0 comments/ 13189 views/ 0 favorites Remembrance of Autumn Days By: steamer5139 Coated in powder blue, the richly carved door was impossible to jimmy, a formidable adversary to the most persistent hotel dick. It shut with a satisfying snick and we plummeted into our Never Never Land of lust and crazed obsession. Not for the first time, we were together not merely as lovers but as sexual soul mates. This time in Emerald City, my adopted hometown, 22 floors above the ground in a five star mirrored glass and shiny steel monolith. A silver tower bathed in cool, pale northern sunlight and the profound brown and golden colors of a late afternoon of an autumn day in September. I was Andre; she was Diana during such trysts. My true name was not Andre and by no means was I French but I loved doing soixante-neuf. Me going down on Diana, she sucking me, the two of us locked together, my head flat against her lower reaches, her noggin flush against my groin. In such mechanics, I discovered a passion for soixante-neuf. A season in Paris and randy women made their shaved slits, their spongy coiffures freely available. Quite near the Seine, the Left Bank and Montmarte, I became a fierce habitué of a woman's gash. Sometimes I even had a chance to practice tradecraft, to get out on the streets, test skills learned in the piney woods near Williamsburg, Virginia. In my travels as a vagabond lothario, I found Tel Aviv to my liking. Busty Sabras delighted me. In London corset-clad wenches curtsied to the queen and waved the business ends of canes and paddles at my exposed rump. And I bent them over and flailed them in return. In Rome nubile Italian women, Messalina's descendents, bowled me over with their dark, sultry eyes, streaming raven hair and earthy natures. Each one more buxom then the next and all extraordinarily gifted in the sorts of sexual hi-jinks I relished. They pleasured, bedeviled with an astonishing adeptness characteristic of such hot- blooded women. Great cooks too. During my stays just off the Via Veneto in a ramshackle villa, I cavorted on my soft, yielding mattress with one spectacular woman and another. Then in the morning a shared breakfast finished off with espresso laced with a pinch of cinnamon. All the while I'd be sitting there at the table in a comfortable chair looking at my most recent bedmate and the tiny silver cross or religious medallion nestled in a remarkably sumptuous and silky bosom swelling out of her bodice. My companion's black hair tussled by all night bed romping flaring down over her shoulders. Fingers, their nails painted a garish red often holding a cup close to full, rapacious lips. This was after she used those talons to scratch across my back in the dark. In the comfortable silence she'd sit across from me and rub her smooth bare feet across my bare shins. What of me? Then as now I was tall, lean, tended to slump too much. I don't think I was quite handsome but I could look in a mirror without sneaking up on the thing. I kept my blond hair close-cropped; there was a cowl lick back there somewhere. I tried to smile often as possible and had a certain degree of charm I suppose. Women liked the way I cocked my head, my sweet disposition. I sometimes took too many chances, liked living on the edge way too much but that is how it goes. I kept my own counsel and played it close to the vest. This hard and fast rule was never broken. On my native ground, I found myself a tad more comfortable. My sense of possession was overblown and I liked my solitude, enjoyed sleeping alone in my sprawling bed. I was able to pop out of the covers, light off the computer, sip coffee, wear my ratty bathrobe and look totally disreputable checking out blogs. Unusual circumstances, improbable events shaped my life, molded my personality. Try to analyze my character and you will be amazed by the dichotomies. I have a chameleon temperament; tend to be moody, sentimental and dashingly courageous on occasion. At other moments I can be irresolute, wanton and weak. Then in a flash I am a graciously charming bon vivant. After Nine One One I came into my own and did some dazzling work, labors quite off the scope though. I was committed and focused to the achievement, the realization of action meaning something. Diana's uncommonly luscious body not only delighted my senses; it was a veritable sexual playground for a man with my randy temperament. From what I have gathered, she was born and bred in Northampton, Massachusetts and had numerous Portuguese ancestors in her past. She has the olive coloring, the sprawling mane of dark tresses, the ripe prominences from the bust line to the flaring, fluid hip action. Any male was lucky to be her choice, to be in her liquid embrace, to be ensnared by those torrid hazel eyes, the terrifyingly alluring body. Not beautiful in the manifest sense she had perfect teeth, a proud, defiant nose and a firm definitive somewhat ostentatious chin. She could have been Hera, wife, older sister of Zeus, majestic and solemn, crowned with regal golden polos on her head, patiently waiting to be soundly fucked in the lofty dominions by a Grecian godhead. Smarts signifying a voluminous intellect bubbled up out of her as did her prim deportment and her wholesome persona. She reveled in being wicked. To think this vivacious woman also had her undergraduate degree in English, a passion for Rudyard Kipling poems and was relentlessly ambitious without being sullen or too obvious. Passionate and imaginative she had an uncommon aptitude for lovemaking. To any male with normal levels of testosterone her uninhibited altitude was breathtaking. Like many 21st century couples we stumbled into one another in cyber land where we both were looking for merriment and entertainment. We shared our passion for eroticism, the nuances of erotic writing, tested the waters to see what naughty things we wished to pursue. Naturally, we met in person. Now, I targeted her with names like AMANDA or MELODY or BARBARA. Sometimes I spelled COUNTESS LUDMILLA OSTROKOVA something equally dense with consonants and vowels across her clit. With the swirl of my tongue and some light pressure against the engorged nub buried inside the fleshy trench between her legs, I sent her reeling. My God, how she pressed those silken legs about my head as I went down on her. Diana quite stunning in a form fitting black cocktail sheath barely covering her thighs, walked ahead of me into the lavishly appointed suite. I carried her several overnight bags and my single beaten up, world weary satchel. Teetering on four-inch black high heels, she crossed the room's pale blue carpet in several easy strides, clasped her fingers round a tiny silver chain, the night stand's brass lamp to the left of the queen sized bed flicked on, lit the ceiling and made an umbrella of light at the corner of the bed. Her black patent leather clutch purse fell between the pint-sized lamp and the digital clock radio. The room was no run of the mill Ramada Inn or Motel 6. The comfortable looking furniture might have occupied a stuffy collegial male club where staid old men smoked cigars and rumbled on about the poor state of the human condition. The lamp's patch of illumination took in the black wing back chair covered in shiny, creaky black leather across from the bed, next to a slender brass floor lamp fitted out with a pale yellow waxy shade. I moved to it, stripped out of my shirt and shoes, my pants still in place, settled into the seat cushion. I watched Diana slink about the room on those high heels. To make things even better for my fetish congested mind, I knew that when she removed those shoes, I'd hear her stocking clad feet making a satisfying swoosh across the carpet. I loved such crisp and mellow sounds, loved the way her red painted toenails shined under the mist of stockings. Fantasy reached by a fetish made real was such a trip. I could hear my counter-culture mother saying such a thing. This from a woman known as Sadie Glitz, one of a select cadre known for her plaster cast impressions of rock idols' dongs. She, with a frizzy purple fro, usually braless and scrawny in her youth somehow managed to stay clear of Charlie Manson and other odd ball cultists. She'd kick off on acid in Haight-Ashbury occasionally, sell daisies on street corners and hunkered down with her share of Harley guys. God bless Mom and her unconventional nature. Diana moved about the room looking there, checking here. She clucked her tongue inside her mouth when she saw the salmon hot tub with its gold fixtures, the brushed steel bar stocked with small liquor bottles and fine crystal glasses. She opened walk-in closets, rubbed a palm across a polished bureau surface, another palm along the smooth lines of the credenza, examined the antique student desk with its black chair on brass casters. Almost reluctantly, she touched the mattress gauged its firmness, then peered between the curtains, looked out at Puget Sound. She finished her inspection, paused to open one of her valises, a bag crammed full of makeup. Such femininity contained in a simple bag. Fairly tall, heavy breasts canted her forward faintly. When we were together, she always directed a hazy, satisfied smile my way. Her complexion was creamy, her auburn hair, sparkling with tiny diamonds in the muted light, cascaded down on to her smooth shoulders in soft undulant waves. She moved with grace, no superfluous movements and a dancer's nimble cat like motion. Her high heels corded her legs and made me aware of her slim round ankles. I felt so sensitive to the moment, so in tune with her; I thought I could hear her hosiery rubbing on her slim thighs. The sexy sound enlivened my cock, tipped me into a downward spiral and I was nearly insane to fuck Diana. Under the black sheath a miniscule garter belt, no panties to speak of and the paltriest of brassieres. These garments black as the sheath. Sitting in my chair, I'd see her slip out of the dress in one sure motion. There in front of me in all her splendor Diana would stand confidently and with unerring aplomb, a female comfortable and proud of her assets. On her feet the four-inch spiked black heels. Black hose on slim, sculpted legs secured with snaps to a miniscule garter belt. Her scooped out black balconet bra showing a wealth of cleavage down to the nipples charged with red fire. Her pussy shaved with no Hitler moustache to mask or shadow her smooth satin slit. I fantasized an encounter on an airport shuttle, me eating her pussy under a cloak. My cock pressed painfully against my trousers, my eyes absorbing all the details of her body. I was going to fuck this vixen; the sounds of our lovemaking would reverberate throughout these rooms. Intimate noises, the whispered argot of lovers easily contained inside this room's soundproofed walls. Genius, it is said, is only a greater aptitude for patience. By that definition I was no genius. I was so impatient, so desperate to fuck Diana. Now, not later. From the chair, I'd spring, have my way with her. She still in the fashionable heels, the racy hosiery, the garter belt, the filmy, less then tangible bra and we'd fuck on top of the blue duvet. Damn, if I'd take time to turn back any sheets or roll back the bedspread. Two sexual animals taking and giving pleasure in equal measure. Under me her come fuck me pumps scratch against my flanks. I'd then run one of those sharp heel points across her swollen clit. High above Emerald City, she'd push her moist pubes against my thrusting cock. I envisioned doggy fucking her. To her such sport fucking was close combat with no quarter given or taken. Best of all was her wonderfully astute mouth sucking me with such unrestrained ardor. This was cock sucking in the premier league. Our fucking was not to be forced; it was not to be a sudden frankness of orgasms and nothing more. One sexually uninhibited female plus one sexually uninhibited male joined as a two backed beast to pursue every possibility of titillation and fulfillment. "Honey, how about a glass of champagne?" I said. Calvados was my favorite tipple. She dug Perrier but looking into her eyes, I instinctively knew champagne was needed at the moment. This to be followed by some frenzied coupling on the floor, on the bed, in the shower maybe. Then we'd fuck on the desk, her legs wrapped around me, my tongue racing across her moist gash. "Strip sweetie, leave your garter belt, hose and heels." I said. I was tuned in, turned on. Everything was planned in my mind, the close in tactics and the strategic overview. Such things as logistics, intelligence, table of equipment. Nothing was left to chance in my campaigns. "Oh, as much as I like looking at your cleavage darling, take your bra off. I want to suck your nipples." She made me weak in the knees. Her wicked smile, those fun red lips, the flushed look of a female animal in heat wanting to be soundly fucked drove me around the bend. Diana's sexy body had the capability to make a dead man come. "Lover, lie down on the foot of the bed with your legs hanging over the edge. Now, play with your pussy, use those long, slim fingers. That's the ticket." "Will you fuck me then?" She looked doe like, innocent, naïve, a bare foot nymph traipsing through the woods with no pretensions other then sating her urges. At that moment, looking into those eyes and examining her wondrous body, I felt like a potent demolisher of a woman's virtues. "You better believe I will, but first I am going to stroke my tube, watch you play with that sweet, adorable pussy." My bedmate readied for my invasion. "What about the champagne you fucking cock hound?" Damn, she could roar. "Oh, we will have some champagne, I promise." She was everything I pictured. Everything from the come fuck me pumps, the garter belt and the sheer hosiery intended to enslave me to her naked need to be fucked. One, two three of her fingers slid into her twat. My left hand rolled over my cock and slid back and forth in a fluid motion as I watched her fuck herself. I could not linger watching her fingers toiling away in her moist interior. I abandoned the rest of my clothing, bent over at the hip and stuck my prick into her. As I pumped into her, she wrapped her legs about me. My bare feet touching the floor, I leaned down, sucked her nipples and painted her throat with my tongue. In making this vital connection several hundred feet above Emerald City, my memory fixated on another woman, another time. I remembered a southern European woman, her glossy ebony tresses and open toed pumps draped off the dusty walnut desk in the midst of a war zone. In the vestibule on the other side of the sandbags Captain Zed, a stammering bull necked fellow talked in a monotone on a field telephone to an associate of mine named Mr. Puddy about ethnic cleansing rolling through a nearby village. The odor of spent cordite and burning kerosene hung in the air. It tickled my nostrils while I rolled about inside this woman's yawning womb. Noises from outside, the racket of trucks changing gears, men cursing in a multitude of dialects infiltrated into our hovel as did the blow flies. As trucks roared by I could hear women begging for food. In this place where life was cheap, contemptibly disregarded, Helena, yes her name was Helena, wore a yellow silk shift riding well above her waist and my combat boots were unlaced and a Christopher medal dangled from my chest. She drew me in, allowed me free access. In this insane place, we drew down a curtain over the madness of this hellish place seemingly lost from God's purview. Thank God, that was then and this was now. Peace or what passed for amity was restored. Now, in much more comfortable surroundings, I dallied with dear Diana. The room's chilly air conditioning pocked my ass with goose flesh as I merrily pumped my cock inside Diana. Her tightness, the constriction she placed on my member was amazing. To not put too fine a point on it, Diana impaled on my cock was amazing. Few times had I fucked a woman with such joy, such abandon. God bless the Internet, God love Literotica for introducing us. Bless those souls who lived on the edge, who enjoyed walking on the wide side. I loved associating with people who knew what was truly important in this cock eyed world. I remembered a crucial moment on my road to manhood. It took place in one of those sump holes I have found myself on occasion. I was a bit mad when it happened, grief-stricken by all the futility inherent in these places. Hopeless places where tears saturated the land. For me it was liturgical and in no way Christ-like other then in its innocent devotion to man's decency, his compelling desire to find goodness in the basest environment. I could not help but think grace was found ultimately in the expression of one's primitive sexual nature, that nobility of the spirit was to be found merely by men and women, men and men or women and women rutting about as frequently as possible. Why worry in other words? What was the point? Settle down, enjoy life, let the good times roll and fuck like bunny rabbits. The gods and goddesses of free-style humping, those valiant men and women on the sexual fringe, the satyrs and incubi living and lusting in the kingdom of whores had the right answer, the solution all the time. Just fuck and everything will be okay. Everything else was so much drivel. The sum total of Diana's sexuality, her imagination, her fantasies, her utter disregard for convention, her need to be a slut weighed down on my cock and nicely melded with my beliefs. Diana, her expertise and enthusiasm to be well and truly fucked was all I needed to support my new religion. During one of her contractions against my cock, I came. She seemed to experience a little death too. "Sweet Jesus," I roared as sperm continued to flow out of the head of my dick. "Oh fuck, fuck, fuck," Diana responded. Under the golden glow of the lamp, the two of us covered in a patina of perspiration, I poured champagne in two flutes, handed one to Diana, clasped the other one in my left hand. We hoisted them and in the German way looked each other in the eye, drank, raised the glasses once more, then looked intently at each other, dwelled reverently in the moment before returning the flutes to the bedside table. My fingers dripped champagne on each one of her erect nipples. I suckled each one in turn. Finally, I poured a tiny amount of the bubbly in her twat, commenced to eat her passionately. In less then three hours since our arrival, Jay Leno not showing his clown face yet and we had done some serious fucking. We still had a weekend to contemplate, a weekend of rocking and rolling sex. Intensely, furiously, with the flames of lust consuming us, our lovemaking unified us in the most durable of compacts. In our love nest high above Emerald City's steel canyons we inhabited a sphere apart and unique. I did not know much about her. She knew little of me. To ask personal questions risked banishment. Occasionally an unbidden question happened to lash out; slipped through our self imposed No Man's Land where ignorance was bliss and the day to day woes of the world were barred. Such an imposition of reality was given a quick and painless death with a sudden burst of even more outlandish behavior. I knew my submissive bedmate was impatient to be swept away, to be a cum slut, whore, whatever she chose to be and damn it to hell society's condemnation or ridicule for her actions. The icing on the cake was her cordial compliance. If I instructed her to suck a legion of cocks, she'd gladly do so and do it with gusto. Having her fuck in the back seat of a limo, going down on a beer bellied cab driver no problem. "Do the driver, you slut." Diana liked it all. All the while her debauchery was cloaked in class, discernment and gaiety. She was of the manor born even in the prone position of submission. Remembrance of Autumn Days Ch. 02 Today, a Saturday in September, Emerald City promised unseasonable warmth and sunshine. Diana and I awakened refreshed and invigorated as did the city known for its aromatic blends of coffee, post card perfect ferries and deeply ingrained tree hugging mindset. Soon another influx of tourists would flood these precipitous downtown streets and shekels would commence smoothly rolling into purring cash registers once more. On the hotel roof's flat expanse, an immense American flag wildly gesticulated on a colossal white flagpole thrusting from a bubble of white fog. Diana having slept soundly next to me, awakened first. She bounded out of bed, from room service she ordered up a continental breakfast supplemented by fresh strawberries and cream, moved to the shower while I snoozed. I managed to raise my head, crack open one eye, see she was no worse for wear following our lovemaking duets the previous evening and into the early morning hours. It was gratifying watching her slim naked body sashay toward the bathroom, a room only a true sybarite could fully appreciate. My head drooped back to the pillow and I fell asleep once more. I adore sleeping in a premier hotel. The quiet washes over me; a dark room behind closed curtains makes for a swanky cocoon. This morning my cocoon was also permeated with fragrant memories of the desirable woman who had slept next to me. I loved the plush silk sheets, confections left on the pillows, the servile hotel staff on permanent loan from Swiss banking concerns and English manor houses. Such extravagant surroundings in my mind were far superior for charming lissome women into bed then any lodging catering to common folk. These simple souls content in their diminished capacity were satisfied with simply getting their rocks off expeditiously. They know not what they were missing. I yearned for prolonged ecstasy with women, sought out their desires and sated them if at all possible. Then turned the table, allowed them to cater to my wishes, apply themselves to my base needs. Fornication was nothing but reciprocal action anyway. No one considers me ordinary. You may think me arrogant, others romantic. Some see in the angles of my face a prism capable of breaking any passionate woman to my will, then bending her into an acquiescent vessel fulfilling my desires. I covet such women with a nearly insane concentration. My domination is absolute, complex and considerable. My brand of women is freely submissive in their nature. It is a sixth sense, I suspect. Somehow, in a woman's aura, the manner of her movement, a look in her eyes, I sense her capitulation, her willingness to be tamed, to be under my command. Naturally, such a woman returns to my bed again and again. And yes, I am always eager to meet the day full bore, head on. My avocation keeps me charging forth searching for the next conquest, distilling the purest form of eroticism from the most unlikely of women. That is the thrill, the idea propelling me forward. A few minutes after Diana climbed out of bed; I did too. I stretched, did several deep knee bends, a series of sit ups and surreptitiously scratched my naked ass. Off to the bathroom, passing the hot tub to my left, I stood over the commode as my way too yellow pee drained out into the porcelain bowl. I yawned, rubbed the stubble on my jaw and heard the shower. Steam snaked from under the bathroom's inner door behind which Diana showered. I could opt to make coffee, shave, wrap myself in one of the complimentary terrycloth bathrobes, and wait for room service. My spot on instinct to couple with this woman frequently as possible compelled me in my course of action. I much preferred the idea of soaping her back, getting squeaky clean bumping into her rather then shaving or supping on coffee by my lonesome. I smacked some toothpaste across my teeth, focused my attention for a few seconds on the subdued web of lines rioting round my eyes. My mug was getting a little too seasoned looking and in the past few years, I had put some hard, bumpy miles on my body. In the mirror under the harsh glare of the incandescent light above the sinks, my depraved habits definitely showed. Sometimes in looking too closely at my soon to be craggy and creviced face, I felt like a prisoner locked away in my soul, a seducer who led too much the empty, dissolute life. Maturity was blooming all about my face. Such morose thoughts however temporary they might be did not prevent me from walking straight into the shower and locking myself to Diana. One former girlfriend, a buxom Argentinean bombshell named Sheila, a vain, calculatingly self absorbed woman freely resorted to artifice to forestall time's inroads. Never in our courtship or intermittent relationship did she allow me in the shower with her. She did have a little pooch, some serious blue veins on her thighs and several other imperfections scattered about her body. Naturally, I had seen them all while fucking her, but God forbid I see them in the shower. Diana on the other hand enjoyed sharing the shower, embracing under the multiple shower jets, feeling my leer on her backside, following my lead as the water pummeled down on us. I set course to the bathroom's inner sanctum where in all likelihood Diana was aiming the shower head's pulsating jets between thighs. I often visualized Sheila doing such an outrageous act down in her delta but the Berlin Wall she huddled behind hindered me from seeing her in such a state. Damn her solitary nature. It baffled me how a woman who engaged in any and all sexual acts with such abandon, a tart eager to please and be pleased could veil herself in such oddball thinking. I did not knock on the door. Nope. Right into the fray I went, the steam, the heat, the hot hell not in anyway a reproach to my urgent need to fuck dear Diana. Under the frosted glass etched with finely detailed herons, leaning over palm trees, I spied Diana's hourglass silhouette. In such a space four burley-sized men could easily cavort. This was no shower but a bathhouse catering to chauvinists lolling about on stone tables washed and dried by other burley men immune to the heat enveloping them. Dense steam boiled out of the shower's head and a dozen white towels covered the floor as did a large, square blue mat at the stall's entrance. "Doll, my motto is more the merrier," I said sliding back the panel, trying to glimpse Diana through the gauzy clouds of steam. "Come on in stud. The water is fine. Do my back and then doggy fuck me if you dare?" "Such nice talk darling. I can hang on if I have too and I have too." I glimpsed portions of her tanned, corded legs, a shot of slender calf reddened from the overheated steam, of a wondrous thigh dripping water. Up on her bent toes, smooth, round heels high in the air, she looked to be wearing invisible cum fuck me pumps. Water sluiced down her right breast as she vigorously scrubbed the left one with a sudsy sponge. A pile of pink towel, a turban of sorts, covered her auburn hair. "Damn, you are a racy woman. Let's play grab ass?" I said. Into the shower I went. Standing behind her, slightly bent forward, my cock merrily slid into her. Diana howled, rose up on her heels as I prodded for more gratification. I griped her buttocks in my sodden palms, held on for dear life. "Fuck." Diana said. My hands made circular motions around her breasts, marched to her southern latitudes, found her throbbing camel toe. She swooned as I touched her, bent forward at her knees and lowered her head. My cock pushed in deeper, found confinement thrilling. I grunted. Impaled on my wet horn, my submissive princess was transformed into a fiend, a doppelganger of sorts chained to me. My brute wickedness enslaved her, delighted us both and made her one with me. Had Osama showed up covered in gray dust, tethered to his dialysis machine and waving a Kalashnikov rifle, I could not have disengaged from Diana at that moment. The rosebud nipples on each one of her full, firm breasts glistened, cried out to be sucked. Bent forward as I was, my hands squeezing her breasts, I rhythmically fucked Diana, rammed into her. She moaned louder. We screwed until room service started pounding on the door with some persistence, the drumming driving us out of the shower like orphans fleeing into the night. We dressed in matching white terrycloth robes, the hotel's logo stitched above the right breast pocket. Who might need a pocket in such a sumptuous robe? A forward thinking man might park a stogy there for later use. I could see a lady dropping a small sexual implement in for a private moment of exultation. How about a parvenu eager to impress his youthful, ceaselessly blond, air headed mistress? He could secrete an expensive string of pearls there; slip them out at the right moment. The list was endless. Trevor was my occasional work name. I said to myself, Trevor, have you gone round the bend? Has your dissipation, the heat and humidity finally gotten you? Foregoing such crazy, off-kilter thoughts, I took Diana's hand; we strolled back into our suite all squeaky clean; she breathtakingly lovely. Latched to my body as she was, I smelled her heady, musky scent as though it was in and of me. Now, following this our most recent immersion, our spectacular rooms seemed less communal, colder since arising from our bed and its conjugal intimacy. Our room service man, a tranquil little man of the world named Miguel, looked to be a retired matador. Smooth black hair tightly brushed back over his high domed forehead was secured in a ponytail; a black tread of hair rested above his upper lip, a burgundy jacket snugly adhered to his flat abdomen. Creased gray trousers, a black bow tie, polished black Wellington boots completed his ensemble, and made appear a devil may care character. He had to be in his sixties if he was a day and in front of my eyes, lovely Diana was coolly calculating the dimensions of his cock, considering taking him into our bed. Clearly my little vixen wondered about Senor Miguel's potential for the exotic and erotic, maybe winning a bull's ear from him. Gracefully, Miguel wheeled in the breakfast trolley plastered over with an assortment of flaky pastries and croissants, fresh fruit, steaming coffee in a pewter pitcher, bulbous red strawberries and a silver boat filled with pure cream. He parked the moveable feast near a window overlooking a small park occupied by commemorative benches, several swing sets and a tubular arrangement for kiddies to hang from- the same sort of contraption I had seen used in Liberia to display severed heads decaying in the humid African sun. In this high rise towering above Emerald City's downtown boulevards, fog was still clinging overhead. Gray light filtered through the white cloudy mist, entered the window and reflected off the trolley's creased white table cloth with a dazzling intensity. A single, thorn free pink rose in a slender fragile looking vase sat at the table's center. China bearing the hotel's logo, crystal glasses, silverware and two cloth napkins were arranged in perfect precision about the table. Silently, Miguel situated several chairs close by, offered to serve us. I offered him a gratuity; he smiled. My tip firmly in his grasp, the back of his hand a spider web of veins, he paused before backing out the door, kissed the back of Diana's left hand and stole a glance at her as a lover might. I imagined his speedy return if my Diana had any say in the matter. Standing on her bare feet, the top of Diana's head reached the center line of my chest. As the door shut behind the heroic looking Miguel, she stood on her tip toes, grasped my head in her hands and kissed me full on the mouth, first without her tongue then with it. She tilted my head this way and that, inspected my face with a closeness I found un-nerving. Being a woman who did nothing in half measure she fired a barrage of kisses against my face. Busses which shot wave after wave of pleasure straight into my groin and tickled my prick. During one of these deep, penetrative kisses, Diana reached inside my robe, stroked me with a nun-like devotion, jerked me and then yanked at my member. "Fuck your nasty slut right now, you bastard, fuck me right here on the end of the bed. Drive me mad with desire." Such hot patter from any buxom, long legged woman has always fired me up, sent me over the edge. As a boy how many times did I beat off in my bathroom thinking of my busty mother, her equally endowed friends? How often did I imagine one of them in a miniscule bikini, their tits barely contained in a white or red or yellow bra? Come fuck me pumps clicking in a hallway, around the pool's terrazzo deck, crossing our house's parquet entry way. Such imagery set me off to the nearest bathroom for immediate relief. I pushed Diana down on the mussed bed, whipped open her robe, exposed her flat abdomen to my tongue. After licking my way across this flat plane, pausing to let my tongue slip between her legs, my mouth zeroed in on each one of her breasts. Beguiling breasts I was forever toying with, chewing and rubbing about inside my mouth. Often in our sexual play I found myself mystified by their heft, their firm texture, their natural bounce. I could wile away hours tasting these wonderful behemoth things, feeding off them in lieu of a bedtime snack, an early morning wake-up call. Even in the middle of night, I often found myself crawling over her, lips busily sucking. Diana wrapped her legs around my back as I plugged into her pussy. My tongue, no stranger to the interior of her mouth, found her tonsils. I was quite near orgasm as my tongue rolled about inside her mouth, a cavity brimming over with pearly white teeth, a pink tongue capable of the most astonishing motions and now holy with the hint of mint. I could sense her orgasm approaching with a thundering urgency. Quite soon, little explosions shook her entire body. She found release and under my body she shuddered. "Damn baby, you are truly one magnificent fuck," I said from on top of her. "You are so romantic darling. Give me some of that hot stuff." The words "hot stuff" put me on edge, brought to mind a particularly delightful girlfriend who had abandoned me to another. She settled down under me, became deliciously languid. Suddenly overcome by indolence she did nothing but coo, utter nonsensical patter and lick the lobe of my left ear. Subjugated to my cock, Diana was a delicate flower one moment, submissively prim and proper the next. Her boundless energy, her enthusiasm to be dominated always knocked me for a loop. The two of us hypnotized by our mutual attraction and naturally I was transfixed by her good looks, the fire in her spirit, her wanton demands. What incredibly fucking this was. I injected my warm seed into Diana and in this messy, lively bed already full of our sated pleasure, I enjoyed this woman with a frightening intensity. I stood. She looked at me, eyes still churning with lust. She re-tied the robe's sash in a tight loop and stood under her own power. "Time for breakfast," said Diana. "I am so hungry and I do need coffee. Then we can go do some shopping." "Shopping? I was thinking of crawling back into bed for a nap," I said. "Lover, I think Nasty Girl has worn you out." "No, just need to charge my batteries and I'll be good to go." "Yeah, right," Diana said. By this time she was sitting at the table, had poured our coffee and was sucking down an immense strawberry. "You are insatiable." I said. "You bring out the beast in me." "We just need to pace ourselves. I don't want you to kill me before we get to Saturday night," I said. "Of course lover. Let's do this. After we finish breakfast, we crawl back into bed, and get down to some serious fucking. Then you can take me shopping." "Sounds like a great plan to me," I said. "No, no, no, I just thought of something better for after breakfast," Diana said. Diana licked her lips and as her eyes narrowed into bright points, my cock suddenly upended and damn if I could sit at that table, plugging away at pastries and sucking down strawberries. Even if she was wearing the robe and showing me her breasts while she finished off the strawberries. It became a mute point. She was back on the bed; hair tossed back, breasts falling from her robe, bare feet arched forward, one leg forming an inverted v, the other one cast off the edge of the bed. Under the garment, her fingers were playing in her slit and she so hot to trot. "Get out your big gun and fuck me. Fuck me with it right now." "What big gun," I said. "The one you are hiding in your bag. I was a bad girl. When you were in the shower last night I was nosey." "You do like danger you little slut. I could be a hit man for the mob and you fishing around in my bag. Also a gun is no toy. They can be dangerous." "I live for danger. Fuck me with your gun. Now, before we eat. Anyway, when we take our stroll, you can buy me a pretty bauble." Who was the dominant one and who was the submissive? I wondered for a moment, but not for long. From under the bed near several dust balls and a rolled up chewing gum wrapper, I retrieved our bottle of champagne still awash with its golden nectar. Silently, I crossed the floor, found my overnight bag. Under a layer of Hanes underwear, several balled up Gold Toe socks; I removed a garish purple sack, untied the gold cord binding its neck and held my 357 Magnum to the light. It shined; the long barrel looked longer, the butt harder. I could smell its oiled aroma. Diana watched from the bed; she saw the weapon her fingers speeded up. On the way back to the bed, I paused, scooped up several champagne glasses, held them between the second and third fingers of my right hand. Somehow I managed to carry the champagne bottle between my other fingers. In my left hand, the one nearer to Diana, I carried the pistol, its barrel pointed down. Diana's eyes thrilled. Such lust, the need to experience something new and terribly wicked consumed her. I could see how much my submissive slut loved it on the edge, what pleasure she found in dipping a toe in risky waters. "So you want to see my big gun," I said. "You want me fuck you with it my darling? "Yes, fuck me with your big gun, fuck me hard and fast." Diana said. "You are such a naughty and nasty girl." "After I fuck you with my gun, I'll have to spank you. You understand?" "Oh yes, I am such a nasty girl, I need to be spanked. Spanked hard." By now, she was flat on her back, had undone the robe's sash, her fingers busily engaged between her legs. At that moment she looked much younger, a girl—an 18 year old debutante named Beverly who also happened to be my baby sister. Beverly had often sent me flying off on incestuous flights of fantasy. From out of the past, back before I became so experienced, hardened to the ways of the world, I had tipsily stumbled into Beverly's bedroom after a raucous party at the beach, caught her flagrantly eating her best friend Angela. What joy in the early morning. Even half in the bag, I managed to take my incestuous feelings to a new plateau and at the same time simultaneously experience two beautiful women. What a rollicking night that was. Also it was my first dalliance with the wild side of my nature. Well there were those "incidents" with Rod while I was enrolled at the Packwood School in Santa Clara. "Diana, tie your sash, tie it securely round your sexy, little waist." I said. "Now, let me see you tits way out in the open, served up to me on a platter." "You going to stick your gun in me now, stick it in deep, fuck me with it?" Breasts fully exposed, belt cinched tightly, Diana was in heaven. "Yes, I am you little vixen. I am going to give you a good fucking with my little friend, The Persuader." Remembrance of Autumn Days Ch. 02 Diana was so turned on. "When you travel, stay at a place like this, do you sleep with your pistol under the pillow, ready to bang away if you have to?" "Sometimes," I said. I sat the bottle on the bedside table next to the lamp, filled the glasses to their rims, watched tiny golden bubbles shoot upwards. I toyed with my pistol, watched Diana's eyes widen, brim over with lust. Her fingers were a quasi dildo one moment, the next she was rubbing her nipples. "Oh baby, fuck me with that rod, I went to feel that cold steel inside me." Looking at her cheerfully radiant face, the pink flush at her throat, the hardness of her nipples, she was near orgasm. The combination of fingers in play, my deliberately slow pace was pushing her closer and closer to a crescendo of self-satisfaction and my gun was nowhere near her yet. "Honey, you have to fuck me right now. Please fuck me." She screamed, pleaded, and jerked about the bed. I untied her sash, commenced to stroke Diana's thighs with the pistol. Little white streaks appeared on her flesh as I pressed down. "Fuck me you bastard." I moved the weapon to her breasts, slid the barrel down through her cleavage barely touching each nipple with the sight. Never had I seen her so hot, so needing of my cock. My cock was damn hard too and it took all my willpower not to fling the gun down, jam it into her now, not later. I gently moved the weapon to her lips, the barrel almost with a mind of its own then touched each earlobe pierced with a tiny golden orb. I guided my weapon across her forehead where an auburn curl dangled. Then it slid down her pert nose, up and down her throat. Now, it was in front of her lips once more. "Suck my gun sweetie, blow it. Pucker up your lips and give it some good head." What unmitigated torture this slut was inflicting on me. She would get the spanking of her life when I finished."Have you fired that gun? I bet you are an expert marksman. Are you an expert marksman? Fire some hot lead into me honey. Twisting a clump of her hair in my fist, I pulled her up off the bed and jabbed the gun barrel deep into her mouth; she worshipped my gun, licked it coolly, wanted to taste its craftsmanship and feel its hard blunt edge against her teeth. She was cross-eyed staring at the cold blue steel, its fearsome capabilities. Jesus Christ and Mary, I just came in my pants. I felt like such a pervert. "You made me come you hot little slut. Now you are going to get what you want. Open your legs wide. That's it." I inserted the pistol into her pussy. With little reluctance other then my concern for not hurting her, I fucked her with the piece. "How does that feel you nasty slut girl. Feel my pistol fucking you? I bet one of your dildos never felt so good. Fuck it baby, ride my cocked gun. Any of your boyfriends fuck you so well and truly?" "God, it feels heavenly." I squeezed the trigger, she came and my God, I nearly did too. Perspiration beaded my forehead; my heart raced as did my breathing. Diana, the fleshpot under my tutelage was covered in her own sheen of sweat. I saw the pulse beat of her briskly running heart on the side of throat. She licked her lips, wrapped her naked legs about the weapon and through my hand, I could feel her muscles tightening around the weapon. The pistol went down on the floor with a dull thud. Roughly, a man transformed by his desires, I twisted Diana about on the bed, the robe well above her sleek thighs now. My left hand, my power hand, smacked down on her pink ass. Hard. My hand, slightly quivering and covered in sweat went down on her flanks with a series of sharp cracks. Crying out, she raised her ass off the bed and leaned into my flailing hand. This went on for some time and she became redder and redder the more I spanked her. My prick once more nearly at the point of release went back into her, and for the nest ten or twelve minutes I doggy fucked her. Then I came. I backed off, tried to look like the ultimate bad man. I could not carry it off. Instead, I covered her with the duvet, sat down on the edge of the bed, my breathing slackened as hers did. Then I gulped down a glass of champagne before passing a glass to her. The air about us seemed to crackle with a cosmic static energy. In the dense atmosphere so overheated by our lust we quickly wound down. This bed we now shared would be forever remembered by both of us. The intensity, the emotional primeval character of this crystal clear moment was permanently branded in my psyche. Watching Diana come down to earth, delicately sipping her champagne, the tiny cell telephone in my overnight bag chirped several chords of Waltz 2 from Dimitri Shostakovich's Jazz Suite. Damn nice music and my special code for the next 72 hours. I had to work tonight, late tonight. Damn it to hell. "Baby, jerk me off. I am still cooking. Then tell me a nasty story of you wicked past. I love hearing your tales," I said. My hand went under the covers, found her hand, placed it around my girth. "Tonight after it is dark and I am sleeping next to you naked, my fingers twined in my pussy, my eye lids flickering, I want you to rape me, defile me with your weapon, linger in me all night, abuse me, do what you may. You will find me most appreciative of your efforts come morning." "Tomorrow afternoon when the shops open, we will trek out of the hotel, I'll buy you a thick gold bracelet mounted with blue stones and nesting in a white satin box," I said. "Nice," she said reclaiming her submissive advantage. Remembrance of Autumn Days The infusion of my semen, any man's sperm into one of her orifices was all part of Diana's compulsion to be dominated, to be subjugated, to be corralled and tamed. Diana was truly one magnificently fine fuck. Seduction was her stock in trade. With a simple glance, the roll of her eyes, the sweep of her palm she commanded. In our hushed room the bed springs occasionally protested. High above streets normally filled with bumper to bumper traffic, my Volvo in the subterranean parking garage, I introduced my cock into Diana again and again. She had assumed a position I often had seen before. Sprawled on top of the bed, anchored on her knees and elbows she thrust her ass up and out in the direction of my probing cock. Taking a stance at the foot of the bed I flexed my knees, they crackled a bit. I clasped her close, she'd leered at me over her creamy white shoulder and I could see her hair falling forward in a gentle curve over her head, her bust dangling down toward the plain of sheets under her. In her submission she was clearly dominant, deliciously ribald and my cock found a solid purchase inside. My member in place, my balls slapping against the cleavage of her ass and in profile we resembled a pair of cavorting canines. Diana looked over her right shoulder, imagined a troop of men watching her being doggy fucked. I could tell by the sparkle in her eyes. It turned her on to be the center of attention, to be my bitch glared at. These eyes would brim over with lust as they focused all their attention on her naked body with such loving attention. The mere thought of such a fantasy brought her to precipice of orgasm. Her skin was suffused with a pink hue, her nipples seemed more swollen and in her womb I felt her tighten up under the impact of my cock. My hands were free of jewelry, their nails manly buffed and my fingers bore no rough calluses. Soundly, efficiently, deftly they smacked down on her flesh eager to show this naughty girl the error of her ways. Of course I left a pair of palm prints on her satin ass. She groaned under the rain of spanking. At any moment she'd come. I could feel my semen boiling up in my shaft ready to explode into her tender trap. "Honey, you are truly one magnificent fuck," I grunted as I exhorted her to come, to fuck papa, to bend way down, grab some sheet and let me pound the fuck out of her. To think it was not even midnight yet.