I had almost forgotten the way a simple kiss could create and convey the urgency of arousal.
The first time I saw the woman I remember fondly now as the Countess she was causing quite a stir in the train station. I had been dozing in my seat waiting for the train to finish its slow crawl into the Amsterdam terminal after making the 300 mile trip from Kaiserslautern, Germany, where I was stationed. The windows in my coach were open as it was a warm May afternoon. A nice steady breeze caressed the crowded terminal. I was flush with poker winnings from my bunk mates in K-town and I was in Amsterdam to visit the art museums, eat some real food and get laid, not necessarily in that order. It was my second trip there, the first on my own, and I primarily looked forward to revisiting the red light district.
I could hear some kind of altercation outside that was loud and got louder as the train advanced to the boarding platform. By the time the train squealed to a stop the action was right in front of my coach it seemed. I couldn’t understand a word being said and wasn’t really sure of the language. The woman doing the yelling was shouting in loud, staccato bursts, with only occasional, muted responses from the man she was yelling at. I thought she was speaking French, but wasn’t sure because she was speaking so fast.
I pretended to adjust the window I was sitting next to and got a good look at the combatants. They were both strikingly good looking, dressed very nicely. They had that air of what is known as “old money” about them. The woman had a beautiful head of mid-length, snow-white hair that was cut so that her curls naturally framed her face. Her hair was her most striking feature and it appeared to me that it must have been very soft to the touch, as it was easily mussed by the breezes in the terminal. She was wearing black slacks and a loose fitting black blouse. There was a dramatic contrast between her black top and her white hair. It was hard to tell if her face was attractive because it was so contorted by the emotional state she was in. She was stout but curvy, with an hourglass figure nicely accented by the cut of her clothing.
I was struck by how good looking the man was – his nose, jaw line, and the shape of his profile appeared chiseled from classic movie star material , with perfectly trimmed black hair swept straight back off his forehead and a meticulously groomed moustache to match. He was taller than average and pencil thin, and wore a charcoal grey suit and expensive looking shoes. Both of them appeared to me to be just shy of middle-age, but I was only twenty-one years old at the time and everyone more than a couple years older than me was either middle-aged or ancient to me.
The woman was clearly the aggressor, with the man trying to get her to calm down so all of the Netherlands didn’t hear her. I couldn’t help breaking into a grin at his efforts because he was not having much success. She was really upset and the more he tried to soothe her, the angrier and louder she got.
As I watched, somewhat bemused, he said something to her in a barely audible tone that really set her off. She responded so quickly it took everyone, including the small crowd that had formed around them, completely by surprise. Her right hand reached back and then she slapped him in the face, very hard, with enough force that all who saw it cringed. She then bent down and picked up an oversized suitcase and attempted to walk quickly past him. He reached out and grabbed her by the arm, twisting her toward him. I saw the tightness of his grip on her bare arm and it set me into motion, moving quickly toward the door of the train.
I should tell you now that I am the product of a rather unhappy family growing up, and I’m no stranger to domestic violence. I was the middle child, the one who normally takes the peace-keeper role in those types of families. I was used to intervening in arguments that were escalating towards violence.
I was flying off the train just as he slapped her across the face for the first time. That’s how these things go, once the fur starts flying, it’s a male instinct to win the fight. His arm shot back to hit her again but by then I had come up from behind him and I grabbed his arm, spinning him around to face me.
I had no intention of hitting him but if we had tangled I had no doubt of the outcome. I was half his age, twice his weight, and in the best physical condition of my life. Besides, a fight would have been unnecessary, as a policeman had been edging down the platform towards the couple. Once the argument got physical, he had gone into motion, and quickly approached the scene.
The man noticed all this and wisely drew down. The woman looked embarrassed, suddenly aware of the spectators who had gathered and the policeman’s arrival. Her cheek was already reddening from the sting of his blow. The cop took charge of the scene, checking the physical condition of the woman briefly before leading the man away to answer questions.
When she looked at me as the cop led the man away her face was that of a different woman. From the twisted, enraged countenance of a moment earlier, her face softened and her eyes grew suddenly friendly, almost as if she recognized me as an old and dear family acquaintance. Her white hair had misled me into thinking she was older than she was. Her face showed only the beginning traces of the lines around the eyes that women hate so much.
She looked quickly at the man she had just slapped, throwing an icy dagger his way with her flashing green eyes, and then back at me.
“Thank you for that,” she said. She paused as if for dramatic effect and said, “And how are you this beautiful day?”
It was the first thing I heard her say in English. She had an accent that was thick enough to float flowers on it. The effect it had on me was profound and immediate. I found myself falling hard, and felt an overwhelming physical attraction to this woman.
She was calm, serene, her voice was even in timbre and not at all shaky, as one would have expected. It was as if she was an actress and the scene she had just played was over with and she was leading off the next act of a play. I was stunned at the quickness of her transformation but managed to mumble something to her and nod in the affirmative.
An interplay began between her eyes and her mouth that fascinated me. As incredible as it was to believe given the context of our meeting, I could have sworn that she was flirting with me.
I took inventory of her, the white hair, the ample bosom, green eyes, all of it adding up to a beautiful european woman that I had just defended from harm. The fact that she looked to be twice as old as me, at a minimum, didn’t bother me in the least.
She approached me and gave me a quick hug as a reward for coming to her aid. She was wearing a scent that was intoxicating, caressing and stimulating at the same time. She stepped back and looked me over quite directly, her flirtatious half-smile combined nicely with the sparkle that I saw in her eyes. I did the same to her, letting her know that I was enjoying what I was looking at. Her face was quite attractive, now that she was calmed down. A full, naturally pouting mouth. Green eyes with just enough make-up to accent their color. A well-defined nose, straight and firm. All of these framed by her snow white hair, noteworthy by its total absence of color.
What she saw was a young man, a descendant of Indiana farmers and truck drivers, dressed in army khakis, albeit with a good shine on the boots and sharp creases in the uniform from the battalion laundry service. I was a bit oversized in the shoulders and chest from an adolescence spent working on farms and a couple summers shoveling coal in the steel mills of Gary, Indiana. I thought I must have looked like any one of hundreds of thousands of other soldiers in Europe.
I hadn’t yet spoken to her, tongue-tied as I was, and that didn’t seem to matter to her in the least.
“Would you please be so kind as to help with my suitcase, my champion?” she said, indicating the steamer trunk I had seen her struggle with before. I shouldered my backpack (the extent of my luggage) and did exactly as she asked, and smiled at being called her “champion”. Once I’d secured the luggage she started walking away, and I followed. The policeman and Mr. Leading Man both shouted after her, as if protesting that she wasn’t following the rules by departing so directly.
She looked at both of them over her shoulder as if they were troublesome gnats buzzing at her and said to me “Stay here for just two seconds, my brave soldier”, winked at me, and then walked over to the two men. I set down her trunk and watched, fascinated by this woman who had just been slapped around in public, presumably by her husband. She wasn’t acting the part of a victim in all of this in the slightest.
She completely ignored Mr. Leading Man and dealt with the cop. Her manner was the same that one uses when ordering a drink at a bar or giving a cabdriver a destination. She produced what looked like a business card, gave it to the cop, who had the look of a puppy who had just peed on the family’s best carpet, spun on her heels, and returned to me, sitting on her suitcase.
She had a demeanor that indicated that she was clearly used to being in command of these types of situations, and I was all right with that. I decided to see where this was going.
“Now we go,” she said. And then we went.
We proceeded to the cab station just outside the terminal with her blatantly looking me over, asking me one question after another. My interrogation continued as I gave the cabdriver her giant trunk. In the space of only a few minutes, she had covered our introductions (“I am Simone to you, Billy, and I am very happy to meet you, my dear”) discovered that I had been drafted into the Army, not volunteered, pried into my history with girls, asked me why my shoulders were so broad, and even advised me on which art museum to visit during my leave. (She much preferred the Rijksmuseum, with its’ Rembrandts, to the Van Gogh museum.) She had a way of asking a question that seemingly left me no choice but to give her a straightforward answer.
“It is past dinner time and the least I can do is to feed you, no?” she said, employing logic that I couldn’t dispute. Everything she said was fine by me.
We took a short cab ride made memorable by what she did in the back seat of the cab. Seating herself close to me, she reached over and grabbed my hand, continuing to pepper me with questions about my background. Her perfume tickled my senses. She held my hand throughout the short ride and our fingers played together like cousins at a family reunion. I assumed this was simply some kind of continental custom, and so our fingers started their own friendship, slowly caressing each other as we sat and chatted, unconcerned that our digits had decided to slow dance with each other. My cock certainly noticed, though, and stirred fitfully in my fruit of the looms.
We reached our destination, the Amstel Intercontinental Hotel on the banks of the river Amstel. She led me by the hand through the ornate, breathtaking lobby and laughed impishly when she noted my stunned reaction to the scale and splendor of the hotel. Later I would learn that the Amstel is one of Europe’s finest hotels, a thoroughbred that was built in the mid-nineteenth century. A bellhop, who was dressed like a munchkin, appeared out of nowhere and took her luggage and disappeared with it.
She spoke rapidly in French to a young blonde at the front desk. Her name tag read “Anna” and she had the wholesome good looks combined with a frankly naughty expression that made Amsterdam such a popular destination with American soldiers. Anna quickly produced two old fashioned room keys and smiled at me as if we shared a dirty secret. Anna obviously knew Simone, and addressed her respectfully as “la Comtesse du ____________”, in impeccable French, making my eyebrows rise. I was still naïve enough to think that there was no difference between the landed gentry and common folk, so hearing her title recited by Anna didn’t really make an impact on me until much later.
Handing me one of the room keys, Simone said she had some business that she had to attend to, but to go up and take a shower if I liked. She also asked me if I minded if we ate dinner in the room. I pictured us getting take out at a local drive-through.
A warm shower would be nice, I thought to myself. As I negotiated the hallways of the Amstel I couldn’t help but gawk at the paintings and furnishings. I had never been exposed to that kind of luxury and everything seemed otherworldly and unreal to me.
So this is how the other half lives, I thought. I also remember thinking that nobody back in the barracks was ever going to believe this story.
# # #
“That was amazing”, I said to my Countess, wiping my mouth with the linen dinner napkin and setting down my knife and fork. We were in the dining room of Simone’s large suite, which was easily spacious enough to accommodate a small dinner party. La Rive, the restaurant housed in the Amstel, had prepared our meals as well as provided a waiter to serve us.
Simone had been watching me eat for the past twenty minutes after she finished a small plate with some of the thinnest green and purple things I had ever seen in a salad, followed by a small plate of fish with some type of orange-colored vegetable I was unfamiliar with.
“I love to watch you eat,” she said. “I like a man with a large appetite who enjoys the food.”
As was our pattern, I leaned forward and paid close attention to Simone when she spoke. She told me earlier that she had been educated at Wellesley College in Boston but English was her second language, and her accent made it hard to immediately decipher what she was saying. She was delightful to listen to, but hard to follow.
As was also the pattern since meeting in the train station, every sentence she uttered immediately produced two effects on me; the first being that I smiled like an idiot at her, which she always seemed to appreciate, and the second being that my cock twitched and fidgeted inside my pants.
Our waiter, Andre, who had been trying to stand inconspicuously behind the Countess during the meal, silently approached and took my plate and cutlery, then produced what looked like a butter knife that he wielded skillfully around my placemat for crumbs. Except for the gravy stains I had managed to distribute fairly evenly on the white tablecloth, everything was spotless when Andre finished.
The meal I had devoured had started with an undernourished salad and then a bowl of fish soup, followed by small servings of rabbit, salmon, lamb, scallops, and beef. Everything was delicious. The ordering process would have been a comedy of errors on my part had la Comtesse not seen my face flush when Andre had asked for my preference, as he put it. Simone intervened and simply went down the menu and asked me what I liked.
I thought I had ordered enough food to feed a platoon but the serving sizes were small and the food so good that I needn’t have worried about over-ordering. Each course was simply a new marvel to me, with the various sauces and side dishes perfectly complementing the entrees. My taste buds had never experienced anything as good as the chefs of La Rive served up.
I declined desert but the Countess had what looked like strawberry shortcake with cream but was called something else entirely on the menu.
As she had done several times before, Simone said something in French to Andre and he instantly responded by pouring the remainder of our second bottle of red wine and then hastily bowed to us both and departed the room. He had put the empty bottle in the ice stand next to me and when he left I smiled at Simone and examined the label on the bottle. Like everything else I had seen at the Amstel, even the wine label looked profoundly expensive.
“La Comtesse, I can’t help but wonder how much a bottle of this would run me at the PX. Would you have any idea?” I asked, feeling a bit light-headed and more relaxed now that Andre had left us alone.
She frowned at me slightly and then shrugged her shoulders as if to indicate a complete disinterest in answering that question.
“What does it matter, Billy? Neither of us is paying for it, no?”
“And, please, I’ve told you many times already, call me Simone. For you, that is my name. ”
Finishing her desert, she licked some whipped cream off the edge of her mouth. She then looked at me across the table and in that wonderfully straightforward way she had of asking me a question, she asked the one I had been hoping to hear all evening.
“Billy, I want to make love with you tonight. I think you know this but you have not asked me yet.”
Up until then, I thought she had been playing a flirtatious game with me, and wasn’t sure where the night would lead. She did something with her eyes then that left me speechless. She looked directly into my face with her incredible green eyes, then dropped her gaze into her lap for three or four interminable seconds. She then looked back up at me with a questioning expression in her eyes, appearing vulnerable and even fearful that I would reject her. Her eyes had become a window into her soul, which she was laying bare to me.
“I know you find me attractive.” She said. “You have…shown me this…in the way you look at me...”
My cock jumped in my pants. My heart melted like Swiss chocolate left out in the August sun. My mind raced trying to form a response equal to what she had just revealed. Everything I came up with sounded like a cheap adolescent line or something from an old black and white movie. I was in completely new territory and wanted desperately to appear like I wasn’t in over my head.
“Billy, let me tell you something. My husband...was bad to me with a woman. A woman I thought of as a close friend. It hurt me very much, and now…”
I don’t know where the idea came from, but I responded by slowly getting up and walking around the table and standing in front of her. I didn’t try to hide my arousal from her. She had demonstrated honesty in her emotions for me, and I did the same. Somehow, I felt that I was no longer just an inexperienced soldier on leave, but a man who had been lucky enough to attract this beautiful woman.
And her motivation for fucking me was really of no interest to me. I wanted her to see that. I wanted to fuck her because she was one of the most attractive women I had ever met.
I bent down and grabbed her face with both hands and then lowered my face to hers, looking into her eyes as directly as she had mine only moments earlier.
“Simone, I find you so attractive that you are scaring the daylights out of me.”
I kissed her on the lips, a kiss that started with her seated and ended with her standing, stretching up to reach my mouth, our bodies pressing together. The moment her lips parted to admit my tongue I felt my heart expand. Well, maybe it wasn’t my heart, but it was the first time I had kissed a woman in nearly two years. The prostitutes that had formed the basis of my love life in the Army drew the line at that particular intimacy. I had almost forgotten the way that a simple kiss can create and convey the urgency of arousal.
When we broke I took her hand and led her towards the larger of the suite’s two bedrooms. I did my best not to let her see how nervous I was. I just held her hand and did not look directly at her face. I had a notion that if I could just get her into the bedroom we would no longer be separated by class or stature, age or experience.
I was right. As soon as we entered the bedroom, I could feel the barriers that we allow to separate us fall away as naturally as rain dripping off a roof. She was no longer defined by a title, no longer “la Comtesse du __________”, but was now only a woman. And such a woman! She came into my arms and kissed me passionately, deeply, moaning softly under her breath, her hands around my waist and hugging me close to her.
The sounds she made and the way her hands clawed at my back, pulling me into her body, inflamed me as no woman ever had. My cock was straining against its containment, making its presence felt.
Each moment that our kiss lasted our breathing got more excited. My pulse hammered in my ears. Her tongue entered my mouth aggressively, searching mine out and making more moaning sounds, our mouths glued to each other.
When we broke she wasted no time in going after my clothing, pulling my shirt out of my pants and frantically trying to unbutton it. We both laughed at the clumsy fumblings of our fingers and finally agreed to undress ourselves.
In seconds I was naked and stood in front of her as she negotiated with her last bit of undergarments. I somehow showed restraint in letting her finish undressing herself.
The sun was just below the horizon and the dusk settling on the river outside our window. The sky was that deep blue hue it gets before the first stars twinkle in the night sky. A small lamp beside a table near the window was the only other source of light in the room. The room felt soft and the temperature was moderately warm. It was a perfect evening in Amsterdam.
I described her before as solidly built, which might have been an injustice to her, for naked she exceeded all my expectations. Her body was shapely and her breasts, ass, belly, and thighs, were full, well rounded and firm. Her pubis was dark and curly, which contrasted strikingly with her snow white mane.
She was a substantial woman and she was not in the least uncomfortable in her skin. She had a beauty classical in nature, and I whistled under my breath. This woman was going to give me a run for my money, I thought.
She was also evaluating her choice. I enjoyed watching her eyes roam over my body, with a delightfully lusty appreciation. Getting drafted into the Army had few benefits for me that I could appreciate at the time, but they had beaten me into the best physical shape of my life. Few things stoke a man’s desire like a beautiful woman looking at him with lust in her eyes, as Simone did.
“Oh, Billy….my sweet soldier…” She said, with a most appreciative and endearing tone, and then we were in each other’s arms again. Her skin was cool to my touch. Our hands got busy; caressing, exploring, stroking, touching.
In any relationship between a man and a woman there is a hierarchy established between who leads and who follows, who is in charge and who is subservient. This is not a criticism of the nature of relationships, just an observation. Somebody always leads and somebody always follows.
I was unaware of it at the time, but in that first naked embrace, body against body, an erotic battle of wills was fought and I lost. It was never obvious to me, but she swiftly yet subtly took command of the field of play. By the time I guessed at what she was doing, it was too late, and I was relegated to the role of any soldier in battle; to accept and follow orders. There is a certain liberation one feels when one realizes that one will do anything
in pursuit of pleasing the other.
She maneuvered me to the edge of the bed and then guided me downward to a sitting position, eyes level with her dark and dense triangle. I started to get the germ of an idea, and even started to reach out for it, but she gently yet firmly pushed my shoulders backwards, so that I lay on my back with my knees over the edge of the bed. She spread my legs with her hands and positioned herself between them, the outside of her thighs pushing against the inside of mine. I put my hands behind my head and watched her. Looking into my eyes with that same flirtatious smile I first saw in the train station, she started caressing my belly and chest. My cock was standing at attention, impatiently waiting its turn.
This was the first woman I had that was so obviously experienced in the art of lovemaking. My sexual encounters to date, while certainly near and dear to me, consisted of girls who simply hadn’t yet learned the mechanics of sucking and the art of fucking. They often made up in enthusiasm what they lacked in knowledge, and they also had the advantage of having partners such as myself that were equally ignorant. The prostitutes that formed the roll call of my more recent experiences were skilled all right, but they were skilled in making a man reach a quick orgasm and to pay for it upfront. That was simply a good business strategy for them.
This woman knew what she was doing and obviously enjoyed doing it. It was also evident that she was happy to have me to do it with her. That combination of factors was responsible for the perpetual smile that had taken up residency on my face.
She crawled onto the bed, positioning me farther up so that my legs were on either side of her. Still rubbing my belly, the Countess started talking to me in a low voice, almost a whisper. It took me a few seconds to understand that she was speaking to me in French. I did not think it possible for my smile to get any wider, but it did. She already had learned that I did not speak French, yet she knew that by cooing at me in her native tongue I would get even more aroused than I was.
And she was right.
Her eyes laughing into mine, her white hair hanging loosely into her face, her hands crawling lower and lower down my hard belly, she proceeded with my seduction.
She broke eye contact with me long enough to gauge the angle she would need to take, and then she licked my cock from stem to helmeted stern. Having established her beach head, so to speak, she again looked me in the eyes and repeated the assault.
And then she did it again. And then, again. Her eyes never broke contact with mine.
My cock was drooling clear droplets of precum all over itself, like a drunken hobo with the shakes trying to feed himself at a soup kitchen.
She would lick the precum off my cock’s slippery dome and savor it like it was the sweetest honey, and then lick her way back down, causing my cock to produce another clear droplet of dew.
She cupped my balls into the palm of her hand and then she licked them too, sucking first one and then the other partially into her mouth.
My cock drooled some more. I began fidgeting involuntarily. My ass cheeks clenched and my hips rose to meet her mouth.
She licked up the length of me and took half the length of my cock into her mouth, licking it thoroughly with her tongue once it was inside her. I lost eye contact as she closed her eyes and let out a low moan as she sucked me. Her mouth slowly started bobbing up and down, while she gently felt my balls with one hand and put her other hand around the base of my cock, holding it in place for her mouth.
I heard a soft whimpering in the room and realized it was me. My hips were wriggling from side to side as if in some discomfort.
Her eyes opened and looked up into mine again, but this time she seemed curiously half-asleep, her eyelids drowsy with sex, as she sucked contentedly on the head of my cock. My cock was leaking a steady stream of precum and she would lick up each clear cum-string with her tongue while slowly moving her mouth up and down, creating more suction each time she went down. She was making every effort to maintain eye contact with me. It was the sexiest thing I had ever seen in my life.
It took all my willpower to restrain myself and to let her have her way with me. Every fibre of my being wanted to end this lovely torture, to just drive my cock into her pussy, to fuck her hard and fast.
As if reading my mind, she took my cock out of her mouth and got on the bed beside me. My hands started feeling her breasts, her arms, her ass, her waist, her back. She let my hands wander over her body for a time and then rolled me so that she could climb on top of me, her pussy positioning itself directly in line with my erection. Then her left hand reached down and slowly guided me into her warm vulva, letting me feel the liquid tightness of her as her pussy seemed to swallow my cock. A feeling of complete satisfaction overcame me as she absorbed me into her. I felt as though I could stay right where I was forever.
Then she started fucking me.
She sat on my cock until it was all the way into her and then started to rock back and forth on me, as if testing the limits of my flexibility. My hands reached up and finally I could get at her breasts, kneading her firm flesh. The fullness of her exceeded the size of my hands, and I could not get all of her into my grasp. Her tits spilled out around my hands, exciting me, inflaming me. I kept grabbing and squeezing them, enjoying the soft fullness of her. Her aureoles were large and brown and her nipples were excited and standing straight out from her tits, begging to be sucked.
She lowered herself toward me so that my mouth could reach her nipples and then she let me suck. I could still smell her fragrance but it was mixed with the smell of her sex. As I suckled on her nipples she started fucking my cock with her hips, slowly moving it up and into her tight vagina. My hands continued massaging her breasts as my mouth tickled and teased her nipples. She purred as she rode me.
My penis had been in a state of excitement since late afternoon. The warm tightness of her was almost more than I could bear, and I knew that with only a few more strokes I would lose all restraint and empty myself into her. She sensed me marshalling my forces and abruptly stopped fucking me, pausing with my cock buried deep inside her.
“Not yet…not yet”, she murmured to me.
A glowing blush had appeared on her chest and her cheeks. She tilted her head back, as if looking at the ceiling, making her tits stand out farther from her chest. My hands marveled at the shape of them, at the fullness of her, at how ripe she was. She covered my hands with her hands, offering all of herself to my caresses. My hard cock was buried in her pussy, throbbing in her wet sheath, and my hands were full of the Countess’ splendid tits.
She slid off and lay by me on the bed. Our heads were next to each other, our eyes smiling at each other. I grabbed her face and kissed her once, twice, thrice on the mouth. She rolled onto her back and moved her hand down to her vagina. Her fingers moved around down there while she kept looking into my eyes. She started making soft cooing sounds again. Curious, I sat up and watched her play with herself. Her fingers traced around her slit, feeling her own wetness, pausing near the top to finger her clitoris. Then one, no, two fingers disappeared into her gap, lost to view. I moved downward on the bed to get a better look. She put a hand on the back of my head, stroking my hair lightly.
I wanted to reciprocate for the oral treat she had given me but I was uncertain on how to start. My inexperience in this type of love was apparent to her. She stopped her self-ministrations and asked me if I had done this before with a woman.
“I….a little. The girls back home…no, not very much, Simone.”
I couldn’t lie to her even though I didn’t like to admit my inexperience.
“Let me show you then…Billy…if you don’t mind?”
She spent the next twenty minutes giving me lessons in cunnilingus. She had me play, stroke, and tease her labia first. She showed me her inner and outer lips and showed me where her sensitive areas were, introduced me to her clitoris, and finally talked me through the mechanics of pleasing a woman using a mouth and fingers and not a cock. Just as I felt I was getting the feel of things, judging from the sounds she was making, she broke contact and flipped herself so that she was lying face down on the bed.
She raised herself into a position where she was on all fours, her ass in the air, and her pussy and ass dominated my field of vision. It was a truly lovely site she presented to me. She lowered her ass and pussy toward my face, as if in invitation.
I grabbed her by her hips and, starting at the pussy I had been licking to some success, kissed and licked slowly up the crack of her ass to her puckered rosebud. As I got closer her moans got louder so there was no doubt I was doing something right. I rimmed around her tiny asshole, sawing my tongue over that most sensitive spot. My lust grew exponentially as I tongued her. This was truly new and forbidden territory for me, and my excitement had me moaning loudly enough to match hers.
She pushed backwards against my face and I hardened my tongue and penetrated her asshole with it, feeling strangely light-headed and incredibly turned on. She let out a louder moan and started rocking her hips slightly back and forth. She obviously enjoyed the sensation of me tongue-fucking her ass. One of my hands found her soaked slit and I put two fingers into her, sliding them in and out of her to the tempo she had set. Having gotten her this close, I was determined to make her cum for me.
“OH, BILLY….OH, OH…….FUCK….FUCK…” she moaned, breathlessly and urgent.
“FUCK ME BILLY…FUCK ME…THERE…”
I had never had anal sex but she didn’t have to ask me twice. I got up behind her and she lowered her face to the bed so that her ass was sticking up in the air, offering me a target. I spit several times on my fingers and rubbed around her pucker point, although it was already wet from my tongue. I lined up my hard cock against her asshole and when she felt he was in place she pushed back against me, impaling herself steadily onto my cock.
I went slowly at first, not wanting to cause her pain, and she was grunting and moving her hips, trying to get more of me into her. Finally I was firmly in place and she started rocking back and forth again, slowly at first. It was a different sensation than a pussy, not better or worse, just… different. I saw that she had one hand back at her pussy, rubbing herself.
I knew I wouldn’t last long but I didn’t want to cum until I sensed that she was reaching that point as well. I needn’t have feared. Almost as soon as we started fucking back and forth with my hard cock in her ass, she started making a new sound, one I had not heard until then, almost a mournful wail of a sound. We settled into a steady stroking motion, our tempo picking up speed as she grew more and more excited. Her ass felt as though it were milking my cock, each stroke bringing us nearer to ecstasy. I felt my balls churning and then I pulled her hard against me and ejaculated with a force that surprised me with its violence. She was screaming like a madwoman as her body shivered under me. I held her tightly but there was no controlling her as she pushed herself back and forth, fucking herself on my cock while trembling with the spasms of her orgasm. Her wailing went up an octave as I unloaded blast after blast of myself into her ass.
# # #
It seemed like it took us a long time to recover from the frenzied conclusion of our coupling. We lay next to each other on the bed, covered in a thin sheen of sweat and trying to catch our breath. I felt like someone had wrung me out like a wet washcloth. My penis looked like a wet washcloth. Simone looked like she was ready to do it again at the drop of a hat. I caught her eye and she winked at me, then she got up and went to her toilette.
I woke up ten hours later with the sun shining on my face and birds singing up a storm outside. I was alone in the bed and a quick reconnaissance of the suite confirmed I was, indeed, alone. In the main sitting room there was a breakfast tray with coffee in a thermos, orange juice, and croissants with honey and jams. I found two sealed envelopes leaning against the coffee thermos, one with my name on it and the other blank.
I’ve always prided myself on being able to keep a secret, so the contents of the note she left me will remain between Simone and myself. Suffice it to say she expressed some sweet sentiments. She said I had met her only moments after her husband had finally confessed to an affair with her good friend, and that she was moving on, going to Paris for a while. She also said she had made arrangements for me to spend my leave in the suite I was in, at no expense to me. The note ended with some rather puzzling instructions on what to do with the second envelope. I took a shower and munched a couple of croissants and decided to follow her instructions. So far they had served me well, why stop obeying her now?
I don’t know how Simone knew that Anna would be at her post when I approached the counter in the lobby of the Amstel, but there she was, looking prettier today than she had yesterday. She saw me approaching and smiled courteously as I handed her the sealed envelope. She looked at it, and then at me, and I shrugged as if to say, “I’m only following orders, ma’am.”
She opened the envelope and read the letter that Simone had written to her. She appeared confused at first but as she kept reading the corners of her lips turned up into a delicious smile. She’s really pretty when she smiles, I thought. Once she looked up at me and I thought I detected a blush. Finally she put the letter down and smiled at me, a smile that was sincere and friendly.
“Hello, Billy, I’m Anna”, she said, indicating the name badge that was pinned atop one of her pert tits. Her English had its own lilting accent, not as thick as that of Simone’s. I wondered if that was a Dutch accent, and made a note to explore that subject with Anna later, if given a chance.
“And how are you on this beautiful day?”
The author wishes to thank the following for their assistance, generosity, encouragement, and advice: Moon, Isca, Sxysue, stargazing, LatinSugar, and my other lush friends.
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<a href="http://www.lushstories.com/stories/love-stories/amsterdam-1973-and-simone.aspx">Amsterdam, 1973, and Simone</a>