Chapter 1
Valerie R. could be termed as a girl who has just about everything. The fingers of both hands were studded with sparkling diamond rings, while the coat she wore was the most expensive mink around.
In addition to having endless material possessions, Valerie has also been selected among the world's most beautiful women on four separate occasions. She possesses a regal beauty all her own, with long, flowing black hair, violet eyes, long lashes that, when they blink a certain way, can and have brought numerous males helplessly to her knees, and a flawless peaches and cream complexion. As for her bodily endowments, she possesses what amounts more to a willowy grace than the kind of sensuousness one associates with topless dancers. But with Valerie her form fits perfectly into place. She reminds you of someone sleek and trim, like the lines of an expensive imported car, than somebody whose breasts would pop out at men on street corners.
Along with her afore mentioned assets, which are considerable, she also possesses a brilliant mind, which has endured her to some of the most distinguished and wealthiest men in the world.
She accepts her attention casually, as if she was destined from the very beginning to live the kind of life she does.
Valerie's fascinating story, as related to me on my tape recorder, follows herein:
I'm one of these girls you've heard about who was born with a gold spoon in her mouth. I guess you'd have to say that Dad was a genius and much of it, fortunately, rubbed off on me.
The first brilliant move that Dad made, before I was born, of course, was to marry Mom, who graduated from college first in her class with a business major and economic minor. When it came to business judgment she knew more than any woman I've ever met, and most men as well.
Dad was a brilliant New York physician who worked hard, determined to make that hard-earned medical degree he took at John Hopkins pay sizable dividends. With Mom's help he made it boom beyond anything he had ever dreamed of.
Just before I came along, on Mom's advice, Dad invested heavily in Texas oil. Mom read the Wall Street Journal carefully every day, while Dad was at the hospital performing operations, and her lessons proved valuable. You see, she had some relatives in Texas who had invested in oil, and in long telephone conversations with her they kept her apprised of everything that went on.
Mom had a lengthy conversation with Dad one evening when he came home tired. She explained to him the pecuniary facts of life, informing him that his opportunities were limited concerning how much he could make with his own hands, and that the great fortunes of the world were amassed by men who possessed the ingenuity to parlay the money they made through their own efforts into considerably more.
Mom argued convincingly, and let me tell you, when she argued with you, you sat up and took notice, since she was usually always right, but, anyway, she argued so persuasively that Dad finally agreed to invest a large percentage of his earnings in Texas oil.
This all happened just before I came along. And it's now perfectly understandable why I was born with a golden spoon in my mouth. Thanks to Mom's investment acumen the gushers started pouring in.
By the time I was born Mom and Dad had moved into a palatial townhouse some three blocks from Central Park and we were rolling in money. Dad slacked off in his practice, since he had so many pressing business responsibilities, opened his own office to take care of such matters, and plunged himself rigorously in investments. He played the stock market intelligently, taking Mom's advice heavily, and we were rolling in money.
Mom and Dad didn't want a big family, so after I was born they laid off the baby making routine until some twelve years after I was born, at which time my little sister Gail was born.
About the time Gail started elementary school I went away to Vassar. I wasn't really all that keen about school, but made the most of it, graduating with honors in English. At that time I had thought about becoming a writer, and I still think about it, but so far I haven't gotten any further than that. I've been too busy doing other things to find the time to concentrate.
I know about what you're thinking right now. You're wondering what some of these other things are that I just mentioned. Well, I'm sure you want to get down to the nitty-gritty by now and discuss my views toward sex, which I'm more than happy to do.
I met a lot of stuffy young wolves in college from all the prominent Ivy League. Since I've always been rich and beautiful you can imagine the kind of rush act I was subjected to at school by these guys. But I couldn't stand them. I like self-made men, which these guys weren't. As a matter-of-fact, I wouldn't even distinguish most of them by referring to them as men at all. I'd classify them for the most part as snotnosed little mommy's boys who'd been spoiled rotten.
That doesn't mean I was a cherry during my four years at Vassar, though. I fell deeply in love with one of my professors, a guy who taught a survey course on American writers. Two things turned me on about him. One was his self-assured air, and the other was his brilliance. Also, he wasn't the least bit bad looking.
He was a married man in his early thirties when I met him, and I was the one who coaxed him into paying attention to me. I dreamed up every excuse under the sun in the beginning to stay after school and talk to him.
One day he finally succumbed to my charms, as they all seem to do in the final analysis. I know it probably sounds like bragging, and perhaps it is, but all I'm doing is facing facts because that's the way it has always been and probably always will be. Even if I finally start losing my looks some day I've always got my money.
The professor, Harry was his name, and a real doll all the way, suggested the day that I really turned him on that we meet at a motel in town for our dalliance.
We did and had an absolute blast. Following a long series of French kisses, which worked us all the more into the mood, he slipped his hot shaft inside me and began pushing forward spiritedly.
I still had my cherry at that point, fighting off the advances of scores of men along with the young punks I mentioned previously, and had been planning to save it for somebody like Harry. I had always told myself that the first man to penetrate my blossomy vagina with his rod would be a handsome genius, which Harry certainly qualified as. I also figured that the first man to make it with me would be rich. Though I proved wrong on that score, I was willing to overlook that qualification, since Harry had fared so convincingly well on the other two points.
He also fared convincingly as a lovemaker, as I knew he would. He was the intelligent sensitive type, which I would prefer any day of the week to the crude chest-beating Tarzan.
Harry rocked his body superbly, varying his pace, pushing his penis into me briskly for several strokes, then controlling his actions by slowing things down so that he wouldn't orgasm prematurely. As a sexy man who enjoyed wholesome sex release, he wanted to see to it that he derived every possible benefit from his orgasm.
Sure, those first few strokes hurt, and the blood splattered from where he had punctured my cherry, but that didn't alarm me one bit. I'd read many books on the subject of sex with the female, and was perfectly prepared for everything that happened.
He drove his prick into my tight snatch, continuing to form a wedge with his brilliant movements as he pushed himself ever closer to the big moment of orgasm.
Harry cupped his fingers resolutely around my breasts, squeezing the taut nipples gently yet firmly, as he continued penetrating my pink-walled vagina with his pecker.
As he shoved himself into the final throes of orgasmic release he planted his tongue fervently inside my mouth. As our tongues splashed our bodies hurled together forcefully as we both neared orgasm.
As I felt the warm wet load of semen released from his hard dong and into my waiting nest, my own explosion occurred simultaneously. I had met his successful charge with one of my own.
Harry gasped and sighed as his pent-up storage load was released in a flowing sea of white.
Things were still for the next few minutes, with Harry working back into the passion of late afternoon by kissing my earlobes gently. Once he sufficiently caught his breath enough to where he wanted to resume activities, he parted my legs gently with his fingers and dropped his head downward between my legs.
His smooth, passionate lips pressed against my pussy lips resoundingly. He kissed them deliciously as my whole body came alive once more with a brisk sense of resurgence. Once more I was the same excited little girl I had been when he was undressing me and kissing my breasts, preparing me for the great times that lay ahead.
Several explosive vagina kisses later I was moist with excitement and my body was spasming noticeably, awaiting more developments. Now it was his tongue which was suddenly driving itself with accelerated eagerness between my legs, driving fervently over my vagina.
"Oh, I want you," I gasped, "suck that cunt, I want it, I want it, I want it bad, keep it up, suck, suck, suck."
His fingers squeezed my pliant buttocks cheeks as his tongue attacked resourcefully, driving me zealously toward climax.
As he stepped up his pace, moving forward with ever heightening swiftness, my furry triangle, moist from the adventure he had planted inside it with his cock stabs, kisses, and passionate sucks, felt like a burning bush.
His diligent tongue massages were pushing me ever closer toward that climatic moment. And the closer I drew the faster he sucked. The anticipation accelerated with every stab as my entire body was swept away in a blazing passion of sucking excitement.
"Oh, I'm closer, I'm close, I'm as close as you can get," I gasped. "I'm gonna shoot in your mouth, keep on sucking, I'm just about there, oh."
My triangle thereupon burst and he collected my load with diligent enthusiasm, sucking my vaginal walls dry as my legs trembled.
Such ended my first exciting afternoon of lovemaking. Even though we both wanted to stay longer, and Harry confided that he would have liked nothing better than spending the entire night in my presence, making love until we fell asleep from exhaustion, he told me he had to get back to his family. He was fearful of his wife's suspicions, and knew what a calculated risk he was taking by having an affair with one of his students. But his desire to make love to me overrode his fears.
You know, by playing it very discreetly, Harry and I kept up our affair during my entire four years at school. We made certain to space out our lovemaking intervals, as well as the places in which we enjoyed them. That way we lessened the likelihood of getting caught in an embarrassing situation.
Once I graduated from college I was faced with the highly unpleasant task of saying goodbye to the man I loved. He made it crystal clear to me at the very outset of our relationship that he would be sticking by his wife and kids, and under no circumstances would consider leaving them for me, as much as he loved me.
"I've made a commitment and I'm going to stick by it," was the way that he put it.
You know, that was one of the things I admired about him the most. Even though he was so powerfully drawn to me that he would engage in a four year affair with me while I was going to school, he wasn't about to forsake his wife and kids.
We had sex one last time at a tiny motel several miles away from school the day after graduation. Once more that brisk, diligent, effective penis that had brought me so many thrills during the past four years was shining like a beacon.
He worked his rapier-like spear in and out of me while my body twisted enthusiastically with his every movement. It was hard to face the prospect of losing him in that we communicated in bed so well. We were so sensitively attuned to each other's movements that we were like two mind readers in the act of spirited intercourse.
Finally we cried and said good-bye, parting with a tender kiss that would have to last both of us forever.
Then I went home, where Mom, Dad, and Gail were preparing a lengthy European vacation that would last during most of the summer. I liked to travel and looked forward to the trip with great interest.
Since my folks were never far off, didn't succumb to the charms of the many men who tried to flirt with me. Dad had a theory about romances for me. It was that, unless the guy was at a certain pecuniary and social station,-it would be a bad risk for me to get involved with him, what with my wealthy social and financial position.
We came back to New York refreshed. I wondered what I ought to do with my life at that point. I thought about writing a book but knew, in the final analysis, that I didn't possess the necessary degree of patience and perseverance to do the job at that point. Maybe later but not then. As of then I had a passionate flair for living.
Some two weeks after we returned my father announced that he had to take a trip to Texas to personally look after his oil investments. He made several such trips during the course of every year.
We took two huge suites at the Shamrock-Hilton Hotel in Houston. I traveled alone with Dad, as Mom and Gail stayed home behind us. During the flight to Houston he spoke with me about finding the right kind of man to get interested in.
"You could very easily find the right kind of guy around Houston," he smiled. "There are all kinds of eligible young men just rolling in their own oil. Keep your eyes open."
His suite was two floors removed from mine, which meant that I could maneuver to the extent I wanted to.
Our second night in Houston we stopped at the Playboy Club for dinner and drinks. At one point, as Dad conversed with oil friends, and as I sat there trying to pretend I was interested in what they were saying when, in reality, I was bored, he called over a broad-shouldered, handsome, sandy-haired young man in a dark brown suit. He had a drink in one hand and wore a white ten gallon hat on his head.
He looked like he might be a little on the crude side, but was interesting nonetheless. I was glad Dad was calling him over and hoped that I would be introduced.
It turned out that what Dad had had in mind was introducing us in the first place. His name was Bart and he bowed graciously after Dad formally introduced us, kissing my hand.
"Would you care to dance, Valerie?" he asked after we had talked for a few brief minutes and the band was striking up.
"I'd love to," I smiled.
I don't know what was getting into me, but I felt those same hungry pangs of itchy desire between my legs that had been there in such great abundance with Harry.
The thing that really surprised me was that Bart was anything but the kind of guy it usually took to cause me to react in such a way. As I've told you before, I've got a lot to offer a man and know it. Consequently the man has got to have a lot to offer me as well. I like a guy with a lot of sophistication and sensitivity, like my friend Harry was, even though he wasn't rich.
Bart was kind of like the rough tough cowboy with a heart of gold. But there was something boyish and charming about him, like he was the kind a girl could expect to mother, but would have herself a ball while she was doing it.
He was anything but a spectacular dancer, being a little on the clumsy side, but strangely enough that didn't bother me either. And through it all a torrid flaming heat of passion surfaced between my legs with every passing moment.
I started thinking to myself what he would look like naked. Those broad shoulders would look nice stripped, and he had a body both powerful and supple. Yes, he would be appealing in the buff, I concluded.
We danced and talked until my father suggested that we leave. But before we did Bart asked if he might call on me for lunch the following noon. I suggested and was a little burned up at Dad for suggesting that we leave at that particular interval.
As we got into the cab and started back to the hotel, after bidding Bart and the rest of the men goodnight, I expressed my displeasure to Dad for pulling me away from Bart.
"First you were proudly introducing me to him," I pointed out. "Then after I've gotten acquainted with him and have learned to like him a little you pull me away. I just don't get it."
"You foolish girl," my old man laughed at me like I was some tiny little infant. "You haven't learned to understand the subtle little nuances of romance yet. I guess you've been too cloistered in books, airplanes, and yachts to learn to make some distinctions. I want young Bart to know that you're not the kind of girl who will just take up with him with no strings attached. I wanted to make the introduction to see if he would exhibit an interest. Naturally with your overpowering beauty he did exhibit such an interest, which was certainly of no surprise to me. But there's a right way and a wrong way to snare the right kind of man, somebody like Bart who is in demand all over the country with offers from the most beautiful of women, and I had to be careful that made the right approach. Well, we did and he's interested. And he also knows that you'll be anything but a pushover."
"I guess I can't argue with you," I laughed, embarrassed that I had come on angrily. The old man definitely had some smarts, and not all of them came from Mom.
"Do you know who Bart is?" he asked with a knowing smile.
"I suppose he's mixed up in oil," I shrugged.
"Oil and cattle. His father died three months ago, leaving young Bart as one of the richest men in the world."
I gulped so hard that I almost spat out my Adam's Apple. Dad wasn't kidding when he told me that I should set my sights only on the most eligible of men.
Lunch went smoothly the following afternoon. After we finished eating he ordered beer for himself, while I ordered martinis. He held his drinks well, while, although I hate to admit it, I actually got a little on the tipsy side, whereupon I began coasting.
He went back to my suite with him and I asked him in, intending to fix coffee for both of us to bring us out of our semi-haze induced by boozing it.
As I started to pour the coffee hot he looked at me with a powerful sense of admiration. His eyes were a deep liquid blue, and when they caught you in the right light, such as then, they could have an hypnotic effect.
The martinis coupled with his boyishly dynamic presence caused me to become starry-eyed. As I got set to pour him a cup of black coffee he walked over to me and threw his strong arms around me.
I melted like butter in them, and next thing I knew my arms were trembling with anxiety as he pressed his lips solidly against mine. No sooner did he break our kiss than I plodded forward, puckered my lips as convincingly as I knew how, and delivered a smoldering kiss against his.
"Oh, baby, I was sold on you that first second that your poppa introduced us," he sighed.
Following several more brisk rounds of quick lip kisses, he worked his tongue inside my mouth eagerly, letting our tongues splash together with conviction.
After he broke our kiss he threw his arm around me protectively and led me into the bedroom. I had been planning on playing it cooler than that, in the way that my father had suggested, toying with him and getting his hot Texas balls in an uproar before finally succumbing, and only then under my terms.
But even the most carefully laid plans have to be scrapped when your heart takes over for your brains. And that was precisely what was happening right then and there.
He took my clothes off quickly while he panted like a steam engine, anxious to get things rolling in the hay. He didn't have Harry's smooth sophistication when it came to removing my clothes, or when it came to the subtleties of lovemaking, but he had a fumbling boyishness about him that made him highly appealing. And, of course, there were his millions, which didn't dampen my enthusiasm either.
Once he succeeded in getting my clothes off he addressed himself to the task of removing his own, which he did in swifter time than it took him to remove mine.
I got my first look at the body I had longed to see nude. It was just as I had anticipated it would be, muscular and supple, ready for all the action it could absorb.
He charged forward at full speed, not wasting anymore time on preliminaries, eager to get to the main event, that being the moment at which his long dick went to work inside my snatch.
My red moist vaginal walls trembled with a sense of eagerness as he drove his cock into me for the first time. It was long and swollen with excitement, ever eager to dispel itself inside me.
With piston-like effectiveness his driving rod thrust into me, proceeding with such force that the bed rocked and my body swayed in every conceivable direction.
The first few massive forward strokes hurt me, but soon I reconciled myself to the blinding pace he was setting, and the quicker and more effectively he rifled his huge spear into me the more excited I became with all that was happening.
"Oh, I love that tightness," he gasped as his body pushed back and forth as he forged his cock into me. "So nice and tight. I just knew you'd be a great fuck and you're even better than I imagined possible."
His glittering testimonial made me feel all the better, and gave me that much more desire to please him, to see that every ounce of pleasure was drained out of him before he distilled his juices inside my waiting snatch.
He cupped his fingers around my buttocks cheeks, holding them firmly in place as his cock continued stabbing me with blinding speed as the bed springs rocked. He delivered so much propulsive force in his movements that his balls would scrape along the edge of my ass from the force of his body rocking.
As he drew ever closer to the moment of explosion, he began sputtering more noticeably and his face reddened. He tightened his lips with grave concern as he devoted himself to every powerful thrust into my sizzling pussy, which was getting ready to explode itself.
The sweat began to creep down both sides of Bart's face as he kept up his brutal assault on my vagina. Pretty soon he removed his clenched fingers from my buttocks and began delivering stinging openhanded slaps to my ass cheeks.
"You're my little doggie, and as good a fuck as there is alive, here in Texas or anywhere else," he chuckled.
He might have been having a blast delivering stiff slaps to my ass cheeks while his rapier cock continued stabbing my snatch with all he had. He apparently was confusing me with some of his cattle on a range, and I almost expected the moment to arrive wherein he would rope me like he would some bleating calf.
"Oh, this feels so good, oh, my cock, it's itching, oh, is it itching," he gasped as he accelerated his blinding clip. "I want that box, I want to explode in it, I wanna be your man, oh, so tight, oh, that ass, I love the way it moves around."
And in the meantime he continued delivering those ringing slaps to my ass, causing my buttocks cheeks to redden. He kept up that blinding pace that was carrying him rapidly toward orgasm.
"Oh, little doggie, I'm gonna shoot now, just get ready for that hot juice," he warned me with a gasp, "I'm gonna shoot it all into that cute cunt of yours."
As he announced his intention of imminently flooding my love nest with his white nectar, the impulsive itch inside me was growing more uncontrollable than ever.
Doggedly he continued persevering, continuing to take his openhanded slaps at my ass, while his prick continued rifling back and forth inside me. And the itch inside my box grew so unbearable that I knew release was on the way within seconds.
My legs spasmed and my whole body began to rock as I raised myself forward to meet his spirited fucking movements.
He stopped slapping me long enough to grab hold of my buttocks cheeks, clinging tighter than ever. At that same point he let out a lengthy prolonged sigh, which clued me in on what was about to occur.
"Oh, I'm gonna juice you, my prick's tickling," he gasped. "Now you're gonna get it. You're gonna get creamed."
As I felt that warmly inviting cum spurt from that long dagger-like cock and into my waiting joyhole the unbearable itchiness totally pervaded my body as my pussy juice deluged at the same point that his prick was dislodging itself of juice.
"Oh, we did it on target," he said triumphantly, smiling and laughing after all of his juice had been dispeled. "This is great. We really made it. We fucked like a couple of pros."
That was the start of a beautiful romance. I made sure, in spite of my early enthusiasm for Bart, that I kept a certain degree of discreet distance so that he wouldn't feel he could take advantage of me. In that regard Dad had been right.
I played things to strategic perfection, finally getting him to marry me. It felt great to be at a pinnacle of power less than one year after I had graduated from college.
For about two years things went fine in our marriage, but then we started running into some problems. For one thing, I'm a New Yorker and essentially a city girl, while Bart was very much the country boy who made good and was forced to spend long periods of time in tiny little Texas communities looking after all his financial interests.
Although he made it a point to shower me with all the material luxuries I could ever want, I started getting bored for New York, big city life, and jaunts to vacation retreats like Acapulco and San Juan.
Slowly but surely I recognized that we were drifting apart, not through either my fault or his, but through a sincere difference in life style. He needed somebody who fit more snugly into his kind of life, and I needed the same in my own case.
We finally decided to divorce, parting on good terms. To illustrate his point he amicably agreed to a fantastic settlement which left me with a small fortune and the freedom to go wherever and with whomever I pleased.
I decided I'd go to Europe to live for awhile. Since I'd had enough of country life I wanted to get back to the cosmopolitan world I had been brought up in. And, I'll also add, I was hoping to meet some interesting man to get interested in.
I wound up dividing most of my time between an apartment I maintained in Rome and the French Riviera, where I made a point to attend parties given in the in circles of international society.
One evening I was invited to attend a dinner party given at the home of one of the world's leading art dealers in the French Riviera. The royalty and wealth of the world rubbed elbows there.
At that point I met one of the most fascinating men I had ever had the privilege of meeting in my life. He was dressed immaculately in a dark blue suit and silver cuff links, whereas most of the men present were attired in tux and tails, even though such had not been formally required. He was in his late forties and had alert, steel-like grey eyes that immediately drew me to him. He had a long mane of white hair and clear golden skin tanned somewhat by the French sun.
"Who is that man?" I asked a girl friend of mine who was also present at the gala affair.
"Don't you know?" she looked at me as if I was crazy.
"No, but he definitely looks familiar. I've seen him somewhere."
"I should hope you have," she laughed. "He's had his picture and name plastered in magazines and his name plastered in newspapers all over."
Then she told me his name and I nodded instantly with recognition, feeling foolish that I hadn't recognized him right away. I'll just call him Alex since I don't want his actual name to get out. Anyhow, Alex, as I'll call him, was fresh from three triumphs on Broadway. A highly versatile talent, he had written one play, a three act comedy that was an immediate success, produced and directed another play, and directed and co-starred in yet a third. He had started out as a film actor, but had become disenchanted with the Hollywood phony cinematic meat market with which he was forced to associate, and had gone to New York virtually penniless, having struggled as a writer and director before finally hitting it big.
I recalled having seen him one evening at one of his plays, just after my divorce from Bart had become final and before I had departed for Europe.
He was a widower, I recalled, and some of the most interesting women in the world had wooed him. Now that he had hit it big on Broadway he was worth Jots of money, but probably not as much money as I was worth. But that didn't bother me. He intrigued me, bearing the stamp of a creative genius. And like I told you, it had always been my secret ambition to become a writer anyway.
Somehow I had to get to know him. I noticed scores of beautiful women young and middle-aged talking to him. Then he would gradually ease his way away from their presence and go off on his own. It didn't surprise me since I had learned from reading about him that he was a loner, which is anything but unusual for a highly creative person anyway.
I stood off by myself, ignoring a few flirtatious glances shot my way by several young men, concentrating instead on Alex.
At one point I watched him excuse himself from a group of people and walk over to the bar to obtain a refill. I decided it was time to make my move, so I wolfed down the remainder of my drink and walked over to the bar to get a refill of my own.
"Hello," he smiled as I walked past him.
"Good evening," I said, handing my glass to the bartender, who quickly refilled it.
"Would you care to take a walk in the patio, young lady?" he asked in a charming, resonant tone.
"I'd be happy to."
"I'll bet you don't even know who I am," he said as he took my hand and led me off, grinning widely.
"Should I?" I decided to test him, since by his expression I sensed that he wanted to retain a measure of anonymity.
"You bet you shouldn't. I've been running away from talkative young ladies all evening who have been boring me by asking me a lot of fool questions about myself."
We walked and he said very little. When he conversed it was always about something mundane, like the color of the sky or the brightness of the evening. But, ironically enough, when he said these things he gave them a style and a dignity that nobody else making the same statements could match.
About the time we got through with our drinks he looked at me and said softly:
"You know, I'm getting bored with this whole stuffy affair. What do you say we leave?"
"But they'll be serving dinner soon."
"Oh, so what. I'll take you to dinner at a charming little restaurant a block from where I live. I'm getting tired of all these clattering females making over me like I'm somebody great. I'd prefer to preserve my tranquility."
I wouldn't have left under those circumstances with just anybody, but, then again, Alex wasn't just anybody. He was a fiercely independent genius who was fascinating me more just standing by my side and uttering an occasional word than any other man I had ever met could even by standing on his head with a hard-on.
We walked to a little sidewalk cafe that I had passed many times but had never thought of going inside of. A little man played an accordion in a sleepy darkened corner of the place, which looked for all intent and purpose like it was closed, even though it was not.
We sat down and had a full course dinner there, being waited on by a heavy set little man with a walrus mustache and a big smile.
When we finished Alex suggested that we go up to his room. I was looking forward to seeing the place where he lived. Much to my astonishment, however, it was a small upstairs apartment that overlooked the beach.
I immediately got the impression that it was a creator's quarters judging by the typewriter in the middle of the living room and the stacks of books and papers, some of which had lines through them and crossings. Cigarette butts lined the ash trays that were sprinkled all over the room. It looked in large part as if a cyclone had hit it.
"As you can see, I've been doing a lot of work lately," he gestured to the chaotic scene in front of us. "In fact, I had to cease working to go to that drab affair where we met. But I shouldn't call it that drab, I really shouldn't, since I did meet you there."
"Thank you," I smilingly acknowledged his compliment.
"Let me show you the view upstairs. It's far more impressive than what you see in this cluttered work room."
I walked behind him up a narrow flight of stairs. He took me into the bedroom. Beyond it rested a picture window, which was flung open, permitting a breeze to filter in from the water. I watched the water beyond, jostling restlessly.
Then, as I stood there admiring the beauteous view of the water and the night, he clasped his arms around me. Not in the tough manner that Bart had, but in a very gentle way. He leaned forward and let his lips make steady impact against mine.
"Oh, you're so lovely, just like a dream," he whispered as he continued to hold me. "How lucky I was to meet you at that drab party. And to think I almost didn't go at all. I just must take your clothes off and make love to you properly. I just must."
"Please do," I murmured prayerfully.
To show him how strongly inclined I was toward pleasing him I threw myself down on the bed, giving him a good view of my curled, sensuous legs. As he looked at me his eyes widened, and when my eyes dropped down between his legs I saw the refreshing sight of his penis inflating with passion.
"I must undress you," he said in an almost prayer-like silence.
I laid back and my body trembled slightly with feelings of anxiety. He stripped off my dress carefully and slowly, enjoying his chore with great pleasure. Once he finished unzipping it and pulled it off, he let his fingers zero in skillfully on my breasts, which he ran his fingers over smoothly.
The longer his smooth, artistic fingers made contact with my boobs the hotter I got. He observed how warm I was becoming, and finished stripping me naked.
He pulled my panties down my legs, removing them from my body and setting them next to my clothes on a nearby chair. Now Alex was set to go into the fineries of sophisticated lovemaking.
Alex slipped his fingers inside my moist, hairy twat, which longed to receive attention from him. His fingers worked their way inside the innermost crevices of my mound as the intense feelings within me appreciably accelerated.
"You're so moist down there," he smiled gently as the refreshing breeze continued filtering in through the open window.
"I'm ready for anything you want to do," I sighed.
Then he did something I'll never forget. He gave me the most thorough tongue bath that it is possible for a man to provide a woman. Alex began by dropping his tongue next to my buttocks.
With soft but sweeping movements Alex came into contact with my buttocks, tonguing them, depositing his saliva on them as he ran his tongue over them thoroughly. Then he used his teeth to nibble on my ass cheeks. And all the while I continued growing hotter under the exhilarating pace he set.
He finally worked his torrid tongue inside my anus, flicking upward with authority, seeing to it that he stabbed his tongue up into my asshole as high as it would go.
My ass cheeks began spasming from side to side as he kept up his speedy exercise, massaging me with brisk strokes, moving my pussy ever closer to the big moment of orgasm.
When he saw how hot I was becoming he placed his fingers against my arms and gently turned me around. Then he ran his fingers once more over my burning vaginal bush as he thrust his head down between my breasts and sucked on them thoroughly.
"Oh, keep sucking, keep sucking me," I sighed. "Give it to me until I explode. I want you, I want you."
He kept up his explosive tongue massage of my breasts for the next few minutes, then decided it was time to put his tongue to work on my box. He could tell from the obvious manner in which I was panting that I was highly desirous of exploding fast.
Alex exercised his tongue like a skillful torpedo, stepping up his pace and massaging my buttocks cheeks simultaneously as he drove me ever closer to the big moment.
"Oh, just a few more strokes," I gasped, "I'm just about to shoot. Oh, oh, just a few more strokes. Keep sucking, you cuntlicker, you beautiful cuntlicker."
At that point my juices bolted into his waiting mouth. My body tingled with liberated delight as he gobbled down every drop of my womanly nectar.
But he wasn't through, not by a longshot. His next move was to do something he hadn't given himself time to do earlier. He pulled off his clothes, revealing a slim, handsome body that turned me on all the more for action.
He pumped up and down on his elongated dick for a few seconds, then started tonguing my toes, taking turns sucking on them individually. Then he moved upward to my ears, sucking on my ear lobes, then kissing my ears.
By that time we were both steamed up with passion that it was time to move on to other things.
"Let's go down on each other," he suggested. "I want you sucking my peter while I'm licking this lovely furry snatch."
"Whatever you say," I winked.
I would have done anything with him. Nothing is dirty if you dig the guy you're doing it with enough.
He positioned his body across from mine and went to work skillfully on my box, letting his tongue move sweepingly in the same thorough, talented manner he had employed before.
While his tongue darted blindingly against my snatch I let my tongue sweep up and down his hard rod. In the meantime I put my fingers to work on his balls, which were swelling with excitement as I sucked his cock.
The tempo accelerated briskly on the part of both of us. We reached the point swiftly enough to where we were able to talentedly match each other stroke for stroke as we pushed each other's passions to the brink with purposeful sucking.
I exploded once, which caused him to get that much more excited, and to suck me all the swifter once he returned to his cunt sucking. And the faster he was inclined to suck me, the faster in return I put my tongue to work on his cock.
Soon we were moving down the stretch together, both trembling with sweaty passion as we neared climax.
This time we shot at the same impactful moment. As the hot sea of white lava bolted out of the end of his stick, the juice shot out of my pussy once more.
We ended up making love during most of the remainder of the evening. The next time around he exploded his throbbing penis inside my pussy. But our first time together was unforgettable. There's something charismatic about your first orgasm with a man you really love.
After that climactic evening we were so hooked on each other that there was no way to separate us. Several weeks later after a whirlwind courtship we were married.
We went to Rome, where we moved into an apartment. Even though he was a stickler about not being disturbed during the day, when he devoted his attentions almost exclusively to work, I enjoyed being around him so much that I never got bored.
When Alex finished the play he was working on, we left our beautiful little Rome apartment, our private little lovenest, and traveled to New York, where his play went immediately into production.
We ended up spending a full year in New York, during the entire run of the play, which proved highly successful. Hollywood bought the story rights and asked Alex to do the screenplay, so we were immediately off to the cinema capital, where we were forced to hold court for a bunch of brownnosers and sycophants of the industry.
The dull, synthetic people we encountered in the industry bored us to tears, and we could hardly wait until Alex finished his work there so we could get back to Rome.
With all the money that Alex had made from his successes, and due to the fact that he was tired from all the work he had done in New York and in California, he needed a rest.
So we took a trip, through the French Riviera, where we had met, to Austria, Paris. He and I shared each other in passionate lovemaking many times.
When I returned with him to Rome I learned that I was pregnant, which made me enormously happy, since one of my major goals in life had been to have a child by Alex.
Nine months later the child arrived on schedule, a little girl we named Diane. Those were probably, in thinking back, the happiest days of my life, those first early days when we were bringing up Diane.
Alex began to concern me in time, however, due to the way that he would work rigorously for hours, then want to engage in passionate lovemaking all night or almost all night long.
He was particularly talented at giving me tongue action, after which he would either want to explode inside my box or for me to suck his cock to climax.
I got concerned because some days the circles underneath his eyes were so dark that it appeared he was ready to pass out at any moment. But he would always recover satisfactorily in time to want to make love to me either that night or in the near future.
There were times when I would tell him to slow down and take things at a more leisurely pace, but he normally shrugged my suggestions off, telling me that he thrived on activity.
I liked the fact that he was active, but was concerned about him overdoing. As he neared the end of his work on a new play, which he was slated to take to New York with him soon, he worked into the wee hours of the morning.
He would wake me up in the middle of a sound sleep as he came into the room. The moment my body would commence stirring he would look at me and say:
"How about giving your old man some sex before he gets some sleep?"
I would always accede to his wishes, since I loved expressing myself in a meaningful physical way.
Finally he finished his play and was ready to leave for New York. Two days before we were slated to leave with Diane, planning to stay with my folks while we were there, he insisted that we spend the better part of a day making love in bed.
We had the opportunity in that Diane had gone off to a birthday party being given by a friend, which left us completely alone.
Well, we did just about everything. He gave me one of his patented tongue exhibitions, we sixty-nined, and he shot off his anxious rod inside my nest.
At one point, right after he had gone off in my box, he collapsed next to me on the bed with a gasp. He looked extra tired, even more tired than ever as he finished.
I figured he would recover momentarily, but when he continued to lie there limply next to me, his face chalky white, his body trembling slightly, I became concerned about his condition.
I shook him by the shoulder.
"Dear, what's the matter?" I asked with mounting alarm.
Then his body began to shake out and he let out one long tremulous gasp. Everything then became limp again, after which I was unable to rouse him.
I got on the phone and called emergency, asking that an ambulance be sent over.
The ambulance arrived a few brief minutes later, but it was too late to do him any good. He was dead on their arrival from a heart attack!
My terrible fears had been vindicated. I had been afraid of what would happen to him from the combination of overwork and too much sex. He fell by the wayside in the same manner as have many other geniuses like him. His passions had victimized him-his creative passions during the day and his endless sexual passions at night.
I was crushed for months after that. I wouldn't have cared if I'd lived or died, despite all the money I had from the settlement from Bart and the inheritance I received from Alex, which proved substantial, since he had made a great deal from his play efforts in a few years, and had spent very little, if it hadn't been for Diane.
But money could never replace the man I loved, and only my little girl managed to help pull me through, since I knew I just couldn't let her down.
At Alex's funeral his older sister, his only surviving relative, informed me of a secret that Alex had kept from me. She confided that he had had a heart condition during most of his adult life, and that she had always been concerned about him overtaxing himself.
Hearing about that made me feel all the more guilty about having had so much sex with him. Here he had a serious health problem and I was unwittingly aggravating it by involving myself with him sexually on so many occasions.
When Diane became old enough to start first grade I decided to leave Rome and return to New York. Even though Mom and Dad, very sympathetic about my losing Alex, offered both Diane and me a chance to stay with them, I decided instead to take an apartment, wanting to cut it on my own and bring up my little girl my way.
I threw myself into local charity activities and volunteer political work in order to make my life meaningful, and make it easier to forget the sorrows of losing Alex.
Just when I was trying to remove myself from a darkened wilderness, I started seeing more of my little sister, who all of a sudden wasn't little at all anymore.
My sister Gail, at eighteen, had turned into the most curvaceous, gorgeous young blonde I had ever seen. It was a thrill to be seen with her, looking so sparkling with her blonde locks waving in the wind and exhibiting deep blue eyes and electrically clear skin.
When she graduated from high school I offered to take her on a trip. I felt she was entitled to a treat, just like I had received after I graduated from college.
It turned out that she had visited Europe the preceding summer, so I offered to take her somewhere that I hadn't been to for quite some time-the Caribbean, where we would go island hopping and see Nassau, Jamaica, and Bimini.
She was more than happy to go with me, and I was more than happy to have her company. I liked the youthful, vibrantly alive manner with which she would express herself. Yet, on the other hand, she acted very maturely, and conversed about intelligent subjects.
I wanted to be alone with her, so I left Diane behind in the care of my parents when it was time for us to leave.
We stopped off at Nassau first, where we acquired rich, golden tropical suntans. It was ego flattering to both of us that we attracted more attention than anybody else when we would go out on the beach together in our skimpy white bikinis.
As we got ready to leave Nassau for Jamaica, the next stop on our trip, I noticed myself getting noticeable sexual vibrations toward my beautiful young sister. I recall sneaking glances at her almost nude, sparklingly brown body as she lay on her stomach at poolside of the hotel where we were staying.
A tingle of exhilaration surfaced in the pit of my stomach, transmitting itself quickly between my legs to my restless snatch, as I focused my eyes on those trim, lithe legs.
I did my best to tell myself that I was only imagining things, and the first few times I got the inclination to examine her body I looked away quickly.
But by the time we got to Jamaica and we started spending the better part of our days at Doctor's Cove Beach in Montego Bay, it became increasingly clear that I was feeling much more than feelings of sisterly admiration toward her.
I found myself experiencing the same kind of tense feelings that I always got anytime I was anxious for sex with a man I liked. It was an overall restlessness that eventually ended up centering between my legs. Whenever she would look the other way I would sneak a quick glance in her direction. When I wasn't getting turned on by those beautiful tanned legs I would focus my eyes on her captivating breasts, which looked so firm and delectable. I kept wishing that I had the guts or the opportunity to touch them.
Our second day in Montego Bay my strong sex feelings became so pronounced that I could think of nothing else. I kept trying to banish the thoughts from my mind, or tell myself that I was simply imagining things. But after awhile I realized that I was only conning myself, which left two options-either suffer with my feelings and try and keep Gail from finding out about them, or take a risk of alienating her and precipitating the possibility of great embarrassment coming to me in the family by yielding to my emotional and physical impulses by trying to put the make on her.
As we walked sun-drenched in the late afternoon sun from the beach to the hotel where we were staying across the street, my thoughts began weighing heavily on what I would do. My cunt was absolutely burning up with sexual anticipation, so keen was I to give her a roll in the hay.
Never in my life had I looked with such fondness on the possibility of running my tongue and fingers over a woman's breasts. Nor had I ever looked at the prospect of running my tongue against a woman's warm, blazing vagina as I did then.
Naturally the whole thing seemed all the more incredible and provocative since it was my own younger sister toward whom I felt this strongly. Any feelings like those I then harbored, directed toward another woman, would have caused me aggravation, but with Gail everything was made double frustrating.
Yet through it all, through all the frustration, there was something strangely romantic in a highly off beat way about getting turned on by your own sister.
Every time she turned her head as I walked along with her I would steal a quick glance at her form. The brown coppery glow of her body made it even more appealing than usual.
I was infatuated with the construction of her buttocks, tucked so firmly secure underneath her bikini bottom. My fingers became itchy with an electrifying desire to run my fingers over them, to cup them over her ass cheeks in the way that my departed husband Alex had so often run his fingers over my buttocks when he was pumping his meaty doing into me.
We got back to our room and Gail quickly announced:
"I've just gotta take a shower. I've gotta get all this gooey sweat off of my body."
"You look absolutely beautiful with that tan, my dear," I told her, my heart fluttering rapidly as I looked at her.
"Thank you. You look absolutely great yourself," she gave me her warmest smile.
Those kind words from her caused me to become all the more excited. Could she actually be telling me that she liked my looks? No, I quickly dismissed the thoughts, as badly as I wanted to believe them. After all, I was her older sister and had paid her a compliment, so she was only being nice.
My eyes remained frozen on her as she unbuckled her bikini top, letting her pendulous white breasts fall free. I noticed the color contrast immediately between her protected breasts and the rest of her brown texture.
Then her fingers went nimbly to work on her bikini bottom, which she wiggled out of, letting me see her hairy golden-thatched lovenest and her white buttocks, which also contrasted with the rest of her stunning brown form.
"Well, that shower's waiting," she smiled.
I watched those cute buttocks wiggle as she sauntered off demurely toward the bathroom. She turned the water on and I observed her from the distance stepping into the shower.
My body began shifting uncomfortably in the bed as I sat there listening to the water run in the bathroom. Seeing that body in the nude was too much for me to calmly absorb that afternoon, in view of the way I felt.
Without even thinking about it I undid my own bikini bottom, let it drop to the floor, and put my fingers to work inside my box, stroking away briskly.
I closed my eyes and imagined Gail's beautiful nude form before me. I imagined myself touching those wonderful pendulous breasts that looked so inspiring to me.
As I continued toying with my twat, pushing myself ever closer to explosion, Gail suddenly called to me from the shower.
"Valerie, dear, can you give me a hand," she called.
I got up from the bed, my body still trembling from the excitement I had provided it through masturbation. I suddenly realized how silly I must have looked, what with my bikini top still intact and my bottom off. In a reckless spirit I undid the bikini top, tossing it to the floor, where it rested next to my bikini bottom. I got up from the bed and headed into the bathroom.
Gail gave me a smile of delight as she caught her first glimpse of my totally nude body as I walked into the bathroom. She shut off the shower water immediately.
"Would you be kind enough to dry me off?" she asked.
My heart stopped and I paused reflectively before doing anything. She was pushing my aroused emotions to the absolute brink. I wanted her and here she was asking me to towel her off. If she only knew how badly I wanted to touch her body, how intimately I wanted to get to know her.
I finally picked up the towel. My breath was heavier than I wanted it to be, something I couldn't seem to control, in spite of how badly I wanted to.
She stepped nimbly out of the tub. A wide grin began spreading itself across her entire face. I wondered what was causing her to grin in such a manner. My heart pounded thunderously as I moved the towel forward and applied it to her skin.
"Oh, that feels good," she smiled. "Go ahead, honey. Drop the towel if you want to and play with my breasts if you want to. Go ahead. You don't have to be bashful. Touch them."
"What are you trying to say?" I dropped the towel and looked at her, my mouth hanging open with shock.
"Just this. I've seen you oogling my body the last few days. There's nothing to be ashamed if you like it. Lots of girls have liked it and have told me so. A few of them have even made love to it. In fact, I don't mind telling you that I like yours as well. I'm real glad you had the foresight to come in here naked. It makes everything so much cozier, so much easier."
"Oh, Gail," I swooned, not knowing what else to say as my stomach swirled with tense excitement.
"I'll make the first move," Gail smiled. "I'm not ashamed of my feelings for you, and you shouldn't be ashamed of your feelings for me."
She slipped her fingers against my breasts, running them over them with smooth, massaging strokes. Gail squeezed my nipples a few times. Then she puckered her thick red lips and pushed them forward toward mine.
They met mine with sweeping passion as my heart pounded rapturously. Then the nervousness within me suddenly vanished. It was time for me to yield to the impulses inside me that had been lying beneath the surface for the last few days.
Finally I got to express myself as I cupped my fingers around her breasts, as I had dreamed of doing, and delivered a sharp kiss to her lips.
Her fingers found their way around my buttocks cheeks, and I decided to do the same thing to her at the same time. Our tongues found their way inside each other's mouth. We Frenched passionately for the next few seconds, after which Gail suddenly broke our kiss.
"Let's get into bed and fuck," she told me urgently.
It didn't matter that I was still a little wet with sweat accumulated from a day at the beach, or that her body was wet from the water she had accumulated in the shower, which I hadn't sufficient time to dry off of her.
All that mattered by that moment was that we were two young, horny women hotly desiring a good fuck. It didn't even matter by that point that we were sisters.
It was quite an illuminating experience to discover that as a sophisticated woman of the world I remained in certain respects a prude, who had to be educated in the fineries of sex by her young sister.
Gail had been the one to point out the foolishness of my guilt and fears to express myself physically to her. And it was Gail who openly admitted to having had affairs with other women, making no bones about any of her sex feelings.
Due to her candor I was finally able to loosen up and go about the business of lovemaking with my little sister. We ran our fingers around each other's breasts, enjoying each other's touch.
She finally reached down and began circulating her fingers over my box with her free hand, while the other continued circulating around my breasts and nipples.
I reached down with my free hand and put my fingers to work on her moist mound, the same mound that I had been so fond to touch before. The faster she stroked my twat the more rapidly I put my fingers to work on hers.
Our cunts were flaming with passion when she decided to zero in on mine with hers. Gail put her tongue to work fervently, letting it maneuver briskly over my snatch.
I decided that I would put my own tongue to work in her nest. I went slowly at first, probing my way gently forward stroke by stroke, as the passions accelerated within both of us.
The longer that we sucked each other the faster our bodies trembled to the excitement we enthusiastically generated.
Our tongues splashed wildly as we pushed each other close to the big moment of explosion. It was another one of those breathtaking once in a lifetime experiences for me, when I would be providing a new lover of whom I was very fond with a first orgasm, and she would be providing the same for me.
Our bodies began to sweat with arousal as we pushed our tongues ever spiritedly forward toward the big moment of climax. I popped first,-and she followed just a few seconds back.
"I hope this is the start of something really big," Gail looked at me hopefully after we ended that climactic first orgasm.
"It is," I smiled.
"You see, your little sister was able to teach you something after all, wasn't she?"
"You're not little sister anymore," I smiled, running my fingers fondly over her breasts.
Never again was I to call her my little sister. She proved conclusively that afternoon just how grown up she was. She had taught me to throw my petty fears aside and communicate with her, and it marked the first important physical communication I had had since my husband had died.
We balled for the remainder of the trip. We took turns sucking each other's ass out and eating each other's box out. Then there were also many occasions when we would go down on each other at the same time.
It turned out in the final analysis that we enjoyed the sixty-nine action more than any other kind. That way we were able to measure each other's responses simultaneously. There's no way we can beat it when it comes to intimacy and being able to totally identify, emotionally and physically, with another woman.
Since we returned from our trip we have continued on intimate terms. Fortunately Gail decided to go to college in New York City, which means I get to see quite a bit of her.
I've been dating men occasionally, and she has loads of boyfriends, but when it comes to real communication in bed we seek out each other. Usually she comes to see me at my apartment when Diane isn't around.
Do I feel funny about going to bed with my own sister? No I don't. The main thing is that we're providing meaningful pleasure and release for each other. We're both happy about the relationship.
The necessity abiding within Valerie, that of fervently desiring meaningful sex release at a crucial period of her life, the period following her husband's death, turned the tide and caused her to enter the realm of lesbian incest with her own sister.
SUMMARY
Valerie was crushed when the man in her life that she had loved the most, her talented husband Alex, died of a heart attack. Compounding her problems was the discovery that be had had a heart condition of which she was unaware.
Gail came along at a time when she had no meaningful sexual outlet. Her loneliness, normal sex desires, along with Gail's loveliness combined to send Valerie into a sexual tizzy.
It is likely that, in time, both Valerie and Gail will find regular lovers other than each other. At the moment they supply each other with basic needs. Valerie has the love of a voluptuous young girl to keep her happy while Gail, who has had a strong admiration for her older sister, enjoys providing her with stimulation.