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 25
We finished dressing and went out to dinner. I guess it was already after nine o’clock but we found a place to eat. It was more a café but they were able to come up with a meal. Gerda wore a denim skirt that reached to her knees and a man’s white dress shirt; no bra and the fabric was tight enough around her dumpling tits that every one could see. And calf-length black leather boots with stiletto heels. I wore the chintzy pants Gerda gave me, and Izod shirt and a tan windbreaker. We sat by the window, which stretched from the floor almost to the ceiling, and looked over the Rembrandtplein. The wait staff brought our orders—can’t remember what we ate—but when we made our desert requests Gerda added that caveat that it be boxed to go. As she but her jacket on, covering her chest, she handed me the box.
Outside we walked through the city. Gerda knew her way around and guided me, with her arm entwined with mine, through the streets and ally ways.
“We must stop here and shop.” We were on the street in front of what looked like a normal rowhouse, but with a wrought iron sign over the door at the top of maybe six or eight steps. The sign was in Dutch, but Gerda took my hand to the top of the stairs and pressed the buzzer. The door unlocked and we entered into a dank hallway. She quickly let through what seemed the front parlor of an apartment, and down a stairwell into a shadowy room lit with red and purple lights and filled with display cases and mannequins. The furniture looked liked it was from an old apothecary shop, but the wares were definitely not of a bygone era: dildos and vibrators of every color, curvature and size lay on the display cases under glass; love dolls of varying degrees of sophistication (plastic, blow-up, rubber, real hair) modeled indiscriminately; videos of all persuasions (straight, gay, bondage, etc) shelved in a large cellar off the main retain area; and leather goods of all sorts in another vestibule.
I lost Gerda and meandered in the condom area—all colors and textures, and even some lambskin varieties—and then to the adjacent edible undies area. I felt a tap on the shoulder.
“Come.” I followed Gerda into the leather alcove.
“What do you think?” she asked. A pair of black leather boots with about twenty buckles from the ankle to the top of the thigh, and with stiletto heels that were probably five or six inches in length. “Or this?”
She waved to the other side of the counter with a similar pair of boots, heels slightly taller and wider, with a zip.
“For you?” I asked.
“Nien, I was thinking Ulke. It is her... geburtstag next week.” I thought of Ulke's long legs.
“I think those,” I said, and pointed to the second pair.
“Why these?”
“There's a zipper—easier to get out of...”
“Most practical.”
Gerda talked to the shop girl and the boots disappeared behind the counter. Ignoring me Gerda continued shopping. A dog collar with silver studs in the red leather with a matching leash. A black gag ball. I couldn't see all she got at the vibrator display other than an enormous black rubber dildo that had to be over a foot long. I wandered on my own, but we bumped into each other at the restraints area. A pair of handcuffs added to her cart. She paid for her purchases which filled two large shopping bags. She gave them to me. I put our desert box in one and started to climb the stairs, but she pulled at my shirt and led me to another exit.
The door led out into a narrow alley. The cobblestone lane was crowded with people meandering, stopping, and moving on. I followed Gerda in single file. I liked the way her skirt wrapped tightly around her behind. She cut through the throng. We passed some houses lit with red lights. In the picture windows sat barely clad women staring at the passerby.
We stopped at one window when a crowd had gathered. A black haired woman, probably in her forties and well-tattooed, had a long snake draped abound her somewhat flaccid body and tried to coax its head between her legs. Gerda chuckled as the python's forked tongue flickered over the woman's crotch.
At another house three narrow windows were next to one another. Each had a woman sitting on a chair. A rather plump black girl dressed in black panties and a boa that covered her droopy breasts stared vacantly at the street. Next to her was a tall girl that was as thin as a rail and so pale she was almost transparent. Her fingertips stroked her thighs and flat stomach but never touched the pale pink panties and bra. In the third window was a darker girl, of mixed race looking faintly Latin, was rubbing rouge on her distended nipples and huge aureoles; satisfied she cupped her breasts and pointed them like torpedoes and the small crowd that gathered there.
“Which one do you like the best?” Gerda asked me. I hadn't noticed till then but she had slipped her arm into mine. I considered the three prostitutes.
“The one in the middle is the prettiest but she looks like she's shooting heroin or something. I guess the one on the left” I replied, identifying the one that had put makeup on her tits.
“Me too.” She pulled my arm and we continued walking down the street. “Have you ever paid for a prostitute?”
I thought about how to answer. Would it be more manly to answer truthfully, or would that be interpreted as being disdaining of women? But I waited to long to lie. “Yes.”
“Tell me.” We had
broken out of the narrow confines of the street and Gerda sat down on a bench.
I told about
When I had finished my story we walked back to the hotel. The clerks at reception looked as suspiciously, me laden with the shopping bags with 'sex shop' conspicuous in the logo, but Gerda nonchalantly entered the elevator and pushed the button for our floor.
Back in our room Gerda ordered champagne and then went through the shopping bags. She took a package and went to the bath room. Room service arrived while she was still in there so I signed the chit and tipped (again). As the staff left Gerda reappeared from the bathroom. Still wearing her calf-length boots and jean skirt, but instead of the shirt Gerda now had a leather bustier. Straps crisscrossed the upper part of her torso leaving a naked midriff above the waist of her skirt. Gerda modeled herself to me. I liked it a lot.
Gerda sipped some champagne and the rummaged through the shopping bags. The box of desert were placed on the the coffee table. She pulled another package and tossed it into my lap.
“Put this on in there...” Gerda nodded toward the bathroom and opened the box of deserts and started nibbling an éclair.
I went to the bathroom and opened the packet; inside the paper wrapping was what looked like a cat's collar affixed on some white cardboard. I didn't understand the label—it was in Dutch—but there were some instructions on a piece of recycled paper. Again I couldn't understand what was written, but the diagrams were fairly descriptive. Pulling down my pants I took the leather strip and wrapped around the base of my penis and behind my balls. A stud clipped into a clasp and my privates were secured in their collar. I could feel the blood wanting to flow into my penis but constrained by the belt, leaving me semi-hard. I pulled the garish leather pants from around my ankles, zipped and buttoned them, and returned to the bedroom, very conscious of the bulge in my groin.
Gerda had turned off most of the lights and opened the French doors that looked over the 'platz. She was sitting in chair overlooking the dwindling crowd three floors below, with a glass of champagne in one hand and the last morsel of éclair on the chocolate stained fingers of the other.
“Let me see.” I posed before her, and she motioned for me to pull down my pants. I was conscious of the people below in the square who could just glance up and see us. The collar, the cock ring, left me partly engorged and erect, and pushed my scrotum off my thighs.
“Very nice...” Gerda smacked the last daubs of chocolate filling from her fingertips and pulled the straps off her shoulders and peeled the bustier down. Her breasts sat like dumplings on her chest, and she pinched her nipples turning them into perk tips. She reached to the floor and passed me a champagne flute.
I sipped from the glass and the bubbles tingled my tongue. Gerda pinched my prick and adjusted the strap so it didn't pinch quite pinch my balls.
“Some dessert?” She waved magnanimously and I opened the pale blue boxed from the restaurant. It was empty except for some smears of chocolate and cream on the sides.
Gerda chuckled. She screeched her chair on the wood floors to face me, and flipped up the hem of her skirt over her stomach. Between her thighs was the missing éclair with its chocolate coating and cream filling daubing her thighs. She shimmied down the chair a little and open her legs wider: a third or so of the pastry was in her and the rest protruded like a phallus.
“Come... eat...”
I got on my knees
between her legs. The inside of Gerda's thighs were silky once I licked the
them clean. The chocolate from the éclair proper smeared my cheeks. I took a
bite, and when I did so Gerda clenched so some of the filling erupted in my
mouth. I tried to pull back but she held my head forcing me to take another
bite. My mouth was stuffed and I had trouble swallowing the pastry. Gerda
pushed my head forward and I felt my lips touch the rough bristle of her pubic
hair. With the third bite the sugar of the desert mixed with the saltiness of
Gerda's wetness.
“Eat all,” she ordered.
I place my mouth over
her cunt and was about to bite the last morsel of the éclair, but then Gerda twisted
her hips and the pastry submerged into her vagina. I licked around her labia and through the
folds of her lips eating up every crumb and drip that remained extruded. My tongue rolled around the entry and was
reward with a mash of the éclair.
“Tiefer!” I probed her deeper with my tongue. The sweetness of the cream filling and
chocolate mixed with the salty acidity of Gerda’s arousal. I gripped her thighs and pressed my face
against her muskiness. She grabbed my
left hand and dragged it over her pelvis onto her thick patch of pubic
hair. My thumb found her clit and I
rotated the ball of my thumb on that tingling morsel of sensitive flesh. She groaned, her fingers gripping the hair on
the back of my head.
Gerda’s hips started to
writhe. My tongue probed and swirled
clockwise in her pussy, while my thumb worked in the opposite direction at the
same rhythm. The last of the éclair
plopped into my mouth, a sweet saline mush that I swallowed though I almost gagged
on it. Gerda’s hips gyrated faster and I plunged two fingers and my tongue deep
into her, while at the same time picking up the pace of rotation on her clit.
She clasped the wrist
of my hand that was in her, pressing it upward and guiding it to a treasured
spot. My tongue swirled, my fingers
danced, my thumb vibrated, and her hips started heaving.
“Mein Gott!”
Gerda came, her pelvis
colliding with my face, the rigidity of her body collapsing into jelly, and her
cunt erupting spurts of fluid. I thought
she was pissing on me, but she was just coming.
I don’t know how I knew it wasn’t piss…
I stopped fucking her
with my hands and mouth, and just tried to massage her down. Her sticky eruption clung to my face.
“OKAY!”
The moment was
interrupted by a cry from below.
Automatically Gerda and I looked below to the ‘platz. It was still teeming with people. We saw a woman sitting on a bench looking
upwards to our balcony, and she started clapping, her hands over head, when she
saw our glances. She yelled again.
Gerda pushed my head
back toward her pussy, and I endeavored to lick it clean but couldn’t for the
life of me make it dry.