Finally, as she was licking the tip of his nose, he reached into her bodice. His fingers stroked her full, ripe breasts, naked beneath her robe and she gave another series of little animal squeals.
"Oh my darling. yes, play with my breasts. Oh, yes," she whimpered, smiling. She sat up, quickly unhooking the robe so that he could help her off with it.
Now Melissa, except for her spiked high heels, was stark naked. Steve was stunned by her beauty, her heavy breasts, and large brown nipples, which he could see clearly, even in the dim light.
"Steve," she murmured.
"Yes, Melissa?"
"Will you suck on them for me? Will you, my baby boy?"
Steve didn't really like being called her baby boy, but under the circumstances, he understood.
"Yes."
"And Steve, is there anything you want me to do for you, darling?"
Her eyes were closed. He was fondling her naked breasts, squeezing them, caressing and stroking her pulsing erect nipples.
"Yes," he said. "I'd like you to spread your legs wide for me, and let me fuck you. I want my cock inside of you, up inside your cunt."
"Where else, Steve?" she asked. Again, she'd raised up her legs high in the air, exposing her hairy wet cunt. Her asshole was wide open, pouting, still glistening from the ministrations of his loving, sucking tongue.
Now he knew just what she wanted.
"Your asshole, Melissa."
"Oh God," she screamed and pulled him on top of her squirming, overheated body.
He landed on her hard; his cock between her thighs. She spread her legs and guided it into her. He thrust inside with a great heave, sighing and moaning at the same time. It was exquisite, unimaginably soft and enveloping. He moved in and out of her as he had always imagined he would, with great heaving thrusts. He pushed in deeply and drew fully out, then thrust back inside with the help of Melissa's pressing, urgent hands on his buttocks.
She could tell that his climax was near. His body slowed substantially, his breath coming more and more labored. She squirmed out from beneath him and turned over on her stomach, spreading her buttocks. She told him to fuck her in the ass.
He readily complied, though he secretly wanted to come in her soft, wet cunt. He had been on the verge of coming, but now had renewed vigor. He pushed into her tight asshole, which was not nearly as accommodating as her cunt had been at first.
"Push hard, darling, hard!" She screamed, anxious to have him fill her. He pushed hard but still his cock would not budge.
She leaned up, sitting back on him. His cock slid into her. Her hole was so tight that it was somewhat painful for him. It was Melissa who moved on his cock. She rose upon her knees, lifting herself off him and then sitting back down. Her breasts bounced with her movements. He reached around her and took hold of them, squeezing hard and pinching her nipples.
When he was fully inside of her, her buttocks nesting in his lap, his cock moved thick and hard and slowly. The tightness of her asshole and the unaccommodating dryness soon grew pleasing to Steve. He squeezed her breasts harder still and felt his cock expanding, pushing, widening the tunnel of her asshole. She felt it, too.
"Yes, yes!" she moaned. "Come inside of me. I want to feel your cock throbbing against me, filling me. Squeeze my breasts harder," she urged. He squeezed them so hard that he was afraid he might hurt her. His cock expanded yet further until he felt it filling and exploding with his release.
Chapter Eight
Maurice lived in a cozy apartment over the large garage where the two sleek black limousines were stabled. He was essentially a solitary man.
He took his meals in the great house with the other servants, Nellie, George and Madam Andre, but otherwise, he spent little time in the chateau. Although he got along with the others who so faithfully served Melissa, he actually had little in common with them.
Maurice enjoyed his freedom, and enjoyed taking care of the expensive automobiles. This was his hobby. He also liked reading books on automobiles and all other kinds of vehicles, fast moving and otherwise.
He was presently lying comfortably in bed, perusing an automotive magazine. Suddenly, he heard Melissa's wild scream from the chateau.
He leaped up from his reading. Could she be in trouble? As he listened, he heard a second scream and suddenly recognized the sound for what it was. Mrs. Staunton was in the throes of a violent orgasm. Maurice scratched his head. "God," he said softly, almost under his breath. He hadn't expected the kid (as he thought of Stephenson) would work so fast.
Maurice lay back down on his comfortable bed and continued to read his magazine. He imagined the cars were his own. He thought that if he could really own cars like these, then the most beautiful women in the world would throw themselves at his feet. He took his cock out of his pants as he dreamed. Yes, he could drive into towns all along the coast in these cars, and women would run to him, impressed, wanting him.
He would choose the most beautiful woman, the one with the fullest, most luscious breasts and longest legs. He would take her into his car and fuck her in the front seat. She would straddle him, naked, her back pressing into the steering wheel while he manipulated her up and down over his cock, squeezing her breasts and her hips. He slicked his hand with his saliva and began to rub his cock more furiously while thinking of beautiful, nameless women.
He came, and in his mind, he was coming inside of the beautiful, hazy faced woman's full, heavy-scented cunt. In his dream, he drove deeply into her and exploded, though in reality his cock was pulsing against his own fingers and palm.
George, who was lying in bed with Madam Andre in her separate apartment in the chateau, also heard the wild scream coming from Mrs. Staunton's sitting room. He tapped the naked woman on her shoulder.
"Ah, Cherie," he said, "the boy is making Madam happy, yes?"
"So it would appear, George," said Madam Andre, turning slightly so that the huge dildo, which was strapped around her waist, maintained its position. This huge instrument was buried completely inside George's bowels.
Madam Andre had been ass-fucking George since Maurice had driven Melissa and Steve to and from the opera in Monte Carlo.
As they lay there, they wondered what might be happening between their mistress and the new houseguest.
"You want me to pull it out, George?"
He shook his head. "No."
"But I've been fucking you over an hour. Aren't you ready to come?"
"No. Not yet. Keep going."
"But you've lost your erection," she said with a sad tone in her voice. Her fingers groped around in front of her, fingering his once- happy cock, which had now gone soft.
"Look," she said, rather harshly, "I've got things to do. Why don't you gather your strength and I'll come back in a little while? And make sure you're properly dressed next time. You know how I hate to see you in your shabby, everyday clothes." She laughed at this, and began to dress. All of George's protestations and pleading could not dissuade Madam Andre from leaving.
When she came back some three hours later, he greeted her at the door. She was pleased to see that he was properly dressed this time. He was wearing a woman's black corset with bone stays. On his head was a wig of long blond hair that reached his waist. He also wore shiny, black leather boots.
"That's much better," she said, entering the room with a supreme air about her, as if she were the mistress of the house and not merely the cook and staff supervisor.
She walked over to the sofa, undressed, and sat down. Next to the sofa was a whip. She picked it up, holding it by the hard wooden handle and running her flat palm down its length. All the while, she looked at George, who still stood by the door.