This
is subject to all the usual provisos:
Graphic sex follows.
I'm not responsible for you reading this if you are underage.
The contents are purely fiction and all characters are figments of my imagination.
This story is copyrighted and any reproduction requires the explicit consent of
the author; i.e. me.
AIDS/HIV and other STD do not exist in my fiction but do in reality-if you
attempt to live the lifestyle depicted please take precautions.
"If
you lack the maturity to grasp this disclaimer, then under no circumstances
read this story without guidance of someone more mature (to quote
Deirdre)."
©
2008: This work may not be reproduced in any format or medium without the
permission of the author.
SOCCER—CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
It was a couple of days before Gerda gave me a call. We’d played a pre-season game against an amateur team. I think the score was 12-1. We’d played in the late afternoon and got home while it was still light. I drove home, and after another encounter with my neighbor Herr Waltz, opened the front door of my flat as the phone started ringing.
“How was the game?” I recognized the low accented voice.
“Good. We won.”
“It should be so.” She asked about the score, who had scored and played well. After a few minutes of casual conversation about the game, Gerda changed the subject.
“The weekend… you like being there?”
“Yes. The first night was a little uncomfortable,” I replied thinking about the cell-like room I stayed in, “but the rest of the time was good.”
“And you like Lisette? I see you looking at her, looking at her… arsch? It is so hard and round.” I could picture it as Lisette laid on the air mattress spinning slowly around the pool. And I thought the equally firm slightly pear-shaped breasts only partially camouflaged by her blonde braids.
“Her backside? Yes, it’s very nice…”
“Backside?”
“Or ass, or buttocks… there are a lot of words in English.”
“So in German. But you like my niece nice ass.” She enunciated each word carefully, correcting the mistake she’d made at the weekend, and drawing out the last word so it sounded like a very British ‘arse’. “And maybe you like her in your bed? That idea makes you… oh erregt?”
Sometimes you don’t know a word in a foreign language, but can get its meaning. I was sitting down now, cradling the phone on my shoulder and feeling my swelling, if not erect, member through my jeans.
“Yes. Lisette is, well she’s hot.”
“Ja….” There was a long pause, at least thirty seconds. My dick was getting hard. I reached to unbutton the waistband.
“You must not touch yourself more. Do not open your pants.” Jeez, she could read my fucking mind. There was another long pause… and then a sudden inhalation.
“Mmmm…” cooed Gerda and I waited for her to continue. “I am having two fingers in me. I see you in my brain. You have a big penis…”
Another long pause, and I swear I could here her schlepping herself.
“You are not touching? Good.” I was not but had a hard-on threatening to unzip my pants on its own. A soft groan came over the phone and then I heard Gerda’s shallow pants. The phone clicked and I heard the buzz of a free line. I hung the receiver in the cradle.
My cock was hard and my inclination was to jerk off. How would she know anyway? I unbuckled my belt and started pulling down my jeans and shorts. My free meat slapped against my hard belly.
The phone rang.
I looked at it, thought about my own pleasure, and then Gerda. I pictured her with the stern look she could flash, and picked up the phone.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m sitting on the sofa.”
“Doing?”
I could tell the truth, but that would annoy her. I could lie, but if she found out?
“You play with yourself? You have no pants, you touch your penis? Your schwanz?”
“I have my pants down. I was going to masturbate…”
“I told you not to. You hear me say this?”
“Yes.” I thought of an excuse, “But then you hung up.”
“Hung up? Please?”
“You ended the phone call…”
There was a long pause. “Holden… I do know with you. You must do as I say.”
The phone clicked, and the familiar dial tone echoed in my ear. My hard-on had wilted. I stood up and pulled up my jeans. Somehow I’d lost the mood.
* * * * *
The next evening Gerda called again. I’d almost finished cooking some stir-fry, and turned off the heat and lidded the pan when I recognized her voice.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Cooking some dinner.”
“You can cook. Good. I will keep short. Did you, how you say, mas-tru-bate after we talk?”
“No.” I didn’t bother to correct her pronunciation; somehow the mistake made her sound a lot younger and less daunting. But then I didn’t say the word right when I first came across it in my pubescence.
“I did not think so. Now Thursday… what will you be this same time then?”
“Probably be here.”
“You will be there. There is no training on Friday morning.” That was true, we had another pre-season friendly scheduled for Saturday, so we were expected to do light running on our own but had no session planned. “I will come for you at six hour. Be there on the street.”
“I can drive my car if you tell me where to meet you.”
“What fun is that? Oh… you must bring your passport.” Click. The line was dead.
I ate my food and then went out with Frank and Elsa for a movie and drinks. While I wanted to talk about whatever it was Gerda was up to I couldn’t get either of them alone, and somehow it didn’t seem appropriate with them both present.
* * * * *
I guess I could have just not shown up. But then there wouldn’t be much to describe in this part of the story. Still, what was leading me down this path? Twenty years old, going off with a controlling woman who was a little less than twice my age that was hardly beautiful, though handsome and attractive. Maybe June Evans turned me on to older women, though there was little similarity with Gerda. Gerda was hard, in body and soul, while June really flopped around physically and through life.
So I was kicking up dirt on the pavement at five to six on Thursday. It had been a rush since training ran late, but I’d made it home and packed a few things in my kit bag. Passport in my pocket, plus cash enough I thought so I could get home if needing to escape Gerda’s clutches. I thought about dates back home whose fathers gave them safety or taxi money ‘just in case’. I walked up and down the block outside my apartment house, and was just about to go back upstairs when Gerda pulled up in her VW. It was 6:15.
I got in the passenger seat after putting my bag in back. Gerda hit the clutch and hand the tires spinning before the door shut. No apology for being late, not even a greeting. She navigate through the industrial town’s thoroughfares. After about ten minutes we got on the Autobahn, heading northwest.
“Light a cigarette.” She patted the console between us.
“I don’t smoke.”
“For me, arschloch.” She gripped the steering wheel and merged into the fast lane. The speedometer rose to 140. KPH, not MPH, or 90 I calculated. I picked up the packet of Marlboro’s and pulled one out. I couldn’t see any matches so depressed the car lighter. I lit it, and handed in her direction. Her hands didn’t leave the wheel, but her lower lip dropped a little. I placed the on her lip, and she gripped it inhaling.
“You used to smoke?”
“Yes, when I was younger.”
“And now not.”
“No.”
“Do you miss smoke?”
“Not really. I didn’t smoke very much or for very long.”
She pulled the
cigarette from her lip and flicked the ash through the cracked window. When she
finished it she stubbed the butt out in the ashtray, and navigated through an
interchange. We drove for an hour, mostly in silence. She asked if I had ‘mastrubated’ since we had last talked, which I had not. A fifteen-klick silence. Gerda asked me for my passport, which I gave to her and she
put between the bucket seats. I lit her another Marlboro.
Gerda had just finished it as we reached the Dutch
border. My passport wasn’t asked for. I was getting hungry and asked if we
would soon stop for dinner. We would eat when we arrive. Silence.
Another cigarette. We reached the outskirts of
Bellboys and valets
swarmed the car. The VW was ensconced somewhere safe. My small duffel and Gerda’s larger suitcases were transported to reception, and
then upstairs to a suite. I tipped the staff for our bags,
twice what I thought was appropriate after a disapproving glance from Gerda. It was D-marks, which probably didn’t go down well,
but I didn’t have an idea that I would be in
Gerda inspected the accommodations. A small living room with sofa, desk, large TV, and bar. She looked in the fridge, and ordered a bottle of Moët on the phone. The bedroom had a king size bet, armoire, another television, and led to a porcelain-laden white bathroom. Gerda put the larger of her suitcases on the bench at the foot of the bed and opened it.
“I need to wash. And then new clothes. Bring me some champagne when room service comes.” I was ushered out of the room. “You can watch TV, but not so loud.”
I sat on the couch and flipped through some channels. Room service brought the champagne and with great fanfare uncorked the bottle and poured to flutes. Another tip. I picked up a glass and ventured to Gerda, tapping on both bedroom and bathroom doors.
She was lying in the bathtub, smoking. Cascades of bubbles covered all but her head and shoulders, but from the undulations I could see some whirlpool feature was pulsing. I passed Gerda the champagne. She sipped appreciatively, and then placed the glass on the toilet seat. She looked me over as she drowned the tip of her cigarette in the soap suds, and casually flicked into the ashcan.
“I think you should be nude. Take off your dress.”
I did so, setting precariously next to Gerda’s champagne flute, untying my shoes, rolling off my socks, pulling off my pants, shirt. They lay in a bundle at my feet.
“Sind Sie nicht erregt?” she asked. I was not, by prick limp.
“You do not like?” Gerda lifted her breasts through the soap bubbles. Her nipples,
peaked by the water, were erect. She dropped them and they buoyantly seemed to
float. (What would Archimedes’s explanation be, or would he just cry “
“I do like.” I felt blood coursing into my prick.
“Let me see.” Gerda shifted the glass from one hand to the other, and then touched my swelling manhood. It got harder the instant she touched. She plied it with her fingers for a few seconds.
“OK… put on a robe and go some time.” I wrapped myself in one of the plush bath coats that hung on the back of the door. “Take your dress… it smells.” Gerda lit another cigarette. “I have some dress for you to wear.”
I bundled up my clothes and left the bathroom.
“Come back in ten minutes, with the bottle.” She sipped from her glass.
* * * * *
I tapped gently on the door.
“Come in,” came a muffled voice. The bathroom was steam-filled, and Gerda was now taking a shower.
“
“Robe.” I handed the white terry cloth robe that was hanging on the hook of the door to the hand extended it to the hand protruding from the shower curtain. Gerda stepped out of the bathtub, wrapped a towel into a turban over her tousled brown hair, and took another.
“You should wash.” She shut the bathroom door behind her.
I stepped into the shower and bathed. When I got out there were no big towels left and I wrapped a series of hand towels around me. I opened the bathroom door into the hotel bedroom. The only light was the glow of television. Gerda sat on the edge of the bed, naked, on a white bedspread in the shadows of the room. She was just a silhouette in that light, but the contours of her body were hard and defined except for the looseness of her chest.
“
Gerda slid over the mattress and opened her legs under the bathrobe. I dropped to my knees by the side of the bed. Her fingers slipped through my hair and then used it to pull my head between her thighs. My sight was shadowed by the terry cloth but I smelled her sex. Voluptuous labia cascaded and brushed my lips. Gerda tasted salty sweet. My tongue kissed upward through the valley of her lips and found the peak: her clit was large and protruded. My mouth easily wrapped around it, causing Gerda to emit a low gurgling groan.
Her hands held the back of my head and pressed my face against her cunt. Gerda was still moist from her bathing but added her own dank fluid that I lapped eagerly. Each time my tongue touched her clitoris her thighs shuddered and clamped round my ears. When I focused my attention on that sweet spot, swishing my tongue over her nub, her thighs clenched harder till she had an orgasm and then relaxed.
“Benutzen Sie Ihre Finger,” Gerda instructed.
With my mouth pursed around her lips I probed her pussy with my forefinger. Gerda’s hips pushed forward to engulf my digit. I rotated it around the moist tunnel feeling its walls. My thumb pushed her clit up and out so my tongue could swirl more easily over her clit. She shuddered again; her legs like a vise around my skull, before letting me go.
“Mehr Finger…”
I slipped two and then three fingers into. I felt the inside of her cunt and noted her shuddering when I touched a particular point. My tongue licked over her clit and lapped lower trying to drain her off her wetness.
“Mehr…”
I had four fingers inside her, all tightly held by her pussy. I twisted my wrist, and kept licking and teasing her.
“Ficken Sie
I pulled-and-thrust my hand in her cunt. Her wetness splashed over me, drying sticky on my cheeks. Her hips undulated on the bed and her robe was thrown open. I sucked on her clit still driving four fingers in and out of her until she came. Gerda’s whole body became taut and then, suddenly, turned to jelly while she just growled. I stopped moving my hand but it remained deep in her. Her legs opened, and I slowly withdrew four fingers but kept licking over and around her labia.
My knees were raw from rubbing on the carpet. Gerda’s breathing slowed and she lay one hand over her navel while the other tousled my hair.
“Sie sind ein guter Esser des meinem muschi, Holden.” She wrapped her robe around her and lay quietly panting. I was a good pussy-eater. She like how I ate and played with her pussy.
* * * * *
I went into the bathroom to take a shower. As I was lathering up Gerda pulled back the curtain and joined me. We washed each other though she avoided my privates. I dropped to my knees to wash her feet and shins, and kind of proffered my mouth for her to rest her pussy on, but Gerda just turned around so I was looking at her ass. Firm buttocks but a little flat in the war with gravity.
When we finished cleaning up and were standing naked in the bedroom Gerda asked me to get her suitcases. I brought them in, along with my duffel bag. She opened the larger one on the bed and started rooting through it for some clothes to wear.
“You are hungry.”
I resisted saying I hungered to eat her some more. “Kind of… do you want to go out?”
I started looking for some clothes to wear.
“Ja. We will eat. And some shopping and look to the … Dirnenviertel.” The nightlife.
I pulled out some underwear and fresh jeans to wear, and started putting them on.
“Nien!” said Gerda when she saw what I was doing. “Where is the small valise?” She found it and put in on the bed.
“I have something for you,” she said after digging around. She handed me a pair of black leather pants. They were constructed of patches of leather, maybe five-by-five squares, with thick seams.
“Place them on.” They were really rather gross. I stepped into them, but Gerda admonished me. “Nehmen Sie Ihre Unterwäsche ab.”
I took off my boxers and put the leader pants on. They were tight, giving my groin a telling mound, and were rough against my skin.
“You can have your own shirt.”
I looked in my bag and found something uncreased.