Amelie had wagged a finger at him as she spoke, but she complied with his request, enjoying her power over him too much to want to refuse, despite his crude words. Rolling onto her knees, she lifted her bottom and reached back, to take hold of her panties and peel them slowly down. Tom gave a long, heartfelt sigh, his eyes riveted to her as she exposed herself inch by inch, the gentle valley between her firm little bottom cheeks, the tight pink dimple of her anus, and finally her virgin sex, with the red bulge of her hymen plainly visible where it held her inviolate to his cock.
‘Oh, Amelie!’
He came, so copiously that he soiled not only his trousers and shirt but his own face. Amelie gave a little tut as she pulled her knickers back up, then quickly rolled her legs off the bed, speaking to him as she made for the bathroom.
‘Really, Tom. I know you’re a man, and men have their needs, but you really must try and show a little more restraint. I’m not a sex doll.’
He didn’t answer, his eyes now closed in guilty bliss, while his mouth was slack and wider than before. Amelie knew from long experience that he would spend the next few minutes feeling bad about demanding that she surrender herself to him, and for what he’d asked of her. He’d always been like that, desperately eager to please her and pathetically grateful for what she chose to give. She liked it that way, and took care to conceal her own emotions, such as the urgent need to spread her thighs and have her soaking cunt filled with hard, eager cock.
She locked the bathroom door, as she always did, turned on th
e shower, slipped out of her dress and tugged her panties down a little. It had felt good with the material taut around her thighs and she wanted to feel the sensation again as she sat her bare bottom down on the toilet seat and spread her legs. Her hand went to her cunt to tease the moist flesh between her lips, and then lower to touch her anus in a moment of pure, dirty indulgence. The little hole felt tight and soft, deliciously sensitive, and for a moment she wondered if she had time to ease a finger in, only to decide to postpone the naughty pleasure for a more convenient moment. Tom was outside, waiting his turn in the bathroom, and while she knew he wouldn’t make a nuisance of himself she didn’t want to take too long and risk arousing his suspicions. Reluctantly, she abandoned her exploration of her bottom-hole and began to masturbate in earnest, with the ball of her thumb circling her clit and one finger gently pressed to her hymen.
Her rubbing quickly grew urgent as she remembered how it had felt to kneel on the bed with her dress pulled high to show off her breasts and her panties at half mast, the white cotton stretched taut between her thighs as she showed Tom her virgin cunt hole. It had been so good, both to be showing off and knowing exactly how he’d respond, tugging furiously at his cock in impotent desire until he came all over himself. She nearly came herself at the memory of the thick white semen erupting from his cock, but held off at the last second and turned her mind to how any real man would have behaved in the same situation.
She’d have been fucked. There would have been no begging, no pathetic entreaties. He’d have climbed on the bed behind her, given her bottom a few firm smacks to teach her not to be a tease, and pushed his cock to her cunt, to burst her hymen and fuck her until he’d added the white of his semen to the red of her deflowered sex. Maybe he’d have taken a little longer with her and made her suck his beautiful big cock for a while as he explored her body, or spanked her properly, leaving her red-bottomed and whimpering. One way or another he’d have come inside her and left her pregnant with his child.
Amelie bit her lip to stop herself crying out as she came, holding the image of her virgin cunt speared on a truly massive cock, her hole straining taut on the thick shaft, which would be streaked red and white with her blood and his semen. The only question was: who was worthy?
* * *
It was not an easy question to answer. All her life she’d been the most methodical of girls, with her progress neatly mapped out, stage by stage. So far she had successfully resisted all the boys and men who’d found her slender young body appealing, never giving in to more than the occasional blow job when one of them proved especially desirable or particularly pushy. She had done well in her exams and secured the place at university she needed to give her polish and make it easier to select a man who would make a suitable husband. That man had been Tom, who possessed all the right attributes, principally earning power and a mild, obedient nature, but he was blatantly unsuitable to be the father of her children.
So were all the other men she’d met, even the vice chancellor of the university, who’d propositioned her one evening and got his face slapped for his troubles. A mere vice chancellor was not enough. What she needed was a man whose intellect and achievements would ring down the centuries, a man whose name could claim equity with Beethoven or Churchill, with Darwin or Joyce, a true great. Unfortunately such men were impossible to identify until they had achieved their status and hard to find and seduce even then. Besides that, her timing needed to be immaculate, as in order to conceive she would have to have sex almost immediately before her wedding night and somehow conceal from Tom the fact that she had already surrendered her supposedly sacred virginity.
Yet she was nothing if not determined. Her choice was made and her plans laid. To celebrate the final days of freedom she would choose a weekend of riding in La Mancha, sat astride the magnificent Spanish palominos, which would allow for a tear-stained explanation of how she had come to ruin her hymen while providing the perfect excuse to visit a rather different destination, the villa of Vicente da Silva near Valdepenas.
Da Silva was perfect, a brilliant, fiery writer during his early years in Cuba and Central America, a man who’d fought time and again for what he believed in. He was also a composer, an athlete and, if rumour was to be believed, a dedicated lothario. Now in his seventies, he had spent the past two decades living the life of a recluse, alone in a great, decaying mansion surrounded by vineyards and olive groves, at least if the information she’d gleaned from the internet was accurate.
Amelie had no doubts at all of her ability to seduce him. A man was a man, and she had taught herself well, always ready to take in what would arouse a male, to the point at which she’d made more than one frustrated admirer come in his pants without so much as touching him. Da Silva would be no different, and if his age was a trifle off-putting, then it would be a sacrifice well worth making.
She would stay with him for a week, carefully timed to give herself the best chance of conceiving, then leave as suddenly and mysteriously as she had arrived. A day of riding and she would have the horsey photographs she needed to show Tom when she returned to England, now pregnant with the great man’s child. Only she would ever know.
Everything went smoothly. Tom fussed a little when she told him she was going to Spain, but he soon gave in, as usual. The night before she left she allowed him to come in his hand as she knelt naked on the bed, then made him promise to behave himself while she was away and not to get up to any mischief on his stag night, a night in the pub with a handful of old friends. There was worship in his eyes as he swore he’d never so much as look at another woman, and Amelie had no reason to doubt his word.
The flight to Spain and journey south in a hired car were uneventful, although Amelie could feel her tension growing with each passing mile. La Mancha was as she had imagined it, and seen it in pictures, a great open plain baked brown by the sun and giving way to more broken country in the south, where da Silva’s villa stood in a secluded valley. It took a while to be certain she had the right house, but she was sure of the man disporting himself in a great weather-beaten wickerwork chair. He’d been twenty years younger in the most recent photograph she’d been able to find. His famous mane of black hair had turned to silver and his lean body showed his seventy years, but the set of his limbs still spoke of confidence and strength, while his eyes burnt bright with intelligence.
Amelie watched for a while to get over her nervousness and just in case there was anybody else about, but the only sound was the hum of cicadas and the occasional call of a bird among the vines behind the house. Finally she stepped through the tall gateposts and up the short drive to where the great man was taking his rest in his chair. He saw her, looked up and said something in Spanish. Amelie put a finger to her lips and with a single motion shrugged the loose cotton dress that was her only garment from her shoulders. It fell away in a puddle of pure white cloth to leave her nude, her breasts exposed to his eyes, and her belly, with just the faint down of her hair concealing her virgin cunt.
His eyes went wide and again he spoke, but again Amelie put her finger to her lips, motioning him to silence as she stepped forwards, naked and ready. All he had on was a pair of sun-bleached shorts, the hems ragged and the crotch showing a conspicuous bulge. Amelie knelt down and reached out, taking hold of his cock through his shorts and massaging him gently, making her intentions even more obvious than before. He took a moment to respond and then his hand came out and made tentative contact with her back. She didn’t resist, and his hand slipped lower, first to her hip and then to the turn of her bottom.
Amelie smiled in response, pushing herself out to make both her cheeks and the slit between them available to his hand. He continued to stroke and to squeeze, gradually gaining confidence as she kneaded his cock through his shorts. He reached down with his spare hand to unzip himself. Amelie took the hint and opened the button of the tattered garment to pull out a dark cock, every bit as thick and long as she’d hoped and imagined. His caresses immediately
grew more urgent, eager fingers slipping beneath her bottom to find her sex.
She sighed as he touched her cunt, and pushed out her bottom a little further to invite yet more intimate exploration. He turned a little to touch her breasts, his fingers moving over the sensitive flesh as if in astonishment at the firmness of her flesh and the stiffness of her nipples. Amelie leant forwards, making her position yet more provocative and vulnerable, her bottom pushed well out behind, breasts lolling forwards. She had begun to masturbate him, rolling his thick brown foreskin back and forth across the plump pink cockhead and using her fingers to tease the most sensitive areas of his skin. Despite his age, his cock had already begun to swell, growing and stiffening in her hand. He was well endowed too, with little evidence of the years, making it easy for her to take his penis in her mouth.
He tasted of salt and of man, making her more eager still. She took him deep and began to suck. He gave himself free rein with her body, his long lean fingers exploring the shape of her breasts and the stiff little points of her nipples, the curve of her bottom cheeks and the lips of her cunt and her hole. A sudden sharp pang of nervous excitement hit her as he tried to penetrate her, only to find his way blocked by her hymen. He withdrew, but only for an instant, until she’d parted her knees and pushed her bottom out into a more vulnerable position, making it very obvious she was his for the taking.
His caresses became more intimate still, his fingers rubbing in the wet slit of her cunt and probing at her hymen, his cock now a hard bar of flesh in her mouth. The discovery she was a virgin had excited him, which was exactly as it should be, and Amelie gave an encouraging wiggle as she took him as deep into her throat as he would go. He gasped in response, and for one awful moment she thought he was going to waste himself down her throat so pulled quickly back.
She didn’t bother to speak, knowing he wouldn’t understand and that the language of her body was all he needed. She got up to straddle him as he slipped forward a little in his chair. He took hold of his cock, holding it up to make a spear for her to sit on, his eyes fixed in wonder and delight on her naked body as she lowered herself gently onto his erection. It was the moment she’d been looking forward to for so long, when she would give up her virginity to the man she’d chosen as worthy. Despite the dull ache as the head of his cock pushed against her hymen she was in a state of ecstasy, as much spiritual as physical, as she slowly allowed her weight to settle.
He was patient, letting her take her time, only to suddenly push hard, bursting Amelie’s hymen with one thrust and making her cry out at the sudden sharp pain, but also in sheer joy. Her cunt still stung as she lowered herself properly onto his cock shaft, but she was determined to cope for the sake of having her hole full, not only of erect penis, but of the spunk he had to give her. Again he began to thrust and she responded by wriggling herself down onto his cock, then lifting her hands to play with the dark mass of her hair as she rode him, showing herself off as they fucked. He gave an encouraging grin, reaching out to take hold of her breasts and pull at her nipples as his cock moved inside her, and yet he showed none of the desperation she was used to from Tom and from other lovers.
Amelie told herself that he’d probably had a thousand lovers in the course of his long and eventful life and had no doubt learnt to pace himself. In any case a man in his seventies could hardly be expected to behave like a twenty-year-old. Yet it was essential that he stayed focused on her cunt and came inside her instead of in her mouth, over her face and breasts, or any of the other dirty things men so enjoyed doing.
Eager to get him more excited, she lifted herself off his cock to turn around, exhibiting her bottom to him as he once more eased his erection up her hole. He made no comment but immediately took hold of her bottom, spreading her cheeks to show off her anus and the junction between cock and cunt as they fucked. Amelie knew she was bloody, and that he could see every rude detail as she rode him, in a way that no man had ever done before. It was gloriously dirty, almost too dirty, and she had to remind herself who she was giving such intimate pleasures to in order to let herself carry on. Yet still he showed no signs of wanting to come.