By Count Labia
Joan Morton and I met through a dating agency. She was seventy and I thirty. The disparity in age was deliberate. I had gone in search of an older woman and Joan had been intrigued – if not a little thrilled, she later told me – by the interest of a far younger man.
The agency was the creation of a retired school mistress, Ellen Romaine, who was certainly no prude. She advertised discreetly in the classifieds of a local newspaper, promising connections between ‘like-minded adults interested in new adventures’. She charged a quite exorbitant fee, insisted on a personal interview and guaranteed to put the ‘liked-minded adults’ in touch with one another.
I enjoyed meeting Ellen. She was a handsome, broad woman with luxuriant red hair that she kept bunched on the top of her head. She was all business behind her desk, with a huge file of respondents in front of her. She flipped through the pages, seeking the names of subscribers she thought might appeal to me.
‘So what age were you interested in?’ she asked.
I told her I liked older women. I didn’t tell her that I had been seduced by a girlfriend’s grandmother, who had introduced a young man inexperienced the arts of lovemaking to new and hitherto unimagined sexual delights. When the girlfriend discovered the liaison, she abruptly broke it off with me to be followed by the grandmother, leaving me with a fetish for older women. I was unlikely to meet such older women until my eyes fell on Ellen’s ad in the personal section of The Argus’s classifieds.
‘So, tell me,’ Ellen offered. ‘What age would you be looking for? Forty?’
‘Older,’ I said. She seemed surprised.
‘Fifty, then?’
‘Older,’ I said. It felt like an auction.
‘Sixty?’ By now there was a slight desperation in her voice that she could satisfy this difficult client.
‘Sixty and beyond,’ I replied.
‘My God,’ said Ellen. ‘I might even keep you for myself.’ She looked to be well into her sixties.
‘I wouldn’t object to that,’ I said, having admired her ample bosom.
‘Really?’ Ellen wanted to be sure what she’d heard.
‘If you are offering yourself,’ I said. ‘I would accept. I’d like that.’
It was at that point that Ellen left her desk, crossed the floor and suggested we share the sofa in her office.
‘Just where shall we start?’ she asked. So I leaned across and kissed her. She didn’t object, so I reached to feel one of her huge breasts through her cotton dress. It felt good and, encouraged by Ellen’s response, I explored further, one hand moving beneath her skirt and fingers tracing her legs to her thighs and beyond where a pair of panties blocked my progress. Still no resistance from Ellen. I kissed her deeply and it was not long before she surprised me with glorious carnality that began on the sofa and ended on the floor. I took her from behind, from the side, from the front, ending with her on top. For woman of her size she was remarkably light, and she met my upward thrusts with those of her own. We quickly fell into a smooth sexual synchronicity. She moaned, then gasped and shrieked, apparently quick to orgasm. She climaxed three times. At first I thought she’d faked it, but when I eventually ejaculated, so did she.
As she spilled her warm vaginal juices from deep inside her urethra onto me, she exclaimed: ‘God! I love a young cock.’
Ellen and I would use the office sofa several times while my subscription lasted, but she was not the jealous nor possessive type. Hers was a business after all and I left that first visit with a list of names and telephone numbers of other older women, one of whose belonging to Joan Morton, who had been given a special mention by Ellen.
Joan turned out to be more subtle. She suggested a neutral meeting in public for coffee just in case either one of us had misgivings.
‘Archibald?’ she announced in a rasping, honeyed voice when she arrived at the table. ‘Is that what I should call you?’
I was half out of my chair by the time she had settled in opposite me.
‘I like Archibald,’ she repeated. ‘I shall call you Archibald.’
If I had any doubts about Joan Morton not fulfilling my ideals about older women, she dispelled them with her arrival. Yes, she was old, with short grey hair and a face that had conceded some ground in the battle against age. But, my God, she was so elegant. It was an elegance that was holding its own in that battle. Her immaculate make-up with bright-red lipstick emphasised high cheekbones, all framed by a perfect coiffure, eyebrows and sweeping lashes. And a dazzling smile. Beneath her cashmere Burberry trenchcoat I caught the glimpse of a sleek body with legs that ascended from a pair of Christian Loubertin heels. She had come dressed to thrill, and with me she succeeded beyond expectations.
She had confidence and charm too. When the waiter arrived to take our orders, she gave him her full attention. Then she gave me hers.
‘So tell me all about yourself,’ she said. She half leaned across the table with her decolletage hinting at a pair of good breasts. Her voicing was rough but soothing. ‘I want to know it all.’
So I told her just a little: a bachelor, working in finance and in no relationship.
‘You missed out your athletic achievements,’ she added. I had not told her about being a long-distance swimmer and a triathlete who’d once held a national record. She had been doing her homework on me.
‘I wasn’t sure you’d be interested,’ I said.
‘When a man wants to meet me,’ Joan began again. ‘Especially one as young as you, I want to know absolutely everything.’
Before I could reply, she added: ‘And why someone as old as me? Do you like to be mothered?’
‘Quite the opposite,’ I protested, then cited some relationships that did not exist, framing them around older women I knew in passing, like a former English professor and a friend of my mother’s, neither of whom I had thought of at the time as potential lovers.
‘I find older women interesting,’ I said.
‘Only interesting? Or is there something deeply oedipal?’
I tried to keep it light-hearted. ‘Are you going to psychoanalyse me now, Joan?’
The flippancy eased some of the tension, so I decided to be more specific.
‘I like a woman who is experienced,’ I said. ‘Someone who is without too many inhibitions, hang-ups that many young women seem to have. And someone who is well past menopause.’
‘That’s quite a tall order,’ she said. ‘And what do you think I might want from a man?’
‘Oh, I’ve given that some thought, so perhaps we could work out what a woman, someone like you, would expect. Companionship, affection, attention, conversation. And who knows, even love?’
‘You’re a real romantic,’ said Joan. ‘Ellen said I would like you, and she was right. But you didn’t mention the most important part about your expectations.’
‘The most important part?’ I was playing the innocent.
‘You didn’t mention sex.’
‘I didn’t want to sound presumptuous.’
‘Darling,’ said Joan, already moving to a term of endearment although she probably did it with everyone, male or female. ‘Don’t be shy about it. This is what it’s about. Ellen is all about sex. Didn’t you know?’
I was stumped for a clever response.
‘Let’s be honest,’ she said. ‘We’re both here because Ellen, in her usual veiled manner, never uses the lovely word. But the implication is always there. We all go to Ellen to be fixed up with a lover.’
‘OK,’ I said. I had decided to be frank. ‘I’ll add sex to the list.’
‘In that case,’ she said, ‘You’ve come to the right woman,’ she said. Again, we laughed together and to ease some of the initial tension, we reverted to small talk before I told her about the ex-girlfriend’s grandmother. I couched my explanation in anodyne terms such as ‘affair’ and ‘romance’. Not that Joan was fooled for a minute.
‘So you had sex?’
‘We did,’ I said and probably blushed because Joan reached out with a hand and held mine.
‘You must have given her a wonderful boost. It would have been good for her self-esteem.’
‘It did a lot of good for me too.’
‘I bet it did,’ said Joan. ‘That’s the thing about sex. It’s always good.’
We sat in silence for a while and I was not sure how Joan would assess my confession. Would she feel offended? Would it put her off?
Then she gave me one of her radiant smiles, but it came with a caveat.
‘Just one thing,’ she said. ‘I’m married.’
That took the wind out of my billowing sails, but only for a brief moment.
‘That makes it more exciting,’ I said. ‘More dangerous.’
‘So you like danger?’
‘I like that kind of danger,’ I said.
‘I like the way you think,’ said Joan and again she surprised me. ‘But let me fill you in, and you’ll understand why you and I are here talking about pleasures of the flesh.’
Joan was married to a man of great wealth, which explained the expensive Burberry. Roderick Morton – also known as ‘Robber Rod’ — was well known in the business world, a corporate raider who was notorious for doing deals. From what I’d heard, he had made a name by buying poorly run mines cheaply in destitute African countries, most of them ruled by corrupt despots. He turned those mines into productive and efficiently run ones, always ready to offer bribes, then flogging them for a huge profit. He was 10 years older than Joan when she married him at the age of 25. She was still a virgin, she said. That last bit took me by surprise.
‘Well, I’d led a very protective life as an only child and I was very much into books,’ she said. ‘Did you know I am a published author?’
I told her how much that impressed me, but did not let on that the titles of all three her books were unknown to me. All were non-fiction and dealt with such esoteric subjects as Middle Eastern art, women’s liberation in the 19th century and wives who’d accompanied their men to war during the Napoleonic era. She was a real egg-head, I thought. And an attractive one too.
‘On my wedding night I discovered sex,’ she said.
‘And you liked what you’d discovered?’
‘Well, I’d always been interested, but also been a bit afraid. I had stern, church-going puritan parents. Marriage gave me permission to try,’ she said.
‘And…?’ We were now back on what had been my agenda all along.
‘And I was disappointed,’ she said. ‘Roderick might have been a bull in the boardroom, but he was a pussy in the bedroom.’
‘Oh, no. Why was that?’ She had my sympathy I told her.
‘I expected him to take charge. I had prepared for our wedding night. I must confess, I was quite keen for it to happen. Then he turned out to be quite timid. It was as if we were both beginners.’
I kept sympathising, but I was also eager to hear more. I didn’t tell her that I was also becoming quite aroused.
‘Well, we eventually got it done,’ she said. ‘But I always thought there must be more to this sex thing, so I read up about it. I found friends I could confide in. I began to explore, in books, magazines. I went, alone, for therapy and I even began to watch porn, secretly. I began to understand what it was Roderick and I both lacked.’
‘And what was that?’
‘It was hard at first,’ she said. ‘I had to convince Roderick we needed help, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Then my therapist came up with an idea: a threesome. She — my therapist was a woman — even had suggestions. They were, of course, all very expensive prostitutes and we had to hire one of them very discreetly who would be our sex guide.’
‘God, Joan,’ I said, ‘this is riveting stuff.’
‘Calm down, Archibald,’ she touched my arm again. ‘I’m telling you this so that you will have context.’
‘Roderick was appalled. At first. Then I began gently coaxing him, all with the therapist providing the lines. He came round to the idea and the woman whom I arranged to join us first insisted on meeting me in private.
‘She was very sexy, I must admit,’ said Joan. ‘And she was bisexual. She suggested the two of us have a practice run. Well, how could I refuse? It was my idea after all. Or at least I had bought into the idea from my therapist.’
‘So how did it work out? You and the woman?’
‘Surprisingly good. The one thing that I’d never even considered was masturbation. She showed me how and it was, well, sensational. I began to practise on my own, learning how to bring myself to orgasm. She often went down on me, and I was completely sold on the idea.’
‘So you took it home, so to speak,’ I said.
‘And it worked like a charm. Roderick could not keep his hands off the woman. The strange thing about that session was how much we all enjoyed it. Well, I don’t know about the hired hand, whether she put on an act or not, but she was damn good.’
‘So it helped Roderick?’
‘He insisted she come back and this went on for a few months, then something very odd happened.
‘What?’ I couldn’t wait to hear the next part of Joan’s story.
‘Roderick started to develop some strange obsessions. First he wanted only Asian women, then only black women, then very young women, which was a damned difficult thing to arrange. Between the therapist and me, we were able to indulge Roderick, but I began to felt a bit left out. So I set off on explorations of my own.’
‘And what did you discover?’
‘That in spite of Roderick’s sexual proclivities, I could not be unfaithful to him.’
‘So what brings you here now?’
‘Dear Archibald,’ Joan was almost exasperated. ‘All this did not happen quickly. It took years. Eventually, we settled — Roderick and me — on a modus operandi. We would explore different partners, but we would have to agree on them. That was how we ended up with Ellen. She helped us to find compatible couples with whom we could share. Swop, actually. Roderick claims he now enjoys making love to me more after I have made love to another man.’
‘And you believe him?’
‘I do. And he proved it often enough.’
‘So what about you and me?’
‘Let me explain,’ said Joan. ‘Roderick is now eighty and his libido has been one the wane for some time. Ellen has also had trouble finding couples who will join us. God, we are getting on, you know. I had almost given up on Roderick and me finding another couple when Ellen called me with a suggestion.’
‘And I was part of that suggestion?’
‘You guessed right. She said she had someone who I would like. The only trouble was he was single.’
‘So what do we do?’ I said. ‘Because I will be straight with you, Joan. I have become quite aroused by you, and your story. I would be eager to bed you.’
‘You’re lovely,’ she said. ‘And the feeling is mutual. So let me suggest a plan.’
She told me Roderick was away in New York and would be returning only in a few days. Some new deal, she said. She would be alone in their apartment.
‘I’m ready to break the rule of a lifetime,’ she said. ‘And be unfaithful to Roderick without his knowledge. And once he’s back, I am determined to find you a partner who would make love to my husband. I’d even hire one if necessary.’
Which was how we began the logistics of our first assignation. Consulting diaries and dates. While we did so I felt a Christian Loubertin brush my leg under the table. She held it there, then reached across to take my hand.
‘God I could take you right now,’ I told her.
‘Good,’ she said before looking around to make sure we were not overheard. ‘Because I like to fuck.’ All subtlety disappeared with our quick familiarity. Like Ellen, Joan was straight to business, and I like her all the more for it.
Then it was my turn. I reached under the table to grip a knee with one hand while above it bringing up the hand that held mine to kiss. Joan enjoyed our intimacy.
‘I think I owe Ellen,’ she said.
‘You do?’
‘Yes, she told me about your little romp.’
‘And what did she say?’
‘That you fuck like a champion.’
‘I hope I can live up to Ellen’s assessment,’ I replied.
‘Come up to my place — and show me,’ said Joan and we immediately set a time for the next day.
Joan lived in a spacious penthouse apartment that overlooked the ocean. A manservant in a white coat let me in and Joan arrived seconds later to embrace me and kiss me on both cheeks. When the manservant discreetly left, I seized her and kissed her on the lips, our tongues meeting in a delicious connection. She kept offering me her mouth, so we kept kissing, each tongue trying to reach impossible depths. I felt her teeth, then kissed her throat, her neck, sucking her wrinkles where her veins were palpitating with desire. I could sense she wanted to be taken immediately, but she broke away. She held me at arm’s length, then took my hand to guide me to her boudoir
‘You get ready here,’ she ordered. ‘I won’t be long.’
She stepped into a dressing-room off the boudoir and began to undress. I was already at my priapic limit, my penis hard and extended. I lay back on her huge bed, naked with my member erect like a flagpole. Joan did not take long to join me, but before she did, she appeared at the doorway of the dressing-room, her arms extended, draped on the door frame. I could see the muscles of her upper arm sagged. She was unembarrassed by her age and she wore a body stocking that enhanced that body I lusted for. She stood there for a moment, legs together, feet n little golden slippers like an aged ballerina, and as desirable.
‘I thought I’d leave a little something for you to remove,’ she said. ‘Just to make it more exciting.’ Then she came to me on the bed.
We kissed again, this time my hands reaching for her breasts. Her hands were around my neck. She thrust herself towards me and I began to slip off the strings of the body stocking and slide it off her breasts. Then I buried my head between those soft, round parts of her chest, sought the nipples and began to suckle on each one. She dug her nails into my back and gently bit an ear. I felt her murmurings of joy as I pushed the body stocking down to her waist, then raised myself to take it down, past the vulva, pausing only to admire her greying pubic hair, then down her legs, over her feet and tossing the garment to one side. I began to kiss her toes, her calves, her knees, then spread her thighs, kissed the inside of them and was about to caress her vulva when Joan stopped me.
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I’ve done that.’
She was already lubed up. ‘I was worried I’d be too dry. Why don’t we just fuck.’ So we did.
She reached to hold my cock, guiding it towards its target. I slipped in easily while her hands were animal-like, spreading over each part of my body. She pulled my head to her mouth while I began thrusting inside her. She seemed to enjoy my weight on her. Shivers passed through her body like electric impulses. She wrapped her legs around mine and I kept pumping, my hands reaching behind her to grip her buttocks. I came within minutes and she moaned, her eyes wild. I could feel her panting breath in my ear and she began murmuring love words that I couldn’t quite catch.
When my tumescence began to fade, she allowed me to slip out of her, then she pushed me off her and began to kiss my body. Reaching my penis, she began to lick it like a cat at the milk, savouring it.
‘Poor thing,’ she whispered. ‘Now so small. But we’ll get it up again soon.’
She licked my balls, kissed them, took my penis in her mouth and began to suck on it.
‘It’s no good,’ I said. ‘It’ll be back — I promise — but only in a while.’
‘We have all day,’ she said. ‘I intend to fuck you all day.’
Joan let me recover from our first frenetic session of lovemaking, but it wasn’t long before I was in the mood again. She sensed my renewed interest by keeping a hand close to my swelling penis, but she also urged restraint. I realised why when the door to the bedroom opened and her manservant arrived with a tray of drinks and snacks.
‘Just as you required, madam,’ he said, putting it down on a table in the room before departing as silently as he’d arrived.
‘For your revival,’ she said, stepping out of the bed in her full nakedness to fetch a tall glass of cold fruit juice.
We lay there while she began to tell me more about her life that not only intrigued me but also aroused my passion for this woman.
When it came to postprandial coitus, Joan and I were as eager as we’d been before our first fuck. Only this time I insisted on lubricating her with my tongue. I lapped the vulva from top to bottom, penetrated her with it, sucked her clitoris and finally inserted a finger to reach her G-spot, continuing to tongue-massage her clitoris as I did so. She put both hands on my head and the sounds that came from her were all encouraging. She arched her back, urging me to put in more fingers. I rubbed her vagina, feeling its pulsing muscles open and close. Then she almost shouted: ‘Fuck me, Archibald! Just fuck me, please, please.’ So I fucked her and we both took our time. I stayed on top, pushing pillows under her to give me a stronger position to drive my cock into her. She climaxed before I did and once I had fired my load, she gripped my buttocks, digging her nails into the soft flesh and bit my neck and shoulder so hard it left marks.
For a woman of her age, Joan was remarkably active and alert in bed. She was quick to seize an opportunity, stimulating my prostate first on the perineum and then, once she had won my confidence, through the backdoor and onto the prostate itself enhancing my orgasm. She was flexible too, lifting both her legs over my shoulders to that I could reach further into her vagina. Her sighing and soft moaning and loud gasping signalled that her orgasms were not faked.
I lost count of the number of times we made love in her bed that day, falling asleep with her in my arms, utterly sated from a delicious exhaustion. When I awoke, she was cradling my penis in her hands, licking the head and stroking the shaft, bringing it to full mast. And very soon our lovemaking resumed.
Except for drinks and food breaks, all provided by the faithful manservant, we spent almost 24 hours in Joan’s bed. Then we bathed together in her huge tub. I lay in the warm water, watching Joan get out and begin to towel off. She turned her back to me and I was suddenly aroused again at the sight of her pussy peeping between her legs. So I raised myself from the bath, clasped my arms around her as she held onto the basin to support herself and fucked her one last time before we dressed.
Before I left Joan the morning after my arrival, she brought me down to reality. She wanted me to meet her husband, who was due to return later that day. I can tell you that it drained all my passion as if I’d stood under a cold shower. But I agreed, so Joan set up a meeting for the following day once we had laid our plan.
‘Robber Rod’ was all I had expected: he had the build and demeanour of a bully. But he was also 80 years old, so I decided not to be afraid of him. We met at a remote table in his favourite restaurant and he was there before me, a head waiter fawning over him. The waiter had obviously been briefed, so he pulled out a chair when I arrived. ‘Robber’ did not greet me in the conventional manner. That is, he did not offer a handshake or any gesture other than hostility. ‘Fuck you,’ I thought. ‘I can take you any time.’ Once I’d settled in, he got straight to the point.
‘My wife says you have a proposal for us.’
‘Depends,’ I said, deliberately vague.
‘What do you mean, “depends”. She said you made her an offer.’
‘Let me be very clear what we discussed,’ I said. ‘You need to hear the full story. And in its right context.’
‘Indulge me.’ Robber Rod believed he was in charge and I was about to disabuse him.
‘I was introduced to your wife by Ellen Ramine, someone with whom you are apparently also acquainted.’
‘Correct.’
‘I am a client of Ellen’s, just as you and your wife are.’
‘So what of it?’
‘Be patient, Mr Morton. I am just clarifying a picture that perhaps does not need it.’
‘Get to the point. Your proposal?’
‘My wife and I,’ I said, ‘are sexual adventurers. We enjoy each other’s company, we are compatible in the bedroom, but we are also explorers of the, let’s say, sensual side of life. We had approached Ellen, who had helped us often in the past, to expand our area of exploration.’
‘I see,’ said Robber Rod.
‘Ellen suggested to your wife that we, that is my wife and I, would be suitable companions for the two of you in any sensual endeavour you might have in mind.’
‘And your wife agrees?’
‘My wife, Mr Morton, is the main instigator. Her current obsession is with older men, very old men. Someone like yourself. She might be better explaining this obsession than me, which was why Ellen suggested we all get together. Your wife sounded enthusiastic, I might add.’
‘But she sent you. Why didn’t she raise it herself?’
‘Perhaps she thought you wouldn’t believe a story about a very attractive 28-year-old woman being eager to have sex with you.’
‘Well,’ hurrumphed Robber Rod, ‘I’m not without my, er, needs and desires. And there’s little wrong with my testosterone or libido.’
Like hell, I thought. Joan said it took drugs and little short of industrial scaffolding to keep him up for the act.
‘Then we should arrange a meeting between the four of us,’ I said. ‘If none of us has any objections, we can it to the next logical step.’
Robber Rod reached out to shake my hand.
‘It’s a deal. I will leave it to you and Joan to arrange the, er, assignation.’
‘Leave it to us,’ I said, and promptly left.
When I next met Joan, she had my ‘wife’ with her. Dalia was stunningly attractive, tall with olive skin and legs that went up like stairs. She had firm breasts and powerful arms. When she shook my hand, it felt like a man’s. She had long dark hair that blew in the wind, wore a short skirt that showed a tight ass and huge lips. She was also a sergeant in the army’s special forces reserves and knew how to kill with her beautiful bare hands, the left one of which carried a wedding ring. She was perfect and I wanted to get to know her better. Joan suggested the three of us get together that evening at a hotel suite she had hired, to ‘get acquainted’. Dalia seemed most agreeable. She even began to act like the devoted wife, hooking an arm into mine as we walked and kissing me lightly before driving off in an expensive sportscar. She also turned a few heads before departing.
‘One of Ellen’s?’ I asked.
‘Only her most expensive, darling.’
When Joan and I parted, the kiss was more passionate.
When we met again, in a lavish suite with champagne and food laid on, Joan was all business. She was like a choreographer and drill sergeant in one.
‘Get those clothes off, Archibald, and put that robe on,’ she ordered.
Dalia had been sent to change in another room and when she appeared again she was wearing a most seductive piece of black lingerie, a satin-and-lace bodysuit. Her thick hair hung down past her shoulders. She knew we were both impressed. Dalia ran her hands down the front, over her body, then turned sideways to admire herself in a huge mirror to see her profile, especially how her breasts protruded and she lifted them so that they almost poured out from the flimsy silk costume. She was beautifully curved and contoured. Her hair was odorous and rich, and I was tempted to rush and embrace her.
‘Easy there, cowboy,’ Joan whispered. ‘Stick to the script.’
The script was under Joan’s direction and began in the most innocent manner — considering how Dalia and I were dressed — with gentle clinking of champagne flutes and only the most chaste touching of hands and arms. Joan was formally dressed, so I asked her:
‘Aren’t you going to join in?’
‘Not just yet, darling,’ she said. ‘I first need to be sure you will be ready for tomorrow night.’
Even with Joan, my lover, in the room, I was eager to begin making love to Dalia. Joan smiled at the two of us.
‘Dalia,’ she said. ‘You must remember that Rod will be in a hurry. You have to slow him down, draw it out, make it last until you exhaust him utterly.’
Exhaust him, I thought. She would bloody kill him.
Once briefed, Joan sat back with a drink in hand and gave us the go-ahead. She might have shouted ‘lights, action, camera’ through a megaphone. I took my cue, brushing my fingers against Dalia’s cheek feeling her glistening skin, which shone like satin and smooth to the touch. We kissed, tentatively at first then deeper, tongues meeting and attempting to swallow the other. I gently pushed off the straps of her body suit and let her breasts fall free. Dalia’s nipples were already hard and pouting, so I kissed them, cradled them, suckled them and she murmured little sounds while she nibbled at my ears. I had never seen breasts as perfect as hers.
I pushed her onto the bed, let the robe fall from me and began brushing her breasts with my penis. She offered her mouth, so I let her take my cock and she licked the head and then took the full shaft. I let her play with it for a while, then slowly withdrew and began to strip the satin body stocking off her. I caressed her feet with my tongue, sucking a big toe, moving up past her calves, her knees, her thighs. She appeared to enjoy my intentions, but I surprised her, rolling her over and beginning the manoeuvre again, running my tongue along her spine to her neck, lifting her hair, kissing her neck, her ears and then down again. She spread her legs slightly, so I rimmed her anus with my tongue.
‘You want to fuck me in the butt?’ said Dalia.
‘Perhaps,’ I said, ‘but first your pussy.’
‘You can fuck me in the butt if you like,’ she said but I had no intention of that. Besides I was being watched by Joan, who had pushed her dress up to her thighs and was beginning to stimulate herself through her panties. I indicated to her to join us, but she just shook her head and motioned for me to carry on.
I lingered over her bare shoulders, inhaling the faint and marvellous odour that came from her body. She reached behind herself with one hand to grab my cock. She wanted me to mount her, but Joan intervened.
‘Slowly darling. Slowly,’ said Joan. ‘Remember the plan. We don’t want to rush things, no matter how randy we feel.’
Dalia and I lay face to face, kissing deeply. I reached down between her legs to feel her vagina properly. It was more than moist, it was soaked with her vaginal fluids. My fingers glided into her, first one, then another and then a third. She squirmed and arched her back. My thumb found her clitoris and the hand worked in harmony as Dalia urged me on.
‘God, yes, Archie. Yes, yes, yes.’ I was sure she had climaxed, so I waited until she’d settled then went down on her with my mouth, my tongue find her clitoris and sucking on it.
As our lovemaking became more vigorous, Dalia’s hair became more dishevelled. After an hour we were both bathed in sweat. Her breasts remained taut, her lips hot and her clitoris had begun to pulsate. My mouth never ceased kissing every part of her body. I touched her with the tip of my cock, rubbing it between her breasts, putting it in her mouth to suck. She wanted to kiss and fondle it.
My mouth wanted to swallow her, to bring her to some new unknown pleasures. I bit into her flesh with and the sensation made her a quiver with pleasure. Then our mouths melted into each other, seeking each other’s tongues. Joan watched us and I caught a glimpse of her, pleasuring herself. I wanted to go to her, to fuck her properly, but Dalia held onto me. While Joan was distracted with her own orgasms, Dalia offered herself, opening her vulva with her long fingers, as if she could no longer wait. She threw herself on top of me so that she could gyrate around my erect penis, her own erotic dance of pleasure that made her cry out. At the same time a flash of ecstasy tore through my body and I exclaimed with pleasure.
Joan regained her equilibrium and began to join us, kissing Dalia then me. She began to take off her clothes and I seized a breast here, a leg there. I had lost my erection but not my desire. Dalia got up from the bed, having satisfied her lust and let Joan go to work on me. I watched Dalia walk to the drinks tray, her long, beautiful body with her tight derriere. She deliberately bent over the tray to pour drinks and after my thirst was quenched I began to feel a stirring return to my cock.
I was slow in coming a second time. I was inside Joan, but she pushed me off her and drew Dalia back into my embrace. Once my vigour returned, I took her from behind while Joan positioned herself to be licked by Dalia. We all seemed to orgasm at the same time.
Our menage must have lasted about three hours when we fell into various forms of sleep. On awakening Joan declared herself happy with the practice run for the following night when Dalia and I would join Joan and Robber Rod in their penthouse apartment.
Dalia wore a flimsy silk evening gown for the occasion. It left her shoulders bare and I could feel her pointed breasts throbbing and swelling against my hand. Robber Rod would find her irresistible. Not only irresistible, he could hardly contain himself. Joan brought us all together with some ground rules: we would go into different rooms; Joan and I would go upstairs, leaving Robber Rod and Dalia in the main bedroom. Dalia played her role to perfection, indulging Robber Rod’s every gesture and even sliding her hand across his thigh to take hold of his cock. We had been there less than half an hour when Dalia declared that she was ‘as randy as two cats’. Joan and I left them to it and spent an hour with a slow rhythmic round of fucking. I had missed her but I tried to take my time. It didn’t help; I came within minutes and then used my fingers to bring her to orgasm. We lay in one another’s arms until we’d both recovered, then I took her from behind and we were both able to delay our orgasms for a good ten minutes.
It was close to midnight when there was a knock on our door. Joan threw on a robe and found her manservant in a state of anxiety. ‘Master Rod,’ he said, frantically. ‘You must come now.’
Joan and I both went hurried downstairs to find a distraught Dalia in tears and Robber Rod, his face quite pale, lying naked on the bed, his penis flaccid. I tried to find his pulse but there was none. I covered the body while Joan called the couple’s doctor, who arrived within half-an-hour, two paramedics in tow. It was too late, however. Robber Rod was declared dead at the scene, the doctor describing cause of death as ‘heart attack brought on my too vigorous activity’.
‘You knew he had a dickey heart, Joan,’ the doctor said. ‘So why did you let him do this?’
‘Because he enjoyed it,’ she said matter of factly.
‘And you were with him?’ the doctor turned to Dalia. She just nodded her head as she wrapped Robber Rod’s huge white robe tightlyl around her.
‘There are traces of spermatozoa on the deceased’s penis,’ said the doctor.
‘So?’ said Joan. ‘They weren’t discussing the stock market, you know.’
‘I say this,’ said the doctor, ‘because Rod died a happy man.’
That, in a less dramatic manner, was what the pathologist found too. No one was to blame for the death of Roderick Morton.
I calmed Dalia while Joan went about the business quite dispassionately making arrangements. Neither Dalia nor I went to the funeral and when I tried to see Joan afterwards, she claimed she was too busy with the aftermath of events and dealing with Robber Rod’s associates.
Three days after they had cremated Robber Rod, Joan let me back in. She looked more beautiful than I had remembered in spite of the traumatic events of the past few days. I tried to kiss her, but she turned away.
‘Shall I give you more time?’ I asked.
Joan smiled at me, stroked my cheek and said: ‘You were wonderful Archibald. I loved our lovemaking, but you must now grow up. It’s over darling.’
It felt like a vital part of my life had ended. I didn’t feel any great pang of grief, regret or even sadness. Just a sort of relief. Sex with Joan had been great while it lasted, but in my romp with Dalia, I knew that I was over my obsession with old women. It was time to start courting in my own age group. We parted as friends, with gentle kisses and with promises to keep in touch.
I took the lift down to the ground floor, intending to find a taxi to take me home, pour myself a stiff whisky and look back on an amazing sexual adventure. When I came out into the bright sunlight, I was momentarily blinded as I looked up and down the street for a possible cruising cab. That’s when I spotted the red sportscar across the road and a sexy, long-legged, long-haired army sergeant with potent breasts leaning against it. She beckoned me to come over.
‘Can I give you a lift, soldier?’ she said and her smile was intoxicating.
‘Only if you’re going my way,’ I said.
‘I sure am,’ said Dalia.