From the train window, Mike Spar admired the rising hills and pine clad mountains of the Swedish countryside. He was on his way north to show three novice archaeologists how to start an initial exploration of a tribal village exposed by building work. At just thirty-five years old, being one of the most highly regarded archaeologists in the world could have its drawbacks.

This was a beautiful country, but he’d rather be home to strengthen his relationship with Angela, a biochemist, he had been spending time with recently. Nothing physical yet, but she had a body that he’d rather be exploring than some ancient Scandinavian site. Still, it would only be twenty-four hours of showing these novices the ropes. How boring might they be?

Arriving in Gavie, he was pleasantly surprised to find the three, a man and two ladies, waiting in the hotel foyer, were no adolescent university types. They were all mid to late twenties.

The man, Eric. introduced himself with a firm handshake before introducing the two ladies as Greta and Agneta. Mike felt a strange buzz as each lady offered a hand in greeting while regarding him with an open, smiling face.

Mike was struck in noticing that, despite heavy anoraks, woolly hats, thick pants and boots, the shining good looks of the two women could not be disguised. Both had full lips, high cheekbones, and blue eyes that made them extremely attractive.

They showed their enthusiasm as they rode in the mini-bus taking them to the site More archaeologically experienced than he’d expected, they were avid in getting Mike to talk about the places he had visited.

“I’d love to see the Mexican sites,” Greta enthused.

Looking into those blue eyes and that face Mike could not help thinking, 'And I’d love to take you there.'

They arrived at the site which lay close to a frozen stream. The diggers which had exposed the few stones that jutted through the soil seemed a blot on the landscape. Mike was very impressed, by the way, over the following hours, the group listened enthusiastically to his advice and asked sensible questions on setting out boundaries and finding a starting point.

Although most of the snow had melted, Mike still found it extremely cold, and, despite liking their company, was glad when it was time to return to the hotel. Before retiring to their rooms, they agreed to meet for the evening meal at seven thirty. Mike vaguely wondered about the up and under look Greta gave him, but decided it was his own lusty imagination. In his room, he had a hot, welcome shower and managed a quick nap on the cosy bed.

At seven thirty, seated in the dining room, he was delighted to find that the two women were not far behind him. They each wore warm winter shirts and tight-fitting jeans which, now gave a clear indication of the trim figures that had earlier been hidden. Even more striking was the blonde hair that they each displayed, cut to just above their shoulders.

Their warm smiles were very welcome as they sat down opposite Mike. Agneta told him that Eric was about five minutes behind them. Mike looking admiringly at the way the two women filled their respective shirts, Agneta in blue, Greta in green checks, had to ask the question that had come into his mind earlier.

"Are you two sisters?"

Greta laughed, a rich sensuous sound, "Whatever made you think that?"

Mike shrugged, never slow with compliments, "You seem to share a natural beauty."

Agneta bowed her head, in an act of false modesty, "Oh, thank you, kind sir."

Greta, with her blue eyes firmly on his, asked, if he ever took his wife on his trips. When he told them there was no wife, he could not help noticing the glance the two women exchanged.

At that moment Eric arrived, looking very refreshed, and full of apologies. Soon they were tucking into a delicious meal of peppered beef, with parsnips, carrots and sweet potato. To wash it down they had two bottles of good Chardonnay.

Over coffee, Mike found himself being bombarded with questions about his discoveries in the Mayan temples he had unearthed.

Mike wondered if it was his imagination that, whenever Greta asked him a question or commented on something he said, her eyes lingered on his face for just that unsubtle extra moment. He decided that it was probably only his own ego in operation. He knew, from past experience, that his interest could always be sparked by a fine-looking female.

As the laughter and the conversation became more ribald, Agneta glanced at her watch and declared, "Five past ten. I think I'm ready for bed."

Mike was sorry to hear that, as he had been enjoying feasting his eyes on the beauty of the two women. They left the dining room and walked together up to the first floor where all the bedrooms were situated.

On the corridor, Mike was surprised to see Eric and Agneta walking with their arms around each other, snuggled quite intimately together. There had been no indication of that during the day. At a room door, Eric waved a hand, and as he and Agneta moved inside, he called, "Good night, you two, see you at breakfast."

Mike, just a little stunned, heard Greta chuckle behind him, and he turned towards her smiling face. "Don’t look surprised, Mike. They've been partners for near two years.” For a second Mike wondered if he had misread something in the glance she had given him then.

Unexpected thoughts were tumbling into his head, and they weren't given long to simmer as Greta stopped just two doors from his own. She held up her card, and said huskily, "My door. Have you any feelings for being partners for one night? It has been a good day."

Mike's mind was seething with disbelief. Thirty-five years old, a number of female conquests, including an ex-wife, the lovely Angela, a warm prospect back home, but never had he been propositioned by a woman so directly.

Clearly, she had no qualms about asking the question. Her eyes were wide, blue and bold as she awaited his answer.

Angela was just a future prospect, Mike drew in a deep breath before adding, "Your suggestion has much appeal."

"Good," she said flatly, opening the door, stepping inside and holding out her hand to him. Taking it, Mike immediately found Greta clinging to him, her arms holding him tightly, her lips searching for his, which he gladly gave her, as the door slammed shut behind them.

For a few seconds, the hot wetness of lips and tongue enmeshed together thrilled Mike as he felt his cock rise immediately. Next second Greta had pulled away saying, "I'll race you to get your clothes off," she declared, already unbuttoning her own shirt.

Hell, she was so eager. Half laughing, but just a little bemused, he began undoing his own shirt, seeing Greta already shrugging out of hers to reveal a pair of unfettered, deliciously rounded, finger-itching, pink-nippled breasts. Her hands were already unfastening the waist of her jeans.

By the time he was out of his shirt, Greta was wearing only a silky pair of panties, and even as he unbuckled his belt, those panties dropped away.

"Slowcoach, you lose," she laughed, racing towards the bed. Her elegant buttocks emphasising the gorgeous figure he was about to have access to.

The sheer delectable look of her, lying flat, with her thighs parted enough to reveal a hint of pink amid her darkly blonde bush, had him disposing of his pants double quick. This would be the first time in his love life that he hadn't been the instigator.

As he kneeled on the side of the bed, Greta turned her head and appreciatively eyed his erection. "Mm, a good hunk of timber," she murmured, and her fingers ruffled through her lavish bush, "You like my cornfield?"

Mike nodded appreciatively, thinking, comparisons could be made with dusty corn. He reached out to touch there, but she knocked his hand away. Her eyes clouded as she growled, "Playtime comes later. For now, I want your timber to find my corn cave." She gave a little sensuous smile and went on, "In other words, I just want to fuck."

Mike, not totally shocked at her outspokenness, tried to be casual, "But don't you--?"

"No buts. Are you going to fuck me or not?"

Her face took on a questioning firmness. Only too willing to oblige, Mike shrugged, and slid his body between her thighs, and wriggled up to place his cock against the inviting opening to this corn cave.,

Entering her was like hitting a switch. Instantly, Mike felt his cock being hauled, as though by a hundred tight rings, deep into the hot wetness of Greta, while simultaneously, her hips rose in rhythmic heaves encouraging Mike’s thrusts.

Slightly overcome by her greedy acceptance of his cock, Mike gladly provided the thrusts her hips were demanding. Together they humped, moaned and grunted, with such passion as Mike had rarely encountered.

The wild tossing of her head prevented his attempt to kiss her. Through her gasping grunts, he heard the words, "Oh, God, good fucking, good fucking." Mike was aware of her hands and fingernails, pulling at his buttocks.

Just how long the pounding went on, Mike wasn't sure, but with their frenzied undulations came that eager sense of approaching release. With some relief, he noted that Greta's breathing had quickened into harsher tones. This was confirmed as she gasped, "You've got me."

Two more massive thrusts started his load spouting into Greta. That brought a delighted gargling squeal from her lips, as she twisted madly under him, her hips and flexing channel seemed intent on squeezing every drop of cum out of his body. Mike heaved out all he had stored for too many weeks.

Greta shuddered under him, her breathing beginning to recover, as she asked him, "Hell, you are good. How many women have you fucked?"

Mike shook his head in wonder. Could he answer her question? Flattered by her observation, he made a guess at ten, and that's what he told her.

Greta sighed, "You kept going longer than most men who have fucked me. You like sex?"

Mike could have laughed out loud. "Oh, just a little bit, but I don't generally talk about it," he admitted.

"Why not?" she demanded. "That's what we're here for, isn't it? I like to do it and talk about it. Nothing wrong with that, is there?"

Mike had to agree, although this directness was new to him. This well-educated woman who could speak so fluently on scientific matters, could, just as readily, reveal her open sexuality, and Mike asked her, "How many men have you treated in this way?"

She was silent for just a moment as Mike’s limp penis slipped out of her, "Ah, what a shame," she muttered. "I don't think of the fucking part as me treating men. It's more about what they can do for me."

"And how many has it been?"

"Twenty-six," she said bluntly. "Not many of them as able as you.”

"I'm flattered," Mike told her, honestly. "But you said twenty-six. Do you keep score?”

"Of course," Greta said. Her answer was so matter of fact.

Mike could only ask, "How old are you?"

"Twenty-five. I was eighteen when I had my first messy experience."

"So, do you have a timetable for when you'll do it?" Mike couldn't resist just teasing a little.

"No, just when I feel the need," she said and gave him a wicked grin, "which is regular. But I have gone three or four weeks when I was on a course." She laughed, "The first guy after that - I practically broke his prick off."

"And is it always straight in and do it?"

She chuckled, "Are you frightened to say 'fuck'? Yes, I know what I want." She swung her legs off the bed, "I did say we could play later. Shower first. Small cubicle, but you can watch if you want."

The cubicle did preclude any chance of sharing. But Mike enjoyed the sensuous travelling of her hands over her body, her golden wet hair hanging straight. She gave him a lascivious smile, before turning her back, and wiggling her lovely tight buttocks at him.

Mike held the towel ready for her and quickly wrapped it around her. However, she reopened the shower door, saying, "No. I'll dry myself, while you have yours." Another teasing smile, before she added, "And then the playing can start."

After a refreshing shower, he stepped out. Greta was ready, holding out a large dry towel. "Now, we’ll make sure you're ready."

By the time she had towelled over his shoulders, chest, and down his bell, Mike felt a familiar twitching down there. As Greta moved, very gently over his cock, he was aware that the towel was not there, and her fingers were roaming along his rising limpness.

In his experience, women had usually avoided touching his limp cock, and he told Greta that.

"I never back off anything to do with sex," she said, which wasn't so surprising. Soon, she was leading him into the bedroom. Greta made no attempt to climb onto the bed, but simply came in close to him, offered her lips, and. for over a minute they stood locked, naked, together, tongues wrestling, in a passionate clinch. It was a delight to be aware of the hairs of her bush tickling at his upper thighs.

In tune with that thought, Greta broke the kiss to groan, "Oh, I like that feeling."

"Which feeling is that?"

"Your prick hardening against my belly." And she gave a little wriggle to promote the sensation, before leaning back and asking, "Do you like my tits?"

"Do you like talking so bluntly?"

Her blue eyes held his, "When I talk about sex, I like to be explicit. Should we get on with it?" And she flopped back onto the bed.

Mike crawled alongside her and asked, "Would you tell me something.?”

"Go ahead."

"Do you have something against foreplay?"

"Against the almost formulaic nature that most men go for," she replied and flicked a finger at his fully rigid penis.

Her action made him catch his breath and she laughed as he asked, "What do you mean by formulaic?"

Her hand rested on his chest as she replied, "Well, a man will want a woman's hand on his prick, while he goes through the standard routine of kissing, mouth to mouth with tongues, hands stroking at neck and shoulders, then onto tits - and nipples. All of it good enough in their own way."

"But?" Mike was just fascinated by her logic.

"But then it's tits to belly, belly to bush, maybe straight into my wet corn crack or it might be onto the inner thigh first, and then eventually the clit."

"And none of that moves you?"

"Mike, I'm not a fucking robot. Of course, I get a kick out of it, but I prefer surprises, not movements off some pre-written list."

Mike stroked one hand over both breasts, "In answer to your question, I think they look and feel wonderful," he told her.

"Run your fingers over my nipples."

Mike did as she asked, before seeing her eyelids flutter, and he asked, "You like that?"

Her breath came in a shudder, "Stroking my nipples sets the juices flowing all the way along my corn crack. Feel." Mike was stunned by her words and by the way her hand pushed his down across her belly onto her bush. "Go on, feel me."

He was tempted to tell her that he did not operate like that, but in this instance, he slid his hand between her thighs and was not at all surprised to feel the parted lips soaked.

"And that's just from touching my nipples." And having proved her point she pulled his hand back to her breasts again. "I take pride in being shocking. Do I shock you?"

Mike had to tell her, “You say you like being frank, but talk about your ‘corn crack’, that doesn’t fit your hard talk.”

Greta smiled and shrugged, “From eighteen, when I started being sexually active, I liked my bush being corn-coloured. So, I just follow that pattern. Makes me sound delicate, when I want to be. Other times for some guys I let it be ‘my cunt’”.

After a few seconds, she moved her head to one side and hissed, "My turn. So far, so good. Try this."

Greta eased Mike onto his back before kissing down his chest, while at the same time leaving her thighs conveniently near his face. As her mouth neared his erect cock, Greta swung one thigh high across his chest and Mike was delighted to find her whole delectable cornfield under his gaze, the inner pinkness winking at him.

He was very aware of her tongue and lips beginning to work on his cock, as he parted her lower lips and gazed with some fascination at the rose petal shininess. Greta was now sucking strongly on his hardness, and he wondered how long he could stand that before erupting, strong as he might have been.

With the fantastic view so close, he could see it all, the clit, tiny but excitingly erect, demanding attention, and there was that entry to her delicious corn cave, that pulsing little chasm that he knew could open up for him. Without further thought, he allowed his tongue to wriggle daringly into that opening, and immediately sensed the tugging at it.

Down his body Greta, stopped her mouthing of his cock to groan, "Careful, there's a dragon in my cave. It might chew your tongue off." She chuckled and as he sensed her about to take his cock into her mouth again, she asked, "Do you want to cum in my mouth this time around?" Her lips slavered over his smooth cock head, before she added, "Or do we head towards another fuck?"

Mike drew his head back to growl, "Yes, the second choice. Best for both of us."

"Right, you'll know when it's time, especially if your licking gets near my clit." Then she was silent as her mouth enveloped his cock, and set his hips twitching as it ran along his length.

Knowing that the road was set, Mike took two actions. First, he moved his fingers along her soaked groove to stroke gently at her clit. The other movement was to take his tongue out of her secret spot to move it the short distance back where he could allow it to tickle at the tightness of her anus.

That movement had her legs tightening on either side of his head as she jerked and moaned, and she began sucking fiercely at his throbbing erection. He was getting to that point and knew it was imperative that he had her up to the same pitch.

With that in mind, he slid his tongue away from that sensitive little hole and back along the luscious depths of her crevice, savouring the musky aroma as he moved to replace his finger on her clit.

His tongue lavished much attention on it, and he heard her gasps despite her mouth being wrapped around his cock, but her actions were drawing him to a climax. Deliberately he began to give her clit gentle sucks, trying to make it even more erect.

Greta's thighs squeezed at his head, before spreading wildly, her mouth sucked with renewed fury on his cock, until, when he thought he was about to erupt, she drew back her head, and twisted her body as she gasped, "It's now, Mike. Oh, God, quick."

With amazing speed, they adjusted until Mike's cock was once again poised at her entry. It wasn't poised for long as Greta grabbed at it and almost forced it into herself. "No waiting. No delay," she gasped.

Mike drove his desperate cock as hard as he had ever done yet sensing the eager pulling of Greta's inner walls as she heaved and grunted under him. Getting up high inside her, he knew that his balls were close to expelling and he grunted, "I'm cumming, Greta."

Her response, as her hips pushed up against him, was what he'd hoped for, "Cum, do it! Do it, now. Right now, oooh!" And her voice drifted away in what might have been a cry of anguish, but as his juices spurted into her, he was delighted to sense her own climax. For several seconds they rode against each other, each seeking the utter depth of their passion

At last Greta lay back with a deep sigh, and murmured, "Most satisfactory," in such matter of fact tones, that Mike had to chuckle.

"Is that all it was? Satisfactory?"

She shared his laugh, "Just my little understatement. It's a while since anyone has helped me to cum that well."

Her complimentary words fed Mike's feeling of being so pleased with the past events

She wrapped her arms around him, kissed him tenderly, and whispered, "I'm going to tell you something I've never told any man before."

"I'm intrigued," Mike told her, and he really was.

"Of all the men who have fucked me, if I had to choose one, it would be you," she said, and they kissed again, while Mike fought with the implications of what she was saying.

When they broke the kiss, Greta went on, "But to ease any worries you may have about that, you must know that, being the way I am, I could never be settled with one man."

"I understand," Mike told her, trying to fathom how disappointing that statement had been.

"Just hold me now," she whispered, and they lay close together until Mike became aware of her deeper breathing and realised she was asleep.

He kissed her lips with great gentility and gratitude, before lying back himself, finding sleep was ready to claim him too.

The sound of a loud engine outside woke Mike up. Startled he realised that the room was bathed in sunlight breaking through a gap in the curtains. He glanced at his watch. Hell, it was almost quarter past nine. His plane left at midday,

Where was Greta? A quick search revealed that she and all her belongings were gone. After a quick shower, Mike dressed and went down to the foyer to be told that his three companions had left to catch the eight thirty train.

Sadly, he returned to his own, hardly used, room. As he entered he immediately spotted the folded paper which had been pushed under the door.

The note read:

"Goodbyes would have been too painful. Thank you for that wonderful night. I'll never forget you, and I fear the men I have in future can only be disappointing. Much love, Greta."

Sitting on the plane home, Mike relived the night his ego had been given a massive boost by a lady he had known for less than twenty-four hours. He wondered how much of that experience he might encourage in Angela. But he knew he would never forget Greta.