The Train to Berlin (MF, voyeur, rom)
All rights of this are reserved, courtesy of Dionysus. Copyright
2001, signed, sealed, delivered. This may be archived, saved, but
the minute someone else posts this under their own name, heads will roll,
wolves will howl, wine will sour and ya ain't getting any sex for a hell of
a long, long time. The words written herein are protected by a curse upon
thy lovelife and thy dignity - namely, that thy balls will shrivel up and
go the way of the Karate Kid - squish, like grape.
In other words, it is very bad karma to steal this, so don't, ya choad.
Like always, if this offends you or makes you feel unhappy in anyway, go
watch Jerry Springer and live your life vicariously through trash talk
shows. And if you're not enough to look at this in your area, close it
off and go play Pokemon or something while chatting about how Minawamon is
such a lame brain cheesemuncher. You aren't enough to shave (legs,
face, gonads, whatever) you're not enough to be looking at this stuff.
Don't be like the main character (duh, guess who?) and be an idiot and
take blood tests for two years with a rosary around your neck and praying
that there's no duplicate of you in a foreign country with your face. In
the story, in retrospect, it was a very dumb idea. But, like Napoleon said
when HE invaded Russia, it seemed like a good idea at the time. (Of
course, Napoleon had a one-inch weenie. Very unlike the main character.)
Names and dates changed to protect the guilty parties. Yes, this
happened. Yes, this is a life experience. Yes, some of this is
exaggerated and some of it has been edited. I don't think many people
would enjoy reading about me passing out in the restroom of a Paris hotel
bar and getting rolled by Gypsies. It wasn't much fun then and it
certainly isn't much fun now. Yes, if you think this is something you
should pirate and pass off as your own, you're a plagarizing choad who not
only couldn't think up something decent to write down, you had to pretend
you had the talent to make people get interested in your nonexistent
vicarious sex life in the first place.
I say this only because plagiarism sucks, and those who plagiarize
someone else's work are bastards of the fifth degree.
* * *
The Train to Berlin, Part I by Dionysus
I was watching the hills of Germany roll by my window. It had been a
hell of a trip; my junior year in high school, I applied for a scholarship
to study in Stockholm, taking classes at University and at the local high
school. My weren't eager to let their little go over,
especially my mother. She was afraid that I'd hit the bars and start
whooping it up the minute I landed in Sweden. Well, she was wrong. Once
the International three-mile limit had been broached, my ID was in the air
and I was drinking expensive brandy and whiskey right and left on United's
more-than-friendly skies. I loved credit cards. And fortunately, I had a
lavish little supply of them. Well, I was here, all right, and I was having
a ball. I'd arranged to take a short vacation before I reported to
Stockholm for my in-country language and culture "shock treatment"; a
little session where they tell you about the culture, try to get you to
promise to do well in school, and so on and so forth. Money wasn't an
issue; my grandmother was from Sweden, my grandfather from Ireland. Both
wanted me to visit their home country; both didn't think they could make
the trip themselves. I was arriving in Europe with a full wallet of credit
cards and my passports, visas, and enough travel time to do a quick scour
of the continent. My first stop: Berlin. The one thing I noticed when I
arrived in Europe was an absolute lack of concern about anything sexual.
Since this was 1991, there was this great liberation thing going on in
Germany, and once I landed in Munich, you could feel the tension release
from the fall of the Wall. People were friendly. They were laughing, they
were going out of their way to help me. I had two weeks and no idea where
I was going to go, but I felt great. Hungover, hungry, jetlagged, but
great. Getting out of the airport at Munich was great. I hailed a taxi,
and in broken phrasebook German I asked the driver to take me to a youth
hostel. "You an American?" he quickly asked. Trying to recover my mouth
from the floor of the cab, I just nodded. "Ah, my name is Stefan. Welcome
to Deutschland. I spend time in America myself." He grinned at me through
the mirror. "Two months. I learn English at night. Is good, yes?" "Yeah,
it's very good. Hey, Stefan, is there a restaurant or hotel or something
nearby?" My stomach was reeling from the amount of alcohol I had had on the
plane and memories of the airplane food were making me slightly queasy. I
needed some food, quickly. "Is this your first time out of America?" "Yes,
it is." "And how are you, Mr. American?" Warning signs lit up in my
head. Stefan must have seen this, because he laughed. "Relax, Mr.
American. I am not to steal money or anything from you. I am curious. I
like the rock n' roll, the jeans. It is a very nice place, New York." I
laughed, a little nervously. "Yeah, I guess so. I've never been there."
Stefan's eyes shot up. "You have never been? It is so close! It is in
your country!" This is something I found hard to describe to most of the
people in the world that haven't lived in a country like the USSR or
America or Canada; how incredibly big the nation is. Telling him I was
from Seattle didn't make a great deal of difference. I told him that New
York would be like visiting Delhi in India for him in terms of difference.
Nonplussed, he kept on. "The women in your country are very uptight, Mr.
American." "Stefan, my name is Jack." "Ah, Jacques, like the French?" "No,
Jack, like Jumping Jack Flash." I pointed to the radio, where Mick and the
boys were belting it out. "Ah, yeah. Very good." He made a turn down a
street and honked his horn before screeching to a halt in front of a small
shop. "I bring you to best little cafe in Munich. My friend, she owns it.
You go inside and get something, I wait out here for you." I saw a head peek out of the cafe door, and a gorgeous body came strutting
out after it. A flowing stream of German burst past my ears directly to
Stefan, who laughed and started chatting right back. I couldn't take my
eyes off this girl. She wasn't very big, only about 5'4", with high heeled
shoes on, but there was something about her. She wore wire-rimmed glasses
with her hair braided and pulled back from her face. Her cheekbones were
high, classic German, and her hips and legs weren't that long. But it was
her - full, round, proud, and bouncing around more or less freely
underneath a white blouse that was as close to being transparent as most
Egyptian cotton weavers could make. Her braid came almost down to the
middle of her back, and was she swung forward onto the window of the cab, I
caught a glimpse of her nipples - brown, small, and absolutely gorgeous.
Keep in mind here I was no virgin male boy. Oh, hell, yes I was. I had
grabbed a few cute asses in the halls of my high school and stripped naked
with a in my English class during a "study session", but she'd kept
her jeans on, I'd been slapped more than once, and my entire sexual
experience revolved more around playing the pork flute on the porcelain
than actually getting some. And the reality is, would I have known what to
do with it once I was there? The few times I'd been with a girl, my palms
sweated, my face got red, and one of my dates actually asked if I was going
to have a heart attack. She couldn't have known the full effect
see-through have on a lad. Or maybe she did. Most of the
girls I dated probably did know the perfect buttons to push with me.
American sexual hang-ups, who needs 'em. Anyway, back to the story. So
here I am with my chin dragging cab carpet for the second time in a day
when Stefan leans back, looks at me gaping down the girl's shirt, and
laughs. "Hey, Jacques. Anna says you are one cute American boy." Then
they both laughed. I turned beet red. Stefan leaned back and said, "No
no. I am joking. Anna says you are welcome here. She has friend who lets
rooms above the cafe for night. You staying in Munich long, Jacques?"
"Only for a night or so," I stammered. "I'm sort of cruising." "Ah,
cruising! Like Harley, right?" Stefan leaned back. "All Americans have
Harley-Davidson in garage. You ride Harley?" I was about to say no, I'd
never even been on a motor scooter before when I saw Anna looking at me
intently. Her lips were very red, and I could, for the first time, see her
eyes (if I could tear them away from that mountainous she carried)
were a strange mixture of green and gold highlights. She smiled, and said
something in German to Stefan. "Anna say she like who ride Harley very
much. Maybe you give her ride?" Oh, baby, could I ever give you a ride, I
thought. My poor cock was leaping every which way in my pants. I swore
I'd have to change my jeans before the day was out, the images rushing
through my head were so vivid. "Yeah, Stefan. My Harley's back at home,
though. I had to garage it while I was over here." I smiled at Anna,
nodding as I spoke so she got the message. Talking through Stefan, though
impersonal, was pretty much the only way I was going to be able to talk to
this wonderful babe. Or so I thought. "Well, Anna like Harley guys, she
say. You get out here, I give you to Anna. She take care of you. Stay
with Anna, and I come get you tomorrow to help you out." I peeled off a few
bills and offered them. Stefan grinned. "No no, you American Harley man.
I am here to hang out. You buy me beer tomorrow night, very good." He
grinned at me and my bills. "You need marks, anyway, Mr. Jacques
American. Have fun!" He reached over and shook my hand, winking. Anna
moved away from the car window and I got out, hoisting the pack that
carried my two-week gear setup. (I'd sent the rest over to my host
family's home two weeks ago through FedEx. And it wasn't like the fam was
going to cry if I went on a little clothes shopping spree over here.) He
sped off, nearly taking out a couple walking down the street, utterly
enchanted in each other's presence. I laughed as the shook his
fist and Stefan's burly arm and stubby middle finger came out in the
international sign of vehicular farewell. Now that I was out of the cab and
my pack was on my shoulders, I realized how small Anna was compared to me,
and how petite. Her must have been at least D-cup size, yet she
didn't appear to wear a bra. She caught me looking at her and she said
something in German to the effect of, "Don't stare too hard, they might
vanish someday." I turned and she laughed. I followed her into the
cafe. Cafe is a misnomer; it was a gourmet little eatery with the
specialties of the house somewhere between orgasmically good and manna from
heaven. I was in bliss. Anna served me personally, leaning over the table
every now and then to give me a glimpse of those perfect nipples. I
resolved to give her an extra-big tip, just because. Some sausages,
perfectly browned, a small loaf of bread with cheese and some apples, then
a bunch of delicate little pastries and the best dark brown German beer to
wash it all down with. I resolved to at least find more places like this
while I was traveling, especially through Germany. When I was eating, I was
carefully composing a sentence using a tiny German/English phrasebook,
changing letters around and mixing it up a little bit. Anna went off to
help some other patrons, and I'd be lying if I said I spent the entire time
reading through trying to find out how to talk to her rather than staring
at the back of her little black skirt, watching it ride up the back of her
legs, almost to the point where her legs started to move up her ass. From
what I could see of it, it was tight, athletic, toned and firm, sloping
into a set of generous hips that blossomed in a classic hourglass to her
magnificent chest. One thing that I am prone to doing is allowing my
fantasy life to roam free. I call it creative reality structuring. My
father calls it "Jack's Little World". My just grabs me and hauls
me along, not paying any attention to the fact I'm not paying attention.
Actually, they figured out long ago that once I hit these peaks, it's the
best time to ask me to do something, since I'll usually say, "Huh? Sure,
whatever" and go back to my dreaming. Then they hold me to it. It makes
for a good structure, but damn, they still get a lot of free slave
labor out of me with it. In this one, I had the vision of striding over to
the table, bratwurst in hand, strong, strapping muscles of my chest
bursting as I reached over to Anna's hand. I would march her into the
kitchen, reaching up and pulling down her - silk, black, g-string,
of course, and sliding my fingers inside. Then, with a thrust, as she
uttered cooing Germanic phrases to me, I would feel the warm wetness of her
pussy, my index finger sliding in and out. Then I would release the
powerful, twelve-foot long erection from my jeans, and while the customers
outside wondered what we were doing, I would slide my cock deep inside her
pussy, my hand roaming over her breasts, hefting their massive weight in my
hands, while she dangled somewhere near the ceiling fans, impaled on my
gigantic pecker. This is where I came back to reality, because Anna was
leaning over the table and presenting me a small check. I smiled, took a
look down her one more time, checked the bill...and had a minor heart
attack. Imaginary or not, this was definitely a shock to the system.
"Is this correct?" I asked, looking at her with something close to panic.
The number closely resembled one of the serial numbers on my computer at
home. She picked up the check, then smiled and shook her head. She came
around the table (dammit) and leaned over my chest (WOO HOO!), pressing her
breasts into my shoulder, a long, delicate finger pointing to a much
smaller number with a much smaller figure underneath it. I handed her one
of the credit cards with the low limit on it, and figured the bill to be
somewhere between eight and ten bucks - damned reasonable, in my opinion,
since I'd spent more than that on my last date trying to get a peek at
Ashley Overwright's and getting no farther than a handshake at the
door. She said something else in German to a guy in the back and indicated
I should follow her. I grabbed my credit card, signed where I was supposed
to, and followed Anne as she walked out of the cafe and turned the corner.
I hauled my pack up to my shoulders, and before I knew it, we were headed
up a narrow flight of marble stairs. My eyes locked to the back of her
thighs as we went up the stairs. Even in the dim light, I could swear I
saw the light hairs of her winking at me from under her skirt.
God, I wanted her...I wanted to see her naked, sprawled on a bed,
underneath me. And then it hit me. There is a smell, a special smell when
a woman is turned on, in heat, horny, sexed up and turned on. I had
smelled it before, tasted the musk from the lips of my dates and licked the
juices from my fingers. And since there was only one other person in the
remote vicinity other than me, my hormone-ravaged mind locked into it.
Anna. I looked up and saw her standing at the top of the stairs, five or so
feet above me. Her skirt had hitched itself up and she was standing with
one foot on the landing, one on the lower step. She smiled down at me and
said, in as clear English as I could ever hear, "Are you coming up,
Jacques?" This put things in a whole new perspective. And speaking of, the
perspective of where I was allowed me a clear glimpse of a blonde-furred
pussy in all of its glory. The musk stamped itself indelibly on my
nostrils and I swear, there could be no more young, horny bull ready to
charge forth than I was at that moment. I think Anna knew it too, because
she walked around the corner, leaving me and my heavy pack behind on the
stairwell. It turned out Anna knew the woman (or girl, would be more
accurate) who ran the little hostel. She introduced me in a flurry of
German to Serena, a raven-haired, slender with a slight almond face
and a dark, olive tone to her skin. I self-consciously tried to puff up my
chest underneath the scarred leather jacket and look somewhat bigger than I
actually am (which often makes me look horrendously ridiculous, since I was
on the swim team and played pickup mud rugby with my friends, and swelling
up my chest any further made me look like a pigeon rather than the
muscleman I always imagined myself. This stopped when I got a of
myself puffing out my chest next to Isabella, the Spanish Mona Lisa I met
later on my trip. But that's a different story.) Anna turned and gestured
down the hall. "This way, Jacques," and walked along. I caught the touch
of tongue to Serina's lips as I passed, but I was still trying to figure
out exactly what was going on before I said or did anything stupid. Anna
had to be no more than twenty, Serena maybe 18, and I was still a foreigner
with little grasp on the local customs. Anna opened a door and showed me
the room. It wasn't much; a bed on a wooden frame and a coverlet - no top
sheet. Given the time of day it was starting to get really warm, so I
supposed I wouldn't mind. Anna walked over and handed me a key. "This is
your room key. And bathrooms are over across the hall." I swallowed. I
hadn't noticed it before, but Anna's white clung to her with small
patches of sweat. She tossed her braid over her shoulder. "Dinner
downstairs, it is at 7." She looked at me for a moment, then flashed her
white teeth at me again. Her eyes were dancing behind the glasses. "Do
you want to know anything, Jacques?" "Uh, yeah," I said. "I appreciate
everything and all, but, I was wondering. Do I get any choice in this, at
all?" I tried to sound joking, but her eyes lit up with alarm and her mouth
gasped in a small "O". "Oh, I am sorry!" she said. "Stefan says you are
like good friend to him, so I am to take good care of you. He says you are
friend of his from America, and that you wanted to have a good time in
Munich." I laughed inside. Oh, great. The fantastic hospitality. I
thought I might have to fight to find a place to stay, and here it was
handed to me on a silver platter. Just because I lied and said I rode a
Harley... "I'm sorry, I'm just tired from my flight. And I had a lot to
eat." "Sorry?" "Sleepy. I was up very late. I'm sore, too." "Ah!" Anna
nodded. "Stefan is massager. He taught me how to massage." I had to bite
my lip. This was way too weird. "You're joking, right?" "No no!" Anna
said. "You lie down, I'll give you massage." I watched her eyes dart to
the left and right. I shrugged, sliding my jacket off next to my pack.
"Okay, but I warn you, I'm pretty tight. " I rolled my fingers on my
shoulder to demonstrate. I was wearing a white t-shirt underneath - didn't
show off too much, but it was still enough. She gestured to the bed. "You
lie down. Relax." I obeyed, and watched her open up the windows. Then she
disappeared behind me, and I heard the door shut, and the lock click. I
heard a gentle rustling behind me, and then the weight of a German
girl rested solely on my butt. I could feel her body's warmth pushing
against mine, and my cock was raging underneath my jeans, crying for
release. The bed was soft, but the combined weight of this gorgeous German
girl on my back and the knowledge that the fingers pressing into my spine
just above my ass were inches away from a naked female body was not helping
keep my body at rest. She was very good, I'll admit that. Kinks and knots
that had been plaguing my shoulders from the minute I lifted my pack in
SeaTac and hauled it halfway around the globe were disappearing, but there
was one very stiff muscle that was crying out for release. Each time she
pressed down on my back, the pressure from my body and hers would push me
into the covers. Then I felt her fingers underneath my shirt, and I
thought I would lose it into the covers right then. She started slowly
moving her hands over my shoulder. I rolled my head on the bed and tried
to get a look back at her, but all I could see was black skirt covering two
soft, white-skinned knees. I had a glimpse of hair, but she moved
her fingers to my neck and started rubbing out the soreness there. And then
she touched my ear. It wasn't a massage maneuver, at all. I have very
sensitive ears and the minute someone touches them, I turn into a horny
little beast. I nearly surged forward, my cock straining at the waistband
of my pants. I tried to restrain myself. Calm down, my head told me. She
doesn't know what she's doing. And then I felt a warm, cushioning body lay
down on top of mine. A soft, husky voice said, "I have next three hours
off...would you like to talk, Jacques?" And it was at that point her hands
moved under my body, grabbed my white shirt, and pulled it up. Those
beautiful breasts, the item of wonder were pressing, bare, into the middle
of my back. Now call me crazy, but that usually means a woman is interested
in you more than just as a warm body. I rolled my neck over and looked
into those blue eyes. "Um...Anna?" "Yes?" she purred. Her face, minus the
glasses, was not quite so intriguing. The myopia of the nearsighted made
her eyes look especially deep and blue. I could barely contain myself, yet
I had to do something, at the very least, to make some kind of honorable
gesture towards her. "I don't speak very much German, and I don't know how
much English you speak, but this isn't some kind of German welcoming
ritual, right? I mean, in my country, when a guy has a lying on him
like this, it gets kind of..." She rolled me over onto my back, lifting her
leg and allowing me another glimpse and musky breath of that special smell
of a woman in heat. "What do you think I want to do with you, Jacques? Do
you think I just want to tuck you into bed, hmm?" For the first time, I saw
those dangling free from the confines of that blouse. She murmured
softly, a fire in her eyes, "I want to fuck your brains out, Jacques." I
couldn't help myself. My hands went directly to them. Anna's were
firm and full, rounded and almost muscular in the way they fit into my
hands. I ran my fingers along them, Anna holding her nipples in the palm
of my hand before I moved my mouth forward to suck on the small brown
nipples in the middle of the creamy white skin. I buried my fingers in her
hair, my hands grabbing at the tresses. Somehow, she reached up,
making a small gasp as my tongue found her nipple and my mouth began
sucking on her tit. Her hair came flooding down around my shoulders, and
she pressed her ample body to mine. My left hand, always the devilish one,
traced a line from her throat to her right breast, my mouth firmly attached
to her left. I ran my tongue along the underside of her left tit, feeling
the fine, goosedown hairs that tickled my lower lip. And without further
ado, my finger slid underneath the black cotton of her skirt and found her
legs. She moaned, digging her nails into my shoulder as I touched the
forest of her hair, muttering, "Yes, fuck your brains out. Touch
me..." There is, I swear, nothing sexier than a woman with an accent
leaning back, naked in your arms, telling you that she's going to fuck your
brains out. My fingers dove between her legs, finding her lips soaked and
the soft skin of her inner lips radiant with her body heat. The velvet
softness of her inner parts drew me in. I turned, feeling her hand against
mine, pushing my fingers deeper inside of her. "Ja," she said, biting on my
ear. I ran my fingers around the inside of her, touching every inch I
could. Then, before I knew it, she had leaned back with my fingers still
inside of her, pulling my mouth towards hers. God, this was incredible.
Not five hours in the country and I was already messing around with an
incredibly gorgeous Germanic babe, right from the pages of Playboy. Her
pussy at my fingers, and I found her clit, toying with it, rubbing
the tip of my middle finger over and over it again. She gasped and bit at
my shoulder when I did. I was in absolute wonder. I mean, what is it about
some pimply teenaged American kid that turns a on? In retrospect, I
should have wondered, and I still do, about what the deal was with her. I
felt deeper, and she squirmed on my fingers, her lush thighs gaping open.
Finally, I looked down. My cock raged as I saw my first in my life.
Freud once said that it's amazing that the human genitals can be so
hideously ugly and yet so exciting at the same time. I hadn't read Freud,
but at that point, I would have tried to dig him up out of the ground so I
could shove his collected works right up his Oedipus Rectus. Her lips were
pouty and full, each long strand of pubic hair curled and glistening in the
late afternoon warmth. She lifted her leg up, apparently to get more
comfortable, and I saw the shiny labia of her split, with my knuckle
buried deep within her pussy. She saw me looking and bit her lip, smiling,
then moved her fingers to her clit and began massaging. I had never seen a
more beautiful sight. The skin of her thighs met the join of her and
watching her fingers slide in and out of her body was more erotic than
anything I've ever seen before. Well, call the a fast learner, because
in a few seconds, I found out precisely why they call the clit the joy
button. I stroked it as quickly as I could. Once, Anna winced and grabbed
my hand, then muttered, "Here, and here...not here," when she showed me to
stroke the little folds of skin next to it, but not on it. So here I am,
this virgin male fingering the hell out of this gorgeous German
chick. Her brown nipples are bouncing, and her hands are running through
my short, reddish hair. She begins to buck, and finally, I find this
interesting bump of flesh deep inside of her and begin pressing, exploring.
And she goes apeshit. Anna's ass lifted from the bed and thrust towards me.
She began gasping in German, over and over again, crying out as she moved
on my fingers. I had my finger stilled pressed up against the little spot,
and my tongue was roaming over her nipples, biting, on them for all
I was worth. She gasped, then grabbed my hand and tried to shove it
further inside her. Suddenly, she screamed out something, then yelled "Oh,
Gott! O Gott! Gott! Ja!". I felt this rush of warmth, gooey and liquid
flood over my fingers, and this warm, musky smell permeated the room.
Later on I found out that the little thing I was messing around with was
the G-Spot. Yes, guys, it exists. Yes, it can be played with. And no,
it's ain't a pain in the ass to deal with. In fact, I was preparing to
place my face in-between those gorgeous thighs and begin licking away like
a madman had she not started to come. I smiled at her, watching her face as
she turned her eyes into the pillow. Then, she rolled back over and said,
"Jacques, you have not undressed. You are not fair to me. Strip." I tell
you, there are times you just don't want to be wearing tight jeans, and
when a naked who's just had an orgasm with your fingers inside of her
is telling you to get naked, that's definitely not one of those times. She
spread her legs, then delicately slid a finger inside of herself, smearing
the juice from her all over her thighs. The smell of her pervaded
the room. She stood up on the bed, and slid the skirt off, lying naked,
pussy wide open. And there I stood with my pants around my ankles, trying
like hell to remember why I thought those canvas Converse basketball
shoes were so stylish, and cursing the engineering behind them while trying
to get them off. Finally I succeeded, and I knelt on the bed, doing
nothing but staring at this gorgeous naked woman. "Are not going to make
love to me, Jacques?" she said, smiling at me. Her fingers snaked out and
grabbed hold of my cock, which was stiff and thick, with the precum coating
it. She pulled me towards her, directing me, until I was at the entrance
to her pussy. I could feel each individual hair rubbing against my
cockhead. She moaned, and thrust her hips up at me. I could feel the lips
of her part to greet my cock. "Fuck me, Jacques. Fuck me hard," she
said. With that, she threw her legs around my ass and pulled me deep inside
of her. I can still remember exactly what it felt like. A warm, wet mouth
sliding around me, yet curving towards the back. Her pressed
against my chest, her nipples almost hurting me as they rubbed against my
skin. I could feel the tip of her cervix as I bounced back and forth
between her legs. She spread her legs so far apart, encouraging me to go
deeper those first few minutes that I was almost afraid she'd apart.
I kept saying, "Oh, God, this is so fucking good," and things like, "God,
you're so beautiful" as I slammed my cock deep inside her. Apparently, she
started to come again, because not five minutes after I began fucking her,
she began bucking against me, and screaming again in German as her clenched tight around my dick. It was all I could do to keep from coming
as I felt wave after wave of tightness, then soft relaxation, then
tightness again from the walls of her pussy. She turned over on her stomach
and said, "Fuck me like dog." "Doggy-style?" I asked, a slight grin on my
face. "Yes, doggy-style," she said, grinning back at me. I leaned over
her, preparing to position my cock between her legs. I wasn't very good at
it yet, but with the amount of lubrication between her legs, it wasn't hard
finding someplace to put my cock. She gasped, and thrust her hips back. I
could see my tool sliding in and out of her puffy lips, watch her hips
thrust back against me. I put my hands on those wide, generous hips and
pulled her back onto my cock, over and over again. Now, I know now I should
have locked the door. Really, I should have, but without thinking about it
much, I was feeling a bit of a draft. No matter. My cock was thick,
almost as as my slender little wrists (I am SCREWED when it comes to
handcuffs. No Harry Houdini routines for me. forearms, tiny wrists,
big hands. It sucks) and I was pounding the most clinging I had
every felt in my life, not an hour after meeting this girl. I felt her
hand diving between her legs, feeling my sack, then pressing it up against
her clit. I moaned, and she started to come again, this time slamming her
body into the sheets. I couldn't help myself. She started asking me
something in German before I realized this incredible pulsing feeling
wasn't coming from her body; it was coming from my cock. My cock was
pulsing, throbbing, and I felt something I'd never felt in my hand - her
warm wet flesh giving way to me. I was at her cervix, slamming into her
with all I could before I suddenly heard her cry one more time, and felt
her wrench itself around me. That was all my body needed. I grabbed
her hips and half-held her off the bed as I spurted gobs of white deep inside of her body. I could feel it slamming the deepest recesses of
her and gushing back to fill up her pussy. I could smell the
simmering buttermilk and musk scent from between our legs, and I kept
fucking at her, trying to milk my cock for every last drop. She suddenly
rolled over and slid down underneath me, taking my cock into her mouth and
sucking on it. I realized she was on her own juices and my come.
And then I heard a light gasp, a hurried *click* and a slight groan from
Anna. "What? What's wrong?" I rolled off of her, my dick softening
quickly. She had a look of unhappiness in her eyes. "Nothing, Jacques. It
is only that the door, it was open, and I think someone was watching us." I
must have looked horrified, because she suddenly laughed and put a hand on
my face. "No no, it was probably only Serena. And from the fucking you
are giving, you have nothing to fear." She suddenly grabbed my face and
kissed me, her tongue sliding deep into my mouth. My cock twitched, then
rose again, stiffening quickly. Anna broke apart from me, then caught her
breath and ran her hand through my sparse chest hair. She smiled, then
whispered, "I know it was Serena. And she knows I saw her. Maybe, if you
are lucky..." she trailed off, her eyes focusing on my cock, standing
straight up, pointed directly at her pussy, still dripping with the trails
of come and juice. "I feel very, very lucky," I said, holding her
face in my hands, kissing her. She slid onto my lap, my cock fitting
neatly into the slit of her lips. "Perhaps, Jacques, you would give me more
luck?" She smiled, and slid her body onto mine in a way that I couldn't
argue. I could see myself disappearing into her warm, freshly fucked cunt,
and when I looked up, I saw nothing but an expression of pure lust and job
in her face. She checked her watch. "Ich habe nichts arbeitiet a tre ura,"
she said, then shook her head. "I don't have to work for another three
hours," she said, gasping as she bottomed out on me. "Whatever shall we
do?" she asked. I smiled, then pulled her body down on top of mine,
thrusting my all-American cock deep into that fine, pussy. God bless
Germanic hospitality!
(to be continued...)
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