Part 1.
When I was around 14 we moved to Jamaica, which is an island in the
Caribbean Sea. My father was big in imports at the time, and he moved to there
to run that end of the business while my uncle ran the stateside end. We had a
lot of money and we moved into a hell of a nice house next to the beach. It was
a big, two story job and the attic had been converted into a bedroom, and that's
where I lived. I had a little terrace and I could walk on it and sunbathe or
whatever. It gave me a beautiful view of the ocean and of the two houses that
were on either side of us. West of us was an old house that looked like it was
built back in the 1700s. The one on the east of us, though, was very modern. It
was a two story structure, with huge windows that let in tons of light. If the
sun wasn't glaring the glass, I could see most of the house through those big
windows. Both houses lay a couple acres away. A few months after we moved there
things went kind of nuts. My mother couldn't stand being away from her friends
and family back in Chicago, which is where we were from, so she went back and
lived there. My father got through it by spending most of his time at work, and
when he wasn't at work he was asleep or off somewhere trying to drum up more
work. When I turned 15, I was getting big on astronomy and all that, and my
father bought me a big Meade telescope. It was great. The sky was clear and
there were tens of thousands of stars to look at late after dark. When I got
bored, during the day I would pan the telescope across the beach or the ocean to
see whatever there was to see. Well, it didn't take me long to turn the scope on
the houses at night when they turned on the lights. The old house wasn't much to
look at, because the windows were small and the curtains were always closed. And
for awhile, it didn't look like the other house, the one with the big windows,
would have much either. One night, a couple months after I got the scope, I was
trying to see if I could find a nebulae to look at. I wasn't having a whole lot
of luck, of course. And I was about ready to give up when some headlights caught
my eye. The next door neighbors were driving up, and for a kick I thought I'd
watch them. So I spun the scope around and watched them drive up to the house
and park in front of the house. For some reason I'd never paid attention to them
before, but boy, was that a mistake. The door opened and I saw the driver get
out. He had gray hair and he looked like he was in his 70's, anyway. He was
wearing a tux. Out the other door came this woman. She looked like she was in
her thirties. She was wearing a black gown and some jewelry, and had her hair
pinned back. I didn't get much of a look at her but I could see she was a fine
piece of work. If her front was as good as her back, I was going to be in for a
treat. They walked into the house and closed the door, but the lights went on
and I could see them walking through the house. Those huge, big, crystal clear
windows were really paying off. They'd flip on the lights and walk through the
room, then turn the lights off behind them. I could have followed them through
it if I was legally blind. Well, they disappeared up the stairs and I just stood
back and waited. Then I see the bedroom light up. The man walked in and took off
his coat, threw it on a chair, and then sat down on the bed and pulled off his
shoes and socks. Then he pulled off his tie and unbuttoned his shirt and pants,
pulled them off and threw them all on the chair. In about twenty seconds he was
down to his t-shirt and boxers. He walked over to the dresser, pulled out some
clothes, and walked into the bathroom, and the door shut. While he's doing this,
the girl walks in, and she's talking and slowly undressing too. She barely had
her jewelry off by the time the old guy went to the bathroom, but she kept
talking anyway. She took off her shoes and walked into this big walk-in closet,
but I could still see her because the closet faces me, but the light was off and
I couldn't see her very well. She unzipped her dress and stepped out of it, then
hung it up. She pulled out the pins in her hair and shook it free, then she
walked back into the room. Now she was back in the bright light and I couldn't
believe what I was seeing. This woman was a work of art. She had bright,
fire-engine red hair, that was wavy kind of soft-curly and hung about a quarter
of the way down her back. She had creamy white skin, not-ghostly white, but a
really fine white considering she's on Jamaica, where just about everyone is
either black or sun-tanned. She didn't have any freckles, either. The last time
I saw a woman with skin like that, it was years later when I saw an Annette
Haven movie. She was wearing a black bra and a black half-slip, at this point,
and nude colored nylons. She unzipped the half-slip and stepped out of it, and
then she raised one of her legs onto the bed to roll off her stocking. I
couldn't believe my eyes. She was wonderfully built, with a small waist and
moderate hips and long, dancers' legs that looked like they could have reached
back over her head. Her stomach was flat and she didn't look like she had an
ounce of fat on her. And as she had that foot up on the bed, I could see a
little hint of pubic hair peak out from the leg hole of her panties. Okay, I'm
not made of stone. I was rock hard at this time. I felt like my pants had shrunk
a size and the base of my dick ached, like I was going to snap it off at the
base. I stepped out of my pants and kicked them out of the way, and then I
shifted my briefs to let the family jewels hang out. My dick was pointing up at
the moon and my balls were finally swinging free. The cool evening breeze wafted
across me and ooooh, it felt good. When I got back to the scope, she had the
other stocking off and was just pulling her bra off. She had the most beautiful
breasts I've *ever* seen on a woman, and I've seen a respectable number since
then. They looked like a c-cup, mounted precisely in the middle of her torso,
half-teardrop shaped with big, beautiful nipples that pointed straight out in
front. She raised her hands up and cupped them, and started to rub and kneed
them as if the bra had been too tight. A lot of women have tits that like and
they're soft and look like they're filled with jello, but not these. They were
firm and they didn't bounce all over when she moved. Those babies were made to
last. Finally she stepped out of her panties and I got to see her bush. It was a
moderate triangle--enough that I couldn't see her slit, and she didn't go in for
that bikini wax crap, but it wasn't thick and tangled and out of control, like
some I've seen. This woman was a class act all the way. About this time, the
bathroom door opened the old man walked in, wearing pajama bottoms. His hair was
wet, so I figured he probably took a shower. He kissed the woman on the
lips--nothing much, just a long-married peck, and climbed into bed. The woman
pulled out a negligee and walked into the bathroom. Ten minutes later she came
out, wearing the negligee, and climbed into bed. I stood there stunned. By this
time my dick had softened a bit, but when I got into my own bed it was hard and
fiery hot. It was laying back on my belly like it was on fire. I should probably
lie at this point and describe a long, satisfying jack-off scene, but since I've
been sticking to the truth so far, I'm going to admit something embarrassing--*I
didn't know about it.* Sad, I know. But I grew up being kind of a loner, and at
the time the M word wasn't being talked about like it is today. For anyone who
doesn't know it, when you're stroking yourself and you don't know any better,
the build up to an orgasm feels just like you're going to urinate. I'd messed
around a little, but I always quit because I thought I'd end up peeing all over
myself and for some reason, I could never get in the mood in the bathroom. I was
getting off all right--I'd wake up with jism all over me and the sheets, but as
far as I knew, I just had to wait for it. Jesus, I was innocent. So I lay there
in bed, squirming against the sheets and my dick feeling excruciatingly good,
but stopping before I made a mess. And somehow I managed to go to sleep.
Part 2.
I was sexually ignorant but I wasn't stupid. I knew the neighbors were the
Frenches, because we occasionally got a piece of their mail. I figured the woman
was his wife instead of his daughter, considering they shared a bed. But I went
down to the big library in Kingston and looked through their newspaper morgue to
make sure. After awhile I found a picture of them attending a charity function,
and the cut line identified them as Mr. and Mrs. Irwin French. Except for the
trip to the library, I pretty much lived at the telescope for the next couple
weeks. It was summer and I was out of school. Normally I bummed around the beach
or I tried to raise some extra money. I was big into photography at the time,
and I'd go around selling photographs any way I could. I took pictures for
tourists. I took pictures for real-estate agents. I took some pictures of
wrecked cars for insurance. Usually, when I didn't have any better ideas, I'd
ride around looking for pictures I could sell to the newspapers. But like I
said, I quit that and for awhile and became a near permanent attachment to the
telescope. After awhile I learned when they left and when each one got home. I
didn't see her nude again--she'd usually strip down to bra and panties and then
shower, and when she came back into view she'd be wearing a nightgown. And if
there was any fooling around, they weren't doing it in the house. What got me
hooked, though, was that there was other action in the house. They had a maid
who came in every day and did some housework. She'd show up in the afternoons
and do the dishes. She cleaned those windows until they were invisible. She did
the laundry and the dishes and had a cleaned a the rooms on a rotation. Then she
would cook them dinner and have it laid out when they got home, and then she
would leave. During the mornings I supposed she did other people's houses. This
same woman did our house once a week. Her name was Ellie and was a native. She
was a tall, middle aged, rather handsome black woman with huge tits that looked
like basketballs, grafted onto what was otherwise a normally proportioned body.
Her blouses always looked like they were going to burst at the seams, and it was
easy to see the starched white bra she wore underneath. One day, a couple weeks
after I had started watching the house, I saw Ellie drive up and go in. By this
time I had taken the camcorder and hooked it up to the telescope, and then ran
patch cables over to the VCR. I could sit back on a chair or the bed and see
what was going on all the time--at least in the bedroom. I had to manually move
the scope if I wanted to see another room. And I could record in case I was out
or if something interesting happened. It was a hot, muggy day and I was bored to
death, and I flipped on the tv for some reason, just to break the monotony. I
sat back in a chair reading a magazine and glanced occasionally at the tv.
Normally I didn't watch her do her work, but I was bored and decided to watch
out of idle curiosity. I had a chair pulled up and I sat there looking through
the scope. I had a vague idea of her routine, so I was only paying
half-attention when I noticed that she showed up in the master bedroom
immediately after doing the dishes. She closed the door and then walked over to
the dresser. Normally Ellie left the door open, stripped the bed sheets and
flipped the mattress, so this change in routine caught my interest. She went
over to the dresser and gingerly began looking through the drawers. She quickly
ignored all the ones that had men's clothes, but she paid more attention to Mrs.
French's stuff. In the bottom drawer, Ellie reached way back and pulled out a
box. She closed the drawer, opened the box and looked inside. I moved my chair
up close to the tv so I could get a close look. Ellie slowly pulled out
something that looked about the size of a cream-colored flashlight, but one end
was rounded and the other had a cord trailing out of it. The bed was unmade, and
Ellie pulled the covers off onto the floor as if she would strip it. Then she
started unbuttoning her blouse, and laid that aside. Then she pulled down her
slack pants and put them with the blouse. I was really in shock now. I was
seeing my own maid in her underwear. She didn't go for the fancy stuff like Mrs.
French. The bra was a big, white cotton style that covered most of her skin, and
the panties were tight, white cotton that seemed two sizes too small. At this
point I could see she was a little heavy, unlike Mrs. French--she had seven kids
and that would account for it, but she was pretty well proportioned nonetheless.
Ellie wasn't like Mrs. French when she stripped--Mrs. French did it a bit more
slowly and carefully, and seemed to revel in the release from the bondage of her
clothes. Ellie pulled off her clothes in a more matter-of-fact way, as if she
were disrobing for a doctor, and dropped her clothes on the floor. She unhooked
her bra and released her massive tits, and stepped out of her panties, in the
same disinterested way. Then she bent down and plugged in the thing she had
fished out of the box. She climbed onto the bed, lay back on it, and stretched
languidly. My dick was made of granite by this time, and I peeled off my shorts
and briefs, and I sat back bare-assed on the chair with my dick throwing off
waves of heat. In contrast to her disrobing, she now seemed much more careful
and attentive. She ran her fingers up and down the length of her body and bowed
her legs to reach her calves. She gave herself a simple rubbing massage up her
legs, then up her abdomen, around the giant mounds that were laying back along
her chest, and up to her neck. She even rubbed and rippled her rear-end and
lower back. When she was finished, she started to work on those humongous tits
of hers. When she was standing they were watermelon shaped-long and wide, with
giant, brown nipples on the ends that pointed to a place on the floor about
four-feet ahead of her. Now, on her back, they lay like sacks of flour that were
anchored in a v-shape to the center of her chest, with the heavy ends hanging
off over the side. But she worked her fingertips all over them--up the sides, on
top, underneath, and around until she got to the nipples. At first she would
lightly touch and brush them, and then she began to rub them with her
fingertips, playing with the little nub on the end. After a short while of this,
her right hand went down to her crotch and began brushing it. Ellie had less
pubic hair than Mrs. French. It was tight, kinky black hair that was rather
thick on top sparser down the sides. At first she ran her fingers along the side
of what I could make out was her slit. Then she started moving her whole hand
over the triangle, rubbing it lengthwise. Her left hand wandered her body, often
juggling and playing with her nipples, though occasionally it would slip down to
her crotch as well. Finally, she reached over and took the gizmo and switched it
on. I could see it blur slightly, and by that time I figured out what the heck
it was. She ran the vibrator all over her body, spending a bit of extra time on
her tits, and then it went down onto her crotch. First it lay along the length
of her opening, and then she would move it away for a moment and then bring it
back. Then it would be down in the area between her vagina and her ass, and then
back up on it again. She was squirming around a little when she started to put
it in. First it went in a little way and was back out. Then she sunk it down
until it looked like there was nothing left to hold onto but the cord, and then
she pulled it back out again. She'd lay it across her slit again, then in, then
out, and then up to her tits or along her cheeks, and then back on it and in it
again. I was squirming myself by this point. My head of my dick was beet red and
the skin was so taught I thought it would pop. I touched it with my fingertips
and pulled it away from me, and I felt a wonderful mix of pleasure and odd
pressure way down in the small of my back. It felt good, and I ran my hand along
the shaft, feeling the heat and the tautness of it. Ellie was starting to bump
and grind, and she had the vibrator in and out. Mostly it was in, and she
started pumping it in and out of her, and every few strokes she'd angle it back
up to the top of her vagina, and then she'd arch her back and buck her butt like
something was biting it, and then she'd plunge back in and stroke. And her left
hand was grabbing at those tits, going back and forth and squeezing
them--lightly but firmly, and rubbing them while her right hand pumped that
vibrator. And then she started shaking. She held the vibrator about half- way in
and pulled up on it, and I could see her tits jiggle and the soft skin on her
belly jiggle, and her left hand was pawing and kneading the sheet, and her butt
was twitching up and down and her head thrashed from side to side. And after
moment, it was over. She lay there and ran her hands over her, and pulled out
the vibrator and ran that across her. And then she lay still for few minutes. I
couldn't stand it by now. I thought I was going to piss all over myself like I
was some kind of pre-schooler, and I ran to the bathroom. My dick softened up
and I relieved myself. When I got back, Ellie was dressed and had stripped the
bed.
Part 3.
I saw Ellie repeat the performance a couple more times, but she kept no
set schedule. I got one on tape and I only spot-checked her after that. I
couldn't be there all the time to monitor the house like I had been. As I said
before, I was sexually precocious but I wasn't born yesterday. I decided I
wanted to see more of Mrs. French, and I wanted to see her up close and
personal. I couldn't figure it out. She wasn't getting it on with her husband.
The box in her dresser made me figure I'd be in for the same kind of show from
her as I'd seen Ellie put on. But that hadn't happened either. Hell, I'd only
seen Mrs. French's tits a couple more times, and that was when she was dressing
to go to work. I couldn't figure out how to meet her. She worked for the British
Embassy and when I started hanging out there, I never saw her leave the
building. Her husband worked for a British shipping firm, and he would drive her
up, drop her off, and pick up her up in the evenings without fail. I couldn't
think of any way to get into the embassy on business. So while I learned more of
the Frenches, I thought a lot about how to meet her, and I went about my
freelance photography business. It was during this period that I arrived back at
the house right about noon. I had taken my morning photos and I would hang
around the house before taking my late-afternoon shots. I walked in and smelled
the cleaning solvents that Ellie used to clean the house. I had forgotten it was
her day to clean up. Ellie and I were pretty friendly. Ellie's husband had
played AAA baseball in the states and was a minor league coach. He was gone a
hell of a lot of the time, playing or coaching in whatever league was going at
the time, but he'd stop home to say hi to his wife from time to time, and Ellie
would end up with another kid. She liked and followed baseball, particularly the
Dodgers (her father-in-law claimed to have played with Tommy Lasorda in the
Caribbean League), so we often talked about baseball. And sometimes other
things. Ellie came down with the laundry and started the washer, and we talked
about the Dodgers for a little while. And then after a long pause, in an
off-hand manner, she said: "Be seeing a lot of interesting things with your
telescope?" Oh shit. I had it pointed at the French house all the time now. I
only rarely pointed it back at the sky. "Oh, yeah," I said. "I'm getting some
wonderful pictures of Venus right now." "Uh-huh," she said. "You best be not
caught taking pictures of the Venus across the way, because Mr. Venus might not
be too understanding." "No, no, I'm not--" "I know I'm just a maid and I have
seven kids to wear me out and I never finished high school, but I'm not blind."
"I'll stop." "I'm not telling you to stop. I'm telling you that you don't want
to get caught, 'tis all." "Okay, I understand." I was sweating like a pig, now.
"You don't have a girlfriend, do you?" "Uh, no." "I grew up in a house full of
boys, and I've got four boys of my own and one on the road. I know about boys.
You know what I mean?" I didn't, exactly. I was sweating like a pig. "Your
sheets, boy. You have the wet dreams." Oh, Sweet Jesus. I went ice cold. I
started to shiver from the cold. I couldn't believe she was talking to me about
this. "I do your laundry, I can tell. You are visited by the night demons,
aren't you?" At this point I didn't see any reason to lie. She had caught me
every other time. The woman wasn't educated, but she was sharp as a tack.
"Yeah." It was all I could say without my teeth chattering. She gave me a long
look. And then she said, "I can fix it so you won't be soiling your sheets any
more. At least not by accident. And you'll be happy you learned how. It won't
hurt, and you'll thank me when you're done." I had no idea what to say. I just
sat there looking like an idiot. "I'm not talking about anything that'll take
away your abilities, it just channels them a little differently." "Uh, okay."
She smiled. She had a beautiful smile. "Okay, come on up to your bedroom." She
walked upstairs and I followed her closely. She was wearing a skirt today, but I
could see her legs from the knees down, bare, and I began to think about what I
had seen her do. We got up to the attic and closed the door. "Take off your
clothes." "Now, wait a minute--" "C'mon. If you don't like it, we don't have to
do it again. And I won't tell if you won't." I took a deep breath and let it
out, and then I peeled off my shirt. I kicked off my shoes and my socks then,
feeling myself turn icy again, I dropped my shorts. Ellie looked at me up and
down while I stood there in my jockeys, dying of shame. She asked me to sit on
the bed and she pulled up my chair and sat down on it. "Do you know why your
penis gets hard?" "Yes." And I felt a stirring, just talking about it. "It does
get hard, doesn't it?" "Yes." "What do you do when it stiffens up?" "Huh?" "What
do you do?" I thought about it. And decided to be honest again. "Wait for it to
go away." She smiled again. "Is it hard now?" I felt my face burning up. "It's
getting there." "What will it take to get it the rest of the way?" "I don't
know--" She smiled again, and this time she unbuttoned her blouse. She pulled it
off slowly, like she was doing it for the first time. I'd seen it before, but
never up close and personal. It was just like the bra she had on before, only
this one was black. It was heavy and built for support instead of show. But
unlike the other one, this had a large scoop cut out from the top to show off
her cleavage. "Feel it," she said. I reached out slowly and touched it. I
started with the straps, which were heavy and coarse, and bit down into her
shoulders. I then went down toward the top of the cup and moved down the side.
The fabric was heavy but woven, and I could feel the patterns underneath my
fingertips. She took my hands and I felt like I was being shocked with
electricity. Her hands were dry and her fingers were strong, her skin soft with
light callous. But they were gentle and knowing. She took my hands and held
them, and she slowly moved my hands all over those cups. She brought them up on
top and felt her skin. Then down the sides for form, and then underneath, where
I felt the weight they carried, and finally up front where her nipples would be.
"How is it now?" She didn't need an answer. She had me stand up and then she
slowly, carefully, pulled my briefs over my dick and down my legs. My dick was
hard and long, pointing up about thirty degrees, and the head was bright red and
the shaft taut. "Lay down on the bed." I reclined back on the bed, and she sat
on the chair next to my bed, leaning over my crotch. "Give me your hand." I did,
and this time she ran it all over my body. She only touched the back of my hand,
but with it she felt me all over in much the way she had first explored herself.
She got to my crotch, which felt like it was on fire, and started to carefully
play with my balls until they relaxed and the sack became soft and smooth. "Now
listen, because this is important. I want you to go out to go down to the store
tomorrow and buy some hand lotion. I've brought some with me today, but you will
want your own. Hold out your hand." She squirted some of the thick liquid into
it. She rubbed it lightly into my hand, and then she took it and began, using my
hand again, to rub it all over my stiff dick. I thought I was going to go nuts
at this point. My lower back was sending me all kinds of insane, glorious
feelings. The shaft of my dick was sending me all kinds of insane, glorious
feelings. And I started to feel something welling deep inside me. She wrapped my
hand around the shaft and began stroking it lightly up and down. I could feel it
welling up--going through the tubes toward my dick. "Stop," I pleaded. "I'm
going to pee." "Just relax," she cooed. "Let it come." "I'll make a big mess."
She continued to stroke my hand up and down my shaft. "We'll clean it up, don't
worry." "Please--" "Relax. Let it come." The last thing I could do was relax,
but I resigned myself to it. Peeing was, though I had never really thought of
it, and somewhat pleasurable experience. The release in particular. I could feel
it come up, rushing like water through a geyser. It got to the base of my penis.
I stiffened for it. She pulled my hand to the head and I brushed a spot on the
underside of it for a second, and I could feel the hot liquid going up the shaft
at an incredible rate. I felt like I was pissing all over myself, for about a
split second. And then I felt something else. My dick was spasming like mad and
I was pumping, and with every pump I could feel liquid cursing from my balls up
through my dick, and it felt like I was emptying a reservoir of it. And hot,
white semen was literally leaping up, like the first spray from a fountain, and
coming down all over me and my hand and legs and my stomach and the bed and
Ellie. The small of my back felt like something was wrapped around my spine,
tightening around it, and the end of my dick was sending waves of *release*
*release* *release* feelings to my brain, and the shaft was sending *pump*
*pump* *pump*. My dick felt totally out of control, like it was going to tear
out of my hands and spray wildly. Ellie somehow kept me stroking as my brain
went on overload. I gasped and quaked and shivered, and the pleasure spot on my
dick began to hurt. Ellie stopped me stroking at the base, and I started to
relax. Semen was still coming out from the involuntary jerks and spasms, but it
slowed. Ellie stroked me a couple times to milk the last of it out, and then
walked over to my bathroom. She came back a moment later with a damp washcloth
and began to wipe it up. I just lay there like I was paralyzed, as the semen
grew cold on my skin. There was quite a bit to clean, but she got the bulk of it
that was on us. "Go take a shower," she said. I felt like I rag doll as I pulled
myself off the bed and somehow managed to get into the shower, and I washed
myself off. When I got back my bed was stripped and Ellie was sitting on the
chair, watching the videotape I had made of her with the vibrator. I froze. I
had no idea what to say about it to her. I couldn't believe she would kill me,
after what she had just done with me. But I was not thinking rationally at this
point. I had no idea what to expect. She broke the ice. "Did you like that? What
we did?" "Yes." "Did you ever do that before?" "No." "I see you have a tape of
me." "Yeah." "Do you like it?" "Yes." "We can do things for each other. We're
both lonely a lot of the time. We can help each other out. Like today." "You're
going to come over and, uh--?" "This is between us. We don't tell anyone." "Yes,
I agree." "Come here and sit on the edge of the bed." I did. I was naked. She
rewound the tape and started it going again, and we both watched it in silence.
About halfway through she looked at me-- my crotch actually, and saw I was stiff
again. She stopped the tape. "Here's something we can do together." She licked
her lips and kissed the head of my penis, and then started kissing it all down
the shaft and back up the underside. She got to the sensitive spot at the bottom
of the head and I bucked. She smiled, told me to lean back, and began to lick
it. "Does that feel good?" "Oh, yes." She licked it until it was wet all over,
and then she closed her lips around it and sucked it in. All of a sudden, I
could feel her tongue under it, going up and down the underside, and the walls
of her mouth sucked in tight, and her teeth lightly pulling the skin, and the
roof of her mouth. She sucked me in and then out, and then in. She stopped and
licked me all over and then engulfed me. With her fingers she tickled whatever
part of my shaft was exposed and my testicles. It took longer this time, but
once again I could feel it coming. This time I didn't feel so apprehensive. She
increased her suck stroking as it grew near, and I felt my hands grabbing the
sheets. She took me as far as she could, her nose buried against my crotch, as I
once again lost control and pumped semen into the back of her throat. She made
light nibbling motions with her teeth and played about me with her tongue, and
then slowly withdrew, making sure to milk out as much as she could. Again, I was
back on the bed, exhausted. She pulled her blouse on and looked lovingly down at
me. "I'll show you some other things next week. In the meantime, you do what I
showed you before. And get the hand lotion like I said--you'll chafe otherwise.
And don't wear yourself out, or you won't feel like playing next week. You
understand?" "Yeah," I said, languidly. "You go ahead and watch the tape as much
as you want. And be sure to clean up thoroughly when you're done, you
understand? Shower. Clean yourself up. Strip your sheets and launder your
clothes if you soil them, got it?" "Yes." "You don't, you'll smell awful and
it'll make me sick." "Okay." "Remember, don't go overboard. You save some energy
for me." I smiled. She smiled back, leaned down and gave me a soft peck on my
cheek. "I'll go down and finish up." I drifted off to sleep. But when I woke up,
I was dry as a bone.
Part 4.
The next two weeks Ellie couldn't come by because her kids were sick, so
when I got her note, I thought I was going to explode. I'd bought the hand
lotion and I was bringing myself off nicely by hand every night, but I was
limiting myself to once a day and God, it was difficult. I don't know how I
lived through the days when I was at the mercy of fickle dreams. I found Ellie's
note in the mail. It said: Save yourself up. The Frenches are gone Saturday
night. You can spend the night with me. Ellie. It was a Tuesday, and I almost
had to tie my hands to the bedpost to keep away from my crotch. By Friday night
I thought my balls were going to explode, and I swore they were each noticeably
heavier. I was getting hard-ons all the time and having a horrible time getting
rid of them. It was getting so I got hard just looking at the garden hose. I
told my father I was going to fish early the next morning with a friend of mine,
and I would be spending the night at his place. And with his usual amount of
interest I had no hassle about it. I stayed out of trouble so he had little
reason to worry about me anyway. When I left I took a small duffle bag with a
change of clothes, figuring that even my father might wonder why I came home
wearing the same clothes I'd had on the day before. I told him they were going
to pick me up in town and I'd walk in. So when it got dark, I walked off and
disappeared down the road, and then cut across to the Frenches'. Ellie opened
the door for me and let me in. She was wearing a simple shirt and skirt. Nothing
racy, but it was nicely tailored and it really showed off her bosom. Instantly I
had three legs. We walked up to the master bedroom and she dimmed the lights to
a pleasant level. I was just starting to take off my shirt when she told me to
stop. She would do it for me. She had long, ebony fingers, and they slowly
traced the outlines of my shirt seams. They traced the places my shirt met my
skin. She would pop a button, then gently run a finger tip down the v of my
shirt along my skin, and around. And then she would pop another button and do it
again. Finally she got my shirt off, and she pulled off my belt. Not just
unbuckled it, but pulled it out of the loops, too, and dropped on the floor. The
knelt down and lowered my trousers, feeling my legs gently as they went down.
And then slowly, to the point where I thought I was going to scream, she pulled
my briefs away and down my legs, then off and into the heap on the floor. I felt
six feet long and made of steel, with lead balls hanging from my groin. I
started feeling my muscles spasm like I was going dry pumping my semen all over
the room. Ellie pulled the spread and the top sheet off and laid me back on the
mattress. Then she laid down beside me. She started by running her hands all
over me again, tracing my ribs and my collar bone and whatever else caught her
fancy. She stroked my inner thighs and the bottom of my feet. She reached over
and started to kiss and suck my nipples, and I thought I was going to come for
sure. She put her hand gently around my penis and held it still, and she kissed
my nipples and she used her other hand to rub my stomach. "Calm down, baby. Calm
down," she said. Then she moved down to my crotch and she began to lick me, and
she began to massage my balls, with always makes me feel wonderful. She licked
me while she stroked my thighs and the backs of my knees and my stomach. She put
her mouth on the head of my cock and all of a sudden I lost control and I was
coming in her mouth. She kept up with me and gulped it down. And when I was
done, she kept her mouth on me. She started licking and sucking on it again,
with her hands doing their dance on my balls and the area between my dick and my
ass. She sucked on the upstroke and licked on the down stroke, and then reversed
feeling. I went from hard to firm to hard again. Then I felt one of her fingers
playing around the edge my asshole, and I shot off again. This time I had it
buried deep, and she continued to gently pump me until I was dry. When she
finally let me out, my dick collapsed on my belly and I was beside myself with
pleasure. She came up to me and straddled me, sitting lightly on my stomach.
"Undress me." I reached up and undid her buttons and had the shirt off. There
was that big, white bra that I'd seen through the telescope. I ran my hands over
it again, feeling the textures, but this time I felt the skin around it and
compared. And when I was ready, she leaned forward until those heavy breasts lay
on me. I reached around and unclipped her bra and let it flop loose, and then I
held her in a hug. Her head was next to mine and her hair was tickling my nose,
and I could feel the rough brassier fabric on my chest, and softer skirt fabric
on my belly, the nylon stockings against my legs, and that hot, dark, soft skin
under my hands. I started to rub her back and her shoulders, her ribcage and her
spine all the way down to her waist. I brought my hands back up the sides and I
felt the sides of her breasts as the fabric dropped away. She raised up a little
I looked in her eyes. I bent up to kiss her but she pulled away. I worked my
hands along the sides of her breasts and her torso, and she slowly started to
rise up again, until finally the bra was laying across my chest and her nipples
came into view. I reached for them, but she stopped me again, and moved my hands
to her skirt. I unzipped her skirt and ran my hands down her thighs as it fell
off. She climbed off me and let the skirt drop to the floor, and I could see she
was wearing only pantyhose. I pulled myself up to the edge of the bed and began
rolling them down and off her, kissing her legs liberally as I went. When I
looked up, she smiled back at me, and got back on the bed. When I joined her, I
sent back to her chest and started on her breasts. I felt them like she had me,
gently but firmly. I felt their give and take. I felt their weight. I saw how
much I could hold at any given time. I pushed them together and up and back. I
kissed the undersides and massaged them all over, until I got to those saucer
sized areolas, and I let my tongue do the rest. I then stopped and played with
it with my fingers--rolling it and tweaking it lightly. Then, with some
hesitation, took it into my mouth and began to suck on it. It felt better than I
had expected. It was warm and soft and hard at the same type, and I played with
it with my teeth and tongue and lips, and finally I tore myself away and went
after the other one, lest it become jealous. While I did this, her hands
caressed my neck and shoulders and ruffled my hair. Finally I decided to move
on, and I worked my way down her body, around her triangle, and finally got back
to it. I'd never seen a pussy before, so I gently stroked it and used my fingers
to unfold and explore it. The lips were soft and rather large, and there was a
little nub at the top. And when I touched it she would gasp and writhe a little.
The area was wet, and found it easy to push my fingers in and explore, while I
looked intently at her sex. When I looked up, I saw her eyes were closed and her
hands were caressing her breasts. She was breathing a little quickly but deep.
She opened her eyes again and pulled a pillow under her neck to prop her head
up, and smiled at me. "Lick it with your tongue. I'll tell you how." I licked
the lips first, and then I followed her directions--the lips, deep inside, then
the little button on top, then around outside, and the button again. After a
short while I got the hang of it and directed myself, and gagged her breathing
patterns on whether I was doing it right or not. After a few more minutes, I
could feel her stiffening and her staring to shudder, and I knew she was
starting to orgasm like I had seen her. I knew her button was the most
sensitive--like the underside of my dick, so I cradled it with my lips and
sucked gently as she started to buck and grind her crotch against face. Her
hands were on her breasts, but she grabbed the sheets and started to claw them.
She moaned "oooh, ooooh, ooooh" for what seemed like ages. Slowly she calmed
down and breathed regularly, and I did it to her two more times. Exhausted, she
motioned me to come up beside her, and we wrapped ourselves together tightly and
caressed each other's bodies. Finally, after it seemed like we had been drifting
along like this, I couldn't stand it anymore. "How was I?" "You were wonderful,"
she sighed. "You have a lot to learn, but you'll do great." "What's next?" She
smiled and stretched, and we lay like that for who knows how long. I looked up
at the walls and started seeing shadows form and fly across the walls. They were
headlights. Someone was driving up to the door! I jumped up, naked, my dick and
balls bobbing around in front of me. I looked down out the window and saw the
French's car pull to a stop. "Holy shit," I hollered. "They're home!" I wheeled
around and saw Ellie was up and already had her pants on. I never saw
anyone--man or woman--dress that quickly. I started stumbling around for my
clothes and Ellie grabbed me. "Strip the bed!" "I got to get dressed," I yelled.
"Strip the bed! You can get dressed later. Do it!" I don't know what made me do
it--maybe the tone of her voice--but I decided I had better do it. I quickly
pulled the bottom sheet and the pad off the mattress and threw it on the floor
next to the other bedclothes. When I turned back, I saw Ellie was pretty much
dressed. "Help me turn over the mattress." I couldn't believe it. I was still
not wearing a stitch of clothes, looking at a fully dressed woman who started to
lift the mattress up, while the owners of the house were opening the front door
downstairs. I grabbed part of the mattress and helped her flip it over. "Good,"
she said. Now I threw your clothes in the closet. You can get dressed in there."
"In the closet?" She shushed me. I could hear them walking into the entryway
downstairs and calling Ellie's name. "You want to get dressed out in the hall,
maybe," Ellie hissed at me. "How am I going to get out of her?" "I'll let you
out tomorrow morning when they go to work." She walked over to the door and
hollered down. "I'm up her, Mrs. French!" "Why don't I just go out through one
of the windows?" "Because after I leave they'll turn the alarm on. Now get in
the closet or we're both done for!" I got into the closet. She shut the doors
behind me and it was pitch black. I bent down onto the floor and started to feel
around for my scattered clothes, and mentally inventories them as I tried to put
them in a heap I could find. Then I heard voices getting louder, and I figured
they were coming up the stairs. I threw all my clothes against the far wall and
burrowed in behind some heavy clothes, hoping that if the doors opened that I
wouldn't be exposed. As I stood there, I could hear the voices. One was Ellie,
and the other was a rather mid-pitched, soft, full-bodied woman's voice. She had
an English accent--I never found out from where, but it sounded a lot like some
of the voices I heard on the BBC later when I visited Europe. I guessed that
this was Mrs. French. "I came in late today, seeing as you were gone, and so I
got a late start on everything. I was just doing the laundry for this bedroom
when I heard you come in," Ellie said. "You could have waited until tomorrow,
Ellie." "But you're back now. I'll just put some fresh sheets on your bed--"
"I'll do it. You can go home, Ellie." "It won't take but a minute--" "No, you've
done enough. I'll do it fine." There was no trace of irritation in Mrs. French's
voice. She was a damn nice woman. Ellie protested a little more but I heard her
going down the stairs. I unfroze, figuring they had gone, and reached down to
pull on my socks. Then I heard the closet doors start to open. It was a great
big walk-in closet, and I had plenty of room to skulk behind the clothes. But I
was shaking like a leaf and I feeling every draft. And then these little double
doors opened and the light came in. It wasn't a lot of light--I was never able
to see much from the telescope when Mrs. French walked into this closet, but I
felt like I was standing in broad daylight. I was hiding behind some long, dark
coats, and I tried to huddle behind them even more. My eyes were right around
the level of the coat-hangars, and I could see Mrs. French walk in. Her clothes
(thank God) were on the opposite side of the closet. She turned her back to me,
pulled off her shoes and set them on the shelf, unzipped herself, and then
walked back into the bedroom. But she left the doors open. Then Mister French
came in. He had a very distinguished voice, and an English accent similar to his
wife's. I stood there petrified, waiting for him to walk into that closet, but
after a few minutes of mortal terror, I saw him walk past the closet and into
the bathroom. A few minutes the water started up (the shower must have been
right behind my wall). I stood there as quietly as I could while all this went
on. My heart had been pounding hard and I thought everyone on the cove could
hear my breathing. I was still naked from the ankles up and I could feel drafts
across my legs. And it felt like my testicles were pulling back up into my
stomach. The shower stopped. And a moment later Mr. French walked across the
room and got into bed. Mrs. French was a morning shower person, so I saw the
lights go out and I could imagine, from what I had seen before, what was going
on. They kissed and each climbed into bed, and after a short while, fell asleep.
My feet started to ache. Right in the middle, running lengthwise. Like I was
standing on slim metal poles. Then my calves started ache. First they turned to
granite, and then they started to burn. It began at my ankles and began working
its way up. By the time it got to my knees, I could hear snoring. I took this
opportunity to bend down and fish for my briefs. After a moment I found them and
pulled them on. At that point, I felt like I was dressed enough not to die of
shame. The snoring continued, so I found my pants and pulled them on, and then
my shirt. Still snoring. I crept out from behind the clothes and pulled my shoes
on. Now I was fully dressed and I had absolutely no interest in waiting until
they left for work the next day. Especially when I knew Mr. French would walk
into the closet for clothes. I got down on my hands and knees and crawled close
to the door to listen to them. I heard two sets of snores, and guessed they were
both asleep. The room was dark but the moon was out, and my night vision was
good enough that I could see the furniture and the bed. I couldn't really tell
how they were situated in bed, but figured I couldn't wait to find out. At any
minute it was possible that one of them would wake up. The crawl to the door
took an eternity. I did it as absolutely slowly as I could--almost imperceptible
movements. They had a little striking clock in the room, and it had struck
twelve- thirty when I left the closet. It struck one when I was next to the
door. I looked back at the bed. I was on Mrs. French's side of the bed, and she
was sleeping on her side, her angelic face looking at me. Her eyes were closed.
It was all I could do to keep from going over there and kissing those beautiful,
puckered lips. I reached up and put my hand on the doorknob. I stared at those
eyelids as I turned it, trying to keep from making a noise. The knob stopped and
I froze. This was going to be the hardest part. I pulled the door open, keeping
the knob fully twisted. I used my other hand to hold onto the knob, and--never
taking my eyes off that face--I squeezed through the door. Then as slowly and as
carefully as I dared, I pulled the door shut and then let the knob unwind. The
door was closed and I was in the hall. This was the darkest house I had ever
seen in my life. I couldn't see a damn thing. Not in the hallway. I tried to
remember what had been there when Ellie had led me up just hours before. I put
my hands on the wall and crept down the hallway until I felt a door. I had no
idea what was inside, but I figured that it couldn't be too bad. I opened the
door and peered inside. It was a spare bedroom. I figured this is probably where
Ellie was meant to sleep. It was very simply furnished--a made up queen-size
bed, a chest of drawers, and a couple doors. I walked over to the door and
opened it. It led to the bathroom. This bathroom was shared with the master
bedroom. Next do that was the closet door. It was bare. I figured I could spend
the night there. Very quickly, the time came when I realized I wish I hadn't
seen that bathroom. My bladder was full and started to hurt. The dull pain and
pressure began to turn into a sharp, gnawing pain, which ran all over me. I
started to get obsessed with that bathroom. I couldn't get the picture of it out
of my mind. I gave up and I realized there was nothing else I could do about it.
I got up and walked over to the bathroom door, and went inside. It looked
dangerously bright--there was a little night- light on. It was like broad
daylight. I gently pushed the door that led to the master bedroom closed. I went
over to the bowl and lifted the seat, unzipped, and aimed at the narrow strip of
porcelain that wasn't covered by water. There was a high pitched, almost
crackling sound as my stream hit the porcelain and ran down to the water, but it
was as silent as I could go. The stream started out easy but very quickly got
out of hand, and all of a sudden I was purging at a gallon a minute, and the
sound got louder. The pressure was dropping but it felt like I was passing a
lead rod. The noise scared me so I decided I had to stop. I counted to three and
then stopped. I couldn't remember doing that before, and the result felt like I
was having a charley-horse right in the middle of my penis. The fluid backed up
and felt as if someone was pounding a fist into my crock. But that was nothing.
My penis had jumped as I cut it off, and last of the stream had ran across the
water--zip--loudly. I stood there listening, and thought I heard a movement from
the bedroom. I didn't think I had time to get through the door back to safety,
so I stepped into the bathtub/shower and gently pulled the curtain a little, as
the door opened. It was Mrs. French, wearing a simple, knee-length nightgown.
She looked like she was sleepwalking. She didn't look over at me at all, or
around anywhere. She just plunked the toilet seat down, hiked up her nightgown,
sat down and released. I couldn't see much through the shower curtain, and
stayed frozen in the spot. After a minute she was done, flushed the toilet, and
left. She closed the door behind her. I waited for as long as I thought
reasonable to see if Mr. French would follow her in, but nothing happened. I
finished peeing, this time down the tub drain, and got back into the spare
bedroom. I looked at the window and realized that there was no alarm hookup. If
there was some sort of motion detector, I would have set it off by now. It
wasn't just a window--it was a glass door, and outside was a little terrace that
ran the length of the wall. I climbed out on it and walked down to the far side
of the house, as far away from the bedroom as I could get, and swung over the
rail. I hung by my hands and let myself gently, and only had to drop a few feet
onto the lawn. Within a few minutes, I had snuck back into my house and into my
bed. I was exhausted from fear and creeping around the neighbor's house all
night, but I was still wired from it all, and it took me some time to relax. I
stroked myself off twice just thinking about Ellie, and drifted asleep with my
cock in my hand.
Part 5.
Two days later Ellie stopped by to drop off my duffle bag--it had taken
her that long to find it. I had completely forgotten about it, but Ellie never
missed a trick. She stayed long enough for a quick blow but had to get going.
The only days I saw her were when she came by to clean my house. It got to where
I did all the cleaning so we could spend the entire time in bed. Ellie was quite
a woman. She was very touchy feely and gentle, and she taught me how to feel
textures and temperatures and make love with my fingertips instead of my penis.
But she was matter of fact and straightforward, as I mentioned before. There
were no wasted movements. She showed me which buttons to push and when to push
them. And at that stage in my life, it was easy to push all of mine. We did a
lot of things together, but she stopped short on two things. First, there was no
straight sex. Her vagina belonged to her husband, she said. I could lick it,
suck on it, finger it, and look at it all I wanted. But I wasn't going to stick
my rod in it. Not even for a second. The same went for her back door, though she
claimed that she just didn't like anal sex. Lastly, there was no kissing. That
too was reserved for her husband. But that left a world of fun between us. She
pushed those massive tits together and I slid into her cleavage and came all
over her face and neck. She enjoyed having them played with and sucked on. She
loved massages and oral sex, both giving and receiving. Neither of us cared for
the 69 that much, but we threw it in for variation now and then. One day I
bought a vibrater, 'personal massager'--and drove her crazy with it the entire
afternoon. Her legs were wobbly when she left. Sometimes we played games. She
would wrap one of those beautiful, strong hands around my penis and expertly
bring me off, and we'd measure how far I could shoot. She was great with those
hands. She was better at manipulating me than I was. But it isn't like the rest
of my time was spent in a vacuum, though. Something interesting had started to
happen. Mrs. French was becoming and exhibitionist. This started a couple nights
after my narrow escape. The Frenches routine had been pretty standard up until
then, but one night Mrs. French got up out of bed and walked over to the sliding
window and walked out onto her terrace. It was a hot night, she was wearing a
one-piece nightgown that went down to her knees. She walked over to the railing
and looked out at the ocean for awhile, and the stars. Then she reached down and
pulled the nightgown up and over her head. I couldn't believe it. It was the
best view of Mrs. French's nude body I had ever seen through the scope, and it
was too dark for pictures. I almost cried, though I wasn't entirely sure if it
was from happiness or distress. She stood there, clothed only in the light of
the moon, and then sat down on a chaise lounge and reclined. She lay there for
probably half an hour, just basking, and then got up and went back inside. She
pulled on her nightgown, disappeared into the bathroom for a short while, and
then climbed into bed. During the weekend she re-arranged the furniture in
several rooms of the house, including her bedroom. Originally the bed had been
against a side wall, with Mr. French sleeping facing me and Mrs. French away.
She swapped the bed with the dresser so now the bed faced me--I could easily see
both the Frenches easily. That night, which again was unpleasantly warm, she
pulled off her gown. But this time she lay on the bed instead of going outside,
and she started to fondle her breasts. The room was dark but I could see quite
well through the telescope. Mrs. French filled the view very well. She lay
there, her eyes closed, her hands fondling her firm, creamy, perfectly shaped
breasts. She teased the nipples until they were prominent and hard. Then she
rubbed the lower part of her belly, right underneath her navel, until I could
see it quiver. Then she moved down to her triangle. She spread her legs, and
after a slight focus adjustment I zeroed in to a beautiful view. Her index
finger began circling, occasionally brushing over her button. Her fingernails
were short but beautifully manicured, and she used them to gently groom the
length of her labia. Her left hand joined it and together they began to unfold
and explore her rose pedals. One finger in her left hand disappeared, and then
another, as her right hand came back up slightly and caressed her clitoris. I
shifted my gaze to her breasts, which and I could see her breathing heavily.
Slowly she worked herself up to where I had seen Ellie ignite, but Mrs. French
stopped short and relaxed, and then brought herself up to the very brink again,
only to stop. She must have done this a half-dozen times before finally going
over the edge. I thought for sure that she would end up knocking old Mr. French
over the side, but she just froze and quivered. It looked like she was gritting
her teeth as she climaxed, being so very careful not to make an untoward sound
or motion. I was positive it was as frustrating for her to feel it as it was for
me to watch all at energy implode. Finally, she caressed herself slowly, covered
herself with a sheet and fell asleep. When Ellie's day came I lay back on the
bed, eyes closed, as Ellie nursed my erection with her mouth. I had been unable
to get Mrs. French out of my mind. I imagined it was her nipples I was sucking,
her clit I was teasing, her head I held while she licked me to a frenzy. I saw
that look of frustration, of stifled release, on her face as I squirted semen
into the back of Ellie's throat.
Part 6 Conclusion.
A couple weeks later Ellie sent me another note. Come to the house at 10pm
on Friday next. They'll be gone for two weeks. Start taking vitamins, drink lots
of fluids, and don't waste anything in the meantime. Like last time, when Friday
rolled around I felt like I was cramping up in my crotch. I took to walking
around the house like Groucho Marx because I couldn't stand up straight wearing
pants. But the up side of it was that I was determined to leave Ellie exhausted
and sated and covered in semen. The cover story with my dad close to the other
one. A two week trip (more or less) on a friend's sloop to Curacao, and wherever
else the wind took us. No objections from him. I got to the house at 10 with my
duffle bag, figuring I could wash the clothes at the house. And I wasn't
planning on wearing much clothing anyway. When I got to the door, I found a note
with my name on it. The door is unlocked. I'm in the hot tub. Through the entry
way, right down the hall, third door to the left. Leave your clothes in the
hallway and prepare to get wet. The house was dark, so it was a little bit of
trouble to get through the place. Finally I got to the door and stripped. I
opened it up. It was hot and muggy inside. There was some light coming in
through the open french doors against the far wall, and in the middle of the
room was what looked like a great big barrel. I could see Ellie was already in
it, so I just walked right up. That's when I realized that it wasn't Ellie who
was sitting in that tub. The normally dark red hair looked black in the weak
light, but there was no mistaking it, nor the creamy, lustrous skin. I was
standing there wearing nothing but an full erection and a look of shock. "Go
ahead, get in," she said. "I was the one who wrote the notes." I stood there
frozen. She was more insistent. "Do it." The water was near scalding, and I
could feel my feet screaming as I started to immerse them. I managed to get in
and recline, the water came up to my armpits, and within a few moments I was red
and puffy like an overripe tomato. Two seconds later I burst into sweat. "It's
nice to see you up close for a change," she said. I gawked. I'm a great
conversationalist when I'm under the gun. "Normally I see you behind a
telescope." I turned on the charm. "You, uh, you, uh, you--?" "I know all about
it," she said, in that beautiful voice. "Ever since Ellie had you over while Rex
and I were gone." I gulped. "I found your clothing bag under my bed. I asked
Ellie, and it didn't take long to get the whole story out of her." This was
sheer terror. She didn't have a gun, but I felt like she was getting ready to
kill me. I was a dead man if my father found out about it. She went on. "Ellie's
husband is back for a month, so she's busy. So I'm going to take over. How does
that sound?" >From hell to heaven in five seconds. "It sounds great." She
smiled. "Good. I thought you'd see it my way." She moved her arm out of the tub
and touched a button. A ring of lights flipped on about two feet below the water
level, and suddenly the water was clear and luminous. The walls of the room lit
up and danced from the little waves of the water. Her body was iridescent. Her
hair burned bright red and her eyes were cobalt blue. The water distorted her
breasts but I could see they looked as luscious and full as they did before. She
reached her foot over and began massaging my groin. My equipment had jumped into
hiding the minute they touched hot water, but her foot began to coax them back
out. Then she swam over to me and came to rest along my length, with her arms
wrapped around my back. She brought her lips up to mine and brushed them. I
tried to kiss her but she pulled back, then brushed them again. She teased me
like this for a moment and then planted one squarely on. I began to move my
hands around to explore, but she broke it off. "Stop," she breathed. "Just
relax. Don't move. Let all your muscles go limp." And then she brought her lips
up to mine again. She held me for what seemed like an eternity. Her tongue moved
in and began to count my teeth, feel the edge of my tongue, and dart about in
its exploration. During all this she made me keep my hands on her back and my
penis press back against my belly. But it was too much--I could feel her skin
rubbing mine and her breasts smashed against me, her nipples burning on my skin,
and I erupted. It was a fast, unsatisfying orgasm, and I felt disgusted for
fouling the water. Again she pulled her lips away but refused to break the
embrace. "Don't be bothered. You'll last long now." I don't know how long we
kissed. Finally she let me stroke her and feel her curves, and then we got out
of the tub. I had more wrinkles at this point than an avocado skin. But we each
toweled the other off, and it didn't matter. She lead me by the hand up to the
master bedroom that I knew so well. She already had the top covers pulled off,
so we just collapsed onto the bed. I still had a towel and I painstakingly dried
her luxurious hair. And when I was done, I gave her a kiss on the nape of the
neck. And then another immediately below it, and another. She lay on her back,
breathing contentedly and fully as I kissed every inch of her torso, and
lavished extra attention on my favorite parts. By the time I got to her pubic
hair, she was squirming languidly and wet with her natural lubrications. I took
my place between her thighs and began to show off what Ellie had taught me. I
used my tongue and fingertips almost interchangeably to bring her up to what
looked to be a fulfilling orgasm--and the first of many. She ran her fingers
through my hair as I worked, first playfully, but began to pull painfully as she
got excited. I teased and manipulated her shamefully, until she was desperately
begging me for a release. I made her nearly cry with frustration as she teetered
there at the top, brought up but not quite over. But I was going to make sure
there was no holding on this time. No gnashing of teeth or implosions. When I
felt like she could not contain the tension any longer, I rolled her over the
edge into as violent a climax as I could imagine a woman having. She bellowed
with the release, and continued to groan and carry on with each deep breath she
took. I held her my face right on her slit as she bucked me wildly up and down.
Her thighs pushed tight against my ears and her fingers tore at my scalp, as she
tried to grind my head inside her. She thrashed and moaned and rippled and
howled. I had thought Ellie was demonstrative, but this woman was a force
unleashed. When she showed signs of calming down a started her up again, and
continued to push her over that brink until she was literally unable to open her
eyes and think clearly. She fell asleep with me still gently caressing her. I
climbed beside her, wrapped myself around her, and drifted away. When I woke, I
was on my back and all I could see was her pubic hair. For a moment I thought I
was still licking her off, but I finally realized that she was sitting lightly
on my chest. She pulled herself back a little and bent down to give me a long,
warm kiss, and then pulled herself back up again. I was hard as a steel, and she
quickly gu
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