Her breasts were magnificent and beautifully curved. Her nipples were unusually large and stiff. The color of her aureoles was deep, complementing the blackness of the hair on her head, in her armpits and between her thighs.
Madam Andre had peasant feet, peasant hands and a walk one would associate with a farm girl. She loved to eat. She loved to drink. Cognac was her favorite beverage after champagne and beer. But seldom was she seen drunk. Madam Andre could handle her booze.
As she watched now from the window of her small apartment (which fronted on the cobbled courtyard and had its own private bathroom, sitting room, and a spacious bedroom), she grew hungry for George to come to her.
As the car disappeared, Madam Andre closed the pale lemon- colored curtains. Dimming the light, she went to her dressing table. Using an atomizer, she sprayed her body with a new perfume that smelled of jasmine and lily of the valley. She rubbed it into the hair of her armpits and all over her crotch, even touched a dab of it into her anus.
Smiling at herself in the mirror, she opened one of the drawers in her bureau and took out a twelve-inch-long dildo. Bringing it to her lips, she kissed it. Then she introduced it into her mouth. Holding it away from her, she smiled at her reflection in the mirror.
George was coming for it.
When he arrived, he was not at all shocked to see her standing there naked, with the dildo strapped around her waist. He had seen it many times before. She ordered him to strip, which he readily did. She called him over to her and he complied.
His cock was hard from the sight of her obscenity. When he was standing before her, Madam Andre reached out and took hold of it, squeezing it lightly, then harder, until he groaned. Then she ordered him onto the bed, where she lay atop his prone body, sticking the dildo in between his legs. She rubbed it back and forth teasingly; she scratched his back with her long fingernails and bit his neck.
"Do you want it?" she asked.
"Yes. Yes, I want it," he said, his voice hoarse and urgent.
She teased him further by continuing to rub the instrument between his legs. He lifted his buttocks into the air as if to suggest where she might put it. She slapped them hard and they contracted and sank back into the bed. His flesh stung and turned red. He lifted his buttocks again, and again she slapped them. Again they contracted and expanded. He grabbed the pillow and stuffed it under his stomach, reached behind him and spread his buttocks with his hands, his fingers sinking into his own flesh.
She placed the instrument in the exposed opening of his dark passage. She drove it in and his buttocks clenched, drawing the dildo further in as he dug into the bed beneath him, giving pressure to his hard, aching cock.
"Fuck me!" he yelled. She pumped the dildo in and out with increasing force. All the while, he continued to dig his cock into the bed, finally bringing his hand beneath him to squeeze it since the pressure of the bed was insufficient to give him release.
During the excitement, Madam Andre's clitoris had rubbed against the edge of the instrument and brought her to a pounding orgasm. When she came, she could not think of moving, but instead began rubbing herself with as much agility as her position afforded against the dildo. The instrument was buried deeply inside George, who squeezed his cock hard and rubbed it up and down, desperate to come before she removed the dildo, which she always did as a sort of joke — saying that she, like a man who had spent himself inside a woman, also went limp with exhaustion and had to withdraw.
He envisioned what she looked like behind him, the dildo strapped to her waist and buried within him. He squeezed himself hard, grunted and came to the image in his mind.
Chapter Five
In lieu of the late dinner Madam Andre had planned to serve when Mrs. Staunton and her houseguest Steve returned from the opera in Monte Carlo, the two decided cold chicken sandwiches and beer would be okay; so this was the menu. Both enjoyed themselves. Steve sat at one end of the mahogany table while Melissa sat in her regular place.
After sending the staff off to do as they pleased, the older woman was content to be alone with the boy. She felt quite safe with him, comfortable in her own house, full of expectancy and the anticipation of what the night might yet bring.
As for Steve, he was all charged up. The air of excitement since they'd come back from the opera was spine tingling. While showering — just before climbing into his pajamas and his new ankle-length robe with the deep pockets and the fur trim around the wide collar and hem — his prick had throbbed constantly.
Tossing his stained shorts into the hamper for Nellie to launder, he had taken one last look at them, and the memory of shooting his semen into them while Melissa's delightful fingers caressed his cock under his clothing returned to further stimulate and excite him.
He doubted that he'd ever forget the intense thrill of her nearness to him, kissing him as she had. Neither would he ever forget the wild excitement of seeing her with her skirt up, the delicious sight of her pussy mound under tight panties, and how the crotch of her panties had clung to her plump lips.
Nor would he forget the view of her long, beautiful legs encased in the filmy, silky stockings, or her pretty toes wiggling so provocatively under the sheer material. Until Melissa, Steve hadn't paid much attention to women's toes, but now he found them sensually arousing. He didn't understand this, but several times at dinner, he found himself licking his lips over the thought of Melissa's feet.
As far as Steve was concerned, Melissa was the most rapturous woman he'd even know. As he let his thoughts drift pleasantly, he was pleased that she was as old as she was. The idea intrigued him. It was spicy, and added a kind of frivolity to the new experiences he was anticipating.
"A penny for your thoughts, Steve," said Melissa from her end of the table.
"About that crummy opera," he lied.
"I agree. They're not all the same. This was one of the worst. But then, here in this part of the world, one doesn't just attend the opera for the music." She fell silent. She looked at him, at his clean face, his sparkling eyes, his hair still tousled from his shower, his new pajamas sticking out from under the new robe.
Melissa found herself wondering if he was wearing anything under them. This thought excited her, increasing her desire for the young boy. She began to feel a quickening in her cunt, a fluttering in her clitoris at the thought of the boy's young penis, hard and proud, long, thick, and white inside his pajamas.
Her mouth was watering as she imagined his cock. She was famished for sex, almost drooling for it, her clitoris stinging, as were her erect nipples under the robe she wore. While she'd bathed and prepared for their little impromptu supper together, she had fingered her cunt, pinched her clitoris and finally massaged her index finger up into her tight moist asshole.
As she'd done this, her thoughts had concentrated on the fun she anticipated having with Steve. She'd reviewed all that had gone on between them so far, from the moment she'd first set eyes on him.
She was continually impressed with the young boy's manners and ways, how he did this and how he did that, how he walked, stood, sat, bent his head, how he smiled or did not smile in response to something said to him or something he said himself.
"We won't have to go to the opera all that often," she said after a long lapse into silence. "It's just that it's fashionable at times, and living here, I mean, around these parts, it's sort of necessary to maintain one's image. You do understand me, don't you, Steve?"