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
27
When
I awoke the next morning I was still lying on my back. Gerda was sitting
on the edge of the bed talking on the phone… I quickly figured she was with
room service and ordering an English breakfast.
She wore a white terry-cloth hotel robe, but without a belt. I could see her profile from where I lay, and
in particular a pendulous breast, with a hillock of a puffy aureole, and peak
of a perked nipple.
Rubbing
my balls she asked if I wanted my eggs scrambled or fried: “Würden
Sie Ihre Eier zerhackt mögen?
I
couldn’t reply anyways. My mouth was
full with a plastic gag-ball Gerda had brought the
previous evening. Saliva dribbled out of
my mouth and onto my chin. The belt from
Gerda’s robe was looped around my ankles and tied to
the footboard of the bed. My wrists were
similarly restrained with handcuffs entwined around the headboard. The leather cock ring was tightly wrapped
around my privates.
“You
tickle?” Obviously I couldn’t verbalize
a reply. Gerda
ran her fingers through the hair of my armpits, and my writhing gave her an
answer. She tickled my ribs… I gushed
and was torn between drowning in my saliva or letting
it drip over my chest.
Gerda got on the bed,
astride of my torso.
“Twenty
or thirty minutes before breakfast comes. I think you are hungry now, no?”
I
nodded. She reached behind my head and
undid the ball-gag, and flipped it beside the bed. With her thumbs and forefingers she pinched
each of my nipples. Getting off the side
of the bed she sat astride my torso, with her knees digging into my
armpits. Gerda’s
fingers ran through my chest hair. Her
pelvis slid up-and-down my belly.
She
raised her hips and exposed her slit to me.
She was aroused, labia flush and slightly parted.
“You
want?”
I
didn’t have the opportunity to decline, even if I was so inclined. Gerda clambered
over me, legs holding my arms down, and planted her cunt on my mouth. I licked.
As
my mouth moved over Gerda’s pussy I was able to kick
my legs free from the restraint. Gerda gyrated her hips and slipped
her cunt up and down over my lips. I so
wanted to stick two or three finders into her moist, hot hole, but my wrists
were locked in the handcuffs.
Gerda gazed upwards
at the ceiling while my tongue played.
She was so wet, sweating her arousal on my cheeks. She reached behind her back on grasped my
cock. It was hard. When she touched it I suddenly became
conscious of my need to pee; maybe that was the reason for my morning
hard-on. Gerda
opened her robe and it fell off her shoulders but hung on her arms.
“Wachen Sie
immer dieses hornige auf?” Did I always wake up
this horny? Yes I usually woke with a
hard-on, but no it wasn’t usually this stiff.
Not that I could answer with my mouth buried in Gerda’s
muff; she tasted very musky that morning.
I kept working my mouth and tongue over and in Gerda’s
pussy and her juices washed away the spittle left from the gag-ball. She was still jerking me off with her right
hand while her left hand steadied herself on the headboard. She groaned a little as I bit her clit.
Releasing
my cock Gerda reached for her purse on the bedside
table. It fell over, some of the
contents—cigarettes, coins, receipts, some bills—spilled on the table top and
onto the floor. She lit a cigarette and
inhaled deeply, all the time gyrating her hips up-down my face. Another little orgasm caused her to
writhe. She kept rubbing her pussy on my
face, smoking.
“Ficken wir.” Yes, I wanted to
fuck too. She stubbed the cigarette,
half-smoked, out. Her hands held the
side of my head, palms cupping my ears, as Gerda
dismounted from my mouth. Her wet slit
ran over the ridge of my chin, down my chest as her knees inched backwards on
the bed. Her hair fell across my face
and, when she kissed me, strands strung between our tongues. Her pussy rubbed over my erection. I lifted my hips, tensed my cock, trying to
find her opening. Her hands still held
my head, and mine remained cuffed.
Finally the tip of my cock found her wet glory hole.
Gerda slid her pussy
down on me, and once I was into the hilt clenched and relaxed. She released her grip of my head, and rested
on her elbows which dug into my shoulders.
Her hips started ebbing forwards and backwards slowly, at first, but
then picking up a rhythm that suited her.
My face was ensconced in a tent of her hair. My need to piss was drowning my back teeth
but a load of come was building up before it in the pipleline.
“I
like your big cock,” Gerda cooed. Her back quivered and she pushed up off the
bed, another orgasm. Her started bucking
like she was riding a bronco and I tried to match her stattaco
grinding. We fucked like that for a
couple of minutes. I wanted to paw her
breasts and suck her ripe nipples.
Suddenly
there was a rap on the door.
Gerda slowed to a
trot, her hips gyrating on my cock. Her mons ground against my pelvis. She pulled the robe back onto her shoulders
and kind of wrapped around her squat body, but without a belt she was soon
exposed to at least my gaze.
“Come!” Room service unlocked the door and rolled the
breakfast cart. The man was in his late
twenties or early thirties, swarthy Mediterranean type, glanced up and quickly
looked down. The girl, in her teens, I guess a trainee, couldn’t have been over five foot and
looked kind of Asian (Indonesian?) found it harder to avert glancing at the
spectacle. Gerda
kept fucking me, grinding her pussy on my cock and against my hips, while
directing the servers on where to place our breakfast. Still mounted and screwing me Gerda handed the man a geeltje, a yellow 25 guilder note, from the
debris of her purse. Discreetly and
quickly room service disappeared, the girl looking over her shoulder as the man
closed the suite door.
Gerda pushed two
hands on my chest, and started fucking at a canter. I thrust my hips back. Her knees pushed against my rib cage,
tightening her opening and pressuring the root of my cock but opening the rest
of her cavern, for a fleeting moment, till her pussy started clenching and
releasing my length. Her cunt was magic.
“Sie wollen
kommen?” Did I want to come? Of course… my balls were full but the leather
cords was preventing any release.
“Ja.” I nodded.
Gerda nodded back,
relaxed her knees so her pussy was tight, but still pulsing. She unbuckled the straps of the cock ring and
somehow clenched extra hard and suddenly my gonads exploded and my come jetted
out into the hot, dank
We
lay with out slick and sweaty bodies gasping.
Gerda’s tits were mashed against my chest and
her pussy juices congealed like molasses in our pubes. After a minute or two she slid off my body
and rested in a hump beside me, her left arm still slung across my chest. Her buttocks, fat, wide, firm, still seemed
to tremble. Her head was in the pit of
my left arm which remained shackled to the headboard.
“Hunger?” Gerda whispered. On
cue my stomach rumbled. She sat up and
searched the contents of the bed-table before finally the key of the handcuffs
on the carpet. I was released and pulled
the gag-ball that I was still wearing like a necklace.
She
released me from the handcuffs. The metal
had rubbed into my wrists and my arms ached from being stretched. Gerda took the
white belt and tied up her robe before sitting at the table next to the cart
with our food. I started putting on my
robe but she shook her head sternly. I
sat down opposite her nude. The food was
still warm and we ate in silence. We
both were, I think, famished. She smoked
a cigarette while I finished up a bowl of fruit, looking at me intently.
“Mehr?” The big toe
scratching my balls meant she wasn’t asking if I wanted more food. I felt myself rising to the request. Pretty soon Gerda
had both feet in my crotch, rubbing the base of my dick with her arches and her
heels massaging my balls. Gerda’s hands were hidden by the table but I guessed she
was also playing with herself. My
erection was straining by the time she got up, took my hand, and led me to the
rumpled bed.
She
flopped face forward onto the bed. Her short squat legs barely touched the
carpet. Her hands pulled her buttocks
apart, exposing Gerda’s sex and anus.
I
didn’t need any more invitation. I
rubbed the head of prick around her labia making sure she was wet. Her pussy was pink and agape. She grunted when I pressed my dickhead into
that succulent hole. Holding her waist
tightly I pushed my length into her. It
slid easily. I fucked her hard, gripping
her hips. Gerda
pulled over a pillow and buried her face in it, muffling her increasingly
exacting cries.
My
prick felt like granite: hard, cold and permanent. It was one of those fuck episodes where you
just knew you weren’t going come. That
didn’t lessen the enjoyment any; it just felt like I controlled a wand that
produced magic tricks. Gerda was trickling juices all over my balls.
She
reached back and parted her buttocks again.
I mistook the invite. I pulled
out of her pussy and placed my cockhead against the puffy opening of her
asshole. Before I could enter she
squealed and twisted away, but took my penis and guided in back to the opening
of her vagina. I plunged back in. Her other hand still clasped her buttock and
I placed my thumb on her anus. She
wiggled, not away, and I inserted the digit to the knuckle and prodded it
in-and-out in sequence with fucking. She
pushed back against me and my whole thumb was in her rectum.
Gerda started
squirming when I started rotating my thumb inside her. Sometimes I could feel it almost touch my
pounding prick that was separated by only a membrane. When she started coming her
hips bucked, undulating in some waveform, only twitching my prick and encouraging
me to plough deeper and longer until the tell-tale climax clenched around me.
I
stopped.
My
prick was thrust all the way in. Her
cunt quivered up-and-down my length. Her
juices cooled and simmered, getting sticky.
Gerda’s buttocks shivered.
I
pulled out very slowly. When I was out I
mashed my prick head around her lips, and tentatively entered her again with
just the tip of my erection. Her pussy
snapped and pushed me out. The pillow
where she buried her face had a damp stain from her spittle.
* * *
We
showered again. Like the previous
evening we washed every crevice of each other’s bodies, but there were no
sexual shenanigans. After we cleaned up
we packed up our stuff and checked out of the hotel. We left the car in the hotel parking lot after
loading it up, and walked to the Rembrandthuis to
look at the Dutch grandmaster’s work.
After
viewing the artwork we made our way back to the Grand, and hit the road.