The instant he turned around to face her, her eyes dropped down and stared with considerable excitement at his huge hammer-headed dong. The prospect of enjoying his studly and wonderfully thick meaty tool delighted her to no end and Christine made no bones about the fact that she was cock-struck, anxious for him to hammer the point of his lesson as well as the point of his pecker, all the way home.
Home was where the heart was, and home was right between her legs, right to the heart of the matter. Drew wondered if he'd be able to accomplish the rather difficult position of fucking her standing up, but he didn't hesitate to try it out a moment later.
Having reached the point of no return, as turned on by Christine as she was by him, he leaned forward and pressed her up against the wet tile wall. With one hand, he guided his penis down towards the wet and slightly dilated opening of her tender muff.
She was shuddering with the expectation of pleasure, with the expectation of once again being crammed up to the hilt with the entire length of his masterful penis. And he gave her the full complement of his experience as well as his dong, not about to disappoint the teenager in the lease. Nor himself, for that matter.
He was forced to crouch down slightly, though he was glad that Christine had long legs. Otherwise, he'd never be able to maneuver his cock into place. But now he was managing to do it, pushing forward so that she responded by reaching down and holding her thin puffy cunt flaps open, as if to beckon him right inside of her twitching and juicy snatch.
He thrust agilely, digging forward at the same time. His glans was swiftly crammed into place, filling her vulva and stretching her vaginal folds smooth and taut from the wide burly pressure of his cock-head.
Next, even as she whimpered and begged for more, he pushed forward a second time, easing the first hard throbbing inches of his manly organ up into the wet recesses of her pussy. He could feel come adhering to her cunt walls and the additional lubricity made this difficult position a bit easier to achieve and see to complete insertion and success.
"Oh man, you're beautiful, shit too much," she whispered, raising her hands to slide her fingers up through the thicket of wet matted chest hair which covered the upper half of his burly torso. She rotated her palm over each stiff little brown tittie and he groaned in response, still trying to work his cock even deeper inside.
He was pushing up, as if to lift her off her feet and when he could go no further he glanced down and saw that he will had nearly a third of his tool to give her. "I'm gonna lift you up and you wrap your legs around my ass or my thighs, whichever is easier or whichever you can reach. One, two, three. Now!" and he pushed her forward, pressing her up against the wall even as he shuddered and lifted her off the floor of the stall shower.
With almost gymnastic and naturally athletic grace she bounced up and managed to wrap her legs around the backs of his thighs, holding onto his shoulders for additional support. The bulk of her weight was pushed up firmly against the tile wall and it took little effort for Drew to finally finish what he had started.
With several quick eager forward motions, he managed to ram the rest of his hardon all the way into place, not satisfied until every last hot inch was enjoying the wet clinging embrace of the teenager's muff.
Christine was beside herself by then and she wiggled like a trapped and landed fish, shuddering against him as he bent his knees, held her steady or as best he could under the circumstances, and began to thrust with demonical power and delight.
She was literally and physically impaled on his great straining bar of meat, wiggling to and fro and panting loudly in response to his hard driving strokes. He beat his cock in and out, fierce and proud of his virility, wanting to come and knowing that she'd get off in no time at all, long before he had even begun to approach the moment of his own orgiastic release.
He wanted her to come as many times as was physically possible and so he worked his tool in and out, sliding it upwards and scraping it hotly all along the convulsing length of her mushy vagina. She yapped like a puppy, clinging to him, suckling on his neck and shaking with fitful muscular spasms.
"Yes, anything, oh do it some more, some more. I need it. I need so much, all of it, all of it," she kept repeating, babbling incoherently as he drilled his steely rod in and out with one flaming stroke after another.
Her tits jiggled to and fro, but he wasn't able to handle them with his fingers, so he bent his head forward and by stretching his neck down and then his tongue, managed to lick and slobber over her melons even as he plunged his hardon in and out of her juicy box.
"I… I don't believe it. I'm coming, oh shit I'm coming now, all over your meat, you fucking mule, you hairy stud, give it to me, yes, yes I'm creaming," she groaned then and flung herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding on for dear life.
The hot gushes of cunt juice he'd felt earlier now swirled down over his plunging heaving dick, coating his meat and making her muff even more juicy and lubricious. Juice dripped down his thighs and he kept at it, attacking her vagina with renewed fervor.
His nuts swung back and forth, heavy with a fresh load of come he could almost feel churning like butter inside of his scrotum. Any minute and he'd come too, but before he even had a chance to experience his own brand of sexual bliss Christine screamed out once more.
"Again, oh shit, again, again it's happening again!" she cried out with wild delight, coming a second time even as he kept ramming his meat in and out of her pussy with all of his strength.
There was no stopping either of them after that.
He lost count of what was happening to her after he'd triggered a third climax. Her multi-orgasmic response fed his sexual appetites and he was nearing his own pinnacle of release, his cock moving in and out like a sledgehammer.
Had her pussy not been coated with gism and cunt juice he knew his pecker would have been skinned raw as a peeled banana by now, for the teenager's vagina was extremely tight, the walls like gripping rubber bands which nipped and held onto his darting penis.
"Soon, soon and I'll come too," he promised her.
By now she was barely able to keep her legs locked around his back. Her head fell over his shoulder and he felt her heart beating at an incredibly fast pulsing rate. But still he couldn't stop himself from ramming his dong in and out of her snatch.
Everything seemed to be spinning around him then and he knew he was nearly exhausted. But still he kept at it, for any second it was destined to take place all over again. And finally for Drew Livingston knew the workings of his body on a most intimate and familiar level, the first sensations of his approaching climax could be felt.
First his nuts were pulled up involuntarily, high within his pendulous scrotal sac. And then his muscles stiffened and contracted and a roar of bull-like animalism flew out of the depths of his very being.
"You wanted it," he panted. "And now you've got it. Oh baby, feel Uncle Drew shooting. Feel Uncle's load, all of his come, now, yes fuck now!"
The hot bursts of gism cascaded like a geyser out of the deeply ensheathed and buried head of his ejaculating penis. Come splashed against her cervix and then due to the force of gravity slid down along her well-stuffed vaginal walls, barely able to flow, downwards, for her cunt was so amazingly filled and blocked up with the burning shuddering length of his joystick.
He leaned against her, groaning and shaking as more and more gism sprayed into her tender and battered private parts. She said nothing, too exhausted and drained of energy to move a muscle. But her vaginal walls contracted in voluntarily, responding to the pleasing soothing balm that was his hot viscous come.
How long they leaned against the wall of the stall shower he didn't know. How long it took for him to exhaust himself, to drain his hot viscous come.
How long they leaned against the wall of the stall shower he didn't know. How long it took for him to exhaust himself, to drain his balls and deplete them of their second and nearly as abundant load of semen, was something else he didn't know, either.
But that was of no ultimate importance in the scheme of things, anyway. Only pleasure was of the essence and please was most assuredly what Mr. Drew Livingston was able to experience as he and his Swedish teenybopper clung to each other, having exhausted themselves in the best possible way known to man.
When he'd managed to return to his senses and pull his head, not to mention his body, together, he gently eased back, letting her down to her feet once again. When his cock had slid out of her cunt, squishing loudly as he left he snatch and her cunt flaps snapped shut almost elastically, he turned around again and adjusted the taps.
This time they really showered and the warm and then cool water helped him clear his head and return to his senses. Ten minutes later he stood in the foyer of Rene Martinon's city apartment, dressed and ready to leave.
Christine had given him the phone number of Rene's house in Fontenay-aux-Roses but he didn't think he'd all and announce his upcoming visit, knowing as he did that surprise – in all things – was always a more successful approach to difficult situations.
"Is there anything else you want to tell me… before I leave?" he asked her as she stood near him, stark naked and just as inviting, just as much of a turn-on, as she'd been when he'd first entered the apartment.
"Yeah, there is something, Livingston. Come again, why don't you? If I'm here, I'd be more than willing to entertain, just the way you know how to entertain me," she replied with a suggestive and salacious little laugh and accompanying grin.
"Don't put it past me, either. I just might show up again, unannounced," he replied. "Esecoa, u of au osm't wjere sje's si – psed tp be. Who is this Martinon guy, anyway? What is he, a hypnotist, luring young girls into his clutches?"
"Isn't that what you like best, Mr. Livingston? Young girls, like me," Christine said with a conspiratorial wink. "As for Rene, I suggest you find out for yourself and then make your own value judgments. Anything I might say about him might be taken in evidence, against me, that is. And using his pad is so much more fun than staying in Stockholm and going to school. I'd hate to fuck up a nice cozy arrangement. So do me a favor and don't bring me up. What little Rene doesn't know, doesn't hurt him."
"My lips are sealed… until such time as I'll need to open them again." Then, with a sly chuckle, he dropped down to his knees, kissed her dry and fleecy little love crop with his lips and darting tongue and finally, though reluctantly, got back to his feet and made his goodbyes.
He cast her a last longing loving glance and then the door closed behind him. Drew made his way down the stairs and out onto the bright late morning street. He was filled with ambiguity, physically sated thanks to Christine Pedersen, but more emotionally disturbed and distraught about his niece than ever before.
For what he found most difficult to deal with was his growing awareness of his own jealousy, the fact that even if Amy was perfectly content, even if her relationship or arrangement with Martinon was completely on the up and up, he'd make sure to take her home with him and back to her parents.
Otherwise, he felt that he might not have another chance to seduce her, not for as long as she decided to remain in Paris, cared for by a man who seemed to share the same kind of sexual tastes as Drew himself. And that, when everything else was considered and all the cards stacked up and accounted for, was the most difficult thing to deal with of them all.
The only way to find out if Amy was till in Paris, still at Martinon's suburban retreat, was to go there and look for himself. A phone call certainly wouldn't have done the trick, though out of curiosity he did place a call, wondering if Amy would pick up the phone at the other end.
The voice he heard belonged to a man, though he couldn't tell if it was the voice of an adolescent or an adult. And he didn't wait around to ask, either. He hung up just as quickly, stepped out of the cafe where'd he gone to buy a jetton and place his call, and hailed the first taxi he could get.
"Fontenay-aux-Roses," he said briskly, giving the driver the remainder of the address once he had settled himself into the back seat of the cab.
The driver began to argue in French, bemoaning his fate, telling Drew that it was too far to go and that he'd never pick up a return fare. Reaching into his inside jacket pocket, Drew pulled out a thick and no doubt impressive roll of French franc notes.
He waved them at the driver and with a muttered oath about rich Americans, the man sped out into the noontime traffic. Drew alternately dozed and looked out the window and about thirty to forty minutes later he stopped the driver just before the man began to pull the cab up a narrow gravel driveway.
An old and handsome looking house stood at the end of the drive, surrounded by well-landscaped bushes and shrubs. Not wanting to make a grand entrance, he paid the driver for his efforts tipped him handsomely and stood off in the shadows of an overhanging tree until the taxi had disappeared from sight around a bend in the road.
Then, he moved down the drive towards the front of the house, not able to detect any sounds, or any signs of life, for that matter. Yet he knew someone had to be hole, for there were two cars in the adjoining garage, a recent addition, for the house looked as if it dated from back around the turn of the century.
There was a low sleek sports car of a type he'd never seen in the States, as well as a more commonly seen Mercedes four-door hardtop. He lives well, that's for sure, he told himself once again, for there could be no doubt in his mind now that Rene Martinon was indeed quite well off able to afford two cars – if they were both his and Drew saw no reason not to believe they weren't – if they were both his, and Drew saw no reason not to believe they weren't – as well as two residences. An apartment in the city with its resident blonde-haired teenage seductress, as well as a handsome small estate in the country, perhaps still being occupied by a certain young American girl by the name of Amy Mitchell.
Needless to say, he hoped that was still the case.
He waited a moment in front of the old oak door and then lifted the knocker when he failed to see a doorbell. A moment later footsteps could be heard echoing from the other side of the door and the knob turned and the door swung open.
He found himself staring into the officious looking eyes of a young Frenchman, a man in his early twenties. "Yes?" he said in French asking Drew what his business was.
"I'm looking for M. Martinon," he replied, keeping a cool head, though he had an urge to knock the young man aside and storm into the house unannounced, thence to search every room until he found his niece.
"I'm looking for Mr. M. Martinon," he replied, keeping a cool head, though he had an urge to knock the young man aside and storm into the house unannounced, thence to search every room until he found his niece.
"M. Martinon is not here," the man said brusquely.
"In that case I'd like to have a few words with a friend of his, a certain young American girl by the name of Amy Mitchell," Drew went on, taking hope from the fact that the young man's eyes narrowed with a telltale motion as if the name indeed had meaning for him.
"I know of no one of that name," he finally replied, making a move to slam the door in Drew's face.
"The fuck you don't," Drew hissed, pushing the fellow aside and making his way into the house. But no sooner had he gained admittance when he suddenly felt himself careening forward, the back of his head seemingly crushed as one would break an eggshell. He threw up his arms, blinded with pain and the last thing he'd remembered was hearing a snicker, a nasty smirking laugh echoing painfully in his head.
How long he had remained unconscious was something he couldn't tell, for the crystal of his watch had smashed from the fall and the time stood at 12:47. He groaned and tried to sit up, not knowing where he was or what had happened.
And as his eyes adjusted to the light he stopped himself from moving, freezing as he found himself staring at the seated figure of a man, a man he knew without a shadow of a doubt to be none other than the mysterious Rene Martinon.
"Good evening, Mr. Livingston, so unfortunate that you didn't get a more hearty welcome," the man said in French-accented but otherwise flawless and precise English. "But my man is very suspicious about robbers and the like, hanging around this neighborhood. He had no choice, you see…"
"So I gather," Drew said ruefully, rubbing his hand over the back of his head and feeling the lump the other young man had given him. He still felt a little dizzy, but now he lifted himself and swung his legs over the side of the old canopy bed upon which he had been lying.
"Yes, most unfortunate accident it was. But I trust you've recovered," the man went on.
Drew pursed his lips together, not knowing if Martinon was being serious or sarcastic. He didn't like the looks of the man from head to toe, though he could see at a glance what his niece had found attractive. Martinon was the very figure of a playboy, down to the loosely tied silk cravat he wore around his neck.
Well-groomed to the extreme, he was nevertheless slimmer and far less burly than Drew, lighter on his feet perhaps, though certainly not lacking in physical strength. There was a wiriness about him that put Drew on his guard and Rene Martinon continued to sit across from him in a brocaded wing chair, idly tipping the ashes of his cigarette into a rose medallion tray.
"Where's my niece, Mr. Martinon?" Obviously, I didn't come all this distance for my health. It would seem that Paris, Fontenay especially, is not very therapeutic for my nerves, to and he rubbed his hand over the swelling on his head, trying to clear the cobwebs out of his brain.
"She's resting at the moment, Mr. Livingston. But I can assure you that at the earliest possible convenience you'll be able to see her once again today."
"And when would that be, may I be so bold as to inquire?" he snapped, wondering too at the same time how Martinon knew his name. Either they checked my wallet, or Amy saw what happened, or saw me when I was unconscious, he decided, waiting for the Frenchman to answer his last question.
"Shortly, at dinner in fact," Rene said at last, laughing good-naturedly. "But perhaps now you'd like to rest a little longer, until you've regained your strength, Mr. Livingston."
"I've regained it," Drew said sharply. "And I don't intend to wait around until you decide to let the canary out of the cage, if indeed she is in a cage, if this entire house is a cage, for that matter."
"A cage? Why my good man, your niece has never been more well cared for, I can promise you. But it would be most inopportune for her to be disturbed at the moment. So I've taken the liberty of preparing a little entertainment for you, to help pass the time away, as it were. I understand so many of you Americans are so impatient. You haven't learned our Gallic way of doing things, of taking one's time, of each thing in its place."
"No, I haven't," Drew replied, at a further loss for words. But before he could say anything else, Rene Martinon turned his angular and fox-like smooth-shaven face towards the door across from where Drew was sitting up on the bed. "Francoise!" he called out and Drew expected him to clap his hands like a sultan calling for his harem girls.
Instead, at the mention of that single name, the door swung open noiselessly and Drew's eyes opened wide as he found himself staring with obvious and immediate interest at the slim and fetching figure of a young French girl, dressed in what he thought was a traditional black and white-aproned changer or parlor-maid's uniform.
"Francoise will be most willing to amuse you for the next hour or sop, while your niece rests and then prepares herself for this… how shall I put it, gala family reunion," Rene told him as he got to his feet and the girl moved towards the foot of the bed, her eyes lowered and her ripe creamy-white bosom rising and falling with rhythmic and fluid surges.
Either I beat the shit out of him or get the shit beaten out of me, or else I grin and bear it and go along with him, Drew thought to himself. It entered his mind that even now Amy might be being hustled out of the house but he decided to take his chances, knowing as he did that if he'd gotten this far, he could still go further if need be.
"The girl is going to amuse me, you said?" Drew asked, though he certainly didn't have to be told.
"Anyway you think most proper, or interesting, or diverting. She's yours to do with as you wish. Francoise is very accommodating, in every way imaginable. So until dinner, Mr. Livingston," and he got up from his chair and moved towards the door. He said something under his breath and in rapid French to the girl, but Drew unfortunately was unable to hear a word of it.
The next thing he knew the door had once again closed shut and he found himself alone in the bedroom with the young and exquisitely proportioned parlor-maid. For a few minutes he said nothing, watching her as she waited at the foot of the bed, as if she was an android or a robot, waiting to be put to work and set into motion by the very sound of his gruff manly voice.
He felt his quiet was disturbing her and that pleased him. More confused than ever, he couldn't figure out what the fuck was going on, why he was being given Francoise to enjoy, why his niece hadn't been brought to him or he brought to her. And now he had no choice but to make the most of the situation, as uncertain of Martinon's real motives as he was about his own immediate future.
"So you are Francoise," he said in French. The girl nodded her head and the flash of her creamy-white decolletage delighted him to no end.
Despite all that he had gone through, he was still quite prepared to handle the girl, especially when he recalled Martinon's words, the fact that Francoise was most willing to accommodate him in every way imaginable.
"How old are you?" he asked.
"J'ai dix-sept ans," she said in French.
"Seventeen, how perfect," he muttered aloud, pleased with that, doubly pleased because she looked even younger, a slim frail and almost waif-like creature with short curly black hair and almond-shaped dark and penetrating eyes.
Her narrow waist, the tender flare of her hips and the smooth lines of her calves and part of her thighs that he could see, all combined to make him grin, growing more relaxed and thus more aroused with each passing second.
Having waited for what she no doubt felt was a long enough period of time, Francoise now moved around to the side of the bed where Drew's legs hung over. He remained in a sitting position, not moving a muscle. But he didn't have to do anything, either, as he quickly discovered.
No sooner had she moved around to face him, when she dropped down onto her knees. With lowered head and lowered eyes, she reached out with both hands and untied his shoes and then gently eased them off of his feet, reaching under the cuffs of his trousers to pull down his wool socks.
I feel like I'm with a Geisha girl, he thought to himself, though he certainly wasn't turned off by what the young girl was doing. Rather, he found it considerably arousing, for never before – except that incident in the shower – had he had sex with a teenager who had been just as aggressive, if not more so, than himself.
Now, assuming the passive role, as if it was her job to give him pleasure and not the other way around, he watched her intently, his eyes boring down to gaze at the expanse of her breasts, seemingly all but the nipples and aureoles which capped her jugs still hidden from his sight.
His shoes and socks removed, she leaned forward and still holding her tongue, reached for the buckle of his belt. Drew noticed his jacket hung over a chair near the bed and as the girl unbuckled his belt and then quickly and dexterously unzipped his fly, he responded by rapidly unbuttoning his shirt and pulling his arms out of the sleeves.
He tossed it behind him and tensed, watching Francoise as she now began to pull his trousers right off of him, tugging at the cuffs so that he lifted himself up an inch or two so that his slacks could be pulled down off of his hips and ass.
She kept her eyes guarded, still not looking up at his face. His trousers were soon enough crumpled around his ankles and she pulled them completely free and got back to her feet, not giving his crotch a single glance.
Methodically, she smoothed them out and then hung them over the back of the chair where his jacket had been placed. By this time, Drew was getting more and more turned on, both to the girl as well as to this unique and novel situation he was being forced to enjoy. It didn't take much on his part to get into it, that's for sure and now he swung his legs back up on the bed and propped his head and shoulders against the pillows, watching her as she turned back and moved towards him once again.
All this had been done in silence, but it was not silence which greeted him when she happened to glance down at his crotch. For by this time the front of his tight-fitting undershorts were bulging out hotly. The outline of his rigid and amazingly proportioned hardon could be seen in all its grossly swollen entirety and she stopped short and muttered something inaudible in French, her eyes opening wide and her mouth dropping open at the same time.
Needless to say, her reaction delighted him to no end.
He detected the way she was now trembling, almost as if she was in fear. Perhaps the girl wasn't all that experienced after all, he mused, though when he looked up at her and told her to get undressed, she nodded her head and immediately did as he had said.
He was all eyes as she rapidly disrobed, having become increasingly savate in his passions with each passing second. The bump on his head, the way he had been treated up to now, all goaded him into taking a kind of revenge on Francoise and he knew that he wouldn't hesitate to get his way and enjoy himself to the full, even if she had any objections to the contrary.
But for the time being she said nothing in the way of a refusal, pulling the bodice of her uniform down off of her tits so that he was suddenly rewarded with the dangling swaying display of her hot naked jugs, straining out at him and causing Drew to drool with feverish sexual hunger.
You bet your ass I'm gonna make the most of this, buddy boy, he thought to himself, as if Mattinon was still in the room.
Now, as he ogled Francoise's tawny knockers, loving the way her jugs bore the fruit of wide dark-pink aureoles and long turgid nipples he couldn't wait to savor for his very own, she pushed her uniform all the way down and stepped out of it.