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.