2 comments/ 14224 views/ 2 favorites Kalodin's Violin By: kalodin Come over here with me, together we'll watch this vignette from Mrs. M.'s life. Don't be concerned if we don't want to be seen, well then she can't see us. After all this is imagination; right? I promise you won't be sorry. Mrs. M's life is going to become very, what shall I say, stimulated? Okay, now there she is. Certainly lovely and excellent, don't you think? Good genes. Mrs. M's body is the body of a woman in the prime of her matronly years. She is probably 10 pounds heavier than when she was a high school senior; just enough to round out the curve of her inviting ass and tits. But Mrs. M's are not the massive udders of the grotesque things in porno pix. Outwardly an attractive picture of today's woman, she enjoys visiting friends. She exercises, although without fierce commitment, being most athletic in bed. She attends ladies group luncheons and hosts a couple of parties a year for Mr. M's office colleagues and others for family, neighborhood and club friends. Oh yes, and church too; does her Sunday services and a bit of volunteering for this and that. But... Do you know what "but" means? It means forget all that I just told you. Now I am going to tell you about what Mrs. M is inwardly, privately, intimately. Mrs. M has enhanced sex drive. It's plain what you're thinking, that she certainly doesn't look like a hottie. How does a woman who loves her sex look? Oh no my friend, you cannot tell how deep the river runs by gazing at the surface. Mrs. M and her husband have no children so they are free to give each other their full attention at home. He does yeoman service selflessly seeking to keep her gratified; recognizing that it is not just all about his needs. Mind you Mrs. M is not an out of control nymphomaniac. But she urgently needs regular and thorough gratification which she means to have. And she is not above having her bits and pieces attended in non-penile ways. She welcomes hands, her own or others, fingers (again no discrimination), lips, tongues, and phallic surrogates with or without a partner as her needs arise. There's more, the photo sessions and all that; we'll come back to that another time. Let's go to the next clip in our imaginary film library. Back a few days, ok here we are. That is the somewhat mysterious older couple that just leased the residence next door that has been vacant for a couple of months. Now pan around to the back, down the path to the secluded pergola. That's the man (husband?) of the couple. Yes, the M's live in a very nice neighborhood; large lots, deep setbacks, plenty of privacy. It is the sort of neighborhood one would expect to find doctors, attorneys and successful business men. It is difficult to judge the new neighbor's age; strong features, large hands, thick black hair streaked with grey; prominent nose, wrinkles and intriguing but intimidating eyes. Something earthy about him, he is attractive to women although he would not be called handsome; much closer to the Charles Bronson end of the scale than, let's say, the Tab Hunter end. Arrived in a big black limo; thank you very much. So what, maybe he's in his sixties; seventies? What is that he has now? Let's get closer. Ok I can see it now. It looks like a violin. Something a bit off about it; definitely a stringed instrument and there's a bow as well. But what do I know from anything about violins? He's adjusting the strings; I believe he's going to play. Kalodin (of course that's who it is) begins and the notes cascade off the strings. A slight breeze catches them and the sound passes through Mrs. M's open window. She is at her desk engaged in the most mundane of tasks, drawing up a grocery list. By habit her free hand is tucked between her thighs. It is mid-morning but she is still in her short pajamas. This is not ordinary music. It is at once melodic and rhythmic but with visceral and sensual undertones. Music, as you would imagine, is not heard by everyone in the same way; so in a sense every piece of music is personal. Now what do you feel? Are you having a sensual reaction? No? That's because this music is special in a way only for certain women. These women, whether they know it or not, carry a DNA fragment that traces back for many, many generations. Mrs. M is one of those women. Now that's interesting; do you see how the notes are gathering around her? The music has attracted her attention. Look, a note and another, and yet another caress her cheeks. What is she doing? Ah, okay; going to the French doors. The music is fetching her. Some of the notes have formed a bar sash that has slipped around her waist. Say, some of those naughty notes have made a chord and slipped over her bottom playing on her robust cheeks. She feels no impulse to push them away. Mrs. M steps onto the balcony. Notes, visible to us voyeurs of the imagination, have encircled her and caress her. She seats herself on a chaise and reclines, knees drawn up and apart. Notes swirl around her gently touching and fondling her flushed cheeks; a chord lingers at her lips and they part. Her tongue licks out. Her behavior looks very much like she is hungrily French kissing an invisible lover. She grips the arms of the chaise. Let's get closer. Some of the notes have lifted her teddy and are fondling both breasts and her nipples have grown quite erect. Each passing note causes warmth to wash down into her groin making her squirm. Her bowels feel watery and loose. Saliva rises in her mouth. Beads of perspiration form on her upper lip and beneath her breasts. Look at those nipples, as erect and stiff as a palace sentry. She move her hand to fondle one. She mutters a throaty "Ahhh" as her nipple radiates pleasure. The music continues to seduce her relentlessly. Some of the notes have caressed and kissed her toes and continued up her legs, stroking the inside of her thighs. But they pass over her anxious pussy although she thrusts her crotch upward in an explicit but momentarily futile invitation. Instead the notes apply themselves to her belly. The soft flesh palpitates as though invisible hands and lips were fondling and kissing her tummy. Mrs. M has never had such an eerie and intense experience. A small part of her thinks she should be alarmed but the pleasure overwhelms any fear. She has thrown her legs wide now. She makes sounds of carnal urgency in her throat, grunts and sighs and breathy whispers, "kiss me, kiss me, kiss me." We know where she wants those melodic kisses don't we? Her pussy has not yet felt the notes directly. But it has been fully aroused by the cascade of pleasure coming from other parts of her body. Her outer labia are swollen and drawn back; her inner labial flutes protrude. The little man in the boat stands up twitching with anticipation. Mrs. M's enflamed sex secretes copious coital fluids. The juice leaks down her perineum and over her anus. A musky odor mingles with the music enveloping her. The music changes; the notes take on a driving, aggressive intensity. Mrs. M is startled almost upright as the first of these warm thick notes plunges up the commodious leg of her short pajama pants. Then another and another sweep up the flesh of her inner thighs; now joined by others they gather in her crotch. She feels the warmth and pressure as though an unseen hand has gently but firmly begun to massage her pussy. A tongue-like feeling flicks her enflamed clit. There, another flick and again. Mrs. M thrusts her broad hips up in eager response and quite suddenly gasps as she is shot through with a quick soft orgasm. But it is only the overture. Mrs. M's petit four orgasm is a morsel. A carnal banquet follows. The music draws aside the loose fitting fabric of one leg and we marvel at the wanton display of her engorged and sodden grotto; pubic hair clotted with viscous quim. The music engages her in a swirling slurping roundel of cunnilingus. Is it me or has it warmed up in here? Oh, she's writhing and squirming about now; as though trying to escape the torturous pleasure building in her pussy but then also thrusting up to meet her assailant. Now the music takes up a new passage that causes Mrs. M to cry out. It is as though tongues have simultaneously enfolded both her nipples to squeeze and suck them. Other notes settle like lips between her thighs to suck her clitoris. But the massage of her vulva does not abate. And there is music fondling and massaging her sphincter. This causes her to jerk upward which heightens even more the agonizing pleasure filling her groin. In an al forte passage, ta dum ta Dum TA DUM, she cums three times each more intense than the latter. She is bathed in sweat now and has slipped down in the chaise and her heels are high above her head with her thighs spread wide. Now pianissimo; the music subsides and attenuates its assault on her senses. But surcease is false. The music takes a diving, twisting fury that pours through Mrs. M ascending, ascending, and yet ascending to a crescendo. Orgasm slams through Mrs. M's sex. It suffuses her. Is it possible that only in the imagination even her ovaries and uterus are engorged with pleasure? Her vagina remains un-penetrated but that has not diminished the ecstasy of the magnificent paroxysm that rocked Mrs. M to her soul. Mercifully the music diminishes to a light air. Mrs. M is gasping and shaken. Look, I just have to get junior out and get the five sisters to tend to him. If you want to, go ahead too. That vignette has left me reeling. But I'll be darned; it doesn't look like this is finished. The music has rather remarkably led Mrs. M to turn over. Now she's on her knees and down come the pajama bottoms. She's getting on her elbows and her bum is elevated knees apart. Is that a vision of true bliss? Mrs. M's hot pussy yawns open between her thighs. She leaks pussy juice; a dollop plops out when her vagina contracts from another frisson. The atmosphere around the chaise is suffused with the smell of her rut. Lean closer, she's mumbling something. Did you catch it, what she's saying is, "Fuck me, fuck me, please music fuck me!" And the music obliges. This passage cannot be adequately described. Think of Ravel's Bolero meets Gypsy Rose bump and grind in a night at the bordello. It is music to fuck and be fucked by. Bars of notes race from the strings of Kalodin's obscene instrument and gather in a drumming cloud overshadowing the eager form before them. They descend in a warm flow like honey drooling down over her bum. The outliers fondle and caress her plump white cheeks while a rhythmic phalanx settles upon her wet crevasse. No cock ever came with a glans that felt like the clot of pulsing notes that now thrust as a unitary cock-but-not-a-cock into the grip of that lady's hungry vagina. I don't know how to spell it but Mrs. M says something like, "Gaaaaaaahhh, uk!" as the music fills her pussy. Push and pull, push and pull. Bar clefs filled with thick fingers of notes slip under Mrs. M and gently settle in to massage around the base of her now super sensitive clit. That little boatman twitches and pulses, clearly enjoying the attention made all the more titillating but the eerie notion of a pussy being thoroughly humped by the music of Kalodin's strange not-a-violin. At her nipples outriders of notes caress and gently nip and squeeze. The music is not limited to two hands or one mouth and that is manifest as it massages Mrs. M's tummy, and continues to caress her face and touch her lips; simultaneously it seems to be pulling her hips back to meet the pulsing cock tune. Not forgotten is that rear orifice still wet with coital discharge. Mrs. M twitches, groans and throws herself back on the magical cock humming inside her and a bar of notes rolls into a serviceable digit that fondles her asshole until it puckers and yields then plunges itself up her. The music is gathering in intensity and the rhythm quickens. Mrs. M can feel another orgasm growing like a bubble. Although the fucking she is taking has her focused thoroughly on her epicenter a stray thought slips into her consciousness. "My god, I am going to need a pessary to keep everything in place after this." It makes her momentarily giddy but that is quickly swept away in the increasing proximity of an orgasm that is bearing down like a runaway locomotive. The music has quickened its rhythm. Faster and faster and harder the music ruts upon Mrs. M until a thrust that bounces her head against the back of the chaise. Too much, too much, oh God, oh God this has got to stop. No, don't, ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh! OH! OH! Well, you get the idea. Mrs. M collapses onto the chaise. Diminishing orgasms pulse through her like a flat stone skipping across the waves. She jerks and twitches and squeezes her thighs tightly until finally the tsunami that has inundated her senses subsides. In the pergola the old woman continues to suck on her husband's cock, as she has done so many times before, until he spurts the last flood of his orgasm into her throat. As his orgasm subsides he saws the bow a final time to draw out the final note of the nameless and timeless ancient music of his people. The old woman, on her knees, shudders with her own orgasm, reluctantly drawing her fingers out of her own damp pussy in order to use both hands to hold his now flaccid penis while she slurps it clean and wipes it with the tail of her shawl. "There is a woman very near who carries our blood," the old man says. When M arrives home about two hours later he finds Mrs. M sleeping on the chaise with her pajama panties on the floor nearby. They are obviously damp and he readily recognizes the redolent odor of vigorous sex. Her naked bum faces him. He can see drying quim where it had run down her thighs. He squats beside her and touches her cheek. "Hey Sleeping Beauty," he says quietly. "Are you okay?" Mrs. M slowly opens her eyes. She smiles at M. "Hello darling. Do you want to hear about the absolutely weird and fabulous wet dream I had?" M allows that he does. He grows hard erect as she describes her vivid dream. She dwells on each salacious detail. The raw intensity of her story sets a thick stew of lust bubbling in her man. When he pulls his erection out of his pants and begins to stroke it she puts her hand on his. "Here," Mrs. M says, "Let me do that for you." And he does. Kalodin's Violin Ch. 02 Author's Note: If you've not read the first part of K's Violin you might want to check it out before reading what follows . There is a narrator, a voyeur, who interjects his aroused commentary randomly as the story unfolds. That text is in italics (I hope). --- Good to have you back! I enjoy the company sitting here at the window of my imagination watching Mrs. M. There'll be some excitement. Mrs. M is feeling pretty horny today. Don't look astonished. Kalodin's violin seduction worked her over. Paradoxically it satiated her but also set her smoldering for more between her inviting thighs. She's tried vigorously both with Mr. M's help and by her own devices to bank the fire. But it remains. Kalodin's violin seems to have aroused a depth of Mrs. M's sexuality she had not previously plumbed in her 40 years. She's in for an unexpected turn of events. After Kalodin's violin music ravished her senseless, she'd fired up Mr. M when he came home, making him hard as she described in detail how the music had fondled, fingered and fucked her. He got so excited listening to her recounting the fiercely erotic "dream" that he started to stroke himself. She'd offered to help, so he happily turned the task over to Mrs. M's capable hands whereupon she fondled, stroked and jacked him . She supplemented her manual ministrations with her lips, mouth and tongue. These she adroitly applied to his straining penis until, clutching at her head and thrusting out of control, he delivered himself of repeated ejaculations into her hot, wet , drooling, slurping, blissful mouth. She fed her own stimulation, thrilled by making him lust-crazed and gave herself a delicious orgasm by vigorously tapping and rubbing her engorged clit. Later, aided by modern pharmaceuticals, flushed and in a blue haze, he happily mounted her from the rear and stallioned into her enflamed pussy. She was terribly excited by the knowledge that it transported him when presented her sex like that; between her legs, shining with moist coital lubricant, swollen and eager. He marveled as always at the fabulously soft, slippery, distended tissue that flowed around his love staff, clutching it so exquisitely in moist heated embrace. I know. I know. I should have alerted you so you could watch that too. But, well I got sort of involved in the action myself and what with concentrating on them and what I was doing I just didn't think about you. But you're here now and I'm pretty sure today's activity will get you off nicely. As it turns out Mrs. M failed to share with Mr. M her confusion and misgivings about the sensational musical seduction as fantastic and thrilling as it had been. She thought it must be a dream, she told him . But at the same time it seemed so real. She loved Mr. M but she didn't think he would accept that real music originating next door had taken her to an erotic place she'd never before experienced, if that is what had actually happened. Aha, there she is now. She's in the kitchen looking rather domestic this morning. Nice sun dress on a balmy day; some cleavage; lovely that. Oh, say I like that! You saw it didn't you? When she walked past the sunshine streaming in the casement windows in the dining area you could clearly see her French cut panties. The sunlight through that dress lit her up didn't it? I don't know what it is about a matronly body that grabs my pecker so. I myself like a bit of meat on a woman's bones; can't abide women who are, as the Spanish say, "seco de carne." Not fat mind you, but some flesh you can hold onto is fine with me. I hope we get some action. Hmmm. She's got a Bundt pan and is tipping a pound cake out of it. Now a disposable plate and aluminum foil; covering it up. I've got an idea where this is going, do you? I'm betting it's the Welcome Wagon bit. She's on the move; out the door. Bet she turns in the direction of the new neighbors. Yesss! I was right. Resolute lady, Mrs. M, she's marching right up to the front door. There's the old cock-sucking babushka opening the door. By golly Mrs. M got herself invited in. Don't worry, calm down. This is imagination we can see inside the house. Just focus. See? What did I tell you? Now let's listen. "You are coming in and sitting down," the old woman smiles and makes a "come in" motion with her hand. "I am making the tea. You like tea, no?" "Yes, tea. Tea will be fine. Thank you. Oh, this is for you." Mrs. M's a bit nervous. Not sure what to expect and excited. "Oh my, this cake, so golden," the old woman said. "Is too beautiful to eat. But, cake is cake. Who can say no? Not a fat old lady like me. I am cutting the pieces. You eat. You make love. You die. Ffffft." The old lady was talking to herself as much as to Mrs. M. Meanwhile look at Mrs. M, she's checking the place out and with unabashed curiosity. The furniture and décor is tasteful but unremarkable, almost as if it has been decorated around some basic instructions then left up to the interior designer or whomever to fill in the unremarkable details. But I think one piece caught her eye through the doorway to the next room. OK, I see what it is; looks like a large wooden case, big trunk or chest maybe, floor standing and beautifully decorated. Mrs. M is no expert but she does like antiques, particularly old furniture and caseworks. This looks old, very old, but the style and construction is not like anything she's seen previously. Okay, here's the old lady returning with a tea service on a tray and slices of cake. "We are there," she says. She meant to say, "There we are." But her command of English failed her. Rather charming actually. "I am Derona," she introduces herself. "Oh, I am forgetting my manners," Mrs. M says, "I'm Rachel, Rachel M" "Yes, you are the lady of the next house, yes? "Yes, that's right. Just next door." "Madame Rachel, you are a lovely lady. May I speak frankly, so rash, but you have a lovely body; nice healthy breasts and good hips; such beautiful eyes. Aiieee! Listen to me, I am making you blush. Derona is such a foolish old lady." Mrs. M does blush at the sudden burst of familiarity; it is presumptuous. But despite herself it produces a pleasant and warm sensation low in her groin. Are you noticing? Mrs. M can't keep her eyes off the curious cabinet or case in the next room. She acknowledges Derona's brash candor with a flash of eyes and a flicker of a smile. Derona is watching Rachel's gaze wandering back to the, whatever it is, cabinet, case, maybe a trunk in the next room. The old wood seems to have a warm glow. "That is a remarkable piece, in the other room," Rachel says. "I love antique furniture but I've never seen anything like that. May I ask what it is?" See how old Derona watches Rachel's movements? Do you see her eyes, how intelligent and perceptive she is? I said perceptive but now I think shrewd and calculating may be a more apt description.. She does not answer Rachel's question directly but asks one of her own. "The man Kalodin; did you hear him to play yesterday? He played his, the word I don't know it in English, out in the little, 'Gazebra' in the back." Rachel's face is puzzled. "Kalodin? Gazebra," she asks? Then she realizes what Derona means, "Oh, you mean "gazebo." "Yes, well did you heard that old man to play his barbarian music?" So, there it is. Unless this visit is a dream what happened to Mrs. M the previous day was somehow real; not a dream. We can see Mrs. M, Rachel, blushing again. "Yes, I, I did hear someone playing a stringed instrument; mostly like a violin but still different somehow. What did you say is his name?" "He is Kalodin. I am his woman. He is so old, so set in his ways. I told to him, we must behave good you old fool. We are the new ones coming here. We must be knowing these peoples before you play that music out the side. So dear Madame Rachel, it was disturbing you? I am giving you my regrets. That is not music for all peoples." Look at that! Look at that! The foxy old lady. Look at her eyes dancing. That's not regret we're seeing. She's looking for confirmation of her gut feeling about Rachel. "But, is strange sometime. That old music, you know, I put this polite... some ladies that music is making them stirred up for sex. Did you maybe like it?" Derona asks coyly. Lovely Rachel, just look at her. She acts I like a little girl whom the crafty old lady has caught with a hand in the cookie jar. "I thought I was having a dream, the way it, um, the way I heard it." She's squirming a bit in her chair, pressing her hands down at her crotch. "So, you are maybe one of those ladies?" Look there now, the old woman reaches out her peasant's hand. "Give me your hand my dear," she says and Rachel does so. Quietly Rachel admits, "It was very erotic Mrs. Kalodin, Derona, it felt like it made love to me; passionate love." Derona pats Rachel's hand. "Nature is playing tricks on some ladies, putting into their blood this powerful thing that responds to the music. It means somewhere in your past is bond with our people; someone who made the love, sexed with one of our men, who made a child in her and it has passed down to you; maybe many generations in the past. You are very special; to us you are very special." Well, this is getting very interesting indeed. It looks like the old woman has enchanted Mrs. M. Doesn't she look a little dazed to you? That is rather a lot to take in. Who the hell are the old woman's "people?" Are they Roma? But wait I have a feeling there's going to be another jolt to Mrs. M when she hears what the old woman tells her next. "I am telling you something. This is lady talk now. Just us. I am old. You can see. But that music , it always grab my sex, like for you. An old lady who is, how do you say, trotting hot? He insist to play so I went out with him to that place. He is old man; old like me. But the music, when he play that music it make his old cock come alive. He want that I take him in my mouth; give him good suck. So, okay then I do. Make him have big spurts. Oh my. Then I am so hot. But he is done; cannot help me what I need. So I give myself good rubbing, putting in fingers. I get nice heaven in my sex. Make me feel like girl again." Mmm, mmm she has stoked the fire in Mrs. M's pussy, that is for sure. She's squirming around in that chair. Do you see how flushed she is? "Derona, I have to tell you the music ravished me; gave me sex like never before. I had such climaxes I almost fainted from the feeling. It was so wonderful. I am getting all wet again just talking with you about it." "I know my dear. I know. It is the same for me," Derona replies. "But I don't get so wet now I am old lady. So, a moment ago you asked me about that old box in the other room. Sometimes when I finish to give the old man his pleasure I don't rub myself with my hand. I am using the box. Come now, I show you." They're moving into the other room. Derona is holding Rachel's hand. Bless her innocent soul, Rachel is confused by Derona's remark that she used the box. The case is cleverly built. Derona slides a small panel open, unsnaps latches. Inside, the case evokes the works of a fine clock. But it is no clock. She slides this out, unfolds that, takes out various pieces where they are stored within and with quickness borne of long familiarity has the device almost ready. That look on your face tells me you haven't figured out yet what this is. Wait now, old Derona is removing a box that is in the case. When Derona opens the box it contains an object rapped in fine soft cloth. When she removes the cloth, Rachel says softly, "Ohh, Derona, it looks like a beautiful dildo. My goodness it looks so real!" "What is that word you say, 'dildo'? Dildo is man sex? Ah, ok but this one is very special. Lady does not put in own sex , this one. This is machine that act like very much excited man. Machine put this one in lady's sex. Give sex of angels to lady. Ladies have many good feeling, what you call that, "coming"? Well look at that, a sex automaton; an old fucking machine! You don't suppose we're going to be treated to a.... Naw! Oh wow! Do you think maybe? Wait, look she's holding the phallus out to Rachel. Let's listen again. "You take, feel. This one feel like man who want to put in you very much. Maybe real man who have you; he do two, maybe three pushes and he is too hot. So he give his cum. Then, poof. His cock go soft and slide out. He has no more but the lady is needing much more. This one is not cum quick. This one is fuck lady as much as she can do until feel like heaven in her body; is too much. She have bliss many times. She must stop" Rachel reaches out and takes the phallus. It is anatomically correct down to the slit opening in the head. The revelation of the case's content and the sight of the anatomically correct replica has already made Rachel quite damp in her panties. A dew of perspiration wets the fine hair on her upper lip. But the heft and feel of the thing sends another wash of warmth coursing through her body. Her pussy begins to follow its own path, contracting and pulsing ; swelling further so that her inner lips begin to protrude. Her mons bulges. The phallus includes both a rigid shaft and a scrotum. Rachel is captivated by the texture of it. Although hard and rigid like a fully aroused cock, the phallus is pliable. The scrotum feels like very soft and tender skin . It is pendulous and swings to and fro easily. Testes like lumps may be felt by gently squeezing the sack. Rachel realizes that the scrotum part would slap against her if she gratified herself on the machine. "It is quite remarkable," Rachel said. "It feels like a real cock and balls." She reluctantly hands it back to Derona. Her hands tremble Look at that. The horny old lady is rubbing the head of the thing on her nipples. Now she's holding it against her cheek, like you would cuddle a baby's soft cheeks to your own. "See here is how the man's spear goes on the machine," old Derona said. She slipped it onto a wooden arm like fixing a bayonet on a rifle barrel. It even made a soft click as it locked into place. She then gripped the handle of a substantial flywheel that attached to the mechanism at the back of the assembled works. As she rotated the wheel the phallus advanced horizontally. It would have penetrated any orifice in line with it. Derona continued turning and the cock retreats . Rachel swallows hard as she watches the phallus. The salivary glands in her mouth begin to secrete copiously; something that always happened to her when she becomes extremely aroused. The machine has pads that move in sync with the phallus so that they push against the woman's ass cheeks like the thighs of a man servicing her from behind. A most intriguing feature of the automaton is an ingenious bellows system within; the attendant activates the bellows by moving a small wooden lever back or forward. If engaged, when the phallus is thrust forward the bellows produces a low pitched throaty sound , part grunt, part groan and part sigh of pleasure; sort of an "uunnnnh" becoming an " aaaaagh" and then an "oooohhh." It is quite a vulgar, even an obscene sound. It is a sound that makes Rachel's soppy cunt hum. "Wh.... Whe... where on earth did you find such a remarkable device," Rachel asks Derona in a voice now clotted with lust. "It has been with our peoples many years, too many to say; is long story. I tell you maybe another time." "Rachel dear lady, you have strong sex. I smell you now; you make much, hmmm the word, juice in your woman's sex. I see in your eyes too. I know these things very well. You would very much like to try this machine? I will help you. We are alone, don't worry. I give you this; so much pleasure. A gift for you. Okay?" The old lady stood close to Rachel so that her ample breast touched Rachel's causing her nipples to distend further. Derona caressed Rachel's arms and her back. "Such a beautiful lady is Rachel. " She leaned close and said softly her lips by Rachel's ear, "Let me take your panties off. I will make you comfortable for the machine to give you much bliss; take you to heaven." Rachel is so far gone in her lust that she becomes completely compliant. "Okay, I put cushions for you to kneel down. We leave on your dress; you are modest lady. I take down your panties. Oooh, very sexy too; you are maybe a little naughty sometimes? You are kneeling down and now these cushions for your head and your arms; like this. So your beautiful backside is high." The old lady fusses about as though she is a retail clerk fitting a woman with a garment. As she pulls down Rachel's panties she leans against her so that the side of her face rests momentarily against Rachel's mons. She draws in Rachel's musky odor prompting a moist and familiar warmth to spread in her own aged cunt. Rachel kneels. As she aligns Rachel with the machine Derona flips her dress up over her back and caresses her ass cheeks. Then her hand is between Rachel's legs and she cups and rubs Rachel's wet vulva. "Oh, what are you doing?" Rachel gasps in surprise at the touch; actually a groping the old woman is giving her. "Don't be frightened. I just take some of your juice to put on man spear. Make slide in you nice if not so dry. Move this way. Good. Okay. I am going now to make the machine move towards you. I do it slow; nice slow so you are ready?" "Yes, please do it slow and take it out if I want to stop." Derona slowly turns the wheel. The phallus moves forward until it touches her vulva. Rachel jerks but then settles back slightly and Derona inches the surrogate cock forward. The head creeps forward very slowly, penetrating easily the heated flesh pool enfolding it. Now the head is just inside Rachel; in her vulva, clutched by her distended and protruding inner labia. The tip of the phallus is just at the vestibule of her drooling anxious vagina. The old lady continues to slowly slip the phallus deeper into Rachel. The novel excitement; the wanton licentiousness; the pure carnality of the experience is too much. "Ooooh, aaaagh," Rachel cums. She is so enflamed. It is not a shattering orgasm and there is much to come yet. But it is sufficient to sweep away her last anxiety. She wants it. She needs it. "Put it in me," she hisses. "Fuck me with it, Derona. Oh God. Fuck it in me." Derona squats happily beside Rachel. She turns the wheel briskly and the phallus buries itself in Rachel's cunt and withdraws glistening with Rachel's pussy liquids. The machine makes its obscene rutting sound, The phallus causes a vulgar sound to emanate from Rachel's vagina. Rachel makes her own throaty groans. This is so hot! I told you we'd see some action. Aha, I see you've gotten pretty excited. Are you trying to match Rachel's rhythm on the machine? I'll just get my cock out too. There, uhmmm, feels good. I think the old lady is hot for Rachel. What do you think? Well we agree; let's see what happens. To be continued...