“Brenda turned toward me and pulled my head down for a long lascivious kiss that tasted of Snake’s cum. When we finished, she said, ‘That’s a thank you Doctor. You’ve helped us so much, but Snake is done and now it’s time for us to go.’ They dressed quickly and left me in a bit of a daze sitting naked on the floor, my back against my desk and my clothes scattered here and there about my office. I pulled on my skirt and the jacket of my suit and started for the door. As I was about to walk out, I looked about and saw that the place was a mess. My undergarments, Brenda’s undergarments, one of Snake’s flip-flops peeking from beneath the couch, my and Brenda’s shoes, all were strewn haphazardly about the room. Papers that had been on the desk before someone had sex on it were scattered on the floor. It looked and smelled like there had been an orgy. I said, ‘Fuck it. I’ll come back and clean-up tomorrow.’ I dropped the tape recorder in my purse, stepped through the door and locked it before I walked barefoot down to my car and drove here.”
“It sounds like you had a long afternoon,” Scott said with a smile.
“Yes,” Ingrid said, “I had a long afternoon.” She sat, a finger slowly stroking her pussy as she stared at Scott’s angry looking rigid dick. “But I’m not done yet.” She stood, walked over to Scott, dropped between to her knees between his legs, and began to stroke his prick. “This cock looks like it needs some TLC.”
Scott gasped as she sucked the head of his prick between her lips and to the back of her throat. She had taken Snake down her throat earlier in the day, but she was sure she couldn’t do it with Scott’s huge beast. After a minute or two of sucking and tonguing he spoke up, “Ingrid, what this cock needs is a good hard fuck. I’m still functioning on European time and we’ve both had a lot of wine, but I can go one round and make you squeal like the sex starved slut you are. Let’s go to the bedroom.”
Ingrid felt her libido kick into overdrive as she heard Scott’s abusive sex talk. She pulled back letting his cock pop from between her lips. Smiling up at him she said in Swedish, “Oh you’re such a sweet talker.”
Scott hadn’t a clue what the meaning of Ingrid’s Swedish words were, but the smile on her face told him everything he wanted to know. He picked her up, carried her to their bedroom, and laid her down on the bed. Moments later Ingrid was laying on her back, legs spread and groaning with an exquisite pain as Scott forced his big cock through the entrance to her over worked cunt. “Oh yes. So, fucking good. I’m so full. My god I’ve never felt you this hard.”
Once fully in he said, “All right you slut, am I as good as the snake? Does it fill you up like this?” He began to stroke his cock in and out. He was holding his upper body above her chest, but just enough to keep his weight off her. Every time he rammed his cock home her chest moved and lightly scrapped her nipples along his chest. His mound was mashing her clit each time.
“Oh, fuck yes,” she said. “You’re way better than Snake. Yeah, he had a long dick, but it didn’t stretch the walls of my cunt like you do. Oh god this is good. Just keep doing what you are doing. I’m not sure I can cum again, but I want to feel the way you stretch me each time you drive that big pig of a cock of yours into me. Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, that feels so good.”
They screwed like that for nearly fifteen minutes in the classical missionary position, rolling to their side from time to time when Scott’s arms tired and then back up again so he could keep pounding her. He was working hard to keep from cumming. “Oh my god woman, you’ve got the best pussy I’ve ever had my dick in. I’m not sure I can keep from cumming much longer.”
“Okay,” she said. “Pull out and cum on my tits. I think I can get myself off with my fingers.”
He did as asked, sitting on his knees between her legs and stroking his gleaming cock. After only few strokes he yelled “Oh shit. I’m going to cum. And it’s going to be a big one.” Scott groaned as he felt the first shot of many rush up his cock.
Feeling that first rush of cum splatter on her face pushed Ingrid to the edge of a climax. “Oh god, oh god, oh shit. I’m almost there,” she said before lapsing into Swedish obscenities. She came with a scream, arching her back and thrusting her hips up, as Scott’s wonderous prick continued to pump stream after stream of cum into her hair and on her face, her tits and the last few dribs on her belly. Both collapsed to the side in a tangle of arms and legs. She was crying just as she had seen Brenda do earlier in the day.
They lay side by side, legs and arms tangled, murmuring ‘I love you,’ to each other. Scott withdrew just long enough to drag a blanket over them.
Then they slept.
It was nearly noon the next day before they awakened. Scott arose first and showered, finding Ingrid just stirring when he emerged into the bedroom, a towel around his waist and his blonde hair darkened with water.
“Oh a shower,” Ingrid said. “I think I need that.” There was dried cum from two lovers still glued in her hair, her eyebrows, her neck, her tits, her belly, and everywhere between and among those body parts. “Is there hot water left?”
“Lots. Shower and enjoy it älskare (lover). I’ll make breakfast.”
There was a fresh pot of coffee and warmed cream awaiting her when she arrived in the kitchen, wrapped in a robe, her hair still wet, but the smeared make-up and dried cum of the prior day gone. Bacon was fried and waiting, warming in the oven, along with a stack of Swedish pancakes (a French crepe with a Swedish twist) and serving plates. There was a bowl of macerated fruit (a variety of fresh berries from California’s agricultural bounty) on the table to fill the crepes, sweet, juicy, and warmed to just above room temperature.
She wrapped her arms around him for a long hug finished with a peck on the cheek.
“Sit,” he said, “and let me serve you.” He poured the coffee, adding the warm cream as she liked it, and set it before her. She sipped it carefully as she watched him serve up the crepes on the warmed plates along with slices of the bacon. He fixed his own coffee, black with no creamer, and was about to join her at the table when she spoke.
“A saucer, please. The coffee is too hot, and god knows I need a coffee.”
He looked at her and smiled, remembering her story of her Swedish grandfather, who always poured his coffee in a saucer to cool before drinking. And always from the saucer. “Of course, my love.”
He set the saucer before her, and she poured her coffee and cream into it to cool. They filled the Swedish pancakes with the berries and then ate in silence.
“You’re a good cook,” she said as she finished.
“Thank you. More coffee?”
He rose and poured a second cup for each of them, hers with cream and his black. She ignored the saucer for the second cup. They sat across the table sipping their coffee looking at each other over the top of their cups.
“How are you this morning?” he asked.
She set her cup down and thought for a minute and thought before answering. “I’m good . . . Actually, I’m very good.” She smiled. “And you?”