Around The World In Eighteen Lays Ch 08

CHAPTER 8: COMINGS AND GOINGS

Cindy hears all about John's first night with Melissa. What happened next

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"I was in Norwich for an interview," John recalled, breathing evenly, carefully and deliberately as Cindy skilfully raised the pleasure level. "Her father was a wine merchant and needed someone to visit vineyards in France."

"Just the kind of thing for a man with a Cambridge degree," she remarked, cancelling out the irony by absent-mindedly circling his glans with her finger-tip. She knew exactly when to stop.

He chuckled. "The thing is, wine has been imported from France into East Anglia for centuries. Claret, now ..."

"Yes, John. I know all about where the word comes from," she said. "Tell me about Melissa."

"They invited me to sleep over before taking the train back to London. The wife -- nice-looking woman -- made dinner. I saw there was an extra place setting. It was for their grown-up daughter Melissa, who came in a bit late from work. She was something to behold, let me tell you. Still is."

"Good," said Cindy, giving him an encouraging squeeze. "Sexy?" She urged him a little more, bringing him closer to the edge.

"Yes. But you know, I was lusting after her mother."

"Deep-breasted, matronly? British boobs are best?"

"Like mother, like daughter. Except I'd say she was 36D rather than 34C."

"Nice. Squeeze me again? Mmm."

That was nice, too. Her breast was small but shapely, and the structured feel of her bra excited him. He was becoming a connoisseur. Variety was to be celebrated.

"We sat in the living room and watched the news. Melissa took herself off to her room early. Her father fell asleep, and I stole a glance at her mother's calves. That trim, sleek look."

"Yes, I know. I'm enjoying this. Go on."

"You get turned on, just thinking about me and another woman? You're the best! Anyway, I could have sworn she lifted the hem of her skirt so I could see her thigh, but for the life of me I can't tell how she did it."

"You were having an enjoyable time, weren't you? Getting hard?" She enclosed his shaft again, gripping a little more tightly, now.

"Must I keep talking?" he groaned, but it was the groan of a happy man. She nodded, and he continued. "Then she got up to go to bed, too. As she leaned forward her breasts swung into view -- you know that downblouse thing."

"Yes. All big-breasted women do it. They want you to get an eyeful of their assets. Except for those well-trained ones who lift a finger to their top button to keep it from falling open. Doesn't that make you mad?"

"Horrible. So mean." He fondled her again. "You don't mind?"

"I like it. So you went to bed with your hard-on? Like this?"

His dick was heavy and firm to her touch. "You bet I did. It didn't seem right to do anything about it in my future employer's guest room, though. Cindy, Cindy, stop. No, don't stop. OK, you know what you're doing. I've never felt so horny, with you holding my prick while I tell you a sexy story."

"And then Melissa walked in."

"Who's writing the script?" He couldn't help thrusting, just a little, in her hand, and then checked himself. God, it felt good. "Yes, the door handle turned, I saw a shape, then the door closed and I heard something soft drop on the floor. It was pitch dark, you understand."

"Mother or daughter? 34 or 36? C or D?"

"For a minute I wasn't sure. You can't measure someone's tits that quickly. And in any case, when a man has that kind of flesh in his grasp, he stops thinking."

"Thinking now, John?" She reached up for a moment to press his palm more firmly to her petit perfection.

"I'm beyond thinking." How he wanted just to come, to get it over with. He couldn't even think of another position. But the sensation of her cool hand, keeping him on the verge as he remembered his first night with Melissa, was so soothing that he never wanted it to end.

"Once I knew it was Melissa, I felt a bit guilty about ogling her mother. That didn't stop me stiffening even more. In an instant she guided me into her and we came, without noise. It was the quickest fuck of my life, and the most intense."

"Keep thinking of it, John, dearest. Remember what it felt like to have her warm wet cunt around you for the first time and her bush pressing against your pubic bone. Try to relive her taste, her smell, her touch, even the sound of her whispering into your ear. Think, John, think. Feel the heat. Thrust into her. Again. Keep it going. And now come -- come, John." It took her only one stroke, a single skilled movement of her slender strong hand, and his load gushed out.

He struggled to keep his shuddering hips under control as he came, all over Cindy's hand, onto her pristine counterpane.

She fetched a damp facecloth to clean up. "You'll have to stay the night while we get your pants presentable again," she laughed.

He looked at her lovingly. Her bra still beckoned him; her slim hips were encased in her short skirt. His gaze rested on the tops of her thighs as she knelt beside him at her work of ablution. He reached out a hand to stroke her, sliding under her skirt until he felt the lacy edge of her panties.

"You don't need me," she said. "I like what you're doing, and if you like you can feel me up a bit more." She sighed with pleasure. "But it's Melissa you need to get inside."

Game over. His fingers lingered a while on her pussy, and then he dropped into a deep, satisfied sleep. He was half-way around the world, but he was going to be on the next flight to London.

Melissa had no idea of Cindy's deal-breaking chastity. She was walking along a country lane with Antonia. They looked back towards the village to admire the square stone tower of the ancient medieval church. She put her arm around her lover's shoulder, protectively, and even, yes, possessively. Indeed, what were they to do?

"You won't let me fuck you again until this is resolved, will you, Antonia?"

"A terrible waste, but no, I guess not."

"It's him or you, isn't it?"

"I don't do ultimatums. I love you, Melissa, and I don't want to hurt you. You must be at peace with whatever you decide."

"Love hurts."

"Would we give up love because of the pain?"

"Not this kind of love, Toni." There was her answer.

"Will you miss him?"

"I would have missed you more."

They had another night in the country before they had to get back to London, and, as it turned out, one final night before John's flight came in from Manila, over the Pole. Their appetite for each other seemed boundless. By Tuesday morning they were glowing with health and sexual fulfilment. Antonia helped Melissa dress for Heathrow.

"If you wear that, he won't be able to keep his hands off you, and then how will you tell him? Don't you think you should just have one almighty farewell fuck with him tonight? Pull out all the stops. Have your last fill of cock. Give him a night he'll never forget. I won't mind."

"No. He's a good man, Toni. Once he knows I'm in love with you and I've chosen you, he'll accept it. A modern Stoic. A goodbye bonk, coming and going, will only make it harder for him."

"All right, then we've got to keep him limp. If that's your plan, you'd better wear this."

Antonia squashed Melissa into a tough chest-flattening bra, fastened the waistband of her check pants, patted an old, shapeless jumper over her now shy breasts, and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "Of course, I could fuck him for you, if you like. Booby prize."

"Boob-less prize, more like it," said Melissa, putting both her hands on her lover's pert bare breasts and caressing them. As the familiar heat began to spread once more, she whispered to herself, "I'm so sorry, John. And you only got to Position 7."

Then she brightened. "Of course, there's always my mom."

Eighty miles away her mother Dolores, divorced now for over a year, was also getting dressed. As she bent down to pull up her lacy knickers, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Framed there, her mighty 36D breasts bloomed pink and plump.

"Let's not allow these girls go to waste," she said to herself, reaching up to fondle them with satisfaction. "I wonder, now ..."

Dolores' story will appear soon in the category "Mature", as "Living Up to My Blue Brassiere".