fact that I know and love him removes the fear factor.

I was wearing a summer dress and silk panties. He pressed me against a side wall and roughly kissed me as he reached under my skirt, forcing his hand into a leg hole. He massaged my clit and labia with stiff fingers as his tongue explored my mouth.

Then, he grabbed my ass with both hands, lifting me off the ground. I wrapped my legs around him, grinding my pussy against his hardening cock. We kissed ever more intensely and hungrily, almost angrily.

My God, I was lubricating like crazy. I could have wrung my panties out like a wet washcloth.

With my legs still wrapped around him, he walked further into alley, and I suddenly realized that he knew where he was going. He had been to Amsterdam before on several occasions. I didn’t know where we were going, but I went with it.

The alley opened up into a gorgeous enclosed garden, fringed with flowers and bushes, and with a big tree in the center, surrounded by grass, and circled by a white wooden table. and a dozen or so equally white chairs.

Erik dropped me onto the table, ripping my panties off me, pushing my feet up so that my knees were practically one my shoulders, and he started licking my bottom. Not just my clit and labia, but my upper thighs, my mons, and most thrilling of all, my asshole.

He has a long tongue. Believe me, Gene Simmons has nothing on Erik. It’s almost penis on its own. I’m told that the tongue is one of the most powerful muscles, pound for pound, in the body. So, used as a penis…well, imagine a penis that’s almost a tentacle, and that’s what a big tongue is like.

He tongue-fucked my pussy and then he tongue-fucked my asshole, switching back and forth, and using his finger on my asshole when he was doing my pussy, and vice versa, he really had me going.

Now, he pulled me half off the table and turned me over so that my feet reached the ground and he flipped the lower part of my dress up over my back and fucked me hard in the pussy. When he’s doing this, I just relax and get into it. I like him when he’s an animal.

Of course, I knew what was coming, and sure enough he withdrew. He was getting ready to fuck my ass.

Before he did that, though, I wanted to taste his big cock, so I pushed him away and dropped to my knees in front of him, taking him into my mouth. He’s big, and it’s a strain, but I love that feeling, and I know exactly what he likes, which is about 1/3 deep throat and 2/3 glans sucking and licking. So, I gave him the blow job of a lifetime as he stroked my hair. His tap on my shoulder told me he would be coming soon if I didn’t stop, and neither one of us wanted it to end that way (not that I’m the least bit shy about taking a big load in the mouth…I rather enjoy it actually).

I turned around and dropped into the low doggy position with my legs together and my boobs and shoulders touching the lawn. This position is the best position for anal sex because it opens up the cheeks, stretches the anus, and gets the leg bones out of the way. Using lubricant from my pussy, he wetted my asshole and then he was in like Flynn. He has a big, long cock and while he’s not the biggest guy I’ve ever taken in the ass, he does it best and gives me gigantic orgasms every time.

Of course, the anus isn’t designed as a sex organ. It’s a case of “it’s the thought that counts,” and probably anal orgasms wouldn’t be possible if our culture didn’t fix in our mind that it’s a dirty part of our body, which, or course, it is. So, one has to augment the rather strange and even painful experience of being fucked in the ass with some vivid thoughts and some masturbation, which is what I do.

I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed an assfuck more than that night, and it went on for quite a while. We changed position a few times and I’m sure we did it for at least a half hour when, by mutual agreement, we both went for it, achieving proximate, if not simultaneous orgasms.

When we were done, I squatted over his belly and let his jizz drain onto his tummy. I then sat down on the little puddle and rubbed it into his tummy with my crotch. We kissed some more and got up, tidying our clothes along the way.

We started to leave and Erik said, “I have to pee,” and he walked over to a bush next to the entrance. I came over and kissed his neck, taking his dick out of his hand as he peed. Then, I pinched it off, stopping the flow, and got down onto my knees, where I unpinched his dick, and wiggled my tongue in the flow, taking a few sips of his piss.

“You’re one dirty girl,” he said with a laugh as he zipped up his fly.

And that I am…that I am.

Today, Erik had to go to Bremerhaven on business. He told me he’d return in the early evening and we could go to dinner then. He is probably assuming I’ll be a bad girl and I surely don’t want to disappoint him.

So, 10 a.m. I find myself out in front of the Hauptbahnhof. I wander back into the city, exploring small shops. I found a couple small bookstores well stocked with coffee table books. I pick up books on Egon Schiele and Gustav Klimt and another one on famous palaces in Europe, which I’ll certainly use to plan my next European holiday.

It was a bit after 1 p.m. and with breakfast nearly five hours behind me, I was famished. I started looking for a good place to eat when I found myself confronted with a strange sculpture. I later learned that this is the Bremer Stadt Musikanten (Bremen Town Musicians). The statue is based on a fairy tale about four animals, a donkey, a dog, a cat, and a rooster, who scared away some thieves. Read the fairy tale HERE. Despite appearances and the age of the surroundings, the statue goes back only to 1951.

Anyway, near the statue I heard a rather obvious dyke speaking English in a thick Australian brogue, so I went up to her, introduced myself, and asked her where a gal might have a good lunch, if it wasn’t too far away. She introduced herself as Melanie and offered to take me to a good lunch spot since she was on her way as well.

Melanie, it turned out, had vacationed in Europe the year before, had fallen in love with Bremen, and now lived in the city, leaving Germany just often enough and just long enough not to screw up her VISA.

Within a few minutes, we entered a bar (which I shall not name, because it does not seek notoriety). It was dark, and the music, strangely, was American country & western, with lots of Patsy Cline and Skeeter Davis, among others.

Melanie and I took a booth and I allowed her to order food for me. She recommended a beer I hadn’t heard of before, Jever Pils. When it arrived, it was quite a shock. I’d never had such a bitter beer before. At first, this put me off, but it grew on me and now it’s one of my favorite beers. Later on, I looked it up and discovered what I already knew: Jever Pils is possibly the bitterest (hoppiest) beer in the world. Now I have Erik bring it back from Europe whenever he can.

What a dope I was! I didn’t realize right away that I was in a lesbian bar! There wasn’t a male in sight. Some of the gals were office gals on lunch hour, some of them were goths or punkers. Some were very feminine and some were butch.

Apparently we came in at break time, because just as the food arrived (a cold cut platter with a basket of small bread rolls called BrÖtchen), a skinny gal came out on the small stage and started gyrating to what was now industrial rock. By the time the song was over, she was braless, a breastless chest with small but very hard-looking nipples.

By the end of the next tuen she was bottomless as well.

As the third tune started, she got down on the ground and started giving us super pussy and anal displays, making my panties damp.

I ate a BrÖtchen with butter and ham and hot mustard as we watched, and another one with a very mild liver paté.

The next gal out was a bit more filled out and much more appealing to me. She was a luscious blonde with medium-sized boobs and a gloriously round ass. She had a ponytail and perfect bangs. Once again, the bra came off during the first song, the bottom during the second, and then she really gave it up in the last set, showing us the goods in the most daring and lascivious ways. I was afraid of spotting my skirt if my pussy lubricated even a little bit more!

Melanie told me that the dancer’s name was Alex and that she was from Toronto. Now, I’ve been to Toronto many times. It’s an easy drive from Northern Ohio, and I have a college dormmate who now loves with her boyfriend on Yonge Street (and yes, I’ve fucked them both). Toronto is one of my favorite cities, right after Portland, OR, and, now, Bremen.

When the set was over and Alex was putting on her robe, Melanie motioned for her to come over to our table. Obviously, they knew each other well. After the introduction, Alex sat down and we chatted a bit about Toronto and Bremen.

Meanwhile, a bulldyke got up on the stage and announced that it was the weekly amateur day. At first Alex, and then Melanie, dared me to get up on the stage. At first I declined and we watched two very butch girls with hairy legs and underarms do their thing.

Melanie and Alex kept looking my way with that look that says “Chicken!” and so I finally agreed. Consulting with the DJ, I selected three songs by Nine Inch Nails, and I got up on the stage.

I was wearing a schoolgirl outfit that day with a longsleeve shirt, black sleeveless V-neck sweater, and a green pleated plaid skirt. I had a black lace Victoria’s Secret bra and panty set, opaque black thighhighs, and black patent leather Mary Janes with three-inch heels.

To Kinda I Want To, I strutted around on the stage, slowly removing my sweater and my shirt and my bra, and I pushed my skirt into my pussy at the “while the Devil wants to fuck me in the back of his car” lyric.

To Terrible Lie, I gradually worked my skirt off, tossing it to the floor beneath the stage. As the song progressed, I got down on my ass and elbows and waved my feet around overhead, turning to make sure one and all got to see the crotch of my panties. As the song ended, I was sticking my hand in one leg hole and massaging my, by now, sopping wet pussy.

Finally, to Head Like A Hole, I stood up and bend over, gradually working my panties down, inch by inch, until I kicked them off the stage as well. Dropping down into a doggy position with my cheek and breasts on the floor, I finger-fucked myself as the lyrics “bow down before the one you serve/you’re going to get what you deserve.”

When the set was over, there was huge applause from the 25 or thirty women in the place. The DJ put on some fast-paced Minstry tune and Alex came over, motioning to me to come over to the edge of the stage. I sidled over and she helped me plant my feet right on the edge, hooking my heels into the rim.

“Lay back and relax,” she said, and thinking I knew what was coming, I complied.

The music grew louder and the rhythm more irresistible as she licked the bare skin of my thighs above the top of my stockings, first on this side then on that, each moment coming closer to my pussy.

I could see the bartender, who was in charge, looking nervously around. She was probably weighing the relative impacts of stopping what was happening and pissing off the audience vs. a visit by the authorities. In the end, she went over and locked the entrance door, standing there probably to give the once over to anyone wanting to get in.

At last, Alex’s tongue was probing and stroking my pussy. I must say: she knew what she was doing! I stroked her hair as she worked on me, giving her words of encouragement.

Before I knew it, Alex was on the stage next to me, finger fucking me vigorously and Frenching me at the same time. I helped her get her robe off, and played with her boobs as she worked on me.

After a while, I rolled over and turned the tables on her, getting three fingers in her and working her pussy hard as I kissed her. God she was wet! As I kissed her, I noticed that something else was going on. Melanie was licking and tonguing my asshole!

I noticed that the sex we were having was contagious, and that on several tables around the room, pantyless girls were enjoying public cunnilingus as well.

This went on for I’m not sure how long… Perhaps a half hour. After I brought Alex to orgasm, I rolled onto my back and Melanie got me off, which resulted in a big wet squirt all over her chin and neck, to thunderous applause.

As I came out of the fog of orgasm, I discovered that the audience had showered the stage with all kinds of currency. Not just Euros, but dollars, Aussie Dollars, Pound notes, and Asian denominations of all sorts as well.

I split this money with Alex, and we each got about the equivalent of $70 or $80.

I used the money to take Erik out to dinner that night in a Hungarian restaurant.

When I told him how I’d earned it, he laughed and laughed. And when he got me back to the hotel room he fucked me hard in the ass in the shower stall.

Life is good, and I’m loving this town I’d never even heard of before.

Bremen was blowing my mind! How could a city I’d never even heard of be so charming and fun and full of opportunities for adventures of all kinds? My nearest major metropolis is Cleveland, Ohio, which I love, but Bremen existed a thousand years before Moses Cleveland decided the mouth of the Cuyahoga River and the shores of Lake Erie would make a swell place to build a city. And Moses Cleveland wore a three-cornered hat, which makes him fairly ancient in American lore!

The second day, we drove up to Bremerhaven, Bremen’s actual seaport. There, we visited the Schiffahrtsmuseum (Seafaring Museum) and had lunch outdoors in a cafe overlooking sailboat moorings. Once again, seafood was the primary menu item. I had some delicious shrimp and Erik had pickled herring. This was washed down with a glass of delicious Moselwein.

After walking around and exploring some shops, we returned to the hotel, where once again the cute desk girl smiled at us. Perhaps she had remembered the two African boys we’d had up to our room last night and had maybe even observed them leaving with us in the a.m.

Once in our room, I, not yet used to the time change, wanted a nap. Erik, ever the experienced traveler, seemed immune to this problem. He said he wanted to buy some sundries anyway and would let me catch a few winks.

I slept for perhaps two hours. When Erik returned it was 7:30 p.m. We took a shower together and went out to eat. Erik told me that he’d scouted out a cool little restaurant he thought we should try. Erik’s restaurant radar is very good, so I was ready for adventure.

We took a trolley out to a neighborhood not far from Universität Bremen, getting off at a stop named (if memory serves) Kulenkampffallee, and walked a few blocks to a small Indonesian restaurant.

Once inside, Erik looked around as if looking for someone holding a table for us and, spotting his target, grabbed me by the arm and took me to a booth where I found…the cute little desk girl from the hotel!

We sat down and Erik said, “Jill, I’d like you to meet Petra. Petra, meet Jill.” Petra and I shook hands, and I looked at Erik for clarification. He said, “Petra is a student at the university here and recommended this restaurant when I asked her for some help. As a reward, I asked her to join us for dinner.”

“Wonderful!” I said. And I meant it, for I was looking forward to this lovely girl as an after-dinner treat.

Petra explained that she was taking courses toward a degree in English literature at the university and was happy to share experiences with people from England, the U.S., Australia, or anywhere else where English is the primary language.

We (the three of us) hit it off right away. Petra had a great sense of humor, and hardly needed much help with her English. Most of her exposure, it turned out, had been to people from England, so her English had a very nice touch of a British accent mixed in with the German accent. She would have been charming to a blind person on that basis alone.

However, she had one of those great little “pocket rocket” bodies and a face graced by big round eyes and the most beautiful cheekbones you ever saw. And, oh yes, a dimple on the chin. How precious!

We ordered a Rijstafel (rice table), a standard combination dish served buffet style and featuring a kind of fried rice and several side dishes, some vegetable and some meat, some hot and some mild. This was washed down with various kinds of beer, which we shared. Of course, the ubiquitous Beck’s Beer was represented, but I also remember San Miguel (Philippines) and Tiger Beer (Malaysia). There were a couple others as well, but it’s a blur.

Petra invited us back to her apartment back on Kulenkampffallee, which was rather small by American standards. However, it was well-kept and showed no signs of the poverty-struck circumstances you’d find in an American student’s apartment. After a quick tour of the place, she broke out some Jägermeister as we watched German TV. It was hilarious watching an old Western with John Wayne and some Indians speaking German. When an Indian chief said, “Ugg! Ich verstehe daß nicht!” we all broke out in laughter.

We watched a few other shows and drank more booze until we were all pretty well wasted.

Petra shared the apartment with a male roomie who, it turned out, was visiting family in a place named Goslar (talk about a medieval-sounding name!). He was not expected back for two days, so she invited us to spend the night, since it was so late.

The bedroom had two beds approximately U.S. twin size. Each one had a nice comforter on it. It wasn’t so cold, so (and in deference to Petra’s roommate, we decided to sleep on top of the covers, not under them.

We all went into the bathroom, and Petra offered us a tube of toothpaste, although, having no brush, we brushed our teeth with our fingertips. With this, Petra returned to the bedroom and waited for us to finish our preparations (washing our faces and so forth).

We returned to the bedroom which was now lit by one small lamp on a small side table next to her bed. When she returned, she was totally nude, carrying her clothes with her. She had a stunning body with breasts the size of grapefruits and that big curvature in her lower back that is the real secret of “a great ass.” (I’ve seen girls with very small asses be sexy as hell because of having a lot of curvature in their back. Petra had both: a rather large ass and a lot of curvature as well. Goddamn! If I’d had a dick, I would have wanted to fuck it!).

She gave Erik a massive hard-on, which didn’t bother me: after all, I myself was starting to lubricate just looking at her.

After Petra doused the one light, we discovered that it was a full-moon night. We were on the window side of the room and our bed was bathed in blue/white moonlight. Erik and I started kissing. I played with his cock through his pants as I caressed his tongue with mine, finally opening his pants and pushing his briefs down to grab his cock. Continuing to kiss, I slowly jacked him off as he lay on his back.

Looking into the room toward Petra’s bed, I saw her watching us with a mixture of curiosity and longing.

In situations like this, Erik and I always want the same thing, so I simply stopped kissing him and said, “Scoot over and make room for Petra.” He complied. Turning my gaze back to Petra, I said, “You can join us.”

Petra smiled with surprise and said, “Take off your clothes. I’ll be right back.”

We stripped and as we did so, she returned with a rubber-backed flannel sheet which we laid over the bedcovers. Soon, Erik was on his back again and Petra was jacking him off whiie I continued kissing him. I was also gently scratching his balls (something he really enjoys).

After a while, asked Petra “Would you like to fuck him?”

“You don’t mind?”

With a laugh I said, “Not at all! Don’t worry, I’ll figure out some way to join in.”

So, she straddled him cowgirl, which I’m sure gave him a spectacular view of her breasts, and soon she was heaving her hips. As she did so, I assumed the same position behind her, belly to back. She let herself fall back onto my chest and, reaching around her body, I played with her breasts while she fucked.

This went on for a few minutes until she pointed to the drawer next to the bed and said, “Look in there. I have some fun stuff.”

I hopped off the bed and opened the drawer where I found numerous implements of delight: dildos, vibrators, butt plugs, strap-on gear, nipple clamps, handcuffs, a coil of rope, and several different kinds of lube, among other objects which I couldn’t identify, but I’m sure had some sort of ecstasy-inducing purpose.

By now, she had dropped down onto her elbows, still fucking Erik, but now with her eyes closes and with more vigor. Since Erik only comes when he wants to, she was basically just using him to masturbate with, which I’m sure was just fine with him.

Grabbing a bottle of Astroglide and a large penis-shaped vibrator, wetted up the first two fingers of my right hand, knelt next to her with one knee on the bed and a foot on the floor, and gently worked my fingers into her asshole. She cooperated very nicely and soon I had four fingers firmly in. By now she was groaning and growling and squeaking with pleasure.

The pleasure noises increased drastically as I removed my fingers and slowly slide the giant toy up her butt and switched its motor into overdrive, which for this monster was equivalent to a Spinal Tap “11″ on the power dial. Only the bulge at the back end by the round power knob kept it from going in further. She had stopped moving as I did this, and Erik took over the work, banging her at first slowly and then more quickly, with me matching his rate stroke-for-stroke.

Now laying her chest against his, she had one hand free to play with her clit.

Between her efforts and those of Erik and myself, Petra was soon having a string of strong orgasms, ending at last when she rolled off him with a sigh.

Erik was still ready to go with a rock-hard erection. Petra retreated to her own bed, knowing that it was my turn and so giving us room for our own shenanigans.

I got onto my back next to him and centered myself on the bed when he shifted to get on top of me. He gave it to me missionary-style for a while, which is always good for starters. When I was appropriately warmed up, he gathered up my legs, putting them over his shoulders and up by my ears, and then he fucked me some more.

I managed to whisper “The drawer…” and he replied, “What do you want?” “Surprise me,” was my reply.

He got up, opened the drawer, and found a weird double dildo with a big shaft for the pussy and a somewhat smaller one for the anus. I’d never seen one like that before, but I must say I’ve been looking for one like it ever since. It had a nice hand-grip that allowed Erik to really pound me with it. He’s so nice and doesn’t want to injure my vagina, so I always have to beg him to do it harder. It took two or three more requests to get him doing it the way I wanted until I, too, had one great wet orgasm after another.

Poor Erik. He’d just serviced two girls and still hadn’t had an orgasm, so after resting a minute or two, I told him to get into a doggy position and I’d give him something special.

Petra had recovered enough that I invited her to come back and let Erik taste her pussy while I worked, and she happily complied.

I started kissing and licking his asshole while holding his dick, which slowly swelled and hardened in my grasp. Then, I stuck my tongue deep into his asshole, getting that unique burning sensation and taste you get from rimming.

Using some of the Astroglide, I lubed up his penis and started jacking him off while rimming him. Petra was groaning again and so was Erik. I knew it wouldn’t be long now until he came, and sure enough he came hard, making my hand delightfully icky and leaving a pool of semen on the sheet.

After using paper tissues to wipe up as much of the mess as I could, the three of us went into a warm hug-huddle and fell asleep together, though at some point during the night Petra returned to her own bed.

The next morning, she prepared a delicious breakfast buffet of eggs, cold cuts, cheeses, peanut butter, jams, butter, and Brõtchen (small bread rolls). And of course it was served with piping hot Bremer coffee.

We ate while listening to some very “with it” German rock-n-roll by a group that sounded like—and might have been—Ramstein.

After breakfast, I washed and Erik dried while Petra prepared for a class. She walked us to the corner trolley stop and we said our good-byes there, since we were going back into town and she would be walking in the opposite direction.

We got one last look at that fabulous ass of hers. Just as she went out of view, the trolley came into view and we made our way back to the hotel, where Erik would have to do some business during the day, leaving me on my own for a while, and knowing full well I’d probably be getting into some sort of “trouble” while he was away.

So September last year Erik surprised me with this: “Why don’t you come with me on my next business trip?” That was a surprise. His company doesn’t pay for that sort of thing, so it was purely a gift. Erik has a job that takes him to all kinds of glamorous places, and usually I get some nice gifts like a fine silk scarf from Turin, an expensive handbag from Paris, and even a cuckoo clock from Zurich. But I’ve never gone on a business trip with him.

Needless to say, I was excited.

“Where are we going?” I asked. “Germany. I have some business in Bremerhaven. Bremerhaven is pretty much an industrial city. Basically, it’s the port city for Bremen, which is one of the oldest port and trading cities in Europe. Bremen is a beautiful, picturesque city off the beaten tourist path. I think you’ll love it. From there we can do some driving. We could easily visit a number of cities using Bremen as a base: Hamburg, Berlin, Cologne, and even Amsterdam.”

Well, it was short notice, but Kelsey, my boss, agreed it was too good an opportunity to miss, so she agreed to let me take a week of vacation, and so I started planning. I had a week to get ready.

The first thing I did was to sit down at my computer and learn as much as I could about Bremen and Northern Germany, and the more I read, the more interested I became in visiting this ancient city.

Luckily, I already had a passport from a trip to the UK my parents took me on as a high school graduation gift. Erik’s company made the arrangements for us. I made a number of lists of things I needed to do, things I needed to buy, things I wanted to bring, arrangements with neighbors to collect our mail, and so on. I’m a pretty organized gal, but even so, preparing for a major trip like this with very little warning frazzled me.

Even so, before I knew it I found myself on a neat & tidy Lufthansa jet over the Atlantic, its nose pointed directly at Frankfurt where, after a sleepless “night,” Erik and I changed to a smaller plane for a shuttle to the old Hanseatic city-state of Bremen, Germany, where we passed through Customs.

Erik rented a silver-gray Mercedes and drove us to the hotel he usually stays at, which is across the way from the famed Bremer Hauptbahnhof (main train station.

After crashing for a few hours, Erik took me on a walking tour from the hotel which eventually took us to an old town with areas named Boettcherstraße and Schnoor (photos of these and several other locations I have or will mention can be found HERE (note that there are two pages of pics). Boettcherstraße and Schnoor are very narrow cobblestone streets (too harrow for trucks or even cars, and so they are essentially footpaths). They are much like the arts-oriented areas of many cities, with artist studios and craft shops interspersed with trendy cafes and fine restaurants. Of the two, Schnoor is the better preserved and Boettcherstraße is the more “yuppified.”

On our way back to the hotel, he took me to a famed seafood restaurant. Bremen is a port city and is thus oriented toward seafood. I had the most heavenly sole with boiled new potatoes and a salad of pickled vegetables. This was followed by delectable Bremer coffee (Bremen is probably the coffee capital of Germany, if not Western Europe). I desserted on cheesecake.

Afterward, we returned to the hotel and tried to get a good night’s sleep in a city six hours ahead of our own time zone.

But first—and after taking a quick shower together—I rewarded Erik by letting him tie me up with my feet behind my head and my hands behind my back using several of his silk neckties. He then proceeded to play with my body, starting with my breasts. He likes puffy nipples and whenever he’s around, my nipples get extra hard and sensitive, so even though I don’t need a bra, I usually wear one. Otherwise, my breasts become sore from rubbing against the fabric of my top.

I invited him into my mouth and let him force his 10-incher far back. I’m long past gagging on cocks, and so he was able to fuck my throat for a couple minutes. Then, pulling my head back, I worked my tongue and lips all over his glans, being careful not to force him to cum. I don’t mind getting shot in the mouth (I’m a swallower), but I wanted things to last a bit longer.

And they did…

Next, he turned his attention to my clit and vulva, giving them a long, hard licking and probing the depths of my vagina with his fingers and tongue. Moving down to my anus, he stuck his tongue way deep, giving me a small fit of shivers and shakes, partly for the unusual feeling itself and partly in anticipation of what inevitably comes next: the entrance of his long, thick shaft far into my ass.

When that happened, I started thinking all the sexy thoughts I could think of, because normally I would be masturbating furiously while being fucked in the ass. When tied up, I have to do the mental equivalent of playing with my pussy.

I thought about my earliest sexual experiences and my most recent. I thought of the night Erik and I met. I imagined my pussy being licked by Kelsey, my boss, and I imagined a three-way (which had never happened) between her and Erik and me. And finally…the one that brought it all back home, I thought about being alone in a barn, in formal dressage gear, taking an immense load of cum in my mouth as I sucked the cock of a gorgeous chestnut thoroughbred stallion.

We slept well, but still awoke groggy because we still hadn’t adjusted to the time difference. I now appreciated how tired Erik could be upon returning from a trip abroad, which often took him much further afield than even Europe (his company has offices and clients in Indonesia, South Africa, Buenos Aires, and Australia as well).

That first day, we explored Bremen further. I saw a huge windmill, the Karstadt department store, and a famous bronze statue installation of pigs on SÖgestraße (Sow Street). We had an early afternoon lunch at a sausage stand (the Germans make such heavenly sausages, which you hold with little tiny buns that have been cut in half for that purpose…delicious!).

In the afternoon, we walked over to the town square which has a gigantic statue of the medieval semi-mythical hero, Roland. On this square is the Bremer Dom (or in English, Bremen’s Cathedral). We sat there on the square watching street musicians and basking in the sun while drinking Bremen’s heavenly Jacobs Kaffee in front of a cafe restaurant on the edge of the square.

We then walked to the city park (the one with the aforementioned windmill) and strolled along the water, observing old people and families walking along the paths and enjoying the late afternoon luxuries of their little-known but prosperous port city.

As the sun began to set, we made our way back to the square, this time going into the famed Ratskeller (the most famous in all of Germany) and drank Rhine wine with German locals and Australian businessmen and African students for hours and hours. When we left, my world was a little akilter and we had two African boys (starting freshmen at the Universität Bremen) in tow.

We all went back to our hotel, walking past the attractive young desk girl, who gave us a knowing smile. Obviously, she could tell from our behavior, that we were all getting ready for some major fun.

The names (or, rather, nicknames) of the two boys were Jombo and Spike. Both were skinny as rails and at least 6′2″, but Jombo had a close-shaved head with a nice round babyface and Spike had a narrow face framed in the most extravagant and outrageous dreads. He bore a certain resemblance to Bob Marley.

We all crowded into the rather large shower stall and enjoyed washing each other for at least a half hour. I particularly enjoyed soaping up their long penises and making them hard so that I could barely move without bumping into them.

Erik was there to watch, so he played with himself and soon I had three erect cocks to deal with!

What’s a girl to do?!!!

What she did is declare she’d meet them back in bed as she jumped out of the shower and dried off

One thing I soon discovered is that both of our African friends are very bisexual, because almost as soon as Jombo’s tongue touched my pussy, I saw Spike mounting him from behind.

So, there I am laying on my back, Jombo’s mouth firmly fixed on my pussy, Spike’s cock moving in and out of Jombo’s ass, and both of them looking at my face and enjoying watching all the expressions I made as Jombo expertly teased my clit and labia.

Erik, who had been sitting in a chair across the room observing the goings on, had been playing with himself. But now he got up and walked over with one of his silk ties. It was my own favorite, gray with wide red stripes framed in thin blue stripes. He tied it around my head, blindfolding me.

Using another tie, he tied my hands together, palms up. Jombo is licking away. Then Erik put my hands behind my head and, using yet another tie, which he ran through the bonds on my wrists, he tied the loose ends around my neck. It was slightly tight, such that I had to force my arms to stay there, or I could feel the tie around my neck tighten. And so, on pain of passing out, I had to concentrate on keeping my arms in place.

Meanwhile, Jombo is still licking away, his rhythms in counter point to the thrusts of Spike in his ass. I think spike came but kept on fucking, since I heard distinct smacking and sucking sounds coming from that direction.

Just as I started to think about this, however, I felt large fingers enter my mouth. Two of them…or three. I’m not sure. They tasted salty-sweaty. It was the hand with which Erik had been jacking himself off. He was trying to see if he could make me choke, but I have my gag reflex under very good control, as I have already said. It’s very hard to make me gag.

The next thing I knew, a familiar shape and taste was in my mouth. It was Erik’s cock. I tipped my head back to let him hump my head.

Jombo slipped his cock deep into pussy. I could tell it was still Jombo because Erik was in my mouth, and by now Spike was tapping and smacking my face with his rather aromatic penis, which was giving off the pungent aroma of Jombo’s asshole.

I rolled from my back to my knees and Erik untied my hands. I assumed the doggy position, still blindfolded, and allowed Erik into my mouth again. Jombo, who had turned with me, was back in inside, humping my cunt vigorously, and soon enough, I felt Spike’s cock urging itself against my anal sphincter which, soon enough, surrendered to his gigantic member, allowing him deep into my ass.

When I say Spike went in deep, it’s an understatement. It’s a weird feeling to have a 12″ or 14″ dick in you, even in your vagina. In your ass, there’s no sensation like it, and I fought off orgasm with a grim determination.

And then, pain! Erik had grabbed his belt and was whipping my back with it. It really hurt (but in that “It hurts so good!” kind of way). I bit his cock slightly, but he only whipped me harder, which I knew he would. We had done this at home several times before.

Unfortunately, the whipping was wearing down my ability to hold off orgasm, and so I came. Massively. Remember: I’m a squirter, so Jombo’s cock and balls were soaked, as was the bed. When Spike realized what had happened, he laughed, but kept on humping a bit more, giving me a couple more orgasms.

At last, I felt a white hot load of cum on my back.

Erik rolled me on my back again, and laid his cock on my lips. I teased it with my lips and tongue until I felt him squirt all over my chin and chest.

Jombo, who still hadn’t come, took over for Erik, jacking off into my mouth. When he was done, I sucked the last of his jizz of his dick…and swallowed.

By then, it was nearly 4 a.m. After a more sombre shower than before…one involving much embracing and kissing, and after drying off, we did our best to clean up the bed and generally tidy up. The bed was gigantic and I refused to sleep on the wet spot, but Jombo volunteered for that duty. What a sweetie.

We all had a delicious buffet lunch at the hotel restaurant, accompanied by some huge frosty steins of Bremen’s famous Beck’s Beer.

We parted with hugs—and I had to remind all the guys that I had a very sore back from the night before. Erik even invited them to visit us if ever they were out our way. I don’t know if this meant he might waive the usual rule that we only have sex with members of the opposite sex once. I would certainly never ask for an exception because “a deal is a deal,” but I’d certainly welcome another bout with those boys.