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An American Houseguest Ch. 01

By: petitmort



"Hey Jake, time to go."

I'm jolted awake from my catnap in time to hear the female voice on the loudspeaker: 

"Lufthansa flight 229 now boarding at Gate 22A." 

I sit up in my Mies van der Rohe chair and get my bearings. My friend Peter and I are encamped in the first class lounge at JFK on our way to Zurich. I grab my bag and follow Peter to the gate.

Before you get the wrong idea about me, let me explain.

First, I'm not a first class lounge kind of guy. On the contrary, this is the first time I've ever flown anything but economy. No, I'm definitely a fish out of water here, sampling canapes from crisply-dressed German frauleins.

I'm also not a jet-setter who's prone to jetting off to Zurich, Switzerland for a week's vacation. Oh, I've done the backpacking trip to Europe, and spent a semester in France in my junior year, but that's different. You don't fly off to Europe for a week on a writer's income. 

No, the only reason I'm here at all is because of my friend, Peter.

Peter and I met in college and have been hanging out for a couple of years while we both lived in New York. I'm an aspiring writer who supports himself doing the odd temp job. Peter works for Lazard Freres in international finance and comes from a whole different world. 

It was Peter who had the idea for us to go to his family's vacation home in Switzerland. It's autumn and we were both burnt out on the city. He said his family met up there every year and I was more than welcome. They had plenty of room. He was even paying for my plane ticket. "I always fly first class" he explained. "They serve better wine there." 

Peter comes from old money and he has the noblesse oblige that attaches itself to the upper class. He had gone to boarding school, studied at Oxford and Yale (where I'd met him), and had gotten his position as a top-tier financial consultant through his father's connections. He's cynical but has a good heart. And he makes me laugh.

I come from humbler stock. I was a scholarship kid at Yale, raised in a lower middle class area outside Pittsburg. My Dad was a machinist and my Mom taught school. I was determined to make a go of it as a writer of fiction. So far, all I had to show for it was a handful of rejection letters and a scanty bank account. No, Peter and I were from very different worlds.

As we settle into our leather seats in the nose of the Lufthansa jet, I ask Peter about what to expect in Switzerland.

"So who else is going to be there? At your parents'?" I ask as the flight attendant pours our welcome glass of champagne. 

"There'll just be us, my Mom and Dad, and my sister. Plus any guests they might have."

"And you're sure there'll be no problem with space?" I inquire, imagining myself sleeping on the floor in the laundry room.

Peter just laughs. "Don't worry. There'll be room." 

"More champagne?" the sexy flight attendant asks. Her German-flecked accent is competent yet friendly, businesslike yet familiar. She bends over to refill my glass. Twenty-four, twenty-five tops. Hair pulled back tight from her face. Beautiful body.

Is it my imagination or are the flight attendants sexier in first class than the ones I usually get in economy? Something about the form fitting uniforms and the solicitous manner. The one assigned to Peter and me is hot as hell. She moves like she knows our eyes are trained on her. 

"You know, you have the honor of serving a very prestigious writer." Peter says grandly, having some fun.

I shake my head, embarrassed. Here we go again.

"Jake's a novelist. Watch out or you'll end up in his latest work. He's always looking for material."

The flight attendant smiles and flashes her gorgeous eyes my way. I give a little shrug as if to say "what can I do?" We watch her as she glides back to the galley.

"She's definitely into kink" Peter whispers with a sly grin. "Shall we invite her to the lake?"

I wouldn't put it past Peter to do just that. He has this way of saying or doing whatever he wants, when he wants. A healthy ego and a well-developed sense of entitlement. But he gets away with it more often than not. I decide to use the opening to find out more.

"Tell me about the lake. What's your place like?"

"It's been in my family for generations. My great, great grandfather bought the island around the turn of the century and they built the house in the late 20's. It's rustic but quite livable." 

"He bought the island? You own an island? How rich are you anyway?"

Peter laughed. "It's all illusory. A vestige of fortunes past."

That's how he talked. In riddles. 

"Well, I never thought I'd be vacationing on a private island in Switzerland" I said shaking my head.

"An island's an island, Jason" said Peter with an insouciant shrug.

At the very least this will be an experience to remember, I thought. 

"What's your family like?" I asked.

"My family" he says with mock drama. "Where do I start with my family?"

"Your Dad, for instance."

"Dear old Dad's not much of a Dad I'm afraid. Too busy making deals and fucking the servants" Peter was getting a little tipsy. "Naturally, that doesn't make my Mum too happy. But he's a mighty good provider." His voice dripped of sarcasm. "He never had a problem money couldn't fix."

"And your Mom?" I ask quietly.

"Mum's a piece of work. She was a real beauty in her time. World class. 'Veronique La Belle.' She was a top fashion model back in the day. That's why Dad snagged her, I guess. Good genes. Then she popped out a couple of kids and Dad started to cast his eyes elsewhere. It's not easy being thrown over for les jeunes filles. I guess that's why she became a drunk."

"What kind of Mom was she?" I ask. 

"Oh, first rate. She loved us kids so much she put us in only the very best boarding schools. She's a real peach."

"Tell me how you really feel" I say wryly. Peter just shrugged.

"Like any family. I find I do best when I approach these visits with lowered expectations."

"And your sister?"

"Ah, Isabelle. She's an angel." His voice is quiet now, sincere.

"You'll like Izzy. She's an artist. Like you. A prima ballerina. Or at least she was. Mom's got her on a short leash, it seems. Wants her to marry well, you know. Doesn't see the payoff in pursuing the pas de deux."

He looks down in his glass, thoughtfully.

"She's a good kid." He closes his eyes. That's all for now, I sense.

I think about the world I'm about to enter. The world of old money. The ordinary dysfunctional family distorted by extraordinary wealth and advantage. It'll be interesting if nothing else. I close my eyes and drift off to the steady hum of the jet's engines.

When I awaken, the first class cabin is dark. Shades are shut and most everyone's asleep. The curtains are drawn and the flight attendants are getting some well deserved rest. I get up to stretch my legs.

I go to the galley which joins the two sides of the plane. I stretch and twist my back. These red eyes are no fun. From the opposite entry, our flight attendant appears. 

"Mr. Scott. May I help you?" 

"Did I sleep through dinner?" I ask.

"You did. Your friend said not to wake you." 

I nod and let out a little laugh. "That sounds like him. A real practical joker."

She steps closer. "Would you like me to give you something? Make something special for you?"

I look at her for a moment. Oh boy, would I. "What have you got?"

She smiles and goes to one of the storage compartments. She reaches up and starts to look through some sliding trays. As she reaches up, I take in her lovely body. God, what a beauty.

She assembles a tray with chicken picata, rice pilaf, vegetables, and a glass of white wine. She asks if I want her to serve me at my seat but I decline, preferring to eat standing. She chats with me while I do. We exchange names. Marta. From Berlin.

"So, are you really a writer?" she asks casually.

"Yep, or at least I try to be."

"What do you write?"

"Novels mainly."

"What kind of things do you write about?"

"Just...life. My experiences. Things that interest me."

"I'd love to be in a novel. A form of immortality, no?"

"I guess it is. Yes."

Her eyes are green and catlike; her hair auburn. She has a knowing confidence beyond her years. And that body. 

"What do I have to do to get in your novel, Mr. Scott."

I look at her for a moment.

"Well, let's see. Do something memorable, I guess."

"What would be memorable enough to make it in your novel?"

I smile. "That's a good question. It would have to be something out of the ordinary. Something leaving a lasting impression."

She takes a step towards me. Her hand reaches out to smooth my collar. I realize her fingers are still on my chest.

"I'd like to do something memorable with you."

Her hand moves from my chest to my mouth. She runs her fingers across my lips.

I feel my heart start to pound. "I have a few ideas. A writer always has ideas."

"And what ideas do you have, Mr. Scott? For me and you."

I reach out and gently run my finger from her mouth, down her neck, over her luscious breast, down her tummy, to her crotch. 

She smiles and gives me a sexy look.

"It'd be my pleasure to serve you."

She gestures to the bathroom behind me. I step into the small compartment leaving the door slightly ajar. Can this be happening?

A moment later the door opens. Marta steps quickly in and shuts the door. The small room illuminates. She's holding the bottle of white wine and two glasses. She pours the wine into both glasses and hands one to me. We toast and she gives me a megawatt smile. Then she gives me a ripe, juicy kiss, pressing her chest against mine.

"Let's do something memorable, shall we?" she purrs.

Stepping back, she pulls out her hairclip and shakes her hair to her shoulders. She lowers her eyes at me and starts to strip. She unzips the side of her form-fitting uniform and lets it drop to the floor. Lacy black bra and panties grace her incredible body. I move to her, kissing her, cupping her breast. She pushes me back against the bathroom wall.

"I'm here to serve you, Mr. Scott" she smiles. With that, she starts to slowly unbutton my shirt, sliding her hands over both my pecs and nipples. Electricity. She's undoing my belt now.

I decide to let her drive. I lean back and watch her. Her hands are deft, no wasted movements. I look in the reflection of the mirror over the sink. Her bikini panties try and fail to cover her butt. It's exquisite. My cock is growing hard.

My pants drop to the floor. She kneels down to lift them off my feet, stroking my legs as she does. She gives me a sly look and then starts to pull down my boxers, slowly. Little by little, she slides the cotton fabric down my thighs, tickling the head of my penis, which is growing long and hard. She lets the descending shorts slowly reveal my cock, an inch at a time, until it is finally free and springs out. 

"Mmmmmmmmmm" she says, licking her lips. She removes my boxers and soon her hands are on my ass and her mouth on my cock. I let out a moan.

She's sucking my cock now. Circling the head with her tongue. She sends shivers down my spine. She wraps her full lips around the head and slides up and down the shaft. I'm fully erect now and her eyes are fixed on mine. Those gorgeous eyes. I lean back and thrust out my hips. She takes me deeply into her throat. I moan loudly.

Fully hard now, she lifts her head and stands before me. Slowly she slips the straps of her bra off each shoulder. She unclasps it and it drops to the floor. Her breasts are perfect, ripe melons, high-standing with pert, pink nipples. I reach out to touch them but she pushes me away. Slowly, she starts to pull at her panties. First one side then the other. God, she's sexy. My cock stands straight up, at full attention. I couldn't get any harder.

Her panties on the floor, she stands fully naked before me. A beautiful, young creature with fire in her eyes. She's moving sensually, rocking back and forth, touching herself. She slides her fingers over her breasts, pausing to play with each nipple. Then her hand finds her crotch and she slips a finger into her slit and slides it in her crack. She runs the moist finger over my lips and I taste her scent. It's intoxicating.

She turns to the counter and takes a glass of wine. She turns to me with a naughty look. Then she takes the glass and slowly pours a little bit of the wine on her breast, so that it runs down her milky white skin and across her nipple. The chill causes her nipple to stand up.

"Would you like a sip, Mr. Scott?"

"I would, very much" I reply and I lower my mouth to her breast. My tongue caresses her nipple, which is hard and supple. My lips encircle the rosy flesh and I suck it and the wine into my mouth. She leans back against the counter, her legs spread, her back arched, and her chest out. I reach around to hold her ass as I suck. Her fingers are in my hair. 

I lift my head and she does the same to the other breast, pouring a dollop of wine so it trickles down and over the nipple. Again, I suck hungrily. She's breathing heavily now. Her hand grips the back of my head and pulls me to her breast. My fingers find their way to her pussy. 

I'm massaging her labia, sliding my finger into the wet folds of her pussy. She's wet and tight and so very hot. I slide two fingers inside her and she moans. I'm watching her face now. She's leaning back against the sink, legs spread, and her nipples are both large and glistening from my sucking. She's a sight to behold. 

I kiss her breasts and stomach and drop to my knees. She stands on her tiptoes with her legs spread so my tongue can find her pussy. It's mostly shaved, with a little landing strip. I tongue her, probing her insides and dragging it over her swollen clit until she shudders.

I stand and press my naked body against hers, my chest against her breasts, brushing the nipples, my cock pressed between our stomachs. I kiss her deeply and my tongue finds hers. As we separate, she bites my lower lip hungrily. She's on fire. 

I lift her and she wraps her legs around my hips. I guide my cock to her pussy. God, it's so hot and wet. I slowly press it in her. She lets out a gasp and my tip pops inside her.

She's wetter than any pussy I've ever felt, yet she's tight. Really tight. Her eyes squeeze shut as I push into her. I watch her face as my long, hard cock slides into her pussy. Her mouth opens and she lets out a muffled cry. I thrust myself deep inside her and she moans, her eyes rolling back in her head. I start to stroke her, long, slow strokes with the full length of my cock. It feels like she's squeezing my cock with her tight little pussy.

I'm holding her weight in my arms, but it's no effort. She's arching and undulating her body now, meeting my thrusts with her own. We're like two perfectly integrated beings, moving as one. I'm thrusting my pelvis now, sliding my cock in and out of her, pulling it out so the head spreads her lips, and then pushing in again until I feel the tip press against her cervix.

Her little cries are increasing now and I sense she's approaching orgasm. She leans back, with her hands on the counter. One leg stretches out to brace against the wall, the other is around my waist, pulling me closer. I watch her as I pump her. She's biting her lip, her eyes are ablaze, her breasts are heaving. I have one hand under her butt, supporting her, while the other is on her pubis, my thumb massaging her clit.

She tilts her head back and moans. Her body shakes and I can feel her pussy contract around my cock. She's coming now and I look in the mirror to see the two of us, she with her head tilted back, breasts bouncing, and legs spread, and me, pumping and thrusting and ramming my cock into her, again and again. The sight is such a turn on I feel the electrical charge surge through my limbs and body and fire straight through my groin and cock. I explode inside her. Again and again, I spray my cum into her wet, tight pussy.

"Excuse me, Mr. Scott?" I open my eyes and see the flight attendant standing over me. "You need to fasten your seat belt for landing." I look around and see Peter sitting next to me, reading his magazine. It's light outside and we're approaching Zurich airport. I've been sleeping ever since I first drifted off.

End of Chapter 1

An American Houseguest Ch. 02



Peter and I are met at Zurich airport by a driver. Peter recognizes him by sight. We hop in the back of the Mercedes and soon we're racing down the autobaun. Two hours later we are pulling up to the boat launch at Lac Ste. Jeanne.

As the evening sun settles over the serated ridge, I take in the gorgeous vista before me. The writer me makes mental notes: the plane, the car ride, the Alpine lake. You have a pronounced sense of going somewhere, of covering ground. 

It's like a journey back in time.

The island is just a half hour boatride away. As we circle to the back side, I glimpse the house. It's an elegant stone construction with a terraced lawn and a castle-like turret. As we tie up at the dock, I see a figure running across the lawn to greet us.

"Pierre!" she shouts.

"Pierre?" I ask, sardonically. I had always known him as Peter.

"Family secret. The first of many to fall" he cracks as he waves to her. It's his sister, Isabelle.

Isabelle is a creature to behold. Lean and graceful, she bounds across the expanse of grass, a full mane of brown curly hair flowing behind her. As she reaches the dock, I see her face, beautiful in the afternoon light. She has a beaming smile as she hugs her brother.

"Izzy, this is my friend Jake I told you about." He turns to me.

"Bien sur. Of course, L'ecrivain fameux. The famous writer."

She has the most charming French accent. And that face. Perfect high cheekbones and the most beautiful hazel eyes I've ever seen.

"Enchante, Mademoiselle."

"Oh, he speaks French? Pee-Pee you didn't tell me."

"No, my French is atrocious. I've just used up my entire vocabulary."

"Pee-pee, you didn't tell me he was charming as well as handsome!" she says warmly. She takes us both by the arms. 

"What about our bags?" I ask. Peter replies with a flip of his hand.

"Auguste will take care of them."

As we head up to the house, I can't resist.

"Pee-pee?"

Peter laughs. "I told you, all the family secrets will be bared."

And with that, the three of us walk arm in arm to the house.

I'm totally unprepared for what I encounter inside. The large antique door opens to a stone entry way. Beams of dark wood grace the ceiling and enormous Persian rugs line the hardwood floor. Huge flower arrangements frame the stairway to the upper floors. I can see straight through an open door to the back of the house, into to a large room with a huge stone fireplace. Summer house? More like a villa.

"I'll let Mum and Dad know you're here" says Isabelle as she strides off.

I follow Peter up the stairs which lead to a suite of rooms facing the lake. He takes me to where I'll be staying, a beautiful, high-ceilinged room with floor-to-ceiling French doors opening onto a large terrace. A large canopied bed, armoir, and marble top dresser complete the room.

"This'll be your digs for the next week" says Peter.

"Not bad" I reply. "Not bad at all." 

"This is the young people's floor. Mom and Dad's rooms are upstairs."

"Rooms?"

"Oh yes, they've had separate bedrooms for years. Helps keep the peace."

"I understand." And I did. All too well.

"Do you want to meet the the royal highnesses or rest up a bit?"

"Hey." I reply. "Bring it on."

Peter smiles and we head off down the hallway. 

"This is Isabelle's room next to yours. This is mine. This is the playroom. Parents not allowed."

We circle down to the first floor, this time descending a different staircase. It takes us through the kitchen where two servants are preparing that evening's dinner. Peter gives a large woman in an apron a big hug.

"Francesca! La plus belle femme du monde!" Peter cries as he plants a big kiss on her forehead. An older man comes over to shake Peter's hand. "Claude, comment allez vous? Jake, meet Monsieur and Madame Fleury, the greatest cooks in all of Switzerland. They're the glue that holds this place together."

I shake hands with them both. The door opens and a striking young woman enters in a maid's outfit. She's a dark beauty, maybe nineteen, with lovely legs and dark, romantic eyes.

"Justine! Comment ca va? Tu es plus belle que je souviens!" He kisses her on both cheeks, clasping hands.

"Justine, je me presente mon ami Jake. Jake meet Justine. She's the lovely daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Fleury, the most beautiful little pastry ever to grace this household, AND...she speaks absolutely no English!"

Justine smiles and gives a little curtsy. I nod my head and say "Bonjour." I feel our eyes hold each other's gaze for a brief moment.

As we head out of the kitchen, Peter says under his breath. "Oh, if she wasn't practically my sister, my God!"

We make our way to through a large formal dining room and into the living room, the large room with the fireplace I'd seen on my arrival. An older gentleman in a smoking jacket is sitting in an easy chair reading the newspaper. On the couch is a younger dark-haired woman, very well dressed, holding a cigarette and tumbler in one hand and a book in the other. 

"We're here" calls out Peter as he strides in the room. He goes to his mother and kisses her on both cheeks. He then crosses to his father and shakes his hand, formally. I'm struck by the contrast between this greeting and the one I'd just witnessed in the kitchen.

"Mother, Father, I'd like to present my friend Jake Scott." I'm a bit surprised by the formality of the introduction and I put on my very best manners. I shake hands with his Mother first.

"Enchantez, Madame. Avec plaisir." She gives me a look that strikes me as pleasantly surprised.

"Welcome to our home, Jake. Why Peter, you didn't mention how handsome your young friend was. It's a pleasure to have you as our guest." 

"And Peter's descriptions of your beauty didn't do you justice" I respond, hoping not to hear Peter bust out laughing. 

"Oh, Peter, he IS charming." She looks me up and down. "Tres charmant." 

I move to Peter's Dad to shake hands and give a slight bow. "Merci Monsieur pour votre invitation." 

I was laying on the bullshit, but it felt like the right thing to do. I glance at Peter and he was just watching me 

with a smile on my face. 

Peter's Dad is a lot older than his Mom. Maybe 60. He looks like one of those landed gentry in the old Gaumont films, with a white mustache and prodigious belly. He seems a bit blustery and clueless. Is this the guy who made a bundle in banking? Hard to believe.

Peter's Mom is the embodiment of the old adage you can't be too rich or too thin. She probably early-40's but could easily pass for early-30's. She's slender, with high cheekbones, and fine features. Her face is very made up and her hair is impeccable, worn high on her head. She tends to lean her head back as if to catch a more favorable light like Norma Desmond in Sunset Boulevard.

After some pleasantries about our flight and life in New York, Peter says he's going to give me a tour. I don't mention I've just had a tour, of course. We pay our respects and say "a ce soir." 

Walking on the lawn outside Peter starts to rib me. "I didn't expect your unsurpassed beauty?" was that what you said? He's laughing. "Jake, i didn't know you had it in you. They are going to LOVE you." He laughs heartily.

"Just trying to be gracious" I say, laughing myself. Peter has a way to make me laugh even when I'm the butt of the joke.

We walk down to the lake and along the shore. He shows me the small sailboat they keep docked there and a couple of canoes. There's a swimming platform further out on the lake. We follow a path which leads to a stable. Inside, Isabelle is brushing down a beautiful horse. With her is a stable boy, maybe twenty years old. 

"Hey Guys" she calls out. "I'm just giving Lancelot a brushing after our ride." 

"He's beautiful" I say, and I mean it.

"He's an Arabian" says Isabelle. "Do you know horses?" 

"No, just that they're beautiful animals. Noble really."

"Yes, they are" she answers. "Exactly."

She turns to the young worker. "Antoine takes the best care of Lancelot. Don't you Antonine? Rides him everyday. Without fail."

Antoine smiles and mutters something in French about it being less than nothing. He's a strapping young man, dark-featured, almost Italian looking. She hands him the reins to the animal. The three of us turn to head back to the house.

Isabelle turns to me. "We'll go for a ride. While you're here. If you want." 

"I'd enjoy that" I answer.

"Jake may end up moving in after the impression he made on Mum and Dad" says Peter.

Isabelle's face brightens. "Really? Wait, you're joking. It didn't go well?" Isabelle turns to me.

"No it went swimmingly" answers Peter. "Jake charmed them as I knew he would."

"Well, Merci Dieu for that, eh?" she answers.

I try to be diplomatic. "They seem nice."

"Nice? Nice is not the adjective I'd use" says Peter.

Isabelle furrows her brow. "Mother's being a royal pain again. She won't let me go to Paris. She's on me about Charles."

Peter is sympathetic. "Izzy, you need to live your life, not hers. Just tell her to fuck off."

She lets out a laugh. "That's easy for you to say. I'm the one who has to live with her."

"How are she and Dad getting on?" Peter asks, wincing. 

"Who knows" answers Isabelle. "They hardly even talk anymore. Honestly, I don't know why they don't just...get divorced."

"They'd rather suffer the slings and arrows of their outrageous fortune" Peter replies, sardonically.

Isabelle laughs and we continue our walk back to the house.

Back in my room, I hop in the shower and think about the days events, the people I'd met. The gorgeous and innocent Isabelle, the aristocratic and daunting Veronique, the quiet, beguiling servant girl, Justine. Even Henri, the patriarch was formidable in his overstuffed way. All of these larger than life characters sure made Pittsburg seem like small potatoes. What AM I doing here? Who do I think I am? 

I try to shake off my insecurity by remembering my dream about Marta, the flight attendant. Lathering my body, I imagine her with me, in the shower, pressing her sexy body against mine, and my cock starts to lengthen and grow thick and heavy. Sliding my soapy hand up and down the shaft I think about her full breasts, the hard, extended nipples, how she opened her legs, and threw her head back, and let me fuck her. My cock is standing up now and I stroke its full length. 

My thoughts turn suddenly to Justine, so sexy in her maid's uniform, coming to my room, catching me in bed, stroking myself, offering to help me. And then to Veronique. What would she be like in bed? What if I slipped into her bedroom late at night, pretending I'd gotten confused and gone into the wrong room. A simple mistake. She seemed like a real dom, she'd probably tell me EXACTLY 

what to do. My cock is rock hard now. Or Isabelle. Sweet, young Isabelle. So luscious, so ripe. So...unavailable. Christ, what would she EVER see in me? This heiress/ballerina with a face to launch a thousand ships. How could a rube from Pennsylvania with nary a dollar to his name EVER stand a chance with her. My mind was reeling. Jesus, get a HOLD of yourself. I slam on the cold water and let the chill cool me back down.

At seven, Peter came to collect me in his room. He's dressed in a shirt and tie. I have a dress shirt on, but no tie.

"Don't sweat it" he reassures me. "We're not wearing jackets so we're fucked already." He laughs and pats me on the back. "Come on. I'll lend you a tie."

The dining room is formally set with white table cloth, candles, and crystal. The table is rectangular with antique 18th century chairs with big rounded backs. I'm directed by Peter's Mom to the seat next to her. Peter's Dad is at the opposite end of the table. Isabelle is directly opposite me next to Peter. Justine brings out the soup.

"Tonight we speak English, in honor of our guest Monsieur Jake" says Peter's Mom placing her hand on my thigh. "It's good practice for everyone. After all, it's the international language."

"Well, not the international language I'm thinking of" says Peter mischeviously. "But certainly the language of business."

"Jake, what business are you in again? Publishing?" Her hand is still on my thigh. I tense my leg instinctively, which only makes my thigh seem more muscular. She runs her fingers over my thigh appreciatively. 

Peter steps in to rescue me. "Jake's a writer, Mother. I told you that. Remember?" 

"Oh, that's right. A novelist. How wonderful for you." Her hand is moving slowly up my leg, sending electricity through my body. It takes an effort to formulate complete sentences. 

"Well, an aspring novelist, as yet unpublished" I interject. 

"And what do you write about, in your as yet unpublished novels?" Veronique asks with a slightly teasing tone. Her fingers are massaging my inner thighs now. 

"You know" I reply, lamely. "The usual suspects. Relationships, family. Modern life." 

Her fingers are getting dangerously close to my crouch. 

"Ah, modern life" she says, with that same slightly mocking tone. "Do you write about the complexes that seem to pervade modern life in America?"

"Complexes?" I ask. I can feel her stare burning into me. I can also feel her hand on the crease where my leg meets my hip.

"All the things that seem to make American's so uptight." She slides her fingers towards my bulge. "Like sex?"

Her hand slides over my bulge. I feel her fingers caress my cock and balls.

"Mother!" exclaims Isabelle as I stand to reach for the bottle of wine, my excuse for escaping her fondling. 

"Justine" Peter's Dad barks. The young servant, who has been standing at attention by the kitchen door, comes to the table hurriedly and takes the wine from me. I realize I've committed a faux pas, guests don't pour, servants do. But at least I'm free of Veronique's grasp. I sit back down.

Isabelle speaks next. "Jake is an artist and I have the utmost respect for artists. Do you find artistic expression the most fulfilling enterprise?" She's looking at me earnestly.

"I can't imagine being happy doing anything else" I reply sincerely. She looks me straight in eye and nods. As if to say "you understand."

"Practicality. That's what is of paramount importance." Peter's Dad was starting to pontificate. What a Polonius this guy is.

"Creativity untempered by practicality is nothing but self-indulgence" he continues. This seems to be a lecture aimed directly at Isabelle.

"Without art, life would not be worth living" says Isabelle ardently. "Any fool could see that!"

Her mother addresses her sharply. "Isabelle! Watch your tone!"

Isabelle is silent. I can see she's fuming. This is an open nerve that I've inadvertantly touched. Justine removes the soup bowls and her mother brings out the entree, a rissoto with wild mushrooms. Delicious. We eat in silence for a long time.

"Isabelle, what are you going to wear to the fete tomorrow?" Veronique inquires. 

"I don't think I'm going to go, Mother. I told you."

"But Charles is expecting you to go." Mother is obviously not pleased.

"Charles is Mother's choice for Isabelle's bethrothed" Peter explains. "He's very well born. Tres riche."

"He's a pig" says Isabelle under her breath.

"Isabelle, don't say that" her mother scolds. "He comes from one of the finest families in the country."

"Well, I don't care. I'm not going to the fete. We have company."

"Nonsense" her mother answers, dismissively. 

"I'm going out of town....to Paris" she's improvising now. "Or New York."

"You have an obligation. Not only to Charles but to yourself." Veronique's in heavy patronizing mode. "There will be no more discussion."

Isabelle throws her napkin down on the table and walks out of the room.

"Isabelle!" her mother calls. "That girl! You've spoiled her" she snaps at her husband.

Peter's father merely mumbles through a full mouth of food.

Peter and I excuse ourselves as soon as seems polite. We find Isabelle in the playroom. It's filled with books, musical instruments, and a fireplace. She's poking at the fire.

"You okay?" Peter asks sympathetically.

"Oh, it's just Mother. I can't stand her." She turns to me. "Jake, I'm so sorry you had to sit through that."

"Don't apologize" I reply. "It's nothing I haven't experienced myself."

"Really?" She turns to me, full face.

"Sure. My Dad didn't approve of my writing. He wanted me to go to law school." 

"And now? He understands. And accepts?"

"No" I say, sincerely. "But now it matters less to me."

She looks at me for a moment.

"It's so good to have someone here who understands me." She gives me a gentle kiss on the cheek. My face flushes.

"Here, I brought you this." Peter hands her a cognac in a large brandy snifter. "I figured you'd need it."

We sit by the fire on a comfortable couch and an easy chair. Isabelle is next to me on the couch, her legs curled under her.

"Tell me about New York. What's life like there?" she's out of doldrums now, back to the old Isabelle.

Peter looks at me as if to say "Well?"

I think a moment. "I think of it as the ultimate playground for adults. It's going full speed 24 hours a day. You can feel the energy." Isabelle shifts her weight and listens urgently. "You walk everywhere and a distance of one block can change everything, the neighborhoods are so distinct. You go in a cafe or restaurant and you hear every 

language imaginable and conversations about every possible pursuit: film, art, dance, publishing, finance, anything. When you walk out your front door, you get a sensation that anything is possible. Anything can happen. Serendipity reigns."

"You make it sound wonderful" she says softly.

"Jake's a master of words" says Peter, glad to see his friend and sister getting along. "The once and future ecrivain celebre!" He raises his glass and they toast.

"Tell me more" says Isabelle. She's leaning foward now. All ears.

"Hey, Jake, you should tell Izzy one of your stories" says Peter. "Jake entertains us at parties by telling stories, extemporaneously."

"Yes, a story! Do tell!" says Isabelle excitedly.

Jake puts down his glass. "I, on the other hand, am completely jetlagged from the flight. I've got a date with a little blue pill and my pillow."

He turns to us with a flourish.

"Bonne nuit mes amis!" He nods his head, smiles, and heads for the door.

"And hands off my beautiful younger sister" he says with a laugh. "That is, if you value your life."

He smiles and leaves. Isabelle turns to me. The gaze of her eyes feels like a spotlight.

"Will you tell me a story? I could certainly use the distraction."

"In that case, yes. I will." I answer, softly. 

I stand and stir the embers for a moment. I pick up a log and place it on the fire. Then I begin.

"Long ago, a lighthouse sat perched on the cliffs on the southern coast of Spain. It guided ships through the strait of Gilbraltar on their way to the trading ports of the Mediterranean. A lighthouse keeper maintained it, living in a little cottage by the sea. He lived there with his wife and daughter, named Charlotta. Far from the nearest town or village, they lived and worked and spent the days of their lives in solitude. Rarely did they encounter strangers, except when they made the trip inland for supplies. 

On rare occasions, a ship would seek safe harbor in a nearby cove, waiting for a storm to pass. For the lighthouse keeper and his wife, their solitude was not a burden for they knew theirs was an important job and they knew no better of the world outside. 

Yet, the daughter was different. She had dreams. Dreams to see the world. To explore. To experience love and adventure. But it was difficult to leave. She had no means. And so she stayed. 

Then one night, as the wind howled in advance of a gathering storm, there came a rapping at the door. The lighthouse keeper opened it to find a sea captain. He had moored his ship in the cove, leaving his crew, to come seeking news of the storm and when it might pass. His name was Captain Esperanza. The lighthouse keeper invited the captain in and they shared their dinner with him. He told the captain he could stay the night and then return to his ship in the morning. 




An American Houseguest Ch. 02



That night, the captain regaled them with story after story. He told tales of high adventure, of pirates, and foreign lands, of storms and vessels and how sailors lives were lost. The daughter hung on every word, transfixed. 

Later, as the lighthouse keeper and his wife slept, the daughter stole from her bed and shook the sea captain awake. She took him to the lighthouse tower where they could look out at the storm-tossed sea. There, among the giant mirrors and candlelight, she told the captain her dreams of exploring the world. She revealed her secret 

desires for adventure and romance. She confessed her longings for a life fully lived. The captain was so moved by her honesty and her purity of heart, he invited her to leave with him that night, back to his ship, to run away with him. He gathered her in his arms and he kissed her deeply. 

It was her first and only time in the arms of a man.

But the girl was frightened. She didn't want to worry her parents. She was afraid of what life would be like on a ship filled with hard-scrabbled sailors. So, she said no. She could not. She would do the right thing and stay with her parents until the right opportunity presented itself. She bade him adieu and returned to the cottage. 

Laying in bed that night, she couldn't sleep. She wondered if she was doing the right thing, or the safe thing. She thought about the fixed time we have on this earth and how we are obliged to live our lives as if each day might be our last. That in the fullness of time, her parents might come to understand that she had to seek her own destiny. 

She resolved that she would leave with the Captain. She would tell her parents in the morning.

As the morning light broke over the sea, she awoke in her little bed. Filled with courage and excitement, she went to where the captain was sleeping on a cot. He wasn't there. Panicked, she looked out the window only to find to her horror that the ship too was gone. It had sailed in the night. Gone forever. 

She was distraught. She didn't know what to do. She climbed the lighthouse tower, where she had been with him last. 

At the very top of the spiral stairs, a note was afixed to the landing. It was from him. On it were these simple words. "Charlotta-- Live your life. --Captain Esperanza." 

She walked slowly back to her parents room and shook them awake. "He's gone" she said simply. "Who's gone, child?" her father asked. "The captain. He's left." "What captain?" 

They had no memory of the captain's visit, their dinner with him, hearing his stories. Thinking she was crazy, she ran back to the lighthouse to get the note, to show them, to prove to them his existence. But there was no note. Just an open window with the sound of the crashing waves and the sight of distant clouds from the receeding storm."

With that, I took a sip of brandy. "That's it."

"That was wonderful" said Isabelle. "Wonderful and tragic. Was the Captain real or imagined. Did she dream him? Does she ever find him again?" 

I smiled enigmatically. "That will have to wait for another night."

She stood and joined me on the hearth. 

"Thank you, Jason. You have a special gift." 

She stepped towards me and gently kisses me on the corner of my mouth. It wasn't a "polite" kiss, but it wasn't romantic either. Something in between. Enigmatic. 

"I think I better say goodnight now too" she said, smiling. 

Later, I lay naked on my bed, leaning against the antique headboard, thinking about this place I find myself. A beautiful setting, but a family that defined dysfunctional. Gorgeous scenary, and equally gorgeous women, but entirely unavailable. Isabelle was being courted by some aristocrat, what is he, a count or something? 

Veronique was beautiful, a real cougar. I can't believe she was actually feeling me up. If I'd stayed seated, how much further would she have gone? I mean, if I'd let her, would she have rubbed me right there under the tablecloth? Maybe she would have slid her fingernail down the length of my cock. Then I'd start getting hard and she'd feel that too. 

Hell, maybe I'd have to release the tension in my pants and let my cock spring out under the table cloth. I bet she'd like that. She'd probably play with the head of my cock with her fingers and slowly stroke me until I got rock hard. My cock grows stiff as I imagine it.

Starting to stroke myself, I let my imagination go.

I bet that Veronique is a real tigress in bed. She has that look of a woman who's learned a thing or two. I bet she gives a mean blow job. Those ruby red lips closing around the head of my cock. Those made-up eyes watching me as she strokes my cock with her mouth, taking me deeper into her throat. Watching the long, hard shaft sink into that face with the perfect, high cheekbones. Oh yeah, she'd definitely know how to deep throat me, taking it all the way in, and out, using her tongue to send me into oblivion. 

I'm sliding my hand up and down my cock now and I'm completely hard. I can feel a bit of pre-cum at the tip. I'm close now.

Suddenly, there's a knock on the door. Like a teenager caught by his parent, I pull the white bedsheet over the bottom half of my body. 

The door opens and a figure enters. 

"S'il vous plait, monsieur?"

It's Justine, the chambermaid. I'm in a high state of arousal and I can hardly speak.

"Monsieur Pierre, uh, tell me to come."

She comes to the side of the bed. 

"To prepare the bed. To sleep."

My face is flushed as I realize the sheet is laying on top of my rock hard cock. It hardly disguises my erection.

"You would like more light?" she asks. "It is dark, yes?"

She opens the drawer in the side table next to the bed and removes some stick matches. She strikes one and lights the candle on the side table. The room is illuminated in a soft, yellow glow.

I see her now. She dressed in her maid's uniform, yet it's different somehow. Her top. That's it. At dinner, her top was buttoned to the neck. Now, she's unfastened several buttons. 

The light from the candle also illuminates the bed. And me on it. My upper body is bare, my chest and pecs and hard stomach all visible to her. The sheet covers my lower body and the outline of my fully erect cock. Can she see it? I can't really know for sure. The thought of her noticing it scares me and makes my dick throb at the same time.

"I fluff you? You want?" She's asking me.

"What?"

"Zee pillow. I fluff?" 

"The pill... Oh, sure. Oui."

She leans over me to fluff up the bed pillows. Her blouse falls open and I see the tops of her breasts, a lacy black brassiere barely holding them in. I can smell her perfume too and the combination of her nearness and her scent is intoxicating. 

She's leaning directly over my hard-on now and I can feel it rise and fall with every throb. She seems to take her time in that position and I drink her in. She has the sexiest body of a nineteen-year-old french maid I've ever had fluffing me. 

"Quelque chose d'autre? Anything else? Je suis a votre service. N'importe quoi. Anything."

She's looking at me with sexy brown eyes, a coquettish look on her gorgeous face.

"Well, to tell you the truth, I am feeling a bit stiff from the flight. A massage would feel mighty nice."

"Pardon? Je ne comprends pas. Mon anglais est horrible. En francais?"

"Um...Je voudrais une...massage?"

She gives me a long look. Then she glances at the door and back at me. There's a calculation going on but I'm not sure what it is.

"Une moment. Il y a quelque chose...une moment."

She quickly makes for the door and leaves. I lay there with my heart pounding. What am I doing? Has she gone to get her Dad? Maybe he'll bring his shotgun. Am I blowing it big time? But, God is she sexy. That body. And that accent. 

She seems to be into it but I don't want to blow it on the first night of my stay. Maybe I'll just play it cool and see how it progresses. I can always say it was a misunderstanding.

A minute later, I hear the door open and close. Then, she's beside me, placing some things on the side table: a towel, a vial. I watch her as she lays them out, neatly. She looks like she's changed her clothing a bit. What's changed? The towel slips onto the floor and she bends over to pick it up. Her back is to me. When she bends over, I get a clear view of her legs, black fishnet stockings, and garters. She stays bent over and I dip my head to see her black lacy underwear barely covering a perfect ass. My cock twitches and hardens.

She repositions the candle and then pats her hand on the bed. "Ici" she says. 

I scoot down so I'm laying flat on my stomach, covered by the sheet. Justine slowly pulls the sheet down, exposing my back. Then she pulls it up, exposing my legs. I'm laying totally naked with a thin wedge of white, cotton sheet covering my ass. Everything else is exposed from my waist up and from my upper thighs down. I lay my head on a pillow. I can only glimpse her with my peripheral vision. 

She seems to know my eyes are on her. She's standing with her back arched and her lips pouted. She's carefully pouring a palmful of oil from the vial into her hand. Under me, my penis is long and thick. It's pointing straight up, pressed against the soft sheet by my abs.

I feel the oil being poured onto my back between my shoulder blades. Then, her hands, soft yet strong start to rub the oil into my back and shoulders. She lifts my arm and slides her two hands from the bicep down to my hand. She starts to work on my lower back, pressing hard, and I let out a long, low moan.

"C'est bon?" she asks. "You like?"

"Oh, yeah, I like" I answer. "Especially here." 

I point at the lower back, above my ass. She moves around to get better access. I feel two hands pressing on my lower back, rotating slowly. I let out a moan again. She slides her fingers down my side at at the waist. It feels fantastic. 

"Sous" I say, not sure it's the right word. "Lower. Here." My finger points to my ass.

There's pause, as if she's thinking about it. I hold my breath.

Then, I feel the sheet being pulled down... slowly...exposing my the top of my ass. I feel her hands slowly move, rotating in circles, from my lower back to my ass cheeks. I let out another moan, to let her know I like it.

Her motion is rhythmic, sensuous, and it has the effect of rocking my body slowly side to side. That, in turn, has the effect of rubbing the head of my erect penis against the skin of my abs and the tender underside against the soft cotton sheet. The feeling is electric and I grow increasingly turned on. By the time she's done giving my ass the most sensuous massage of my life, my cock is big and hard.

"Devant?" she says.

Now, my French is far from perfect but I think she's saying "Front?" I pray that's what she's saying. I start to turn over, tentatively, just to make sure. To my surprise, she makes no move to cover me with the sheet. The sheet is history now.

I lay on my back, and look up at her. To my surprise, she has slipped out of her outfit and is only dressed in her lacy black bra, underwear, and stockings. She looks so incredible, and its such a shock to see her that way, that my cock surges and lifts up in the air. She looks at my cock and smiles, mischeviously. She turns to the side table and starts to pour more oil into her hand. She's moving slowly, periodically glancing up at me with a sexy look. She obviously likes to see the effect she has on men. 

She moves to me and starts to rub my pecs. She explores every bulge, every crevice. It feels incredible and, to watch her doing it is also amazing. It's almost as if she's getting as much pleasure out of touching me as I'm getting from her touch. She moves to my shoulders, and down my sides, and over my hips. She slides down my stomach, gliding on either side of my huge erection which is laying on my stomach. I want her to put those hands on my hard cock, but she won't, she's teasing me. Then, she moves to my legs, my feet and calves and works up to my thighs. She's pressing on both of them now, sliding from my knees to my hips. 

"Fort. Plus fort" I say. "Harder."

She looks at me and swings her leg over mine so she's straddling me at the knees. Her legs are spread and she's leaning forward, her breasts pressing out of her black lacy bra. I lick my lips and watch as she leans into my thighs and slowly, oh so slowly, slides up the legs. As she does so, she brings her head right over my cock. God, how I want her to touch my cock. She moves up and slides her hands from my hips up my sides, just along my cock. Up and down, up and down. So close. When I'm at the point where I feel I'll explode she stops and puts a bit more oil on her hands. The anticipation is killing me. She reaches forward and places her hand over the head of my cock and slides it down the shaft. I let out a gasp and my body squirms.

Then she takes the other hand and does the same. As it makes its way down my shaft, her other hand starts its journey from the head. She's stroking me with two hands, simultaneously and the feeling is incredible. It feels like I'm entering the most luscious vagina in the world, and I keep going in...and in...and in. I've never felt anything like it before.

Faster and faster she strokes me, one hand then the other. She's squeezing harder now, and I feel my orgasm approaching. It's as if I'm inside her pussy, a tight pussy, and she's fucking me with it. This is what she'd feel like, warm and soft and tight. She's watching my face, she knows she controls me. She wants me to come. 

"Maintenant" I grunt. "Now."

She does her quick stroking on just the head now and the sensation is unbelievable. In moments, I feel a surge of electricity shoot through my body. A huge amount of white warm semen shoots from my cock. It creaming her hands, streaming through her fingers, dripping on my stomach. She continues stroking me as my orgasm fades, sending shivers through my body. It's the most incredible handjob I've had in my life. 

"Dormez bien" she whispers, as she pulls the sheet and blanket over me. She fades into the night like a dream.



An American Houseguest Ch. 03



The next day I woke up mid-morning with a smile on my face. The events of the previous night felt like a movie I'd once seen but not quite believed. Did I really feel the hand of Veronique, a middle-aged but still beautiful supermodel, grabbing my crotch? Was I really rewarded with a kiss for an improvised short story by Isabelle, a gorgeous young heiress? Did a hot young woman named Justine who knew nothing of English but everything of pleasing men really give me a full body massage complete with happy ending? Did I die and somehow get into heaven on a technicality?

I decide to take advantage of my surroundings and go for a morning swim in the lake. I jump into my suit and exited the French doors that lead to the terrace and walk down to the dock. Swimming has been my exercise of choice ever since I was in college and swam for the water polo team. Now that I live in New York, I manage to swim three or four times a week at the Athletic Club. It keeps me lean and my body in shape. Even more, it keeps me sane.

The lake is glassy in the mid-morning light, the craggy mountains reflected in the deep blue water. It's so tranquil the only sign of life are a pair of ducks that fly overhead. I'm grateful for the solitude; my bathing suit is standard issue water polo fare: an ultra skimpy Speedo. For a moment, I take in the majestic beauty of the Alps and high mountain lake, and then dive in. 

The water is cool, but not cold. As it envelopes me I feel the cobwebs from my long trip and sleep evaporate. I slowly stroke and kick and make my way towards the center of the lake. The water feels velvety, much softer than the pool at the club. I've always enjoyed swimming in lakes. The organic material in the water makes the experience a sensual one.

After a good long swim I make my way back towards the house. I pass an anchored swimming platform and reach the shore. Once on land, I find a spot in the morning sun and start to drip dry. I didn't bring a towel from the room nor do I need it really, the air is warm and comfortable.

Standing on the shore with the water beading on my skin, feeling the sun caress me, my mind starts to wander. God this is nice. I wonder if Isabelle swims here. She sure looks like she keeps in shape. What a body she has! She probably hangs out on that raft, lying in the sun, tanning herself, getting away from her Mom, Veronique. Maybe she and I can take a swim later and lay out on the raft together? I wonder if she goes topless, like many European women do. I bet she has the most beautiful breasts. Firm, high-sitting, 19-year-old breasts on a gorgeous, long-legged, green-eyed siren of a woman. The water would be just cool enough to make her breasts pert and her nipples stand out. God I'd love to see that. That ballerina's body with perfect round breasts...

Oh my God. I'm standing here by the lakeshore, soaking in the sun, and fantasizing about my best friend's sister. Worse, I've practically given myself a hard on doing it. My cock is long and thick and straining against the fabric of my Speedo. Thank God I'm alone or this would be humiliating. I better get back to my room on the double.

I look around a bit sheepishly and then jog up the steps toward the house. I cross the lawn and hop the short stone balustrade to the terrace that leads to my room. Suddenly, I hear someone calling me. Shit.

"Jake!" 

It's a woman's voice. I see Veronique sitting at a table on the terrace drinking coffee. She's wearing sunglasses and a stylish hat.

"Jake, come here a moment" she calls again. 

Damn, I can't pretend I haven't heard her. I walk to wear she's seated. 

"Have you been swimming?"

"Yeah" I answer "I swim a lot at home."

"I can tell. Very impressive" she says, as she checks me out from behind her sunglasses. Her head is tilted to my face but I can tell her eyes are trained much lower. 

"Is Peter around?" I ask.

"Peter and his father made the trip into Grindelwald early this morning to look at some property. They should be back in the afternoon." I realize that my chest and arms are all pumped up from my swim and my cock is still pressing against my tiny swimsuit. No wonder she's staring at me.

"Isabelle tells me you entertained her with some of your creative writing last night."

"Oh, it was nothing. Just a little something to pass the time."

"Hardly. We don't get such talented writers here very often. I'm sure it was quite special."

I can't tell where she's going with this. Does she disapprove of this or what? I decide to play it safe.

"I just made up a story to make her feel good. Just a form of entertainment."

"Well, Isabelle, was quite taken by it" she says, her eyes still fixed on me. Damn it, I wish my cock would just relax. The head is pressed against the fabric and the outline of my cock is clearly visible. She runs her finger along the rim of her coffee cup. 

"And what about me? What do I need to do to be rewarded with such an entertainment?" 

"You want me to tell you a story? Like I did with Isabelle?"

"I think as the lady of the house I deserve that. Don't you think I should receive the same courtesy as my daughter?"

"Of course" I stammer, "I'd be happy to..."

"After all, I enjoy the arts as much as the next person. Why shouldn't I be treated to a taste of your talent?"

I'm feeling a bit flushed now. I'm standing right in front of her, practically naked, and she's putting me on the spot. Damn, I wish my cock would relax already. The more she stares at it, the more it's pressing against my suit.

"No, you should...I mean...of course I will..."

"Good" she says, "then it's settled." She looks at me over her sunglasses. "Do you want to tell me a story now. In my room?"

Oh boy. I try to think fast.

"Well, actually I...I...I need some time to prepare. I thought I'd go for a hike this morning. You know, see some of the countryside. I could come up with some ideas and then later..."

"Fine. Later then. You can come to my room and I can experience the impressive writer at work."

"OK. Sure." I turn as if to go. I've got to get this hardening cock out of sight.

"Jake" she calls. I turn back.

"Yes?"

"Come here." I take a couple steps next to her chair. She's looking straight at my bulge. The outline of my lengthening cock is clearly visible under my suit.

"Turn around."

I slowly turn my back to her. Is she checking out my butt now? My Speedo is so tiny, the top of my ass crack is clearly visible. She reaches up and with her long fingernail takes the label that's sticking up on the edge of my suit, and folds it under the fabric. Then she takes her hand and pats my ass, giving it an appraising squeeze.

"Very impressive indeed." 

No acceptable reply even enters my brain and I turn to walk away. I feel her eyes on my ass. 

"And Jake?" Oh, God. What now.

"Yes?"

"I don't want any children's stories about sea captains. I want....more adult fare."

"Adult fare. Got it." I say, perfunctorily, and I leave.

Jesus, my heart is pounding. I thought my cock was going to press a hole right in my suit. I step into my room and immediately pull down my Speedo. My cock springs out, liberated. Instinctively, I take my hand and give it a stroke. "What a fucking sexpot" I mutter to myself.

I step in the bathroom and run the shower. I look myself in the mirror and just before it steams up I think I get a glimpse of an excited 10-year-old kid in the body of a 25-year-old unpublished writer cum water polo player cum interloper. What am I getting myself into?

I step in the shower and let the hot water flow over my face and body. Holy shit, I thought she was going to tell me to drop my pants and service her right there. I take my soapy hand and run it up the length of my cock. What that woman would do with a big, long cock like this one I cannot imagine. Actually, I can. She'd probably give the greatest blow job EVER. The kind that only a French woman could do. Where she just loves your cock to death with every part of her mouth and face. So sexy. So hot. Taking you in her gorgeous mouth, rubbing your hardness against her cheeks and hair. Licking you, pleasing you. Wanting you to get so fucking hard you can't stand it. And then taking you deep in her throat. Swallowing your big, hard cock and sliding it in and out of her throat. Fucking that gorgeous face with your rock hard cock. Ohhhh.

I'm stroking myself now, pulling the skin back on my now throbbing cock. Just then, the door to the bathroom opens and a figure enters. Veronique? Did she follow me into my room to have her way with me?

"Monsieur Jake?" It's Justine, the maid. She's holding a pile of folded white towels.

"Je prends plus de serviettes pour vous." I hope she can't see me through the steamy glass walls of the shower. "Ze towel? I bring for you."

"Oh, merci, Justine" I answer. "Just...mettez sur la commode."

She puts the towels down and stands facing me. I hold my hard on close to my body so it's not so obvious.

"S'il vous plait, voudriez-vous une massage encore ce soir? Comme la nuit passé?"

All I caught was the word massage, and that's exactly what I need at this moment.

"Oui, je voudrais une massage. Ici? Maintenant?"

She smiles and looks down, coquettishly.

"Maintenant? Non, monsieur, je ne peux pas parce que je travaille. Non, non, il n'est pas possible. Je suis désolée." 

I realize she's saying she couldn't possible jump into the shower with the American houseguest in the middle of the morning while she's working. Of course.

"When do you get off work? Um, a quelle heure quittez-vous ce soir?" 

"A dix heures."

"Bon, a dix heures. Viens a cette heure." She gives me a smile that makes my dick ache. She turns and goes.

My head is starting to spin now. I've scheduled a rendezvous with the maid at 10pm, the lady of the house wants me to "entertain" her at some point, and I haven't even had breakfast yet. I decide it's best to just escape the house for a bit while I gather my senses.

I dry off and dress and head downstairs. In the kitchen, Mme Fleury is rolling out dough on a large wooden table in the center of the room. I ask her in my broken French for some food for a "pique-nique" and she obliges me, filling my knapsack with a baguette, some charcuterie, a wedge of cheese an apple, and a bottle of water. I help myself to a cup of coffee and a pain au chocolate and head for the back door. I'm on the steps to the boat dock when I run into Isabelle.

"You seem like a man on a mission" she says with a smile. She's wearing form-fitting riding pants. They make her form look amazing.

"I thought I'd take a hike, maybe go around the lake."

"There's a great trail if you head around the right side of the lake. Just take the footbridge and go left, you can't miss it. "

"Thanks. That sounds perfect. Have you been riding?"

"Not yet" she answers. "I'm just getting ready to go. Interested?"

"In riding? Maybe another time. I'm sort of anxious to stretch my legs. You know, after the flight and all."

"I totally get it. Well, have a wonderful hike." She smiles and continues on. I turn and head up towards the footbridge to find the trail.

Isabelle seems so normal. So down to earth. It's hard to believe she's Veronique's daughter. Veronique is so...intense. Isabelle seems to have a good head on her shoulders. I can see why Peter cares so much for her. She's sweet, smart, beautiful. She'll probably end up marrying some gazillionaire and spend her time donating their money to philanthropy. AIDS in Africa or microloans in Micronesia. She's the kind of woman who ends up with an impossibly handsome guy with limitless wealth but with a social conscience. They'll start a foundation together and get named co-humanitarians of the year. You'll read them in the People Magazines of the world. Yeah, she's totally out of my league.

I find the bridge, such as it is. It's a little pedestrian walkway over the water which leads to the lake shore. I cross it and find a trail along the lake's edge going off to the left, just as Isabelle described. I follow the trail through riparian forests and marshy glens as it snakes along the lakeshore. It's exquisitely beautiful. I'm able to lose myself in my thoughts as I follow the meandering trail. There's nary a soul nor animal to interrupt my contemplation. I'm utterly alone. 

What am I going to do with these women? Well, Justine, that's easy. I'll try to communicate with her with her three words of English and my four words of French. Through a combination of charades and hand signals I'll be able to get through to her exactly what I want. What do I want, exactly? Well, let's see. What's French for "a striptease followed by a blowjob." No, Justine won't be a problem. It's Veronique I'm worried about. 

Ever since I arrived she's been all over me. Here she is, sharing a house, okay a villa, with her husband and she's putting the moves on her son's friend from the moment he arrived. She's probably incredibly frustrated sexually. Didn't Peter say she and her husband slept in separate bedrooms to keep the peace? She probably hasn't had sex in quite a while and then, voila, I arrive. An available younger man. Right in the same house. How convenient. 

The last thing I want to do is jeopardize my friendship with Peter by getting in some kind of contretemps with his mother. But what's worse? Sleeping with her and risk finding out about it or not sleeping with her and having her create a scene because I rejected her. I honestly don't know how to get out of this without blowing it in some way, shape or form.

The trail climbs to a rocky promontory overlooking the lake. I can see the island and the house off in the distance. I've already covered a lot of ground. I find a rock in the sun where I can sit and eat. I rip open the bread and layer in the meat and cheese and devour it hungrily. I've got quite an appetite from all the physical exertion of the past couple of days.

I continue my hike, further and further along the lake. This lake is a lot bigger than I thought it was. I realize I've walked for a good three hours and I still haven't reached the far side. I guess my plan of circumnavigating the entire lake is out of the question. I'm trying to decide whether to give up and start heading back the way I came or what.

Just then, I hear the sound of horse's hooves from behind me. I turn and see Isabelle on her Arabian loping towards me. She has a big smile on her face.

"Finally. I thought I'd never find you. You've covered a lot of ground."

"Hi. Yeah, I was just trying to figure out whether I could make it around the lake."

"I wouldn't if I were you. The trail gets pretty dodgy on the other side of the lake. You wouldn't make it back until three in the morning at least."

"Sounds kind of fun, actually. I'm always up for an adventure. See you then..." I make as if to leave.

"Jake, no, I'm serious. It's quite far and I'd be worried..." She stops herself. "Oh, you're just having fun with me, aren't you?"

I smile at her, mischeviously. She starts to have some fun herself.

"Oh, fine, go ahead and go on your grand adventure. We'll sell your possessions on consignment and notify your next of kin." 

"Well, I wouldn't want to upset the next of kin" I say, hesitating, "as much as I do love an adventure."

She smiles, going along. 

"Very thoughtful of you, to be concerned about your next of kin."

"Actually, I was struck by how concerned YOU were about my well-being. Isabelle, I had no idea..." She blushes but quickly covers.

"Just trying to avoid bad publicity. You know, 'American tourist's remains found half eaten by mountain goats."

"Ooh. Mountain goats. No, that wouldn't be good. Scandalous really."

"We mustn't have scandal. Papa wouldn't approve."

"No, I could see that. Well, I guess I'll just have to head back the way I came. Another opportunity for adventure thwarted."

We're walking together now, back down the trail from where we came. I'm walking next to her and she's on her horse.

"I could give you a ride. Maybe that would help quench your thirst for adventure." 

I look up at her. She's riding bareback with nothing but a halter. 

"I don't think your horse would appreciate that, would he? Besides, where would I sit?"

"Next to me, silly. Don't tell me you've never ridden double bareback before?"

"My horse riding experience is sadly limited, I'm afraid."

"Well, then you must. It's a first. It's...an adventure."

I laugh. 

"OK, you win. But, how do I...come aboard."

"Oh dear, you are a neophyte, aren't you. OK, I'll make it easy. Come stand over here."

She points to a spot off the trail that is uphill from her and the horse. I climb up and I'm standing on the incline at a level close to hers. "Now, I'll just position him close to you. Like this. There. Now, just swing your leg over his back and sit behind me."

Now, the truth be told, I've only ridden a horse a few times. And I've never ridden "tandem" before. I'm a little unsure how this is supposed to work.

"Do I just jump on? Are you sure he's going to like it?"

"He'll be fine. Just swing your leg over and hop on."

I cross myself theatrically eliciting a giggle from Isabelle. I bend my knees and spring onto the horse's backside. He gives a little start but she holds him steady with the reins. 

"Great" she says "now hold on!"

She gives the horse a kick and he springs forward and starts trotting down the trail. I'm bouncing around like a tin can in the back of a pickup truck. She brings the horse to a halt and I gather myself.

"Jake, do you mind if I give you some pointers?"

"Mind? I'd be eternally grateful. I have no idea what I'm doing."

"OK. First, you're riding too far back. You need to move next to me. Second, you need to hold on with your legs and to me."

I scoot closer to her, maybe a foot behind her.

"No, come right next to me. It's the only way."

I scoot closer. Maybe an inch separates us. "Jake, right next to me. Touching."

She's sitting straight backed, her graceful torso leading to a thin waist and a beautiful round ass. Her tight riding pants show every bit of her curves. I need to sit right next to that? Twist my arm.

I slowly scoot closer until my crotch is pressed against her rounded butt, my chest against her back, and my face just next to her full mane of long, curly hair. Her scent is intoxicating. "Now put your thighs so they're against my legs. That's it. We squeeze the horse with our thighs. When he moves, we move. As one."

She gives the horse a tap with her heels and he starts walking slowly. Sure enough, our bodies start moving together to the rhythm of the horse's pace.

"Where exactly do I hold on?" I ask.

"Wherever you want" she says slyly, "but usually one holds onto the hips."

"Right" I reply and put my hands on her hips. 

The rhythm of the horse's gait makes our bodies undulate, rocking our hips in a steady, hypnotic motion. I look down and see my bare legs pressed against hers. The muscles in my thighs are visible as I grip the horse. My groin is right up against her ass and I'm moving we're moving as if we're dancing together. I have the sensation that I'm holding onto her hips and slowly, steadily thrusting into her from behind. I feel my cock stiffen in my pants.

"Now, isn't that better?" she asks. 

"Much. Thanks for the tips."

"Now, let's try a trot, shall we?"

She gives the horse another kick and he starts trotting on the trail. Instinctively, I squeeze my grip on her waist. I'm bouncing on the horse, and not very gracefully. She laughs and slows the horse to a walk.

"Trotting's hard. It's impossible to do it comfortably unless you post. Do you know what posting is?"

"Nope. Not a clue."

"Here. I'll show you."

She kicks the horse and gets him to trot. As I hold onto her waist, I see her raise her ass up and lower it, in rhythm with the horse. As she comes down, her ass rubs against my crotch. Up and then down. Each time, I see, and feel, her perfect ass rubbing against my hardening cock. 




An American Houseguest Ch. 03



"It's a lot easier to do when you're riding English and can use the stirrups for leverage" she explains. "Anyway, that's posting."

She sits back down and places her ass right against my now hard cock. I hope to hell she can't feel hard turned on I am. She'll think me some adolescent fool. But it feels so fucking good.

"Now, the next thing we should try is the canter. You know what that is, right?"

"Like a gallop?" "No, a canter is slower than a gallop, but faster than a trot. It's when the horse lopes gracefully, alternating his front and hind hooves. It's rather fun. Do you want to try?"

"Sure. Why not?"

She spurs the horse on and soon we're moving quickly in a kind of graceful slow motion run. My hands grip her just under her ribs, feeling her luscious body. It's like leaping and gliding, leaping and gliding. When we land, our bodies jerk together and then we lean back and then jerk together again. Over and over. It's like I'm fucking her. Thrusting into her. Over and over. Deeper and deeper. Fucking her from behind. My cock is completely hard now. It feels incredible.

After a while she slows back down to a walk and I enjoy the quiet, rhythmic undulation of our bodies moving together. My heart is beating hard and I wonder if she feels it and knows the effect this is having on me. At least she can't see the huge bulge in my pants.

"I love riding" she says, thoughtfully. "I've been doing it for as long as I can remember. It makes me happy."

"What do you like about it?" I ask.

"I don't know. Being in nature. Being close to another being. The solitude."

"I'm sorry. Maybe I should hop off?"

"No. No, I like having you here Jake. Sharing it with you."

She leans back, pressing herself against my chest, and looks over her shoulder at me. I smile as she leans against me. I hold her a bit tighter. It's a moment of great intimacy, yet it's innocent too. As innocent as I can be when I'm sporting a raging hard-on.

"You know" I say with a conspiratorial tone, "they say that women like horseback riding because they like the feeling of a large, muscled beast between their legs."

She laughs. 

"Actually, I'll tell you something I've never told anyone. I was riding horseback, bareback, when I first experienced la petite morte."

"Excuse me? I don't understand."

"You know, the little death."

"Sorry."

"Jake! When I had my first orgasm! I was riding a horse!

"You're kidding me!"

"I swear to God. It's not uncommon, I assure you." "You had sex while riding a horse?"

"No, silly, I was by myself. I was a girl."

"Oh, I see. What happened?"

"I was just riding, and I found that if I held my pelvis just the right way, it would stimulate me."

"What way was that."

"Wouldn't you like to know!"

"Seriously, I'm curious."

"If I tip my pelvis like this" she arches her back and leans forward.

"Ah," I say. "Any luck?"

"Nothing. I'm a frigid old maid I''m afraid."

"Yeah right. And what, you just walk, or trot?"

"I can't remember. I think I was walking and I just leaned forward and felt the horse moving under me. And it just happened."

"And the rest is history."

"And the rest is history. Jake Scott you make me say the strangest things. I never told anyone that before."

"I just have that effect on people, I guess" I say jokingly. "They open up to me and then I betray them by publishing their secrets from all to read."

"You'd better not!"

"Ah, the writer's prerogative. You know the risks of talking to a writer."

"I'll die of shame!" 

"Well, I suppose I could be persuaded to keep it confidential. At a price."

"Name it. I will meet your demands."

"I'll get back to you on that. For now, your secrets are safe with me."

"Thanks God for that" she says shaking her head.

"Hey, can I try steering this thing?"

"You want to ride in front?"

"Can I?"

"Of course. We just have to switch positions."

"And how do we do that?"

She thinks a moment. 

"Well, usually we'd both just get off, but I wonder if we can...Here."

She brings the horse to a stop and swings one leg over his neck. She's seated sideways on the horse. Then she lifts one leg and passes her foot over my head. Suddenly she's facing me on the horse. 

"Now, let's see, I just need to get around..." She scoots up so that her legs are on top of mine. She shimmies closer to me so she's straddling me. Her pussy is right on top of my cock her breasts right up next to my face. "I just need to slide around..."

I'm trying to help by holding her body in my hands. For a moment, I have the feeling that she's on top of me, making love to me, and just how wonderful it would be. She's got an exquisite, dancer's body, long curly hair, a gorgeous face. I want us to be naked, exactly like this.

She swings a leg around my back and holding onto my body, swings herself behind me. Suddenly I'm in front on the horse and I feel her behind me, her legs against mine, her breasts pressed against my back. 

"Now take the reins lightly in your hands. That's it. You want to let the horse know that you are in charge yet respectful at the same time. Now, just give him a little kick."

I do what she says and the horse starts walking forward. 

"Hey, it works."

"You're born a horseman, Jake."

"Yeah right."

I give the horse another kick and he leaps forward into a canter. I feel Isabelle grab me around the stomach and give out a little yelp. I like the feeling of her arms around me. After a bit, we slow down to a walk again. She leaves her arms around my chest.

We walk together for a long time. The trail opens up and the warm sun beats down on us. It must be mid-afternoon. 

"I'm getting a little warm. Do you mind unbuttoning my shirt for me?" I ask.

She obliges by undoing the buttons on my white cotton shirt, one at a time, while I hold onto the reins. After three buttons, she stops.

"More?" she asks. 

"Sure, why not" I answer.

She unbuttons my shirt to the waist and it flies open in the breeze. 

"Does that feel better?" she asks softly.

"Much."

She takes the shirt in her hands and wafts it open, allowing the breeze to cool my body.

"Ahhhhh" I exclaim.

She takes her hand and gently runs her fingers over my pecs.

"That feels good" I say softly.

We ride on in silence for some time. She is laying the side of her head against my back now. Both her arms are wrapped around my chest. As we walk on, she rests her body against mine. I can feel her breasts pressed against my back. It feels like a waking dream. The fingers on one of her hands explores my chest absent-mindedly. She's touching me, not in a sexual way, but sensually and with an innocence that is striking. She runs her fingers over my ribs and abs and brushes over my breast. Her other arm is resting on my leg, her hand laying in the crease of my hip, next to my crouch. She's touching me almost as if in a dream. Is she asleep? I can hear her breathing, slowly, heavily. Are we both dreaming? Once again, I feel the pressure building in my pants.

We continue our hypnotic sojourn, our bodies joined, moving together, hers pressed against mine, her arms embracing me. Feeling her breasts pressed against my back, feeling her hand gently touching my chest, knowing her other hand is lying right next to my hardening cock, is driving me crazy. Try as I might, I'm unable to keep my erection from growing. I lean forward on the horse, perhaps to get some separation, to will my cock to relax. But she keeps her body in contact with mine, even as a I lean forward. I'm bent forward at the waist and she is lying against my body, she's embracing me, and her fingers find my nipple. She starts to slowly rub it ever so lightly. My cock is stiff now, right next to her hand lying in my lap. 

We ride this way for the longest time. It feels so good I don't want it to stop. She plays with both my nipples, rolling them softly in her fingers, sending electricity through my body. She softly cups my pecs, exploring the contours, as if forming a picture in her mind with only the sense of touch. Her fingers graze over my abdomen, feeling the muscles, gently outlining the ripples in my abs. She lets out a barely audible gasp. That's when it occurs to me.

I look slowly over my shoulder. Isabelle's eyes are closed, her head rests on my back, and her back is arched. I look down and see she's leaning forward and tipping her pelvis just so, so that her pussy, or more precisely, her clitoris, is pressed against the muscled back of the Arabian. Of course. All this time she's been touching me, as if in a dream, she's been letting those familiar sensations from her childhood recur. Yes, that's it. She's letting the vibrations from the horse penetrate her through her pussy like she did when she was a girl. Right now, at this very moment, she's probably dripping wet. Maybe she's about to cum, or maybe she's cum already. Or maybe she's just happy to remain on the brink, in a heightened sense of arousal, making it last as long as she can. The thought of her in this state makes my cock throb. I feel like I could cum in my pants at any moment.

I can hardly believe what I do next. I reach down and take her hand which is lying on my inner thigh and I lay it right on my hard cock as it presses against the fabric of my pants. This is an overtly sexual gesture, and I'm aware it crosses a line, but I can't help myself. I am that turned on. 

I had no idea how Isabelle would react. I just had to do it. That's why I gasp when I feel her cup my cock in her hand and start to caress it. And when I hear her let out a soft moan I know she is feeling what I am feeling. She is thrilled that we both were sharing the same pleasure. She rubs me through my pants, long sensuous strokes along my rock hard cock. At the same time, she breathes heavily, moaning, no longer having to enjoy herself in silence. Her face is right next to my ear so I can hear every gasp, every moan, every whisper. I love hearing her get herself off. I love hearing what she sounds like when she's approaching orgasm. I love feeling her body heaving, her breasts pressing against me. She strokes me hungrily, as if that's getting her off too. She seems to love how big and hard I am. I hear her voice. "Jake, I'm going to come. Can you...can you....canter?"

"Yes" I say breathily. I too feel ready to explode at any second. I give the horse a kick and he bolts forward. Her fingernails dig into my chest and she lets out a gasp. The horse lopes, surging forward, straining and reaching with sinewy muscles, as our bodies cling to each other, moving together, violent yet graceful. With every stride we thrust together, her stroking me, the horse's body stroking her. She feels the huge muscled back under her and she presses her pussy against it. She lets out an ecstatic cry as her orgasm peaks. At that moment, I feel a rush through my body as if from somewhere deep in my reptilian brain, and the first explosion of semen floods my pants. She cries out again, coming loud and long, holding onto me while I do the same. The horse finally stops running on his own accord. We are spent, limp, completely released and satiated. We ride in silence, enveloped in each others arms. 



An American Houseguest Ch. 04



As Isabelle and I approach the house riding bareback on the gorgeous stallion they called Lancelot, I wish I could somehow stop the Earth's rotation and forever live in this time and place. The afternoon light casts a golden glow over the lake and the light sparkles like a million diamonds, glittering with every ripple and wave. Isabelle is embracing me from behind. I can feel her warm body pressed against mine. The only sound is the steady clip-clopping of the horse's hooves. 

"Let's not go back yet," she whispers, finally. She, too, it seems, wants to prolong our time together.

Near the footbridge, she leads us to a narrow path leading up the ridge. The horse climbs the uneven trail with remarkable agility. All I need to do is to hold on. The trail leads to a small creek and we follow it higher and higher. After a quarter mile or so, we enter a clearing --a large pool with a waterfall, surrounded by ferns and evergreens. Isabelle slides off the horse and holds the reins as I do the same. She guides him down to the edge of the pool to drink. She wraps the reins around the branch of a tree.

"I used to come here all the time as a kid," she says, wistfully. "It's our secret swimming hole."

I imagine her as a young girl, riding her horse, playing with her brother, in this idyllic place.

"Come, I'll show you." 

She takes my hand and leads me by foot along the edge of the water. At the far end, next to the waterfall, is a large boulder which rises from the deepest part of the pool. We make our way through the brush until we reach the back of the boulder and scramble up the shoulder of the huge rock. On the top, she surveys the clearing with her hands on her waist. Her hair is a full mane of long ringlets, her eyes lovely in the afternoon light. Her tight riding pants show off her strong legs and firm butt.

I'm standing next to her in my hiking shorts and my white button down shirt open. With my peripheral vision, I can see her sneak a peak at my chest, but I pretend not to notice. I just continue to take in the beautiful scenary. 

"Wow. Can you dive into the water from here?" I ask, peering over the edge. 

"Sure," she replies. "Peter's done it, though I never did. Too cowardly, I guess."

I turn and look at her with the most dashing expression I can muster. 

"You are anything but cowardly, Isabelle." 

"About some things, sure," she confides. "But about other things, I'm like a frightened child."

I look at her a moment and then look back at the twenty-five foot drop to the pool. I decide to lighten things.

"You know, when I was a boy, my older brother used to make me do things that I was normally afraid to do."

"How would he do that?" she asked. 

"He'd dare me."

"What?" 

"He'd dare me. If I said I was too afraid to do something, he'd say 'I dare you.' Or, worse, 'I double dare you.' Oh boy, if you were double dared you HAD to do it."

"But that doesn't make any sense."

I just shrug. "Thus is the power of a challenge. And of an older brother."

I look back at her with a smile.

"Let's go for a swim. I dare you."

Isabelle gives me a crooked smile.

"Are you challenging me Mr. Scott?" 

"I suppose I am," I reply, kicking off my tennis shoes. 

"But I didn't bring my bathing suit," she says.

"Neither did I," I answer, pulling off my shirt.

I see her looking at my chest and arms as she pulls off her riding boots. She seems taken by my swimmer's body. I stand before her wearing only my hiking shorts.

"Well?" I ask with an arched eyebrow.

"I can't very well swim in my riding pants," she says. "At least you're wearing shorts."

"Who said anything about wearing shorts," I reply, unfastening the button on my shorts. Her eyes go to my crotch and her mouth falls open slightly. I unzip my pants and let the shorts drop to my ankles. I'm wearing jockey shorts and my cock is filling them rather nicely. Undressing in front of Isabelle has caused me to grow long and thick. You can see the outline of my cock, and the swollen head, pressing against the cotton fabric. I step out of my hiking shorts and stand before her.

"Your turn," I say, playfully. 

She looks down at her riding outfit. She reaches down and slowly unzips the zipper on one side. She reaches with both hands and slowly slides the tight riding pants down her legs. She's wearing lacy bikini panties that show off her gorgeous ass. Her legs are long and graceful, yet strong. She bends over to pull her feet out of her pants. I feel my cock twitch as I look at her ass. She pulls off her top and I see her torso, firm and lead, a flat stomach and a toned, tanned body. She's wearing a matching bra of fine lace. As she pulls the top over her head, I take in her breasts, standing up, firm and round. I feel my cock swell.

"Of course, I'd hate to get my underwear soaking wet," I say. "Not very comfortable for the ride back."

My thumb slides under the waist band and I start to slowly pull it down.

"That is, if you don't object of course."

Isabelle blushes. Her eyes are fixated on the bulge in my underwear.

"Object? Of course not....comme tu veux....uh, as you wish." She's stammering now, flustered.

I'm playing with the waistband of my underwear now.

"It's just that it feels so much better when you swim naked, don't you think? To feel the water caressing you completely. You feel so.....free."

"Yes," she gulps. "You do."

"But I won't unless you feel comfortable with it of course." 

"Of course I'm comfortable" she asks, her eyes wide as saucers.

"Good," I say softly, and I pull the waistband of my shorts down with two hands, slowly, revealing a tuft of pubic hair and the base of my now lengthening cock. I slide them slowly down and watch her stare at the unveiling of my cock. I make it slow and dramatic. One inch at a time. Sliding it over my thick cock, down, down until I reach the head and the thickness catches on the waist of my underwear. I have to lean back and reach down to clear the bulbous head of my cock and as I do it springs forward, long and semi-hard. I hear her breathe a quick intake of air. 

"And you?" I ask, hoping against hope that she will follow suit.

She's staring on my cock, in a daze almost, and her fingers are slowly pulling down the straps of her bra. The lacy cups are loose, showing the tops of her breasts, to the point just above her nipples. She reaches around the back with one hand, trying to unclasp her bra.

"Can I help?" I ask valiantly and she slowly turns her back to me. I move behind her. Her body is so unbelievably gorgeous. A ballet dancer's body. Her back is slightly swaybacked and her perfect ass is beckoning to me. I move close to her and my cock is a millimeter from her lacy panties. I slowly unfasten her bra and slide the straps off her arms, gliding my fingers slowly and softly over her skin. Then, I reach down and take the edge of her bikini panties and slide my finger along the edge, and then slowly start to slide them down, over her ass and down her lovely legs. I stand behind her, taking in her scent. She leans back and presses her naked back against my chest, her head on my shoulder. I feel my cock, long and hard now, against the velveting skin of her ass.

"Oh, Jake," she whispers. "Feel my heart."

She takes my hand and places it on her left breast. It's firm and upturned, the nipple erect and hard. I cup her breast and feel my cock press between her legs. Her heart is indeed pounding.

"Feel mine," I say, and I turn her to face me. Her face is luminous, her eyes so beautiful. Her soft hand glides over my chest until she reaches my heart. Her eyes are fixed on mine as she rolls my nipple in her fingers. 

She puts her hand on top of my hand which still holds her breast. "You can feel how I feel. To be near you." She takes my hand in hers and guides it downward, over her tummy to her mound. It's only at this moment that I realize that she's shaved.

"Feel how wet I am," she whispers as she slips my fingers in the folds between her legs. The warm, wetness of her pussy feels incredible.

"Feel how hard I am," I say as I take her hand to my now long and hard cock. Her soft hand guides my cock so it stands upright between us. She strokes me with long, luxurious strokes. My cock throbs under her touch. 

My fingers start to penetrate her, pressing into the fleshy wetness, feeling her tight pussy clamped around my fingers. My God, she is so tight. How my cock would feel pushing inside her! Sliding in and out of this equisite nineteen year old body. Fucking this incredible creature. Kissing this amazing face. Hearing her get more and more excited. Moaning in French. Pushing deep inside her. Making her come. Coming inside her.

Suddenly, I feel on the verge of orgasm. She's been stroking me and I've been fingering her. And we've been losing ourselves in the moment. We're both breathing hard. I decide to decelerate a bit.

"Let's swim," I say.

I take her to the edge of the rock. 

"Let's jump in together," I say, holding her hand.

"No, no. You. You go. I'll walk around."

"No," I say urgently. "You can do it. I'll do it with you."

"No, Jake, I'm afraid," she says, sounding like a young girl now.

"I know you can do it. WE can do it. Together."

She looks down at the water below. I squeeze her hand and smile.

"Come on. I DARE you."

She smiles back at me and, in a moment, we are flying through space, the water rushing towards us. We land feet first and the cool water envelops us. We submerge and there are bubbles everywhere. I come to the surface quickly to see how she fared. She surfaces a moment later with a big smile on her face.

"I did it!" she exclaims. "Finally!"

I laugh and swim to her and we embrace. We swim together, our bodies gliding over each other. Every now and then I see her breasts above the water and she looks like a mermaid, beautiful and beguiling, her log hair covering her shoulders. She takes me to the waterfall and we climb up into it, letting the force of the water pound our heads and shoulders. We jump and swim and splash like children. It's heavenly. 

Finally, she tells me to follow her, and I do. Next to the waterfall is a grotto, a still pool of deep blue water surrounded by ferns and moss. She pulls herself onto the shore and looks back at me. 

"I feel like Odysseus," I say from the water "and you are a Siren tempting me."

She smiles and gives me a look of complete sensuousness, beckoning to me with her forefinger. I swim to her as she lays back onto a patch of verdant moss. Her naked body looking like a vision from a fantasy. I lift myself out of the water and stand over her.

"Are you a siren sent here by the gods to lure me to my doom?" I say, the water dripping from my torso. 

"Yes," she answers. "And you have no power to resist me."

I kneel next to her, looking deeply into her eyes.

"Then I won't. Resist you, that is."

And I kiss her. For the first time. Softly at first, and then fully on the lips. Her mouth opens and her tongue finds mine as we embrace.

We lay kissing for the longest time. Her lips are full and soft. She's a wonderful kisser and we do it well together. I wonder how experienced she is. She's young, true, but the French are so mature about everything its hard to know. For now, I'm enjoying the pure pleasure and innocence of the moment.

I kiss her neck and she coos with pleasure. I kiss her shoulders and the space along her collar bones. My hands are gliding ever so gently over her skin, taking my time, taking it slow. I've never felt anything so soft. 

She's caressing me with her entire body it seems. Her legs are constantly sliding over mine, her feet rubbing me, her fingers touching every corner of my back and my shoulders, my arms and my hair. But her hands always seem to gravitate to my ass, she cups my cheeks and caresses them, holds them and squeezes them. She pulls my ass towards her, as if to pull me inside of her. 

"Je suis chaud," she whispers in my ear, her fingernails digging into my ass. "J'ai besoin de toi. Seulment toi." 

My hand slips between her legs and slides up to her shaven pussy. She's indeed hot, incredibly hot, and wet. Her whole body is writhing, like a live wire pulsating with electricity. I've never seen a woman so turned on, so alive with sexuality.

I slide my fingers into her pussy and she lets out a moan. She's so wet, my fingers are instantly covered with her juices. I caress her labia and watch her as she arches and gasps. She's so responsive. I so much want to see and hear her come.

I find her clit and uncover the swollen mass. It's like a marble rolling in oil. I finger it and she cries out, loudly. I watch her as I slide my finger deep inside her, pull it out, and over her clit, and back in again. She's bucking and thrusting her hips against my hand. She moans again and I can tell her orgasm is approaching.

I start to rub her clit faster now, lightly feathering it, rubbing across it with my fingertips. She arches back, her breasts pushed up to the sky. Her nipples are sticking out, hard and erect. Her mouth is open and her eyes shut. She lets out a long, gutteral moan as her orgasm nears.

I take that moment to wrap my lips around her nipple and suck her heaving breast. She moans again loudly. I suck her hard and she puts her hand behind my head, pulling me to her breast. My finger is still rubbing her clit and her body is jerking and twitching. I glide my mouth down her body and replace my fingers with my tongue. She screams.

I sink my tongue into her wetness, swirling it through the folds until I find her clit. I glide my broad tongue over her clit, again and again, while she holds my head with both hands. She's raising her pelvis, thrusting into my face. Her mouth is open and she's moaning with every breath. I thrust my tongue deep in her and slide it out and over her clit. Again. And again. Her fingernails dig into my scalp and her hips raise and I can feel her tipping over into orgasm.

For the longest time I eat her out, giving her the pleasure of my face in her crotch, my tongue in her pussy. I so much want to please her, to give her the joy of complete and utter sexual release. I've never been with a woman who's given herself over to sexual pleasure the way she does. She's truly orgasmic.

After her orgasm subsides, I lay with my head on her thigh and watch her, her breasts heaving, a smile on her beautiful face. She's running her fingers through my curly hair and I feel completely happy and at peace.

"Jake?" she says softly. 

"Yes."

"Je veux faire le soixante-neuf avec toi. Je ne sais pas comment dit on en anglais."

"C'est le meme chose," I answer.

"How do you say it in English?" she asks?

"It's the same as in French" I answer, simply. "Sixty-nine. Let's do sixty-nine."

"Ah bon. Let's do sixty-nine, Jake. I want to suck your cock while you lick me. At the same time."

"D'accord, ma chere." I answer.

She lifts herself and lays by my side, her face at my hips. I lay on my back and she raises her leg and lifts it over my body. She's on all fours, her head at my crouch, her pussy hovering over my face. The moss beneath me feels like the softest feather bed.

I watch her move as if in a dance, albeit a dance I've never had the pleasure to see performed on stage. She arches her back and lowers her head in one graceful motion and gently brushes my body with her nipples. I feel the tip of her tongue glide over my cock. She does the motion again, swooping herself down to gently graze my body and I feel her warm tongue slide over the length of my cock. The next time, I feel her lips, her full, fleshy lips, kissing my cock. I become hard almost instantly.

Her tongue finds the head of my cock and she licks me like an artist wielding her brush. Under the ridge, over the tip, and along the tender underside. I feel like I'm on a roller coaster. My body is trembling and electricity is shooting through me with every touch. Finally, her lips wrap around the head of my cock and I let out a loud moan. 

"You like?" she asks. "I want so much to give you what you have given me. Complete pleasure."

"That's what I'm feeling, Isabelle. You don't even know."

She smiles and takes my cock into her mouth. Her tongue starts to swirl over the tip, circling me, and sliding over me, and tickling me. It sends shocks through my system. My whole body is shaking. I moan loudly. 

She takes me deeper into her mouth and throat. It's incredible what she can do with her mouth and tongue. She slides me slowly in and then out, using her tongue to stimulate me as she does it. I'm moaning with every suck, every lick. She takes me deeper. And deeper. She has me in her throat now. Deep in her throat. Sucking me. Rhythmically. Stroking my long, hard cock with her mouth and lips and tongue. I'm huge now. And hard. She's making me bigger than I've ever, ever been.

I feel I could explode at any moment. I'm that close to the edge. I decide to distract myself my going to work on her pussy. Maybe that will help me avoid coming.

I reach up with my hands and grip her ass, her perfect ass. I lift my head and gently lick the labial lips of her pussy. Like a cat she responds and lowers her pussy to my face. I start to slowly lick it, along the folds, and then pushing inside her with my warm wet tongue. 

For a moment, she pauses her sucking, a moment of relief as I try to pull back from the brink. My licking has got her attention and she's having trouble concentrating. I sink my tongue deep inside her pussy and her body trembles. I start to explore her insides and she starts to move her pussy in circles against my face. She starts to suck my cock again, with vigor.

I'm licking her deeply now, and then pulling out to find her clit. Her body is undulating, she's rubbing herself against my tongue, the way she wants it, the way that gets her hot. I'm lifting my hips too, sinking my cock into her mouth, pushing deep into her throat. I'm fucking her face, that beautiful face, while she fucks mine.

God, this is so fucking nasty. And so fucking sexy. I've never fucked such a beautiful woman nor one who has been so sexually responsive. She's putting her whole body into sucking me and rubbing against me. She's like an athlete, a sexual athlete who can manipulate her body to gain, and give, the most pleasure possible. 

I, too, am putting my entire body into it. I'm thrusting up with my big hard-on and sliding it into her mouth. I'm big and hard and long and full of cum and I'm sliding it deep into her throat. My face is full of dripping wet pussy and I'm tonguing her clit and sinking it deep inside her. I feel like an animal completely given over to sexual desire.

"Isabelle, I want to move love to you." 

"Oh oui," she gasps. "Oui, je veux la meme chose. Maintenant. Depeche-toi."

"Come on top of me. I want to see you. To watch you."

She nods and moves like a cat on her hands and knees. Every move she makes is sexy. She straddles me and I place my hands on her hips. She takes my rock hard cock in her hands and raises it upward. She inches forward to position herself over me. She starts to lower herself onto my cock.

I'm stroking her legs, watching her. Our eyes are fixed on each others. I feel like I'm in an altered state. I'm aware only of her and my desire for her. I want to be inside her so badly.

I feel her pussy on my cock. She's so wet. She rubs the tip along her pussy and then into the folds. I pop inside her and it is so tight, so hot, so wet, I can hardly believe it. It's like a wet, warm fist squeezing the tip of my cock. She lowers herself onto me and lets out a gasp.

I watch her slowly raise and lower herself onto my shaft, moving in slow motion, her mouth open, her eyes fixed on mine. Up and down she moves, each time pressing me into her a bit deeper. It's so erotic I can't help myself and I thrust my hips up and into her, grunting as I do. She lets out an animalistic shriek. 




An American Houseguest Ch. 04



I hold her hips with my hands and press into her, rotating my hips and stroking her with my cock. She moans with pleasure, rocking her head from side to side, her long hair swinging. She raises her arms over her head and starts to undulate on top of me, rubbing herself against my hard shaft. I continue to push myself in and out of her, going deeper each time.

Feeling her pussy squeezing me, and looking at her against the canopy of the trees, with the sound of the water, and the feeling of the mossy bed under me, is a complete sensory feast. I feel like I've never seen nor felt anything that approaches the beauty and pleasure of this moment. 

She puts her hands on my chest, feeling my pecs, digging her fingernails into them. I reach up and hold her waist, guiding her motions, and then slide up to feel her breasts and fully erect nipples. She leans back, resting her hands on my thighs, her head tilted back. She arches her back so that her breasts point straight up to the sky. Her nipples are so big and extended they are her highest point. She grinds her pussy into me, rubbing her clit on the base of my shaft. She lets out a gutteral moan.

I quicken the pace of my thrusts and start to slam my pelvis into her. She starts to moan with every thrust, her breasts bouncing as I pummel her. She obvioulsy likes the faster motion and I can tell she is about to come. I could come to, at any moment, but I don't want to. Not yet. Not now.

She leans forward, grabbing my pecs again. She's digging into me and I can tell her orgasm is near. I lift my pelvis high, burying myself in her, and she screams so loudly it startles both of us. After a pause, we both let out a laugh. There's no one around to hear so she lets out another scream. Then I let out a scream of my own and we laugh again. Then, I pull her hips down and press up with my cock. I'm buried in her pussy up to the hilt. I grind my pubic bone against hers. This time she screams for real. Her body starts to shake, to vibrate. She's coming. I don't want to. I want to wait. It's so hard.

I keep grinding her with my pelvis and she keeps screaming and shuddering. I can feel her pussy contracting. So tight. I don't want to come. Her eyes are squeezed shut, she's shaking now, she's coming. Screaming and coming. I want to explode so badly. Don't come yet. 

Finally, her orgasm subsides and she collapses on my chest. I slowly stroke her, taking my cock all the way out and all the way in. She comes back to life. She starts to move her body with me. We're in unison. 

"Jake, I want you to give you the orgasm you want. The way you want. How do you want?"

I think a moment. This is perfect. But could it be even better. Do I want to come in her mouth? No, I'd rather see that beautiful face. In her ass? Someday, sure, but not the very first time we make love. On her breasts? In her face? No, she's too classy, too refined to be defiled like that. No, I want to come in her tight little pussy. I want to fuck her hard in her hot wet pussy. On top of her. Staring her in the face. Fucking her deep and hard until I explode deep inside her. That's what I want. 

Suddenly, as if possessed, I hold her by the torso and turn her over on her back. In an instant, I'm on top of her. Her eyes widen. She sees I'm in total control now. She looks ready to surrender to me, to give herself to me completely and without reservation. 

"Put your legs around my neck," I say.

She slowly lifts her legs and lays them on my shoulders. I'm laying against the back of her thighs and I push my cock deeper in her than it's ever been. She feels me pressing against her insides. 

"No man has been so deep in me before," she gasps.

I look her square in the face and start to pump my body so that my cock penetrates her completely. I'm holding myself up on my elbows and watching her watching me. Again and again I pump my pelvis into her, filling her, impaling her, splitting her in two. She reaches down and grips my ass with both hands, pulling me deep inside her. 

I feel my orgasm approaching but try to stave it off. This is the greatest lovemaking I've ever enjoyed and I don't want it to end. But I can't hold off. I feel the biggest orgasm of my life approaching.

"I want you to come Jake. I want to feel you come inside me."

I push into her, again and again, faster and faster, watching her face, her gorgeous face, and feeling the luscious warm wet folds of her pussy surrounding me. I press deep and hold it there, her legs around my neck and feel the growing rush flowing from my extremities to my loins. She knows I'm close and she spreads her legs outward, like a flower opening its petals. I give her one last thrust and hold myself deep inside her. I feel an electrical charge shoot through my body and right out my cock. I feel my cum spray her insides. I let out a loud moan.

"Yes. Oh yes," she cries. "Fill me with your cum." 

I thrust again and feel another explosion of cum shoot deep inside her. I can feel her watching me, reveling in the moment, and it turns me on to know she's doing it. Again I feel my cum spray and I let out a moan that comes from somewhere deep in me. This is what she wants. What we both want.

I collapse with my head in the crook of her neck. She wraps her legs around my back like a blanket. We're effectively one, wrapped together, a co-mingling of arms and legs. We lay there the longest time, feeling the moss beneath us and with no sound but the constant rush of water falling over the rocky cliff.



An American Houseguest Ch. 05



As Isabelle and I approach the stable, the two of us astride the horse they call Lancelot, I see Antoine the groom out front. He's standing on the flatbed of an old truck filled with hay and he holds a pitchfork in his hands. His shirt is off and he's sweaty, as if he's been working hard for a while. I'm conscious of how this must look, the Isabelle and I riding barebacked, our hair wet and our faces flush, our bodies pressed together. I'm not sure how public Isabelle wants to be with our newborn intimacy. What she whispers to me suggests she wants to keep it secret.

"You had better slip off," she says under her breath.

I raise my leg and slide off the horse and take the halter in my hand. I hold the horse as Isabelle herself dismounts as Antoine jumps down from the back of the truck to help us. First, though, he picks up his t-shirt to put it on. It's a funny bit of formality. He can't, or doesn't want to, be seen by the mademoiselle of the house without his shirt. As he slips on his shirt, I notice how well-built his is. Not in the gym-honed way of the guys back in New York, but with strong arms hewed from actual physical labor. 

Antoine takes the horse from me and he gives me a little nod. Is he simply thanking me for holding the horse or is it an acknowledgment between two men who share the same secret. He and Isabelle talk briefly in French. I can't understand it all but it has to do with the care of Lancelot. Antoine nods and takes the horse into the stables. Walking up to the house, I decide to broach the subject with Isabelle.

"You know, if you want to keep the story of our ride discreet, I completely understand," I say, trying my best to be non-chalant. I don't want her to misinterpret me, but I also feel a need for clarity.

Isabelle looks at me for a moment before she speaks.

"Jake, there is nothing about which I feel ashamed." I start to explain that wasn't what I meant but she cuts me off. "But I think discretion would be a wise choice for now. Thank you."

She squeezes my hand and we continue walking in silence.

On the terrace, Peter is sitting in the sun with a paperback in his hand and what looks like a cocktail. 

"Bonjour kiddies!" he calls out with a grin. "Did you hike together?"

"Jake hiked the lake trail and I ran into him when I was riding Lancelot," she answers casually. 

"Splendid," Peter replies, "and how was it?"

"Incredible," I say, glancing at Isabelle. "It's incredibly beautiful here."

"That it is," Peter agrees. "Say, listen, Father and I ran into Charles in the village. He's invited us to the Fete tonight. I told him we'd come. The whole family. Hope you don't mind, Izzy."

I remember something about Charles being the rich guy who's courting Isabelle. I can see from her reaction that I'm right.

"Oh Peter, did you have to?" she says, with exasperation. "I'm trying to get OUT of that obligation. Now, I HAVE to go."

"Don't worry, pumpkin," Peter replies kindly. "It'll be okay. Jake and I will be there to help you fight off the watch heir. Won't we, Jake?"

"But what will you wear?" Isabelle continues. "You haven't costumes!"

"Costumes?" I interject. 

"Don't worry about it," Peter says. "Jake can wear my extra tux. And I picked up a couple of masks we can wear. It's all taken care of."

He gives her a little nudge.

"Come on. Don't be a stick-in-the-mud."

"Oh, alright," she answers, not entirely convincingly.

Peter turns to me. "It's an annual costume party. For charity. The host is Isabelle's erstwhile boyfriend. We'll go as her bodyguards."

"Can't wait," I answer. "I think I'll go clean up."

I pay my respects and head for my room. I undress and hop in the shower. As usual, my insecurities come creeping back. 

That's just great. Now I get to meet the other guy, the Swiss watch heir who's trés riche and probably trés beau as well. Isabelle can see us side by side. The struggling, unpublished writer and the landed gentry who probably "winters" in Southern France and flies all over world. How can I compete with this guy?

I soap my body and let the water stream over my head.

Wait a minute. Who says I'm even in the game? She had sex with me. We shared an amazing afternoon together. That doesn't mean I'm a rival for her affections. Jesus, Jake, pull yourself together. As I dress in my khaki slacks and a clean white button-down shirt, I find myself replaying the tapes in my head that plagued me during my adolescence. You're nothing. You'll never amount to anything. Your dreams are just that -- dreams. Just then, there's a knock at the door. 

"Entrez!" I call out. 

Sticking his head in my door is Mr. Fleury, one of the servants. 

"Excusez-moi, Monsieur," he says, "Une message pour vous de Madame." 

He hands me an envelope and closes the door. I open it. It's a hand-written note from Veronique, Isabelle's Mom. 

"I'm waiting for you in my bedroom. Veronique."

My heart drops. I completely forgot. I had promised to recite one of my impromptu short stories to Isabelle's Mom earlier this morning. I hadn't had a moment to prepare. And now she wants me in her bedroom. Perfect. This will go over really well with Isabelle. 

I take the stairs to the second level and find the room Peter pointed out was hers during the house tour. I take a deep breath before I enter. I will not do anything that jeopardizes what I have with Isabelle. Whatever it is that we have. I'm just not going to blow it by sleeping with her Mother, for God's sake. 

I knock lightly and open the door.

Inside I find a high-ceilinged room with ornate furniture and a big window facing the lake. A Persian rug covers most of the floor and a large canopied bed faces the window. The afternoon light streams into the room. Veronique is laying on the bed, against an array of pillows. 

"You're late," she says matter-of-factly.

"I'm sorry, I just got back from my hike and I needed to shower."

"That's alright. I'm glad you're...cleaned up. It's just I've been anxious to hear one of your stories. You DID prepare a story for me, didn't you?"

"Sure. Sure I did." I step into the room and look out the window. The lake looks luminescent in the afternoon light. I turn and look at Veronique. She's wearing a silk robe with some kind of lacy outfit underneath. Her legs are exposed, and they're incredible. 

"Would you like a drink?" she asks and I see a crystal decanter filled with a brownish liquid and a bucket of ice. I think about it but decide it might not be a good idea.

"No. Thank you. I need my wits about it. For the story."

"Suit yourself," She replies, taking a sip from the glass on the bedside table.

"So how does this work, exactly?" she asks. "Do you just make it up then?"

I walk slowly to the bookshelf, getting comfortable in the room. 

"Something like that. I have a premise which I work from and then I just let my imagination go."

I'm lying through my teeth. I have no premise whatsoever. I glance at the bookshelf. It's lined with framed photos with high fashion models. After a moment, I realize they're all of her. Gorgeous haute couture shots of Veronique looking stunning. 

"And you just go wherever your imagination takes you, is that it?"

"That's right."

"Well, I hope it takes you somewhere hot. I'm in the mood for something trés stimulée. Tu comprend, n'est-ce pas?"

I'm staring at a framed photo of Veronique sitting cross-legged and turning to the camera. She's not wearing a stitch. Her breasts are beyond beautiful. I look over at her on the bed and she's taking in my full form, head to foot. 

"I'll see what I can do." 

I step over to the window and look out. I've got to pull a rabbit out of my hat. I think a moment, staring out to the lake. I feel the rays of the afternoon sun caressing me. Standing in front of the window, I feel as if I'm being illuminated by the sun. I notice, too, that if I stand just so, I can clearly see Veronique in the reflection of the window, watching me from the bed. And thus arrives my inspiration.

"Long ago, a Queen lived in a castle next to a mountain lake. She was known as the most beautiful queen ever to have reigned in this or any land. All who looked on her were astonished by her beauty. The women envied her and the men desired her. 

But her husband the King was a jealous man. He knew the effect his queen had on others. As he travelled to the far reaches of his kingdom, he wondered if she was truly faithful. His mind was wracked with worry and jealousy. He couldn't bear the thought of her with another man.

So the King issued an edict. Whenever he was away from the castle, the Queen must remain locked in her room. She could only be free when the King returned and could ensure her fidelity. And so, during the King's voyages she would remain in her room, guarded by not one but two soldiers, for a single soldier might succumb to her unsurpassed beauty.

At first, the Queen tolerated her imprisonment by reading, and drawing, and weaving, and all the sundry activities she could think of to pass the time. But after a while, she grew resentful. What right does the King have to keep me so? Why should I be punished merely for being beautiful? She vowed to rebel. But how?

As Fate allowed, there was a young Knight who was smitten by her beauty. He was a handsome young man from a far off land whose father had sent him to learn the ways of the world. He had seen the Queen in court and was enthralled by her radiance, her exquisite face, and her graceful body. He knew of the Queen's captivity and he felt sympathy for her plight. 

The knight hatched a plan. At night, when all the courtiers had gone to sleep, he sneaked into a room in the tower directly opposite the Queen's bedroom. From the window in the tower he could see into her room, and from her window she could see into his. He placed a lighted candle on the sill and stood before it so that it illuminated him. Night after night he waited, illuminated in the window, waiting for her to see him. 

As it happened, the Queen had also noticed the young Knight in court. He was handsome and strong with broad shoulders and dark curly hair. One day, at a jousting tournament, he had won the contest and when he came to bow before her and the King, their eyes met ever so briefly and she felt a fluttering in her stomach. That night, as she lay with the King, it was the Knight she thought of, his strong body, and his handsome face. Now, this same Knight was standing before her.

That first night, they stood there, each of them bathed in candlelight, watching each other, taking in the other's form and visage. And so it was the second night. But on the third night, as he stood before her, something different happened. His passion for her was so great, he couldn't help himself. He raised his hand to his face and gently touched his finger to his lips. He slowly slid his finger over his full lips, imagining it was her touching him. She, in turn, put her finger to her lips and slowly rubbed the luscious flesh. 

His finger then moved down to his chest. He let them slide gently over his muscled body. Mirroring him, she, too, let her hands roam to her breast. She ran her fingers over her breast. She rubbed her nipples through the soft fabric. She imagined it was him touching her, feeling her breasts, rubbing her nipples. Soon they were hard, pressing against the soft fabric of her blouse. He could clearly see the outline of her nipples, standing up and out, and he felt a stirring in his loins. He unfastened his shirt and let it fall open, exposing his muscled chest to her."

Standing at the window in Veronique's room, I stare out at the lake, in a kind of trance as the story flows out of me. 

"He raised his hand to his face and gently touched his finger to his lips. He slowly slid them over is full lips."

I lift my fingers to my own lips and slowly, sensuously, rubbed my lips, all the while watching Veronique in the glass.

"She, in turn, put her finger to her lips and slowly rubbed the luscious flesh."

In the reflection, I can see her raising her finger to her mouth. The writer in me loves the control I have over my audience.

"He let them slide gently over his muscled body. She, too, let her hands roam to her breast. She ran her fingers over her nipples."

Again, I mime the words as I speak them, touching my chest and then prompting her to do the same. I watch Veronique in the reflection. She's reaching under her silk robe and run her finger over both her nipples. She has no idea I can see her, but I can. Not only can I watch her every move, I feel like I can control them. In the reflection, I can clearly see her fingering her nipples. They're standing up now, pressing against the sheer fabric of her camisole. I start to unbutton my shirt. I watch her watching me, transfixed.

I resume my story, following exactly the actions of the Knight.

"He let his shirt drop on the floor and bared his chest for her. She saw the body of a man, a young man, at the prime of his life. His broad shoulders, his muscled torso, his strong arms. That he was baring himself to her, giving her that gift, moved her deeply. She felt a tingling between her legs. 

He lifted his arms and leaned against the top of the window frame, the muscles in his arms tensing, his chest and stomach rippling. She felt he was showing her how strong he was, what he would look like when he was above her, about to take her. Her hand was drifting downward, from her breasts to her stomach, and further, slowly, hesitantly, but inexorably downward. 

He could see he was giving her pleasure and that in turn pleased him. He liked to watch her touch herself. He wanted her to touch herself. Touch yourself. Right now. I want to watch you touch yourself while you look at me. That pleases me, he thought."

In the refection, I can see Veronique following my cue, reaching down to the space between her legs, her fingers sliding into the warm, wet folds of her pussy. She's in my control all right. "Her fingers found the wetness between her legs and touched herself, without shame, for she imagined it was him touching her. He watched her, pleasuring herself, and it lit a fire in him like he'd never felt. He felt himself growing bigger. And harder. Watching her touch herself. Watching her fingers loving her the way he wanted to love her. It made him so hard. He wanted to show her how hard he was."

Now, Veronique has her legs spread. She's spreading her lips with one hand and fingering herself with the other. I can hear her breathing fast now. She's getting hotter and hotter. 

Knowing my words are inspiring this is making me hot as well. The pressure in my pants is almost unbearable.

"The knight slowly unfastens his pants and lets them slide down his body. Suddenly, she is taking in the sight of him fully naked, standing before her. He is displaying himself to her, to please her, and that moves her deeply. A deep and growing passion builds in her body."

I unfasten my own pants. I have to. My cock is pressing against them and I've got to get some relief. I let my slacks and underwear slide down my legs and step out of them. I'm still facing the window, my back to Veronique, showing her my back and my ass. I hear her let out a moan when I show her my ass. 

I remember earlier in the day, when I was returning from my swim, with the water still dripping from my body, how she stared at my body, how fixated she was on my ass, and my cock. The way she ogled my chest and my legs. She devoured me with her eyes and now she was doing it again.

In the reflection, her fingers are moving more quickly and her breathing is more audible. I raise my arms over my head and move my ass slowly. I hear her let out another moan. I've got her right where I want her. I rotate my hips and flex my arms. The setting sun is basking me in a golden light. She's starting to gasp now, moving her fingers quickly against her clit. I reach back and grab my butt cheeks, the way I know she wants to, and squeeze them as if she's pulling me inside her. She lets out a loud moan. 

The sound of Veronique bringing herself to orgasm is one of the hottest aural experiences I've ever had and my cock has grown into a huge erection. Still, I keep my back to her, moving my ass slowly, until the right point in my story. 

"The knight is so taken by her beauty, so enraptured by her passion, that his own passion grows to its fullest height. He wants so much to be with her.....to touch her.....to feel her naked body under his....to push himself inside her....to penetrate her, again and again.....to fill her with every inch of his enormous love for her. But he can't. He can only watch her. Just as she can only watch him."

Veronique is moaning loudly now, she's coming, or is close to it. My words are carrying her over the precipice.

"The knight wants her to touch herself as if it was he who was touching her.....He wants her fingers to be inside her as if it were his manhood inside her....He wants her whole hand to push inside her, to penetrate her, because that's what it would feel like if he FUCKED HER WITH THIS!"

With that, I turn around and face her, and her eyes fall on my cock, thick and hard, standing straight up, the head swollen and throbbing. 

I see her with her legs spread wide, her pussy is glistening and the fingers right hand is buried inside, while her left rubs her clitoris. I see what I couldn't make out in the reflection -- her body is trembling and her pelvis is jerking upward. Her mouth is open and her chest is heaving, her breasts bouncing with each pelvic thrust. She's in the throes of a complete, all-encompassing orgasm.

"She saw the effect she had on him. How big he made him. How much he desired her. It made her passion grow even more intense. Her beauty was enough to make him huge, even across the space between them, and that made her pleasure even greater."

She is quivering now, shaking like a leaf in a summer storm. I can see the perspiration on her chest, the wild animal look in her eyes. I step toward her. Her eyes are fixated on my rock hard cock.

I stand next to her bed. My big cock is stretched out, pointing at her. Taunting her. For the first time in many minutes, Veronique spoke. Her voice was a hoarse whisper.

"Fuck me....I want you to fuck me."

"She couldn't touch him. But she could touch herself. And imagine. And that was enough."

Her voice was dark. Desperate. 

"No, it's not enough. I need you to fuck me. I beg you. Please!"

"And their secret love might have continued like this but, as fate would have it, a servant heard the moans of the Queen. Fearing she might be ill, she entered the room and discovered her pleasuring herself. Seeking favor, she told a member of the King's retinue and soon the King himself learned her secret, though he was unaware of the Knight's role in it. He resolved to deny her any opportunity for self-pleasure and he had her watched by a trusted guard all through the day. At night, he did'nt trust a guard to be with his beautiful wife, so he came up with another plan."

As I talk, I move to the ornate bureau that sits by the wall. I slide open the top drawer. Beautiful silken panties with the finest lace I've ever seen. I open the next one. Bingo. Sheer black stockings. I grabs several and return to Veronique on the bed. 

"Each night, the King arranged to have the Queen bound. Tied to her bedpost. Hands and feet. Arms to either post. Legs to either post. She was spread wide. And the door was locked and the key given to the most revered Holy Man. Only thus could he ensure that the Queen would remain chaste."

As I speak these words, I take Veronique's arms and forcibly push them upward so I can tie her hands to the bedpost. Her eyes are big, full of fire and anticipation. When I tie her legs, I see just how wet her pussy is.




An American Houseguest Ch. 05



"She was completely helpless. Exposed and helpless. Try as she might, she couldn't escape. The plan was foolproof."

The turn in the story has only made Veronique hotter. Her body is writhing, straining against her bonds. She whispers to me in a pleading, urgent voice.

"Oh please Jake. You can do anything you want. Put your cock in my mouth if you want. Fuck me in the ass. Yes? You want to fuck me in the ass? You can. I just need you to do it now. Right now. Please."

At that moment, there's a knock on the door. We both freeze. 

"Oui?" she says, her voice sounding startled.

A subservient male voice from the hallway outside.

"Excusez-moi, Madame. Le dîner est preparée. Les autres sont déjà aux table.

"Quoi? Ah bon," she says "je viens tout de suite."

As the sound of steps recedes in the hallway, she turns to me. 

"You need to untie me. The others. They're waiting for us at dinner."

I start to untie her.

"But I want to know what happens," she says. "Tell me."

We're both starting to dress now as I start to bring the story to a close.

"Well, it seems the holy man, the one who was entrusted with the key, he in turn gave the key to another member of the order. A mysterious hooded priest who moved stealthily around the castle. That night, the hooded priest made it to the Queen's locked bedchamber. Without anyone seeing, he snuck inside. There, the Queen lay with her arms and legs bound to the bed. The hooded priest entered the darkened room. She heard him approach her bed. She held her breath. She could feel the sheet being pulled off her body. And when he touched her, she knew instantly. It was the Knight. She couldn't see him in the dark, but she knew. Before, she could only see him but she couldn't touch him. Now, it was reversed. 

They made love that night with a passion the world has rarely seen."

I turn and look at Veronique.

"The End."

Veronique is fastening her bra. She gives me a determined look. 

"I want that ending for me," she says. "With you. Tonight."

"Well, we're going to the costume party tonight, aren't we?" I'm trying to find an excuse. 

Although I had gotten carried away with my story, I hadn't intended on getting sexual with her. Not after what happened with Isabelle earlier in the day.

"I don't care if you have to fuck me in the middle of the dance floor. I want that ending. Do you hear?"

"What about your husband?" I say, lamely.

"Ecoutez, Jake. Listen. I haven't made love with my husband in two years. You just gave me the best orgasm I've had in five. You WILL fuck me tonight. You will sneak into my room and tie me up and put that big American cock in me or else I'm going throw you out of my house. Do you hear me?"

I'm so flabbergasted I almost laugh. Is she serious? She is, isn't she? What kind of mess have I gotten myself into.



An American Houseguest Ch. 06



Sitting at the dinner table, eating my foie gras and sipping my glass of Châteauneuf-du-Pâpe, I feel like a man who'd won a million dollars with a stolen lottery ticket. 

Directly opposite me is Isabelle, the gorgeous 20-something ballerina and the object of my utmost affection. Next to her is Peter, her brother, my erstwhile best friend, who's invited me on this weeklong visit to his family's vacation home.

Next to him is Veronique, his mother, the 40-something former supermodel who's been trying to jump my bones since I got here. 

And, standing against the wall, in a super-sexy maid's outfit is Justine, the young daughter of the cook and butler who's already given me the most sensuous "massage complète" of my life. And finally, next to me, is the old man himself who doesn't seem to like me much.

I don't know who to look at. So I'm just concentrating on the foie gras.

"We should leave no later than 8:00 if we want to be at the party by 9," says Veronique. 

The party she's referring to is the costume ball at the estate belonging to the owner of a major watch company. The son in that family has been chasing Isabelle for more than a year. He's filthy rich and I hate the guy with a passion. I have yet to meet him.

"Jake and I are going as twins," says Peter sardonically. "He's going to wear my spare tux. We'll be like the Bobbsey twins."

"More like the Menendez twins," says Isabelle with a sly grin. "Très dangereux." 

I steal a glance at Isabelle and she smiles at me. I feel her foot glance my leg.

"I don't particularly care what you wear as long as you don't embarrass me," Veronique says archly. 

"Mother!" says Peter with mock horror. "When have I ever embarrassed you?" 

He shoots grin at me. Meanwhile, I feel Isabelle's foot caressing my calf.

"You mean, 'when was the last time you embarrassed me'," answers Veronique. "You can be incorrigible at these affairs, Pierre."

I look at Isabelle and she's looking at her plate. Her foot is working its way up my leg. She seems to be holding back a smile.

"Nonsense, Mother," says Peter. "I'm always on my very best behavior. Especially at the summer fête."

"Well, your best behavior is not always the pinnacle of social acceptability, shall we say," says Veronique dismissively. 

Peter raises his eyebrows and looks at me. All I can concentrate on is Isabelle's foot which is now sliding between my thighs. My heart is starting to pound; my cock to harden.

"Mother, you're too conscious of social mores. That's because you were born in the 70's. Now had you been born in the 60's, you would be smashing up the furniture and marching in the streets. Down with the establishment!"

Veronique lets out a laugh and shakes her head. At the same time, Isabelle's is slumping slightly in her chair, so her foot can slide further between my legs.

"Honestly," says Veronique. "You have no idea. I was quite the gypsy in my youth. I had visited all the major continents by the time I was 16. I was a citizen of the world." 

I spread my legs and slump slightly in my chair. Isabelle's foot reaches my bulge. She starts to softly stroke me with her foot. My cock is hard and she's rubbing the ball of her foot right on the head.

"Yes, Mother," says Peter. "We've heard the tales of your days as a wanton youth. Full of drug-filled orgies, I'm sure." 

Isabelle laughs and then quickly covers her mouth with her hand. My heart is pounding. I want to take my cock out of my pants right then and there and make love to her beautiful foot. 

"Oh Peter, be quiet," says Veronique, perfunctorily, standing up. "Come Isabelle, we'd better get ready or we'll be late."

Peter stands too and wipes his smirk with his napkin.

"Come on Jake," he says. "We've got to find you a monkey suit."

Upstairs in Peter's room, standing in front of the full-length mirror, I take in the image of Peter and me putting the finishing touches on our costumes. 

I'm wearing his spare tuxedo. An Armani, no less. Only Peter would have a $1000 Armani as his second tuxedo. It actually fits me okay, a bit snug but passable. On my face is an ornate mask with sequins and a peacock feather that Peter picked up at an antique store in Mürren. A rose in my lapel completes the ensemble.

Peter is dressed identically: black tux, ornate mask, and white rose in his lapel. He appraises us both before announcing his verdict.

"Not bad for a last-minute salvage job," he said matter-of-factly. "And the irony is we'll probably be better dressed than most of the idiots there."

As Peter heads downstairs to wait for Veronique and Isabelle, I duck in my room for a quick pit stop. From the bathroom, I can hear someone enter the bedroom.

"Peter?" I ask. 

I stick my head out of the bathroom and see Justine the maid straightening the pillows on the bed. Her back is to me and she's bent over, hiking up her little skirt, so I get a perfect view -- high heels, two long, luscious legs with black stockings, leading up to the hint of a perfect round ass in lacy panties under a ruffled skirt. I feel my cock stir and she turns to me, startled.

"Oh, Monsieur Jake," she says in that alluring French accent. "Je ne savais pas que vous êtes ici. J'étais seulment preparer votre chambre." 

"That's okay... Ça ne fait rien," I reply.

"Monsieur Jake allez attender le bal ce soir, n'est-ce pas? Vous êtes très beau. Très beau."

She gives me a coquettish look as only a young French girl can. She looks up through her long eyelashes with her knees pressed together. God, what a minx this creature is. I feel my cock lengthening just watching her. She goes back to fluffing the pillows, but arching her back and sticking out her butt even more this time. This is torture.

"Voulez-vous quelque chose quand vous retournerez? " She's smoothing the coverlet on the bed, coming closer to where I'm standing. "Quelque chose pour vous aider dormir?" 

She wants to know if I'll want anything from her when I get home from the party. To help me sleep. Her hand slides from the bed to my leg, up my body, to my chest. "Ou peut-être quelque chose enerveé. Peut-être....moi? 

Suddenly, she's face to face with me and she raises herself on her tiptoes, tilts her head and takes my lower lip between her own. She kisses me for moment, her full fleshy lips sucking on my lower lip, pulling it. Her big brown eyes look into mine. My cock is pressing against my pants.

"Que est-ce que vous voulez?" she says, asking me what I'd like in the sexiest voice imaginable. She takes my hand and raises it to her mouth. She slowly wraps her lips around my index finger. She slides it in and out.

It feels like she's saying: "These lips would give you the greatest blow job of your life."

"Vous voulez ma bouche?"

I feel my cock throbbing in my pants. I'm hard as a rock.

"Ou, peut-être vous voulez plus. " She takes my finger and glides it over her firm breast, down her body and between her legs. She slides it right under her panties and over her warm, wet pussy. She's shaven. She's wet. And she's tight. My cock feel like it'll burst through my trousers. 

"Vous pouvez avoir tous. Comme vous voulez. Je veux vous donner. Vous comprenez?"

She's telling me I can have her. Tonight. Whatever I want. I feel like ripping off her clothes right now. Just then I hear Peter's voice yelling from outside. 

"Jake, hurry up! The train's leaving!"

I can't think of the words to say to Justine. So I just take my finger and raise it to my mouth and suck off her juices. She smiles at me. I turn for the door.

"Je serait ici. Dans votre lit. J'attendrai."

She says she'll be waiting for me when I get back. In my bed. Probably naked. Or wearing that sexy black underwear I saw her in before. I bound down the staircase, as fast as my erection will allow me. 

In the foyer I find Isabelle and Veronique in full costume, looking incredible. Isabelle is in a very short flapper dress and it shows off her lovely legs. She turns to face me and I see it's low cut too and her breasts are pushed up. The effect is nothing short of breathtaking.

Veronique, meanwhile, has taken a more historical route. She's clad in a flowing array of silk scarves that barely cover her breasts and leave her back completely bare. She's not wearing a bra I notice, and I wouldn't be surprised if she had no panties as well. 

She looks like the Queen of Sheba, I think to myself. I'm hoping I don't turn out to be John the Baptist.

Riding on the lake transport to the mainland, the cool night air buffeting us, my mind is reeling. The woman I feel like I'm falling in love with, and with whom I made love earlier in the day in an almost fantasy setting, is accompanying me to a costume ball at the estate of my rival. Her mother, an incredibly sexy woman in her own right, has the hots for me and has told me in no uncertain terms she wants me to fuck her brains out. Tonight. Or else. Meanwhile, the maid, whom I'm in lust with, has told me in French (so I think I got it right) that I can have her anyway I want her and that she'll be waiting for me in my bed. Also tonight. So the woman I want I can't have, and the two women who want me, I can't have unless I want to ruin my relationship with the woman I want. Sitting in the boat as it crossed the lake, I feel like I can't think straight.

A close-to-full moon is rising above the trees and casting the lake in a beautiful blue light. I can see Veronique sitting upright just in front of me. She's sitting with perfect posture, the curve of her bare back clearly visible in the light. The night air is cool and there's a light breeze off the water. It's blowing the tendrils of her hair and she turns to face the direction of the wind. She turns her body towards me and I can clearly see the cool breeze is causing her nipples to grow hard. And, with the moon as full as it is, I can clearly see the outline of her breasts through the sheer silken scarves. She's arching her back slightly and her breasts are pushing up and out. She looks just like one of her fashion shots that are sitting on her mantle in her room. 

I stare at her as the boat slowly chugs across the expanse of water. Her face bathed in moonlight, her graceful body posed to catch the light, her nipples seem bigger now, more prominent. She turns slightly towards me, pulling her shoulders back. Through the thin fabric of the scarf her hardening nipples looked sweet and beckoning. God they look so hot. I feel my cock growing thick and hard.

I think back to this afternoon. Telling Veronique my story and watching her in the reflection of the window. She didn't know I could see her perfectly. Laying on the bed, touching herself. Opening her robe to expose her incredible breasts. And her nipples. Perfect. The way her breasts heaved while she finger fucked herself.. God, that was hot. My words, my writing, was making her so turned on she had to get herself off right there. She couldn't help it. My story, my words alone, made her come. Right there in front of me. And her nipples. They got so big. Like right now. Look how big they are. They're like ripe, juicy grapes. Just like when I watched her come.

Suddenly I look up at Veronique and she's looking right at me. She's been watching me. Watching me, watching her. She looks down at my crotch and smiles. Shit, my hard-on is clearly visible in the moonlight. Staring at Veronique's breasts and thinking about this afternoon has made my cock long and hard and you can clearly see the entire outline in these too-tight pants. I look to see if anyone else has noticed but Isabelle and Peter are chatting quietly, oblivious. 

I look back at Veronique and she's looking at me seductively. She's pressing her chest out and arching her back. Displaying her breasts for me. I mean, she's posing for me. Like a model. Her arms are back and her back is arched. Her breasts are pressing forward and her nipples are pushing up. Fuck, she sees she's given me a huge hard-on and she's enjoying it. Look, she's playing with her hair now. Twirling it in her fingers. She's....my God.....is she rubbing her nipple with her finger? Yes, she's facing away from the others so they won't notice and she's rubbing her nipple with her finger just for me. She's rolling that big, luscious nipple slowly under her finger. It's like she's telling me "I want you to do this to me. I want you to take it in your mouth and suck it. Bite it." I bet she's wet too. Really wet like this afternoon. Dripping. She wants me so bad. She wants me to tie her up and then suck her nipples and fuck her. Hard. And fast. Over and over. Pounding her. Making her come. Again and again. Having my way with her. Fucking her silly. Maybe I'd come on her. Yeah, maybe I'd spray my cum all over her tied up body. She'd probably like that. 

Shit. What am I doing? I can't do this. What the hell would Isabelle do if she knew I was thinking this way about her mother? God, my cock is so hard right now. My pants are so tight you can see every inch, even the outline of the swollen head. She can see it. Hell, she's staring at it right now. She can see how big and hard she's made me. If I lean back a little, and thrust my hips out, and face the moonlight like this, no one but her can see it. So she gets a good view of how big she's made me. So fucking big. So fucking hard. Watching her. Thinking about fucking her.

Does she know how big and hard she's made me? Really? Can she see that I'm totally erect? To make sure, I reach down with my hand and slowly slide it from the base, along the shaft, all the way to the head which laying against my hip. That's how big you've made me, I signal to her. That's how big my cock has gotten looking at you. Veronique's mouth falls open. She obviously appreciates a hard cock.

Veronique reaches down to the veils encircling her hips. She slides her hand under one of them, and reaches between her legs. I see her react to the feeling of her index finger slipping into the wet folds of her pussy. She slowly pulls it out and I can see it glistening in the moonlight. 

It's soaking wet. This is how wet you've made me, she seems to say. This is how turned on you make me.

If only I were naked right now, my cock would be standing straight out, straight out at her. Close enough for her to take it in her mouth. To rub the head against those big, hard nipples. To ram it into that dripping wet pussy.

Mercifully, the boat soon reaches the far bank and we disembark. A Mercedes and driver are waiting to take us to the party. It's the same driver as the one who picked us up from the airport. I hold the jacket of my tux to hide the bulge in my pants.

After a brief discussion, it's decided I'll sit in the back seat between Isabelle and Veronique with Peter riding up front with the driver. Sitting in the plush leather seat, I'm surrounded by long, bare legs on either side of me. 

Isabelle's flapper dress is hiked up and her legs are exquisite. On the other side, the outline of Veronique's breasts are fully visible under the sheer silk. Fortunately, I have the presence of mind to hold my jacket on my lap so my raging hard on isn't visible in the car. 

As the doors close and we speed off on the darken Alpine road, the three of us are suddenly cast in darkness. I'm grateful not to have the vision of these two gorgeous creatures to contend with. I decide to concentrate on getting my hard on to subside, but it's still rock hard. I decide to think of something unappealing, but all I can think about is the two of them next to me. I feel their bare legs, Isabelle on my left and Veronique on my right, pressing against my thighs. They are pressing against me, aren't they? I mean, this is a big car and they have lots of room. They want to be touching me. Both of them. Thank God this jacket is on my lap because the feeling of them pressing against me, wanting to touch me, is a total turn on. 

I don't even bother to pull away from them. What the hell. In fact, I spread my legs and press my hard, muscular thighs right back against them. Both of them. Why the fuck not? I'm done for anyway. I've got a huge fucking hard-on in my pants and a mother and daughter and either side of me. My goose is gonna be cooked before this night is through.

As the car winds its way along the dark, curvy road, I eventually feel a hand on my thigh. It's Veronique, of course. She's surreptitiously slid her hand under my tuxedo jacket and is feeling the muscles in my thigh. Her fingers are slowly, imperceptibly from the outside, working their way up my inner thigh. My cock feels like it's going to rip through my pants. 

I feel her looking at me, watching me, but I don't dare look at her, I merely stare straight ahead. I feel her breath in my ear; she's mocking me, silently. My cock is aching now. I feel her fingers reach my crotch and cup my balls. It takes every bit of self-control not to react, not to moan out loud. And then I feel her fingers slowly, tauntingly, slide along the base of my hard cock, along the shaft, to the swollen, throbbing head. She's taking my measure and now she knows exactly how big she's made me. 

Now that she's found my cockhead she turns slightly to give it her full attention, to access it completely. She's lightly rubbing the head now, feeling every centimeter, finding every ridge and crevice. I start to tremble and reach my hand down to steady myself. Instead it lands on Isabelle's leg. Immediately, I feel her hand on mine and I hear her voice.

"Jake, are you alright?" Isabelle asks. 

"Y-y-yes I'm fine," I reply, more breathily than I would have liked. "Just a sudden stiffness."

She holds my hand in both of hers and interlaces her fingers with mine. Vernonique is rubbing the head of my cock, and maybe fingering herself for all I know. Isabelle, on the other hand, is reassuring me as if to say "I know this party is hard for you. I want you to know I'm thinking of you." Yin and yang. The lustful mother copping a feel and the thoughtful daughter seeking intimacy. The mother who would be sucking my cock right now if she could and the daughter who'd...well, she'd probably want do the same but it'd be different. It'd mean more.

And so we ride together, the two European women of wildly different generations and me, the young American, his head reeling, wondering how he got himself into this predicament. 

As we pull up the long, sweeping drive of the Coullisen estate, I'm struck by the grandeur before me. Peter's family's villa is a mere cottage compared to this place. An expansive lawn leads to a grand entrance way where we're met by two uniformed guards. Dozens of guests are milling about, all in costumes of various sorts.

I put on my jacket and the four of us move through the entranceway into an interior courtyard. There, the sound of classical music wafts though the cloister like setting. A couple dressed in 18th century formal attire stroll by and I feel like I'm in a surreal dream. We make our way into the ballroom where the bulk of the party goers have gathered. 

Inside, the sound of electronica is pulsating and some of the partygoers are dancing. A man's voice calls out to us.

"Isabelle!" 

A blond man, in his early thirties, dressed impeccably in a cream colored suit, approaches. 

"Salut, Charles," says Isabelle, without much joy in her voice. "Comment ça va? Je te presente ma Mère Veronique De Roth..."

Veronique interrupts her and kisses him twice on the cheeks. 

"Bonsoir, Charles."

"Bonsoir, Veronique. Je suis heureux que tu viens. "

Isabelle looks surprised that Veronique and Charles know each other. Not only that, I noticed he addressed her in the familiar "te toi". Not typical when talking to an older woman of stature. 

"Et mon frère Pierre. Tu lui connais aussi, je crois."

Charles turns to Peter and shakes hands. He has an air of superiority that I immediately don't like. But then I'm a bit biased.




An American Houseguest Ch. 06



Isabelle switches to English for my sake. 

"And this is Peter's friend, Jake Scott. He's visiting from New York."

Charles shakes my hand, looking me over.

"Ah, New York," he says in a flawless American accent. "My family has a penthouse there. On Fifth Avenue."

Of course they do, I think to myself. 

"And what do you do, Mr. Scott, in New York?" he asks me with not a little condescension. 

"I'm a writer," I say, plainly. I decide to forgo the usual self-deprecating caveats. He smiles slightly.

"Oh? What do you write? Have I seen your work somewhere?" he asks.

"I'm still working on getting published," I respond, gritting my teeth.

"Oh, I see. Well, if you need some contacts in publishing, we have investments in some of the larger houses."

I feel like he's quickly figured out where I fit in his social hierarchy. Not very high.

"Thank you," I reply. "That's very kind."

"Jake's a tremendously talented writer who's going to go far," interjects Isabelle, earnestly.

He turns to Isabelle. 

"That's nice. Listen, Isabelle. I have some people I want you to meet. If you'll excuse us. Please. Make yourself at home." 

He takes her by the arm, nods politely, and leaves. All I can think is: what a dick.

"Charles has an amazing talent of finding the most inappropriate thing to say, and then saying it," says Charles, turning to me. "Sorry, old chap."

"Don't worry about it," I reply. "I've met all kinds."

Charles looks around the room. 

"Say, where would you suppose the bar is? I'm going to see if I can scare up some drinks. What'll you have?"

"Anything strong and wet," I say with a grin.

"Mother?"

"Single malt. Thank you, darling."

He nods and presses through the crowd of party goers. Veronique steps next to me, standing close.

"It's crowded here," she says surveying the room. "Come dance with me."

I start to protest that I don't feel like dancing but she's already moving with me in tow.

On the floor, the young people are moving to the music. Lots of cigarette smoking and posing going on. I put on my mask for the first time and scan the room. Most are in costume and look to be in their 20's and 30's. 

Veronique starts in to dancing, staring at me. I turn and look at her and am struck by how good she looks in this crowd. Although she has 20 years on some of these women, she's still more alluring than any of them. Her face is expertly made up and her eyes have a catlike quality; her red lips full and sensuous. She's swaying her hips and moving to the rhythm of the music, slowly and hypnotically. I'm staring at her through my mask, hoping she doesn't know I'm watching her. She's definitely gotten my attention.

"Never mind Charles," she says as we start to dance to the pounding music.

"I never would," I reply, lying.

"He's incredibly wealthy but he can't measure up to you in some ways."

"Like what?" I reply with a snort. "He hasn't written any unpublished manuscripts?"

Veronique moves closer, her lips next to my ear, as if relaying confidential information.

"You have a much nicer cock than he does."

I start for a moment and Veronique gives me a mischievous smile. After a moment I find the beat again and start to move my body to the rhythm. 

Did I hear her right? How does she know about Charles? Could they have...Is that why they were so familiar? I don't even want to think about the implications of Veronique having sex with her daughter's boyfriend. I close my eyes and start to lose myself in the dancing. 

It feels good to get out of my mind and just move my body. I let my hips and torso relax and start to really let go. I open my eyes to see Veronique watching me, watching my body. I'm undulating my body and moving my hips and she's watching me hungrily. Fine, if she wants to watch me I don't give a damn. I start to really move my body, thrusting my hips to the constant beat. I see she's staring at my pelvis, at my crotch. To have a woman who looks like that look at me the way she is, well, that is pretty cool. I start to rev it up, grinding my hips sexily. She's watching me and I'm enjoying it; it's making my dick hard. My tuxedo pants are tight and the harder I get, the bigger my bulge gets, and the more she stares.

I dance closer to her, moving my pelvis like I'm fucking a woman really, really well. Circling my hips and thrusting deep inside her, in and out again. The motion of my dancing alone is making me hard; the fact she's watching me with rapt attention makes me harder still. 

She's moving her body in such a sexy way, undulating to the music. She turns her back to me, thrusting her hips in unison with mine, and slowly backs into me until her ass rubs against my crotch. She rolls her hips to the music and rubs her silky ass against my completely hard cock. She reaches back with her hand and cups my ass, feeling my butt cheek, pulling me into her.

Suddenly, she spins and she's facing me, pressed against me, looking up at me sexily. Her hands reach under my tux jacket and I feel her holding my pecs, my chest. Our bodies keep moving together as her hands reach behind my back, feeling my muscles straining and tensing, and slide down to my waist and hips. I start thrusting hard with her hands on my hips.

I think to myself, this is what you want, isn't it? To feel me thrusting inside you. Shoving this big hard-on deep inside you. I put my hands on her hips as she spreads her legs, moving closer, and starts to straddle my leg. I watch her thrusting her hips and moving up my leg until her pussy is rubbing against my thigh. Oh, fuck. She's looking me straight in the face with her mouth open and she's rubbing her wet pussy against my hard thigh. She is so fucking sexy. My cock is huge now. It's long and hard and it's showing right through my pants. We're grinding together, on the darkened dance floor, rubbing against each other.

I feel as if I'm in a dream, moving in slow motion as she slides her hand down to my crotch. She runs her fingers along the entire length of my rock hard cock and I grind my hips with abandon. I'm leaning back and the leg she's riding is sticking out, the muscles hard and flexed. 

"I love how big and hard you are," she says in my ear. 

My hand is on the small of her back, where her bare skin is exposed, as she undulates.

"I assume you're referring to my leg," I say wryly.

She's rocks her pelvis so her pussy rubs slowly against my thigh.

"Mmmmmmm, that too."

It's like she's making love to my big, hard, muscled thigh. She wants a big hard muscle between her legs all right.

"Jake," she says, her lips so close to my ear I can feel her breath. "I need you in my bedroom tonight. Do you understand? I have to have you. Tonight."

She has this way of being incredibly sexy and incredibly pushy at the same time. She turns me on like hell but I find her attitude a major turnoff. She has a sense of entitlement the size of Poland. At that moment, I see Peter scanning the crowd with three drinks in his hand. I nod in his direction.

"There's Peter."

Veronique stops dancing abruptly and collects herself. We move through the crowd to where he's standing.

"There you are," he says over the din. "Sorry, I ran into an old boarding school friend and we were catching up."

I seize the opportunity to get away. 

"I've got to find the bathroom. See you in a bit."

The close call with Peter and his Mom makes my heart pound. The last thing I want is for Peter or Isabelle to catch me with their sexy Mom feeling me up. Sorry, I'm funny that way. 

I work my way through the party, striding through the crowd in my tuxedo, sporting my mask and a raging hard on. I can see women checking me out as I pass. I must admit, being the stranger in a strange land, hidden behind a mask, sauntering through this crowd of beautiful people with a big bulge in my pants, gives me a charge.

I finish my drink and grab another at the bar. After a while, I decide to go up the grand staircase to check out the upper floors. As I climb the sweeping staircase, I survey the hundreds of partygoers in their varied costumes. From on high, an already strange world seems even stranger.

Upstairs, there are just a few stray couples talking intimately on the stairs. Soon, I'm alone and all I hear is the distant sound of the bass thumping on the stereo in the ballroom below.

The walls are covered by vintage portraits and tapestries; the hallways lined with antiques. What a place to grow up in, I think to myself as I wander. It's like a museum, not a home. I can't picture a kid running through here. 

Turning a corner, I hear voices including what sounds like an argument. As I continue to walk towards the sound, I hear what sounds like Isabelle's voice. Wait. It is Isabelle. And she's definitely upset. I stand near a door from where her voice seems to come. She's talking in French, and fast. I can't make it out. Just a stray word here or there.

Suddenly, I hear her shout "Salaud" and the door flies open. It's Isabelle and she's visibly upset. Following behind her, I see Charles smirking.

"That's right," he calls after her. "Go running to Mother."

Then, muttering under his breath, he sneers: "One slut to another."

He turns to go back in the room.

"Hey Charles," I say, almost casually.

"What do you want?" he sneers with contempt.

I reach back and lay a right cross right on his cheekbone and send him reeling.

"Thanks for the party," I say and turn to leave.

I hear Charles spit something out in French but I ignore it.

I catch up to Isabelle at the end of the hall and she's wiping the tears from her cheeks. I stand next to her and speak in a quiet voice.

"Are you OK?" I ask simply.

"Oh, Jake. Why was I so stupid? I never should have come here tonight. I never want to see him again."

"Want to talk about it?" I ask.

"It's all so sordid and awful," she says, shaking her head. "I don't want to drag you into it. I can't believe I ever considered being with him. He disgusts me."

"He does seem to have a pretty high opinion of himself," I answer.

"Oh, that. I could live with that. No, his flaws run a lot deeper than conceit."

"Like?" 

"Like something that makes me never want to touch him. Ever."

I look at her face and I see she means it. And I think I know what it is.

"Isabelle, does this have anything to do with your Mom?"

She turns and looks at me, her eyes searching.

"How do you know that?"

"I just...guessed. From how familiar they were together."

She stares at her feet as if it were too painful to think about.

"He said they just did it once. But still." 

She looks up at me. 

"And he wanted me to give him a blow job! As if I'd ever let him touch me after he slept with Mother."

I feel my face flush. That hit a little close to home. 

"Yeah," I say sheepishly. "That takes a lot of nerve."

"I should have dropped one of his priceless urns on his head," she says with a bit of levity.

"Actually," I say, rubbing my fist, "I sort of took care of that already."

She looks at me with her eyes widening.

"Jake, you didn't!"

I nod and show her the punch and where it landed. Her face brightens.

"Oh, Jake," she says, smiling. "That's wonderful!" 

Her face suddenly darkens.

"Oh, no. We'd better leave right away."

I smile back at her. 

"Don't worry," I say. "We'll make a clean getaway."

We go downstairs and find Peter talking with a young woman in a harem outfit. We explain that Isabelle isn't feeling well and wants to go home. He says he'll collect Veronique and meet us at the car. 

As we stand together waiting for our car, Isabelle takes my arm and puts her head on my shoulder. 

For a moment, standing on the steps of the palatial home, I can actually picture the two of us together. Me, the up-and-coming writer. Her, the rising ballet star. Living a life of art, and culture, and romance. Then I remember the small problem of her Mother who insists I tie her up and fuck her senseless. Tonight. That, and the 20-year-old French maid who's waiting in my bedroom ready to suck me and fuck me until I explode. I feel a sense of impending doom.

The ride home is quiet. Veronique is peeved that Isabelle's "migraine" intruded on her fun. Isabelle just stares out the car window to avoid having to even look at her Mom. I sit up front with the driver and anticipate my humiliation when Isabelle finds out about me and Justine, her Mom, or both.

An hour later, we arrive at the house. Walking up the terrace steps to the house, Isabelle momentarily takes my arm and whispers in my ear.

"Jake, will you be with me tonight? I don't want to be alone."

"Um, sure." I whisper. "I'll find you."

Isabelle runs ahead to the house. Next, Veronique is at my side.

"I'll be expecting you in my room. To finish what we started this afternoon."

I mutter something about feeling a bit tired. She grabs my arm.

"I mean it, Jake," she says sternly. "I'll be waiting for you."

"Later," I say. "I need to talk with Peter right now."

She gives me a look that lets me know she means business and continues walking to the house. Peter has secured the boat and joins me on the path to the house. 

"Want to take a walk with me," I ask. "There's something I want to discuss."

"Hmmm," he says, frowning. "Sounds très serieux." We veer off on the lake trail, towards the stables. My mind is racing, searching for a way out of my current quandary.

"So who was the mademoiselle you were chatting up at the party?" I ask him, casually.

"Who knows? You know me. Toujours chercher les femmes." 

We approach the stables. Everything is dark except for a light glowing in window of the living quarters on the second floor. I turn to Peter.

"Yeah, too bad we had to cut out of the party early. There were a lot of pretty women there."

Peter shrugs. I can tell he's wondering where I'm going with this.

"Listen, Peter, how would you like to enjoy a young, sexy, and very adventurous jeune fille. Right now. Tonight."

He looks at me with a quizzical look.

"Are you crazy?" he asks. "Of course I would."

"I've got a proposition for you" I say. "Meet me outside my room in twenty minutes. And bring your mask."

Twenty minutes later I race up the stairs and find Peter leaning against the wall having a cigarette. 

"Say, what's this all about anyway," he asks.

"Shhh. Wait here."

I open the door to my room and slip inside. The room is dark except for a row of candles next to the bed. Inside, I see Justine laying on the bed reading a magazine. I walk to the foot of the bed. She puts down the magazine and sits up.

"Monsieur Jake," she whispers. "Vous êtes ici."

"Yes, I'm here. "

She's dressed in only her underwear, with black stockings and garters. A push-up bra shows off her luscious breasts. I can see she's applied extra make up for just this moment. I put my hand on her ankle and slowly slide my fingers up her leg. She pulls her shoulders back and her mouth falls open.

"Oh, Monsieur Jake."

I stand over her, looking at her, letting my fingers graze over her body. She tilts her head back and lifts her chest, arching. My fingers slide along the edge of her lacy brassiere. She lets out a low moan.

"You look very beautiful tonight," I say in a low voice.

"Merci, Monsieur Jake," she coos. "je veux vous donner plaisir."

"You do give me pleasure, Justine. Just to look at you." 

My fingers move over her chest to her neck, gliding over her lovely cheek. Like an animal, she bites at my fingers, trying to snatch them in her lips. I rub her ruby lips with my fingers and she sucks them into her warm mouth.

"Oh, Monsieur Jake," she says, breathily, her breasts starting to heave. "Que-est-ce que vous voulez?"

I regard her intently, my hand caressing her face. "Do you want to know what will turn me on?"

"Oh, oui Monsieur."

My fingers slide down to her breasts, feeling her nipple hardening beneath the sheer lace of her bra. I slowly trace my finger down her belly to the warm, wet spot between her legs.

"Do want to know what will make me hard? Incredibly hard. What will make me want you more than anything in the world."

"Oui, Monsieur. Dîtes-moi. S'il vous plait. Dîtes-moi."

I start to rub the folds of her pussy through her lacy outfit. I can tell she's soaking wet.

"I'll tell you exactly what I want, Justine. I want you to go into the bathroom and I want you to put on your maid's uniform. And I want you to put on your spiked heels. And then I want you to come out and strip for me. While I lay here. And I'm going to wear this mask. And watch you."

She's listening with rapt attention. As rapt as she can be while I rub her clitoris.

"Oh, oui. Oui, Monsieur."

"I want you to perform for me. While I watch you. Like an audience. An audience watching the most beautiful woman in the world."

I'm rubbing her pussy now and she's writhing beneath my touch. My voice is soft and low. Hypnotic.

"And while I watch you, I'll start to get hard. Very, very hard. And you'll see how big and hard your beauty makes me. Your beautiful, sexy body. Your gorgeous face. So hard. And then I'll stroke myself. While I watch you. I'll make my big hard cock stand straight up. And then I want you to take me in your mouth. And I want you to suck me. I want you to feel my hard cock between your lips. And in your throat."

She's moaning now. She's raising her hips and pressing her pussy into my hand.

"And then we can make love... You and me... Together... As one... Naked... Coming together."

She lets out a squeal. I take my hand from her pussy.

"Now off you go. Get yourself ready. I'll be waiting here."

She gets to her feet and stands, a bit unsteadily. I put on the mask and take my position on the bed. I turn on the CD player next to the bed; a sultry sax fills the room. She walks slowly, sexily, into the bathroom looking back at me. Her face is flushed and her lips full and pouty. 

At that moment, I almost give in and forget about my plan.

Instead, when the bathroom door closed, I leap up and go to the bedroom door and beckon Peter inside. I point to the bed and give him a pat on the back.

"Wear your mask and lay back on the bed," I say. "And enjoy."

I stay long enough to make sure Peter does as told. I hear the bathroom door open and see Justine's back as she stands at the foot of the bed. Her hips are swaying as she shifts from one long, perfect leg to the other. She's slowly taking off her blouse and rocking her hips back and forth. It's indescribably sexy. It's the dance of an incredibly sexy young woman who's already at the height of sexual arousal. 

Part of me wishes I could stay to watch the show but I have work to do. 

I bound up the stairs with my mask in hand and move stealthily to Veronique's room. Without knocking, I quietly open the door and slip inside.

Veronique is laying on the bed. She's wearing a sheer white negligée with a low cut top with embroidered trim. A single lamp next to her bed illuminates a corner of the room, and her ample cleavage. I see she's breathing hard and I wonder what's she's been up to. I see her index and middle fingers are moist and glistening.

"Getting a head start I see?" I say cheekily.

She gives me that appraising look she does so well. 

"I've been waiting nearly an hour. I don't like waiting."

I move into the room and stand above her at the side of the bed.

"Well, here I am."

She looks me up and down.

"You know what I want. And how I want it. The story you told. I want that."

I rub my chin and walk the length of the bed, making her wait.

"Let's see. I think I can remember it..."

"Stop it," she snaps. "I know you want it as bad as I do. I felt how hard you were in the car. And on the dance floor."

She says this almost derisively. I look at her and any feeling of desire I once had for her has vanished. 




An American Houseguest Ch. 06



"I can't say I much like your tone," I say. I'm surprised at how direct I've become.

"Oh, Jake, never mind," she says, softening. "I'm like an impatient, impetuous girl, you know that. It's just that I want you so. I told you... You know, you gave me one of the best orgasms of my life this afternoon. I just want to experience it again."

She gives me a look right out of a Vogue cover. God, she's good.

"Come, Jake. Remember when you were telling me the story of the princess. It was so moving...So exciting...You told it so vividly."

She was whispering now.

"I could feel what that princess was feeling... Feel it deep inside me....How she desired the young knight so... How she longed to be touched by him... To be taken by him... To feel him inside her... To feel his big, hard cock pushing deep inside her... Remember?"

I start to feel a stirring in my groin. She's getting to me. I don't want her to, but she's getting to me.

"How she would touch herself thinking about him...Watching him...Seeing how big he got watching her. Because he wanted her so."

I feel my heart starting to pound and the bulge in my pants grow bigger. 

"You've got a good memory," I say.

"Because it's such a wonderful story, Jake. So vivid. So well told. You're a wonderful writer, Jake. You know why? Because you inspire. Your words inspire. When I was waiting for you, I was thinking about your story and I was touching myself. It's true. Your words were inspiring me to touch myself. "

"Is that right?" I ask.

"I swear. Before you came in, I was thinking about the Knight dressed as a monk. And how he snuck into my room, and found me tied up. It's a very sexy story, Jake. I had to touch myself. I couldn't help it."

I notice she's sliding her foot up and down the sheet, slowly, causing her negligee to hike up, showing off her legs. Her hand is playing with the strap like she's thinking about pulling it down.

"Show me," I say abruptly.

"What?" 

"You said thinking about my story inspires you. Show me. I want to see exactly how it inspires you."

A flash of recognition creeps over her face as she looks at me through half closed eyes.

"You want me to show you?"

"Yes."

She thinks a moment. 

"You like to watch, is that it? It turns you on to see a woman give herself pleasure."

"I just want to see what you were doing. What you were thinking about when you were recalling my story."

Tentatively, she brings her hand to her shoulders.

"Well, I told you. I was thinking about the young Knight. With his handsome face....His broad shoulders... And his strong arms."

Her hands were slowly pulling down the straps of her negligee.

"I was thinking how much he liked to watch me. How he liked to watch me undress. Slowly pulling the satiny fabric over my breasts. Like this."

She slid the straps over her shoulders, slowly revealing the tops of her breasts.

"It feels so good. How the fabric feels against my breasts. Against my nipples. I have very sensitive nipples. Do you want to see my nipples, Jake?"

I'm watching her slowly unveil her perfect breasts and my cock is growing long and hard. I can't find any words to answer.

"That's a 'yes' I presume."

She slowly pulls the front of her negligee so that it reveals the rosy glow of her aureole. Then her pert, pink nipples. Then her entire breasts. 

"I was thinking how much the young Knight liked to look at my breasts. How beautiful he found them. Do you like my breasts, Jake?"

My cock is pressing against my pants now. The pressure is tremendous. I see her look down at my crotch. She can see just how long and hard I am. 

"I like to blow on my nipples. Like this. And I like to touch them. Lightly at first. Rolling them with my fingertips. Mmmmmm. That feels so good. I told you how sensitive they were."

My cock is extended completely across the front of my pants. I'm totally erect. She keeps looking at it and licking her lips. She continues her monologue.

"I like to gently brush my fingers over them. Like this. I imagine it's you, the Knight, who's touching them. That makes me so hot. See how they're getting hard. They get that way when I'm really hot. Like right now."

I'm breathing faster now. She's got me in her spell.

"I think about you touching them. Maybe you get a little rough with them too. Maybe you pinch them. And tweak them. Like this. I like that a lot."

She's breathing heavier too. She's pulled her legs up and spread her knees. I can see her pussy and it's wet. Glistening.

"Touch your pussy," I gasp. "I want to watch you touch your pussy."

Her hand moves quickly between her legs. She's panting now.

"Like this? You like it like this?"

She slides her fingers along the slit and slips it deep into her wetness.

"I think about you touching me like this. Exploring me. Penetrating me. Fucking me with your fingers. Oh, Jake, I want you to touch me like this. I want you to be inside my pussy. I want to feel you inside me."

She's rubbing her clitoris now and starting to tremble.

"I want that big Knight cock inside my pussy. That big, hard cock of yours deep inside my wet, hot pussy. Like this, Jake. I want you to fuck me like this."

She's pushing three fingers into her hole. In and out. Her breasts are heaving and her nipples are huge. 

"Fuck my pussy, Jake...Please fuck my pussy...I want you to shove it in me...Fill me up...Make me come."

She's spreading her lips with one hand and sliding the fingers of the other in and out. Her arms are pressing her breasts together. I'm getting dizzy watching what's transpiring before my eyes. I go to the bureau drawer and pull out a handful of stockings.

"We have to do this according to the story," I say. "The King had you tied up. Remember? To keep you from seeing the Knight. He tied up your arms to the bedpost. Like this. Good and tight. And the other one. So you couldn't touch yourself. And your legs. They were tied like this. Spread wide. So you couldn't run. And the light. There was no light. It was completely dark. So when you heard someone sneaking into your room. You had no idea who it was. Just that he was getting closer. Maybe you could feel his breath on your body. But he wouldn't speak; for fear that they'd be discovered. He moved in silence and you were at his mercy."

Veronique's body is writhing. Her negligee is pulled down on top and hiked up, exposing both her breasts and her dripping wet pussy. It takes every ounce of will power not to rip off my pants and fuck her senseless.

"Yes, I want that," she says in a husky voice. "I'm totally at his mercy. He can have me any way he wants. You can have me any way you want. Use me. Use my body."

I go to the lamp and yank the cord out of the wall, casting the room in darkness. I make my way to the door and open it. Light from the corridor streams through the room to reveal Veronique tied up on the bed, arms and legs spread, her breasts heaving, her nipples erect, and her pussy wet and waiting. I take one last look and then pull the door shut.

Isabelle lay in the darkness. Her head was spinning. She was filled with a mixture of arousal and apprehension. She had never been so turned on sexually. Yet, this was new territory for her; she liked being in control. She wanted so much to be filled with Jake's cock; but now she was completely vulnerable. Laying exposed like this, in the pitch darkness, was scary and incredibly exciting at the same time. She wanted so badly to finger herself, to bring herself to orgasm, but she couldn't. And that made her even more excited.

She thought about the moment she first laid eyes on Jake. That first day, when she first saw him in the living room, with his dark good looks and his strapping body. The way he moved. And when she saw him on the terrace, in his Speedo fresh from swimming, she made up her mind. She had to have him. That body. That ass. She would have him before the week was out. And when she saw how big he became, dancing with her, that's when she knew he would fill her. Fill her so gloriously. That young, strong, strapping body fucking her the way her husband never could.

Suddenly, she heard the sound of the door opening in the other room. Then, a click and it was dark again. Is that him? She heard no footsteps. No rustling. Was that a figure at the foot of the bed? It was so dark. Pitch black. Maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her.

Then, the slightest breeze. Or was it a breath? She felt a warm caress of air on her inner calf. And then the gentle brush of lips on her skin. Yes! It was him. Jake. The Knight. With the stolen key. To bring her salvation. Fulfillment.

She felt the soft lick of his tongue, on the back of her knee. Then the inside of the other knee. He was working his way up her leg. She felt a warm tingle in her pussy. Then, a full wet kiss on the inside of one thigh. Then the other. It felt incredibly warm and sensuous, like a slipping into a hot bath. 

Then, another kiss, an inch higher. And then another. From one leg to another, working closer to her now burning pussy. When he kissed the inside of her upper thigh, she let out a loud, long moan. It was too much. 

She wanted him to lick her so badly. To feel his tongue deep in her pussy. She needed it. But he was taking his time, getting closer and closer. Her head was spinning she was so hot.

At last, she felt his tongue slide along the hot, wet slit of her pussy. It was like a bubbling cauldron. She let out a cry and strained against the nylon ties. Again the tongue stroked her pussy and again she cried out. She couldn't stand it anymore. When he slipped his tongue inside her, she felt she would faint. 

He built the tension expertly, taking her up the elevator. When she thought she could take no more, she felt his tongue sink deep inside her, and then pull out and slide it over her clit. 

Over and over. In...and out...In....and out. 

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Je viens!...................Je viens!.................. Ouiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!" she cried, her body shaking, the orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave. 

After her orgasm subsided, the kissing commenced again, moving inexorably up her body. To her tummy. To her ribs. The sides of her body. Her arms. To the space between her breasts. All she could feel were his lips. And his tongue. No other part of his body was touching her. 

Then he began to gently kiss the underside of her breasts. Tonguing them, lightly at first. She felt the tip of his tongue exploring her in the darkness. He circled her aureole with his tongue and kisses. She knew her nipples were big. She could tell. They always got big when she got really hot. And she was really, really hot. 

"Oh, Jake," she moaned. "I want you to lick my nipples. Take them in your mouth and suck them. Suck them hard!"

She felt his tongue glide over her nipple. She felt him softly encircle it with his lips and suck. It felt incredible. Then, he found the other one and did the same. As he sucked them, he let his tongue dance over the soft flesh and she started to shake again. She felt the elevator rising once again. She started to shake and writhe. From just his mouth and tongue on her breasts. 

"Fuck me!" she moaned loudly. "Please fuck me my gorgeous Knight! I want to feel your cock inside me! I beg you!"

"Shhhhhhh!" and she felt his index finger against her lips. That's right, she thought. She and the Knight mustn't be discovered. The King and his men mustn't hear. But it was so hard. She was so turned on, she wanted to be loud. She wanted to call out his name. She wanted to scream.

He continued his sensuous sojourn up her body. To the top of her breasts. To her shoulders. To her neck. It was while he was kissing her neck when she felt it. The first sensation that wasn't his mouth or tongue touching her. A hot, hard pressure against her labial lips. It was the tip of his glorious cock pressing against her pussy.

She felt his fingers on one hand reach down and spread her lips so the tip could push inside her. Straining against the silk restraints she felt helpless, afraid of what was coming. And yet she felt eager too, for this is what she longed for. To feel his cock, finally, entering her.

Slowly he pushed his huge muscle inside her. She felt herself spread to accept him and for a moment she panicked. What if I can't accept him. If he's too big. I can't resist. I'm completely helpless. He can do whatever he wants to me. I'm defenseless. Her heart was already pounding and yet it raced faster. He must have sensed her fear because he stopped pushing it in and slowly pulled it out.

She was relieved but scared in another way. What if he changed his mind and he doesn't want to fuck me? What if he's pulling out for good? I'll never know how it feels to be filled by him. To be totally and completely fucked by this man that I've wanted so much. She was starting to panic again, but for the exact opposite reason. 

But his retreat was only temporary. He pulled the head out and then push it back into her warm, wet folds. Deeper now. And she let out a gasp. 

He liked making her gasp. So he pulled out and pushed in again, only deeper. And she moaned. And he did it again, and pushed deeper still, and she cried out. One more time he pushed deep inside her and she let out a long, loud moan. She was loving it. 

He wanted to bury his cock in her, push as deep as he could go. See how she would react. And he did. Plunging his big, throbbing cock deep into her wetness until it could go no further. 

It was a feeling she'd never felt before. She was totally helpless, exposed, and vulnerable. Her legs and arms were spread and tied down. It was dark and this big, strong man was on top of her, pushing his huge cock into her, penetrating her, filling her completely. It was a feeling she'd only dreamt of and now it was happening. She let out a carnal scream that she'd never before uttered. Her body shook. And she came. She more than came; she had the most electrifying orgasm of her life.

He was on top of her now. His strong chest was pressed against her as he plunged his cock deep inside her, again and again. He loved making her come. He'd wanted to for so long. Every thrust was a kind of payback, lust and resentment combined. Pure animal desire. 

After she came he didn't slow his pumping. He kept it up because he wanted to show her. Show here what he could do. What she was missing.

He lifted himself up on his hands and pressed his pelvis into her. He was buried up to the hilt inside her and he rotated his hips to rub her clitoris. She started moaned plaintively, as if she couldn't believe there was more to come. He hadn't come, of course and he wasn't even close to through with her. Oh no. He wanted to get his fill.

He started to think about her being tied up. The high and mighty mistress of the house finally laid low. All the times she made him feel inferior, like a piece of meat. Who's the piece of meat now, he thought to himself. I'll give you my meat, you piece of meat. And he started to thrust hard into her. Lightening strikes pounding her pussy. She cried out with every thrust. And every cry made him want to pound her harder. She was so wet he slid deep inside like a hot knife through butter. 

With every thrust, she felt filled by him. Pierced by him. He was fucking her so hard she was on the verge of losing consciousness. She was moaning loudly--throaty, guttural sounds, every time his cock penetrated her. She felt her body was being used. Used for complete and total sexual gratification. She loved every moment of it.

He felt like an animal, not a man. He felt like an animal overcome by pure sexual hunger. He was thrusting and grinding like a wild animal might, all libido, all sexual instinct. He was growling now, and pumping her pussy. Faster and faster. Sinking his long cock as far into her as it would go. 

He was getting what he wanted. Wanted so badly. To have her. To fuck her. To dominate her. 

His orgasm came with a fury he had not known. It built from deep within him and when he climaxed he felt a rush of electricity throughout his body. A flood of cum shot through his cock and sprayed deep in her insides. He moaned loudly and rode the orgasm until it slowly subsided. Then he collapsed on her splayed and spent body. 

The long wait was over. 



An American Houseguest Ch. 07



My heart pounds as I leave Veronique's room and move swiftly down the hallway through the darkened halls of the centuries-old villa. I feel exposed, like a hunted man making a run for it across an open field. It's a reckless, high stakes game I'm playing. Still, I feel I have no choice.

The next step of my plan in place, I make my way downstairs and pause at the door of my room. Inside, I hear the grunts and groans of two people in the throes of sexual passion, the bed pounding against the wall, bodies slamming together. I can hear Justine moaning and Peter growling. They're really going at it.

"Oh Jake," she moans. "Je viens! Je viens!"

I just smile and move on down the hall. He's enjoying this 20-something hottie who thinks she's enjoying me. Go figure. 

When I get to Isabelle's room, I knock lightly on the door. A moment later, it opens. Isabelle is standing before me in jeans, a t-shirt, and bare feet. She's removed her makeup entirely. To my eyes, she's never looked more beautiful.

"May I come in," I say, leaning on the door frame.

"Of course."

She opens the door and I enter, realizing this is the first time I've been in her room. I take my time looking around. At the art on the walls. At the books on the shelves. She's got a good collection; she obviously has a discerning eye and an inquisitive mind. 

I turn to her and she's leaning against a large drafting table which seems to serve as her desk.

"You doing okay?" I ask, softly.

"Yeah," she says quietly. "Better now."

"Do you feel like talking about it?" I ask, wondering how I can help.

"No. It's something I have to work out for myself."

She gives me a plaintive smile. I notice an overnight bag half packed on the divan. 

"Going somewhere?" I ask. She stands and crosses the room.

"I'm leaving," she replies, matter-of-factly. "I'm leaving this house and I have no intention of coming back."

I watch her as she places a couple of books into her bag. She continues explaining.

"I'm sick of the hypocrisy. My Mother badgers me to be proper and then I discover she's taken Charles to her bed. My father complains about the state of the world but he doesn't do a thing about it. I don't want to spend another day being....infected by their way of thinking. It's like the girl in your story. She had a chance to escape, to live her life, but she squandered it. Well, this is my chance. And I'm taking it."

"Where will you go?"

"I'm not sure. To Paris perhaps. I have an aunt there who likes me. I'm sure she'll put me up for a bit. Then, who knows? Maybe London. " 

"Paris will be lucky to have you. London too. I'm proud of you, Isabelle." 

She looks at me for a moment, then stands and walks over to me. She raises herself on her tiptoes and kisses me on the lips.

"Thank you, Jake."

"For what?" 

"For everything," she shrugs. "For being here... For inspiring me... For socking Charles in the nose."

"The cheek, actually." 

She chuckles.

"Excuse me. The cheek."

She sits on the bed. She pats the spot next to her. I sit next to her.

"And for this afternoon," she adds. "At the waterfall."

I nod.

"Yeah. That was pretty special."

She turns to me, earnestly. 

"Wasn't it? I mean, it was more than special. It was truly unique. For me, anyway. A once in a lifetime experience."

I look deep in her eyes. She really means it.

"It was that way for me too, Isabelle."

She looks in my eyes and places her hand on my cheek.

"I'm so glad."

I look down at my feet.

"You know, Isabelle. I have to tell you. Your mother's been...pursuing me ever since I got here. I want you to know that. After what happened with Charles."

"I know that," she answers. "I have eyes. I saw her at dinner. Heard her stupid double entendres. You know, it's not that she's a bad person. She's just...sad. She's like a little girl, lost in a way. She defined herself by her physical beauty for so long, she has nothing else. And she's frightened. 

"Frightened of what?"

"Frightened of growing old. Frightened of being alone. Charles, too, acts the way he does because he's afraid. He acts superior because he's afraid he's inferior. How can you respect others if you don't respect yourself? But you're different. You respect yourself. You have....character. You would never behave like that."

I look at her and think about how wrong she is. I'm not different. I feel afraid too. I doubt myself. Too often I follow my cock and whore around. No, I'm no better than Charles. Or Veronique.

"All of us have weakness," I say quietly. "We're human. We're flawed. I'm trying to learn that and accept it. In myself and in others."

She looks at me and nods. I feel so close to her right now. I lean in slowly and our lips meet.

We kiss, deeply. Passionately. Our tongues find each other. Our arms embrace, our hands touching, squeezing. I hold her tight in my arms and kiss her neck. She presses against me, running her hands through my hair.

"Oh Jake," she whispers. "I feel like celebrating. Celebrating my new freedom. What shall we do?"

I feel like inviting her to get naked with me and fucking until we pass out. But I'm trying to reform myself. 

"Whatever you want. I'm game."

"Let's go swimming in the lake!" she says, excitedly. "I'll miss that so much when I'm away."

Is she nuts? It's something like 1:00 in the morning. But I don't want to come off as a stick-in-the-mud.

"That's a great idea!" I answer. "Let's do it!"

The next thing I know we're headed down to the lakeshore. The moon is near full and it casts a eerie glow on the lake and the trees around us. It's cool, but not cold. The lake is calm and the moonlight shimmers on the surface.

"Let's get naked," she whispers. "I want to be naked with you."

I think, "twist my arm" and start to unbutton my tuxedo shirt. She's pulling off her t-shirt and unbuttoning her jeans. I watch her slip her jeans over her hips and she's wearing the most delicate bra and the skimpiest thong. I feel my heart leap and my cock stiffen as I see her body once again. I start to unbutton my pants and she looks over at me.

"Here. Let me help."

She kneels down to remove my shoes and socks. She unzips my trousers and carefully pulls them down. Seeing her gorgeous body and having her so near has caused my cock to stiffen. It's pressing hard against the cotton fabric. She pulls my pants off each foot and then looks up at me, her face right at my crotch. My cock is filling out my briefs as if they were three sizes too small. She looks up at me with raised eyebrows. 

"Shall I continue?" she asks playfully.

"Be my guest," I answer, trying my best to sound non-challant.

She reaches up and takes the waistband of my briefs between her fingers with both hands. Slowly she pulls down the fabric revealing first a tuft of hair, then the thick base of my cock. She pulls it further down, inch by inch, and my hardening cock is pressed straight down. Further she pulls it, down the length of my growing cock. Having her face so close to my cock just makes it harder, and thicker. My heart is thumping. Finally, she gets to the head and she ever so slowly pulls the waist over the ridge and then the tip. It springs forward and smacks her in the cheek. She lets out a raucous laugh.

"Come," I say. "Stand up. Your turn."

She jumps up and turns around so I can unfasten her bra. She turns to face me and holds the cups of her bra against her breasts, looking up at me through her lashes. She licks her lips and rolls her hips and rubs her breasts with her hands and bra. She arches back and slowly lowers her hands, letting the bra slide slowly over her breasts. I see the tops, then the pink aureoles, then the upturned nipples, stimulated by her rubbing. She lets the bra fall to the ground and rotates her shoulders back and forth showing me her perfect breasts. They look incredible in the moonlight.

I lower myself to my knees and grasp her thong in my fingertips. I slowly pull them down and am struck by the tightness of her ass and the shape of her hips. She's a ballet dancer, sure, but this body is beyond fit. It's extraordinary. I pull the thong over her feet and take advantage of my proximity to nibble on the inside of her thigh. She giggles and takes my head in her hands. She lifts one leg and rests it on my shoulder, guiding my face between her legs. I taste her pussy. So sweet. So wet.

As I stand, I wrap my arm around her ass and lift her so that her body is pressed against my chest. She wraps her legs around me and, as I slide her down, she rubs her breasts in my face. I lick her nipples and suck each one into my mouth. 

She lets out a satisfied moan and says: "Come. Let's swim out to the raft."

A swimming platform floats some 25 yards from shore. She takes off running and dives headlong into the water. I follow right behind her. The water envelopes me with a visceral shock. I surface and see her swimming ahead of me. With a few strokes, I catch up. 

Swimming alongside her, in the vast lake at night, is surreal. I've swum in lakes at night before, as a kid, and there's an eeriness that accompanies the experience. A sense of being at risk, of venturing out into the void. It's exciting and invigorating, yet unnerving at the same time.

Isabelle turns onto her side facing me and swims a sidestroke. She's quite a natural swimmer. She looks good in the water. Hell, she always looks good. 

I swim close to her, breast-stroking to match my speed with hers. The wide sweep of my arm causes my hand to brush against her body. She kicks her legs out to tangle with mine. Then, we're suddenly embracing, floating in the water. 

We swim around and over each other, our arms and legs intermingling. Her skin feels ultra soft in the water and her body firm and supple. I feel her feeling my shoulders and arms, her legs wrapped around mine. It reminds me of our encounter on the mossy banks of the waterfall.

It's hard to believe that was earlier today. So much has happened. Thinking of how beautiful she was, laying naked on the verdant shore, arching her back in the afternoon sun while I made love to her, well, suffice it to say my body is readying itself for another session. 

By the time we reach the raft, and I watch her climb up the metal stairs to the platform, her body sleek and glistening in the moonlight, my cock has grown to a semi-hard state despite the cool water. I climb up the stairs after her and she's already laying on her side, her elbow crooked, her head in her hand, watching me. I step onto the platform and stand before her, dripping wet, and my cock hanging thick and heavy. 

I pull my hair back from my face, my arms flexed, and look out across the lake in all four directions. I turn back to her, the front of my body bathed in moonlight, as she watches me intently.

I can feel her eyes on me, but I continue to look out at the lake and sky. The stars are brilliant in the cloudless night sky. Knowing she's watching me, that she has a clear view of my moonlit body, is a turn on for me. My cock continues to grow as she studies me. I take one more circuit of the platform, to admire the view, and also to let her view my chest, my abs, my thighs, my ass, and, of course, my growing cock from all angles.

"Come," she says, reaching out with one hand. "Lay with me. The view is extraordinary from here." 

I lay down next to her on the platform which is covered with a worn fabric. I lay on my side facing her, resting on my elbow. 

"Are you warm enough," I ask, hoping against hope that she'd want me to warm her with my body.

"I'm fine. And you?" she answers.

"I'm good." I lay on my back and look up. "The stars are incredible."

She lays on her back, her shoulder touching mine.

"Mmmmmm. Yes. I used to come out here when I was a girl. This raft was like my refuge. An island where I could escape and dream."

I look over at her profile. The water is beaded on her face and chest. She's stunning.

"What did you dream about?"

"Oh, everything," she replies. "The future... What I would do with my life... Boys... I remember laying out here and wondering if there would ever be a boy who would want a girl like me. One who'd desire me and make me feel like a woman. One who'd want to make love with me and someone whom I'd want, more than anything in the world, to please. And to be pleased by him."

She turns her head and we're face to face.

"I dreamt about that boy. And now, here you are."

We look deeply into each other's eyes and then we kiss, softly.

"Jake," she whispers, as if intimating a secret. "Let's make love and pretend it's our first time. For both of us. Would you do that?"

"Okay," I say softly. 

I kiss her lightly on the lips, brushing her bare skin of her back with my fingers. She kisses me back, tenderly. I kiss her more passionately, my tongue slipping between her lips. Her tongue embraces mine, tentatively. 

"I'm just a young girl who's never been with a man before," she says innocently. "But I want to. Very badly." 

"Me too," I say. "I'm not sure exactly how to do it, but I'm sure we can figure it out together."

She reaches down and runs her fingers lightly along the length of my cock. She takes it in her hand, holding it softly.

"I'm not sure, but I think if I stroke this with my hand, then it'll get bigger. Does this feel good?"

"Oh, yeah," I say, breathily. "That feels really good. If you keep doing that, then I'll get really hard. Then I think I can put it in here."

I reach down and slide my finger between the folds of her pussy. She's already incredibly wet.

"Mmmmmmm," she moans. "That makes me feel all warm inside. Keep doing that."

I slide my finger inside her and gently brush her clitoris with my thumb. 

"Ohhhhhhhh. That's so good. That makes me really want you inside me. I want to know what it feels like. I've wanted to for so long. Will you come inside me? Please?"

She's stroking me now with two hands, stretching the skin back so the head swells. I'm hard as a rock.

"Look," I say. "You've made me hard. Now I can take it, and put it here."

"But your thing is so big. It scares me. How can something so big possibly fit inside of me? When I'm so small?"

"We'll just take it slow. Here, I'll lay on my back and hold it straight up. Like this. Then you can come on top of me. Straddle me with your legs. That's it. Now slowly lower yourself and I'll rub the tip against your lips. How's that feel?"

"Mmmm. That makes me feel all creamy inside. Oh, yes. That makes me really want you to put it inside me. Please? Just a little bit?"

"Let's try."

I hold my hard cock steady with both hands and she rubs herself against the head. I can feel the hot wetness of her pussy on the tender tip. So hot. So wet. My cock is throbbing as she tries to get it in her. It's tight, and she's biting her lower lip. Suddenly, the head pops into her tight little pussy. She lets out a gasp.

"Oh," she moans. "Oh, it's so big. But it feels so good...I've been dreaming about this day. But I'm not sure what to do next?"

"I think I can slide it deeper inside."

I put my hands on her hips and I slowly raise my hips, sliding my cock into the folds of her pussy. She grabs both of my pecs with her fingers and digs them into me. 

"Ohhhhh. Mon Dieu! C'est incroyable! You're spreading me so much! But I like it. I like it a lot...I wonder if I lift myself up, and go back down again, up and down, like this. See how you're sliding into me. Ohhhhh. Yes. I think I can take you even deeper inside me. Oh, that feels so good. You're going so deep. I can't believe how deep you are inside me."

I have my hands on her sides, guiding her slowly up and down on my rock hard cock. She's so wet and so tight I can hardly believe it. This role play is making us take it very, very slowly and the anticipation is making me incredibly turned on. 

"Oh Jake, you're filling me up. Filling me up so wonderfully. Look how much you spread me. How my body's opening up to let you inside. It feels so good when you go deep. Go deeper. I want you to go deeper."

I lift my hips and press my cock upward and she arches her back, her hands in her hair.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhh! Yessssssss! I never knew how good it could feel! We fit together so perfectly!"

"What if I rock my pelvis like this," I say. "And move my hips in a circle, like this. Would that feel good too?"

She's arching her back, her breasts jutting out, her nipples upturned. 

"Yesssss! That feels so good. Touch my breasts. I want you to touch my breasts."

I take her perfect breasts in my hands and roll the nipples in my palms. I slide my fingers over them and she moans. She starts to undulate her body slowly. It's so hot, so sexy. All the while I'm thrusting slowly into her and she's receiving each thrust with a moan and another undulation of her body.

"I like it when you move like that," I say. "That really makes me hot. I think it's making my cock harder too. And bigger."

"Oh, yes I think you are getting bigger," she says, panting now. "I can't believe how big you are. You're going so deep. You're spreading me so much."

I reach hand down from her breasts to her mound and find her clit with my thumb.

"I'm not sure, but I think if I touched you here. On this spot. It'll feel really good. Does that feel like something you'd like?"

"Oh yes, yes. Do that...That feels really good...Oh yeah...Oh yeah...That feels so good...Oh mon chére...touche moi...ohhhhhhhhh...je suis si chaud......oh Jake......I feel like I might faint......Hold me."

I stop rubbing her clit and pumping her pussy.

"Shhhhhh, it's okay. Let me try something. I think you'll like it."

I slowly sit up, putting my arms around her torso.

"Now, swing your legs around my back. That's it."

I pull her body close to mine, holding her weight in my arms. We're facing each other, pressed together, my face in her breasts. She's got half my cock inside her.

"Now just let me do the work," I say. "You just concentrate on feeling good and relaxing yourself so you can take me inside you." 

Slowly, I start to lift her and lower her onto my throbbing hard-on. She feels incredibly wet, as wet as any pussy I've ever felt. 

Her breasts are brushing against my face, her nipples sliding over my mouth. Her hands are in my hair and she's pressing my head against her breasts and rubbing her nipples against my face and chest. She's in constant movement, like a live wire she's so turned on. 

I too am incredibly hot. I feel like my whole day has built up to this moment.

Raising and lowering her, up and down, licking her breasts, feeling her pussy sliding lower each time. She's so wet and tight. Each time I lower her I feel myself penetrate her deeper and her moans grow louder. 

"Oh Jake, I feel I'm going to explode with pleasure. I feel it overwhelming me."

"That's okay. Just ride the wave. You're going to come, Isabelle. You're going to come riding my cock. It's a wonderful thing. You're becoming a woman."

She smiles. 

"Yes, that it. I feel like a woman. With you inside me. Feeling this way. I've become a complete woman."

With that, I lower her down onto my lap completely. My cock is buried inside her. To the hilt. She let's out a long moan of pleasure. A womanly moan.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh!" she cries. "Oui, mon amour, je t'aime avec tout ma cœur!" 

She starts to shake, involuntarily, her body starting to convulse with pleasure. 

"Oh Jake, that's it....yes....oh yes.....right there......yes......fuck me......I'm coming......I'm coming......"

I'm holding her ass and sliding her up and down my cock, grinding her clit against my pubic bone. It's not a move a first timer would know but I'm cheating a bit. I want her to have a great orgasm. An unforgettable one. Historic.

"Right there...that's it...yes...yes...fuck me...fuck me...mon dieu...c'est si bon....c'est si bon..."




An American Houseguest Ch. 07



She's completely lost it, riding my cock, given over to her orgasm. Now she can't take me deep enough. She's pressing her pussy down on my cock, rotating her hips, her head tilted back. I feel her pussy contracting on my cock. She's in full and total orgasm now.

"Fuck me deep! Fuck me deep! Oh, I want your cock! I want your cock! Your big, thick cock! Give it to me! Your cock! Give it to me!"

I'm raising and lowering her fast now, up and down my cock, stroking her pussy, rubbing her clit. Her head falls to one side, and then the other, like a rag doll. Her body convulses and she moans with an animalistic intensity. When her orgasm finally subsides, I take her face in my hands. 

"Are you okay?" I ask her quietly.

She opens her beautiful green eyes and looks at me with an expression I'd only written about, never actually seen. It feels like love.

"Oh Jake," she says softly. "That was the greatest orgasm of my life. I feel like I relived my girlhood and became a woman at the same time. 

How is that possible?" 

I just look at her. How can a woman be so perfect?

"I'm just glad you enjoy making love with me" I say.

"Oh, more than anything. More than you even know."

I smile. 

"Jake, did you come too? I sort of lost track of what was going on."

"No, but I loved watching you come."

"But what about you? Don't you want to experience la petite morte?"

"I do. I just want it to last, that's all."

"Oh Jake, I do too. To last forever."

We embrace, our bodies pressed together. I hear her whisper in my ear.

"What is your fantasy?" she asks.

"Hmmm?" I answer. 

"I told you mine. To make love as if it were my first time. But what about you? What would turn you on the most? I want to give you that."

"Actually, you have."

"I have?" she asks.

"I've always fantasized about making love to a ballet dancer. But I never actually did."

"C'est vrai? Really?"

"Yep." 

"And now I get to live my fantasy." 

"What is it about a ballerina that excites you?" she asks.

"You know," I answer, my hands running over her body. "The long legs. The slender waist. The graceful way you move. And, of course, the flexibility. Very handy when it comes to sex."

She looks at me with a mischievous smile. 

"You want to make love to a dancer, eh? That turns you on?"

"Oh yes," I reply.

"Lean back," she says, giving me a light push on my chest.

I put my hands behind me, leaning on my arms. My legs are stretched straight out behind her. She looks me in the eyes with the sexiest look I've ever seen. And starts to move. Slowly. Moving her body in the most sensuous, sexiest way imaginable. She's undulating her body and rolling her hips, causing her pussy to rub against my still hard cock.

"You like flexible? Let me show you flexible."

She unwraps her legs from my back and spreads them wide. They're perfectly straight, laying on top of my thighs, and extending out at forty-five degree angles. She starts to use them as levers, raising and lowering herself on my cock. Her arms are crossed gracefully in front of her breasts, and then she slowly lifts them to her shoulders and her head, exposing herself, touching her face and hair. She's raising and lowering herself, effortlessly, onto my cock while taking the position of a prima ballerina.

She starts to raise herself higher, and to lower herself deeper, taking my cock the full length in and out of her pussy. I'm just leaning back, watching her. I can tell it's starting to get to her because her fingers have found their way into her mouth while her other hand is playing with her nipple. Because I'm leaning back, I can clearly see her pussy raising and lowering on my cock, the way I'm spreading her apart. It's such a turn on. 

"I want you deeper," she whispers. 

She slowly spreads her legs even wider, so they're extending straight out to each side. She's in splits position, her eyes fixated on mine. She slowly rocks her hips forward and presses her pussy against my cock. I watch it sink into her until it disappears. She's in a perfect splits and she's got my cock buried in her pussy. Then, she starts to raise and lower herself. How she does it I do not know. It feels so good.

After a few minutes of this, she pulls her legs back. She leans back, resting her hands on the ground next to my knees. She arches her back so that my cock is still deep inside her, but she leans back so her breasts are pointed up to the sky. She starts undulating her body, rocking her pelvis, so that her pussy strokes my cock while she bends over backwards. I feel like I'm fucking a contortionist.

Next, she leans forward and lifts her knees to her chest and, in one motion, spins her body on the axis formed by my cock. It's a bit startling, but it doesn't hurt, and suddenly she's facing away from me, still riding my cock. Now I see her back, her thin waist, and her beautiful ass and it raises and lowers on my now throbbing cock. She's fucking me with the nastiest, sexiest motion I've ever seen. 

The next thing I know, she's leaning back, arching her back so her chest reaches to the sky, her head resting on my shoulder. I reach one hand up and feel her breasts. Her nipples are hard and extended. She's as turned on as I am. She starts to grind her pussy against my huge, hard cock. I feel ready to come.

"Would you like to take me from behind, mon chère?" she whispers, breathily. "I want to know what you love, and then I want to give it to you. I want you to have the greatest sex of your life. I want that to be my gift to you."

"I love it from behind," I say, breathing heavily. "It feels so good on my cock. It's so tight. I like to come that way." 

"Oh, I want you to come," she moans. "I want you to fill me with your seed. Tell what to do to make you come!"

"Get on all fours," I pant. "Let me fuck you from behind like that."

She immediately finds her way to her hands and knees. She's looking back at me with fiery eyes. Her legs are spread and her pussy is glistening it's so wet. I move closer and slowly press my rock hard cock into her wet pussy from behind. It feels so good. 

I start to pump her, slowly, deeply. She spreads her knees even more and presses back against my straining pelvis. I start to pump her harder. She's providing resistance so I can really thrust into her. She starts to cry out with every thrust.

"I love this, Isabelle," I groan. "I never want it to stop."

She spreads her arms out in front of her, her head down, and her ass raised so her pink, wet, warm pussy is reaching up to me. 

"Mmmmm, me too," she moans. "You're going so deep."

"I want to spray my cum deep inside you."

"Ohhhhh," she moans. "That's what I want. For you to explode inside me. To feel the ultimate pleasure. I want you to have that." 

I reach down with my arm and circle it under her stomach. I use it to pull her tight to me as I thrust deep inside of her. I'm lifting her off the ground, driving my cock into her, holding her in my strong arm. 

And then, after a powerful thrust, I raise myself to one knee, then the other, and we're suddenly standing. She slowly lowers one foot to the ground, while the other encircles me, like a ballerina with her dancing partner. 

She's standing in a graceful pose, not on point, but she might as well have been. One leg is raised, behind her, curving around my back. Her arms are up in the air, gracefully curved. I'm standing right behind her, in a kind of pas de deux, with my long cock buried inside her.

Slowly, she bends forward and the raised leg reaches up, higher and higher, until it's stretched straight to the sky and resting on my shoulder. She's doing a standing split, with her legs in a perfect straight line perpendicular to the earth. Her pussy is squeezing my cock. I feel like I'm in a velvet vise, and it feels incredible. I moan loudly.

"You said you wanted to fuck a ballerina?" she says. "Then fuck me, baby. Fuck me hard."

With that, I thrust my hips and pull her towards me, filling her with my full cock, burying it to the hilt. She lets out a shriek. I thrust into her again, bending my knees and sinking my cock deep into her dripping wet pussy. Her arms are reaching back, her fingers in my hair.

"Ohhhhhh! Come in me! Please!"

I feel myself approaching the precipice. I take her hips in my hands and lift her off the ground. She extends both her legs out behind me, her front arching away from me like a figurehead on a sailing ship. 

I pump her hard with my entire cock. All the way in and all the way out. Over and over. She moans with every thrust. I start to pump faster. Double time. She starts to tremble and shake. I feel her pussy contracting on my cock. I can tell she's coming.

"Oh Jake. Come with me!"

As I feel my orgasm approaching, I lower her to the ground. She reaches for the platform as if her head were reeling, just as mine is. She's laying on her stomach, with her ass raised. I'm using my entire body to sink my cock as deep as it will go. I feel myself teetering on the edge.

I start to slam into her with sharp, lightening thrusts, pounding her body, piercing her, over and over and she starts to shriek.

"I'm commmmming Jake... I'm commmmming."

That's all the spark I need to detonate my own orgasm. I thrust and hold and feel an overwhelming rush shoot through my body. A flood of energy streams out of me and into her. An explosion of cum shoots out my cock, filling her. Again I sink my cock deep into her, and again my cum sprays out, filling her insides.

She too is gliding along her own orgasm, moaning loudly as I thrust into her. As my thrusts slow and become tender again, her moans soften, until we are both barely moving, barely audible. And then, finally, we collapse, my body covering hers, embracing her from behind. 

We are too spent to even speak. 

I roll to her side, embracing her with my arms and legs. She turns to me and snuggles close to my body. I realize, finally, that it's cool out on the lake at night. We keep each other warm, holding each other, for a while. She lifts her head and we are face to face.

"Jake, that was incredible. I don't think I've ever had an experience like that."

"Me too. It was once-in-a-lifetime. I'll never forget it."

"I'm so glad," she says. "I'm glad it wasn't me alone."

"I feel there's an affinity between us."

"You do? I feel the same way. I feel....a sense of possibility with us. You know?"

"I've felt that too. I've been imagining you and me together. Not only like this... but, you know, sharing a life. But then we're not exactly geographically aligned."

My face feels flushed as I open my heart to this woman. I have this sense that this little raft, this postage stamp in the middle of an alpine lake is the center of the universe. Nothing else exists.

"Jake, I've been thinking about going to America. To try out for some of the ballet companies there."

I think about the implications of that last statement.

"Uh-huh," I say, neutrally.

"There are some very good regional companies. I've been in contact with the San Francisco Ballet and they've invited me to audition for them."

"That's great, Isabelle."

"I mean..." she says, haltingly, "at least we'd be on the same continent."

I study her face, trying to decide what to say next.

"You know, Isabelle, there's a place not far from San Francisco that reminds me of this place. It's called Emerald Bay. It's on the south shore of Lake Tahoe, high in the Sierra Nevada. Steep granite cliffs, covered in evergreens, descend down to a cove of turquoise water. In the middle of the cove is a small island. On the island are the ruins of a stone castle called Vikinghaus. I want to take you there."

She's watching me with bright, hopeful eyes. 

"We'll take off all our clothes and swim out to that island," I continue. "We'll lay naked on the granite rocks and feel the sun warming our skin. Like we did here."

"And we'll sneak off," I tell her, "into the ruins where no one can see us. I'll chase you and take you in my arms. We'll kiss."

"And I'll dance for you," she continues. "While you lay back against the warm stone, I'll perform for you. In the nude. I'll dance among the ruins, with all the sensuousness and eroticism I can bring. And I'll watch you respond. As I move, I'll watch you grow bigger. Harder. And then, at the climax of the dance, I'll throw myself at your feet, and I'll take your cock into my mouth. I want to feel it growing hard in my mouth, as I suck you."

"And I'll find your pussy with my tongue and caress you with my lips. Like we did by the waterfall. We'll give each other the ultimate pleasure. You sucking me, me licking you, at the same time. You'll make me so hard, and I'll make you so wet. Then, we'll make love as if it were our first time. Because it will be. It'll be our first time... on that continent."

"Oh, Jake" she whispers. "I want to make love to you on every continent in the world." 

"Even Antarctica?" I smile.

"Especially Antartica. Penguins mate for life you know." 

"Is that right?" I laugh. "You learn something new every day."

There is a pause and then Isabelle speaks, softly.

"Oh, Jake," she says with great emotion. "I want to live with you. I want us to share a life together. A life of art, and dance, and writing, and friends, and love. I want to help you achieve your dreams and you to help me achieve mine. I want to watch as you become a successful writer, known the world over and admired by your peers. I want you to come to watch me dance, sitting in the front row, the first to greet me backstage. It would be a life of creativity, of adventure. Like in your story.

I look her and take a long, deep breath.

"Isabelle, listen to me. I'm just a man. I'm flawed. I have weaknesses. I mess up. I'm not rich. Hell, I can't even balance my checkbook. I've written three books and I've published not a one. Don't think of me as anything more than what I am."

She's watching me give this speech with a beatific look on her face.

"I know what you are," she says finally. "And I know who you are."

"And who's that?" I ask. 

"I think you're the man I love."

********************************

Later, after we swam back to the house and stole into Isabelle's room, took a hot bath together and grabbed a few hours sleep before the sun rose, we lay in her bed, naked, our arms and legs intertwined. When I awake, I am alone.

Was it real? Was I dreaming? Did the woman of my dreams really profess her love for me? Did we really make beautiful, passionate love under the stars?

I grab my clothes and sneak back into my own bedroom. I quickly dress in jeans and a shirt and clean myself up. I'm excited yet apprehensive as I make my way downstairs.

In the living room, I find Isabelle with Peter. She smiles at me. I approach them and gently squeeze her hand.

"Izzy tells me you and she have a thing going on," Peter says with a slightly accusatory tone. 

A grin suddenly brightens his face. 

"I think it's bloody fantastic."

I smile broadly and we shake hands and pat each other on the back. Just then, the door opens and it's Veronique. She's wearing a robe over a silky nightgown. She looks like the cat that swallowed the canary.

"Good morning," she says grandly. "Isn't it a glorious day?"

Peter and Isabelle glance at each other.

"Mother," Isabelle says cautiously, "I have something to tell you."

"Really?" Veronique answers. "And what is that?"

"I'm leaving. Today. This morning in fact. I'm going to America. With Jake."

Veronique stands, stupefied.

"Don't be silly, darling."

"I've decided I don't want to live here anymore. I want to live in the U.S. and pursue my dancing."

"That's absurd. What about Charles?"

Isabelle lets out a little laugh.

"That's rich coming from you. No, Charles is out of my life. Forever. I want to be with Jake."

Veronique eyes her, astonished. Then she looks at me.

"I see," says Veronique. She crosses to a side table and picks up a cigarette case, lighting one and taking a drag. She turns to Isabelle with a look of casual disdain.

"I suppose it wouldn't matter to you to know that Jake and I had sex."

Isabelle looks at her, stunned. 

"What?"

"It's true," says Veronique, casually. "Jake and I had a most passionate roll in the hay just yesterday. Didn't we, Jake? I must say, he's quite enthusiastic in bed."

She turns and looks at me with an evil smile on her face. Isabelle turns and looks at me, completely crestfallen.

"Jake?" she says, desperately. "Is this true?"

Her expression is one of total disappointment. I can barely look at her. I turn to Veronique instead.

"What are you doing?" I ask Veronique, darkly.

"I'm just being honest," Veronique says innocently. "In the interest of full disclosure."

Isabelle face has turned ashen.

"So, Veronique," I say. "Remind me. Where did we supposedly have sex?"

"Why, in my bed of course," she says matter-of-factly. "First he seduced me. Then he tied me up and made violent love to me."

Isabelle reaches for the back of a chair, staggered by this news. 

"Oh, Jake" she says, incredulous.

"Isabelle, wait" I answer. "Veronique, are you saying I raped you right here in the house and no one heard anything?"

"Oh, Jake, don't be melodramatic. I didn't say you raped me. I just said you tied me up before you had sex with me. No, it was entirely consensual. For both of us. I must say, he was very eager. He kept going and going and going. It was quite satisfying, actually."

Isabelle sinks into the chair, about to cry.

"I see," I say. "It must have been the drinks from the party, cause I'm a little fuzzy. When did this little tryst take place?"

"Last night. After the party."

"And how long did we end up doing it, anyway?"

"Oh, you were very energetic. We did it from just after the party until...what... four or five in the morning?"

Isabelle slowly raised her head, looking at her mother.

"Four or five in the morning, was it?" I ask.

"Oh, at least. I remember you left just before the sun came up. I guess once just wasn't enough, was it?"

Isabelle turns to me. I look at her. She stands and speaks to her mother, calmly.

"Mother, I won't stay in this house for another day. I'm going to leave now to start a new life with Jake. I'm not asking for your permission or your blessing. I don't know when you'll hear from me again. Goodbye."

She takes my hand and we walk purposefully out of the room.

Later, as we carry our bags to the lake transport to leave the island, Peter approaches us. 

"Jake, I'll call you when I get back to New York."

"Sounds good. Except it'll be a long-distance call."

"Why's that?"

"I think I'm going to be in San Francisco," I answer with a smile. "There's an island I want to visit out there."

Isabelle looks at me and slips her arm around my waist. Peter nods, knowingly.

"Well you two send me a card wherever it is you land."

"Will do," I reply as we step onto the boat.

"Oh," he says tossing a paper bag to me. "Antoine gave me this to give to you. You must have dropped when we were at the stables last night."

We wave as the boat pulls away from shore. I open the paper bag and inside is my mask from the night before. Isabelle gives me a quizzical look. 

"What is it?" Isabelle asks.

"Oh, nothing," I reply. "Just a souvenir."

I pull her close to me as the boat chugs its way to the distant shore and the house recedes in view behind us. The sun is just peaking above the alpine cliffs, casting the lake in a golden glow. I feel like a man who has journeyed to an exotic land, experiencing great pleasures and evading dire circumstances, only to emerge unscathed on the other side. One unforgettable adventure concluded and an even greater one about to begin.