Guy de Maupassant - The Colonel's Nieces

Her-gasping moans assailed his ears, her moist, warm slipperiness drove him to a frenzy. His prick had become heavy, too heavy, and he needed to throw off his load. But when he drew his mouth away, she tried to catch at his head, pleading desperately with him not to stop now. He bent back to her and her loins leapt up to meet him. Her mouth was emitting a long, drawn out, continuous whine. This was a woman he possessed, rather than a woman who possessed him. He could sense her whole body twisting and turning in ecstatic torment. He wanted to get into her, but the fury of her excitement was at this point more fascinating to him than ramming it in and fucking her.

He heard her gasp. She shuddered and reached a long, drawn out climax. She continued to writhe and moan and he continued to kiss and lick her gently, bringing her back to a second intensity of passion. Maxim came away from her loins then, and moved up her body, tracing its light bulges with his lips. He knelt astride her, and she reached down, taking his rigid pulsating penis which stuck out horizontally between her breasts.

She put it between her marvelous titties, pushing them up into a ravine of cleavage and for several moments he was rubbing up and down between the warm, firm flesh of her breasts. He felt a tingling deep in his loins and he moved forward on her again.

She reached up, her eyes sparkling with lust, and took his prick in both hands. He leaned forward on his hands and she covered the flaming knob with her lips. She took it into her mouth and he felt, with streaks of fire, her tongue licking and nuzzling the passion point of his knob.

She began to suck as she licked, sucking on the rest of his rigidity, biting gently on the shaft from time to time. Her eyes watched him-those beautiful blue eyes! He held her face with his hands, guiding it, feeling her cheeks hollowing rhythmically around the long length of flesh which filled her mouth.

“Harder,” he gasped.

He felt her answering response and he began to rock slightly. She had released his prick from her hands and was stroking his muscular buttocks with them. She was breathing heavily, passionately, through her flared nostrils and he could feel her hips moving again under him. Her hands couldn't stay still on him and he felt them, suddenly, drawing lines of loin-convulsing sensation across and around his balls which hung down against her breasts.

He gasped aloud at the new attack and shoved his prick into her mouth so hard that for a moment she had to fight for breath.

He pulled his throbbing prick out of her mouth and moved down. He took her by the ankles and lifted her legs, spreading them as they rose. He bent her legs way back, whispering. “Oooh, those legs, those beautiful legs… now I am going to possess those beautiful legs and I am going to fuck the delicious little cunt in between them' Ooh, my dear, dear Evergreen, finally I am going to fuck that delicious cunt between your legs.”

She hooked her slender legs over his shoulders, his hips went ahead and his prick drove deeply into her young, quivering body.

He pushed his muscular shoulders forward, hands cupping her strongly. Lifting her, he gained deeper entrance. She began to moan, her hips began writhing, moving ahead then back, then twisting before rising again, hard and solid against his hips.

All the while he murmured, “Oooh… Evergreen… Evergreen… I am holding your legs, your beautiful legs… I am the Master… I want your cunt!”

She was oblivious of his chattering. “Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh,” she cried out in a staccato chatter of gasps.

His knob felt the softness of flesh high up in her belly. The walls of her cunt were tight and warm, but moistly prepared against the huge expansion of his desire-bloated prick.

Pantingly he drove up into her with all the pressure he could muster. It seemed as if his passion began all the way down in his toes. His belly flopped against her crotch and his hairs mingled wetly with hers. His prick crushed up into her so hard that it brought a spasm of pain into her joy. She groaned in an orgy of passion. Her hanging, floating tongue in his mouth had now become the symbol of his complete mastery over her. She had given herself to him to do as he wished. He could hurt her, give her pain, pleasure, take her body and twist her soul.

Again he crashed heavily down on top of her and she twisted in ecstatic fury under him, as if she wanted him to pierce her through, right up to the neck.

He straightened up from her, leaning at an angle, pulling her behind off the bed so that her hips were the highest point of her body. He crashed in and in and up and up, tearing her moist flesh with his great rifling cannon.

He felt her scream rather than heard it. His prick seemed loaded down with the weight of thunder. The thunder was preparing to burst. Relief was coming.

“Now… now…” he barked a command, and he could hear her answering gasps.

The thunder grew into a great cloud which suddenly burst. The liquid hot rain burst through and up into her belly as she screamed and jackknifed her legs up and down several times.

* * *

Madame de Corriero's heart was pounding rapidly when she made plans to escape the solicitous eyes of her devoted Dorothy. The maid had laid out a simple pearl-gray travel costume and knew therefore that her mistress was planning a trip.

But Julia's plan for deception was as simple as it was effective. She had ordered her coachman to drive her to the station, and to be sure to avoid suspicion, her maid had bought a ticket to one of the outlying towns. She ordered the coachman to pick her up at a certain time, and walked inside the big hall. Once she was sure that her servants had disappeared, she simply hailed a cab, and gave him the address of Michael Lompret.

Michael's door opened promptly when the cab drove up. An elderly servant stood at the opening and said, “Would Madame be so kind as to go inside. I will take care of the coachman.” The old man-his name was Jonathan-had carefully looked Julia over, and his gaze was one of complete approval.

Two open arms awaited Julia when she entered the artist's studio and her first thought was that this was a rather expensive home for an artist. The cottage-type house, and the fact that Michael had a manservant implied that his artistic endeavors did not exactly keep him in poverty. For some reason, Julia had not expected this home.

Michael kissed her fervently, Julia slightly protested that his servant could see it. Michael did not care in the least.

“Jonathan is my cook, my housekeeper, my father-confessor and, at times I even believe he thinks that he's my mother.” Michael laughed, and his fervent lips again pressed firmly against Julia's mouth, his strong arms encircling her.

“Listen, my darling Madcap,” he said, “we are here in an artist's home and not at a public exhibition. You can be too careful, you know.”

“That's all well and good,” Julia replied, “but I intend to keep my reputation blameless as far as the members of my own society are concerned. Why don't you give me the address of your tailor, and I will ask him to make me some men's clothes.”

“A splendid idea! Then we can be really good friends. We can travel wherever we want, go hiking, out for picnics, and the only thing people will think is that I am a queer! But for you, my darling, I would do anything. I have an even better idea. After breakfast I shall send Jonathan to my tailor and have the man come here. In that case he will never be able to find out who you are!”

Jonathan entered and announced that breakfast was ready. They walked into a small, cozy dining room. A table for two had been set.

“Oysters, truffles, and champagne,” Julia exclaimed, adding laughingly, “are you planning a two man orgy?”