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Chocolate Malts-Weapons of Mass Seduction
A story by XXscribbler
It was a malted milk that triggered the adventure with Jenessa.
Chocolate, of course.
With double malt.
I was one of the senior academics on the international exchange excursion — the visitors were all European graduate students and faculty. On that particular evening, as an exercise in exploring an unfamiliar urban environment, each person was to find dinner independently — and we were in a town of about 450, Middle-of-Nowhere, USA, the entire suite of dining options being a drive-in burger joint and a god-awful (I’d been there!) Mexi/Chinese combo restaurant.
Jenessa was an advanced graduate student, about a year short of her doctorate. She was an extremely pretty woman, blond and blue-eyed in the best Nordic tradition, perhaps 112 pounds and about 5’2″, a nicely-shaped solid butt tautly encased in snug-fitting lightweight khaki jeans that showed the bottom-creases of her buttocks as well as the seams of her undies. Fun to walk up the hills behind her — a good view.
She spoke English well, was superficially shy — but not too shy to have gotten my eye with one or two glances over the table earlier in the trip. Or to have made a point of talking with me extensively at social-hours.
When the “find it yourself” dinner plans were announced, Jenessa asked me for advice — Chinese and Mexican she understood, but the “burger drive-in” was utterly foreign — the ‘eat-in-car’ culture had never developed in Europe. She liked the idea of hamburgers, but was so obviously perplexed at the idea of figuring out an American drive-in that I volunteered to teach.
Such a gentleman I was!
We hopped out of the car at the burger palace — an old-fashioned drive-up from the middle 1950s, outwards-tilted glass walls, gravel parking lot, handmade food, huge menu of mostly minor variations on the basic theme. I explained things, recommended a cheeseburger and a chocolate malt — the concept of a malted was hard to get across but she acquiesced.
As always, since I was a kid, I ordered my malt with double malt, double chocolate. To simplify things, she copied the order.
We took a back-corner booth to be out of the way of traffic, a booth with tall old-fashioned seat-backs giving some small semblance — fraudulent, really — of privacy.
When the food arrived minutes later, the waitress was apologetic — they’d had only enough ice cream to make one malt, which she had brought to the table. I declared the confection to be community property, got two spoons.
Janessa’s eyes lit up instantly on the first taste — it took no words to see that she was hooked before finishing the first spoonful. The effect was nothing short of magical. By half-way through the malt she was genuinely flirting with me, very subtly, just the corners of eyes, tilts of head. She didn’t object at all when I returned fire.
Closely tête-à-tête over the paper malt-cup we excavated our way down to the very bottom. Shared food, especially in semi-privacy, works wonders. As we worked the last inch of malted, our heads tilted closer together over the cup.
I was absolutely giddy by that time, far out of character, deeply lost in heat and a teenage-intensity crush.
I spooned up one last dollop, offered it to her with my spoon. She looked surprised, then pleased. She flushed and accepted it — as I held the handle, I could feel her tongue washing the ice cream off the steel, and it raised goose bumps on my chest. She held eye-contact through the exercise. Eventually she released the spoon, looked into the cup, and returned the favor.
When I finally finished and relinquished her spoon, I leaned forward slightly, brought my face closer, as if to kiss her, which I truly did intend to do. She didn’t recoil — one can always tell when a woman is genuinely ready for such an advance… but, overcome by a moment’s rationality, I stopped just short, then backed off.
She looked surprised, then gently laid her hand atop mine, pressed it, said in a whisper “I think I understand. Perhaps later!”
Enroute back to the little private apartments we were staying in, I asked if she might like to go for an evening walk in some of the nearby old-growth woods. She lit up nicely with her exquisite smile, told me “Yes, of course, that would be a very nice thing. But first, I should go to the bathroom. Just for a minute!”
The parking lot was empty – nobody else had yet returned — they had all headed for the little Chi/Mexi joint, where such a big crowd was undoubtedly getting slow service. I waited outside while she trotted into her apartment, then reappeared in under three minutes. She’d completely changed her outfit — now it was shorts, traction-soled sandals and a sleeveless front-button blouse. The new shorts were significantly tighter than what they’d replaced. There was no trace of panty lines – and no bra.
We started down the trail: the early evening light was much dimmer çiğli escort amongst the trees, the woods were thick and the trail convoluted. Jenessa stayed body-warmth-distance from me for a few steps, then suddenly her hand was in mine. She looked at my startled face, smiled: “So — is it okay that perhaps we should hold hands as we walk in here? I would like that if you would not mind it.”
I didn’t mind.
By a hundred meters into the forest we’d made several turns and were out of sight and hearing of anyone behind us. And there was no one there, anyhow.
Twenty more steps and she stopped, faced me. “Please tell me, why did you start to kiss me at the drive-in and then stop, not finish? I thought that such a kiss was a very romantic idea. Would have been, anyhow. And you turned such a pretty pink color! Tell me, please, did I displease you somehow?”
I shook my head. “No, of course not. You couldn’t displease me if you tried! It was just that… well, I realized how public the place was. No privacy. Public displays of affection between professors and students are usually not a good idea, even when almost out of sight of civilization!”
“We have genuine privacy right here, don’t you think? This seems like a really, truly private place, and therefore it is probably a good place for such things. Would you perhaps like to kiss now, in this privacy? This is an even more romantic place, actually, than that noisy drive-in with its bright lights. I would like that very much, if you would also. But only if you want — I do not wish to force you!”
I had to grin at her, and replied “Force me into such a thing? The mind boggles at the incongruity of the very concept!” She laughed delightedly. We stood there blocking the path for perhaps two minutes: she was an amazingly fine kisser.
When finally we broke, she smiled and said gently “Superb! I was hoping that maybe you would be interested in kissing me. I think you are! You are very good — I like how you kiss. Many years of practice, of course, no?”
“Of course I’m interested, Jenessa — you are a beautiful and intelligent woman, and I really like you very much. I didn’t expect to be treated so well! But we may have a little problem, don’t you think?”
“Why?” she asked. “We can always move off the pathway and step a ways into the forest where it will be even more private! I think that would be a very good idea, in fact.”
“No, Jenessa, I mean other things. I’m married, you know. I am a professor but you are still a student, even if very advanced. And I’m also about thirty years older than you!”
She shrugged, looked about, said “Let us go this way. It looks interesting and we can be farther away from the path.”
I could not refuse. Fifty paces later, amidst a jack-straw tangle of old logs, we stopped, face to face. My hardon was already fully formed.
She said very matter-of-factly, carefully picking her words, “Those are not really problems. I know you are married and I, also, am married. For over five years. Since becoming a married woman, I have now been traveling by myself for over three months every year, and have two more months to go in this year’s traveling before I return home to my husband. In all those travel-times, I have not met any man that I wished to kiss. Or be kissed by. Until I met you.”
She paused to put her hands around my neck. “You are fun, very intelligent and good looking, and cultured, and a nice man — you have made no attempts to be interested in any of the female students, which is very honorable. But I do see that you like to look at women. Anyway, my husband and I both had many sex-partners before we married, and we both travel a lot for our work.”
A universal shoulder shrug, then more: “We discussed this between us at the start of the marriage — before it, actually – and decided that we know that each of us will meet other people. And that some of those people will be very interesting. Like you, for instance! We decided on two rules, just between my husband and me. First rule, nobody would ever have a boyfriend or girlfriend, no lovers, in our home town. Second rule, anything personal that happens on our times apart is totally and completely private! Forever. We behave that way.”
“So, Herr Professor, the ages are different between you and me, of course, but who cares about that? I most certainly DO NOT! And you are not a professor of mine, or at my own university, or even in my own country, so that is unimportant also. Now — instead of inventing problems, shall we kiss some more?”
Of course we should!
I scanned the immediate surroundings — lots of variously sized old logs, some truly big, jutting about at random angles, all covered with a two-inch thick mat of Spanish moss, draped over them and hanging down like a saddle-blanket on a horse. Real moss, soft and cushiony, covered the ground. The air was saturated with a wonderful, green-filtered evening light.
At the end of that second kiss, foça escort I stepped her backwards against a live tree, put her hands behind her head so that her arms were flagged out exposing her pits. That made her nipples even more visible through the tautened blouse material — they stood out from her small, solid boobs like tips of little fingers.
I leaned towards her: “Jenessa, I intend to begin up here…” I kissed her forehead — “… and then very slowly work my way around this entire circle — down one hand, forearm, armpit, across your chest, and then back up to complete the circle. I repeat – very slowly. Would you have any objections?”
She smiled and shook her head, then said “No objections at all! But wait just a moment before you begin…” She unbuttoned the blouse in one smooth ripple of flying fingers, left it dangling ajar as she resumed the pose.
I did the circle. She squirmed appreciatively as I tongued her palm, then forearms and the inner corners of elbows, washed through her pits. She gasped nicely as I nursed on her nipples and studied (by tongue-Braille) the under-curve of each breast. Half-way through, between breasts, we clinched again mouth to mouth, and she pressed her crotch hard against mine, wriggling against my hardon, muttering as I broke to finish the second half of the circle, “You do not seem to be so old right now! You are really very hard. I think that should be a compliment for me, no?”
As I finished the circle and our mouths re-engaged, her arms came down, her hand slid between us. Then came two soft and insanely erotic sounds: a single metal snap popping open on her shorts, and the barely audible purr of zipper-teeth yielding to their slide. Her hand stayed between us, investigating my shorts’ zipper: the other took my hand and slid it down her belly. It was a little awkward for a few seconds as she adjusted her stance to let me explore: my fingers found the most delightful scenario, a pubic patch reduced to a short, vertical centerline thicket the size of my two thumbs: sides, top, and lips had been entirely cleared of their underbrush. She was dripping wet. She was also experienced with jockey-shorts and men’s trouser-fastenings — by the time I found her clit with my fingertip, she had my cock out through my fly and up at full stand, her fingers wrapped warmly and firmly around it.
“Shall we maybe have some sex activity together? I would like that very much. In addition to the nice kissing, of course — there is always time and room and a need for more kissing!”
I nodded assent, we both looked around.
She almost giggled, then whispered “I think this is private enough. Some of the logs look interesting. And I promise to be quite just like a mouse, so even if there is someone coming along on the path they will not know we are here. Shall we proceed to create some mutual pleasures?”
When I kissed her to emphasize my “YES!” she stepped back slightly and said “Please, can I make two requests first? Before we begin?”
Of course — what were they?
“Please — I would like you to keep your shorts on, just the way they are now. At least at the beginning — I like the feeling of the cloth on my skin. Is that okay for you?”
Then “And… well, do you know what it means to do sex “A la Greck”? I don’t know quite how you call it in English.”
I nodded. “Greek-style. It is a favorite of mine. We have several words for it in English — anal intercourse is the formal term, butt-fucking or ass-fucking are crude. I prefer “bottom-fucking.” Bottom-fucking is a warmer expression – friendlier – not so crude or impersonal and not ‘scientific’ sounding. This is your bottom…” I gripped her buttocks in my hands.
She giggled and said “A good terminology for it. I like it. Can we do it that way, please? At least, can we finish YOU that way?”
I had never been asked so bluntly, or so suddenly. “Yes, of course we can. I will be quite happy to make love any way you wish. But tell me, why Greek?”
Jenessa went suddenly shy, despite having my hardon in her hand and my finger deep inside her pussy. She buried her face against me and said “Because I think it is the most exciting way for sex, and gives the most pleasure, the maximum satisfaction, of any way that I know. In addition, I doubt that either of us have any condoms here, I certainly do not, and I am in the most dangerous part of my woman’s monthly cycle. Doing sex ‘A la Greck’ — excuse me, ‘bottom fucking’, is good for avoiding babies. In addition to the sex-enjoyment!”
If that was what she wanted, I could fully agree. And frankly, I hadn’t been so utterly turned on for years! I studied the logs around us, spied one that inspired me. “Come over here…” The log was about eighteen inches in diameter, sticking out of the ground at a shallow angle, completely draped with Spanish moss. I slipped her shorts down her legs, kissing the entire length of her midline enroute. She stepped out of shorts and sandals simultaneously, izmir escort shivering violently as my tongue played briefly with her clit.
Then I picked her up bodily, laid her face-down astraddle the log with her head uphill. I pulled the sides of her blouse from underneath her so that her chest and belly, the whole surface of each breast, were all pressed solidly against the nicely soft-bristly moss, then wrapped her arms around the trunk, told her to hold tight.
The pose spread her bottom perfectly. An utterly beautiful bottom, perfectly shaped, firm, blemish-free skin, erotic-spanking tight and smooth. Lovely! I looked my fill, complimented her lavishly but not a bit less than she deserved. She squeezed the trunk hard, looked back at me over her shoulder and waggled her bottom at me, saying “I am very glad that my “bottom” pleases you. Very, very, very glad. My bottom is all for you, all yours. Please, go ahead and do with it whatever will please you!”
I leaned forward and kissed the entire length of her slit — with some neck-craning I managed to apply tongue-tip to the back-side of her clit, then to her pussy, finally deep into the corrugated rosebud of her anus. She made appreciative noises and squirmings that only increased in intensity as I slipped first one, then two fingers deep inside her bottom, rotating and dancing them against her G-spot to relax and ready her for the major event.
Then I slid her slowly down the log until our crotch heights matched properly. I leaned forward, making sure to let the fabric and zipper slide across her naked skin — she squirmed in obvious delight. As I moved, I kissed her solidly, and asked “Doing sex in your bottom requires lubrication. May I slide into your vagina, your pussy, for just a few seconds, to get myself really slippery first?”
She eyed me again over her shoulder, slightly warily, then replied “Yes… but only two or three times please. And you must promise me not to stay inside there, and also especially that you will not suddenly finish in there. That would be both dangerous and very disappointing. If you make those promises and keep them, there is a possibility later of another performance. Indeed, a very high probability! So what do you call it, after the concert? The encore! But if you do not keep your promises, then certainly no encore.”
I agreed, then straddled the log behind her, slid a hand down to her clit, and slipped my erection full-depth into her pussy. Three strokes were all I allowed myself — she gave a most pleasing little gasp at the deep end of each. For just getting lubed, three was plenty. Then it was a long, slow slide through the pucker of her bottom. She sighed, hiccoughed, and abruptly thrust her hips up to meet me. Together we drove me slowly home, farther and farther, until we arrived at the deep inner sphincter, pressed against it, held the pressure until the muscle quit protesting and relaxed, then slid through to flatten my pubes against the hillocks of her bottom. Long, slow, incredibly deep strokes followed — lots of them.
Jenessa came easily and exquisitely hard… two, three, several times, her arms around the trunk gripping it so tightly that her upper-back and shoulder muscles stood out in relief. I slipped my free hand under her chin and she caught two fingers in her mouth, sucked and bit hard with every spasm.
When finally it was obvious that she was about played out for the moment, and having trouble breathing, I let myself go: her bottom was as receptive as any I have ever entered, and I explored her willingness to entertain ever-increasing vigor until I was absolutely pounding away without inhibitions. In short order I came in huge, shuddering spurts far up inside.
We rested there for a minute, with me quiescent but still hard, still fully embedded. Then she wriggled against me and whispered “Goodness! Such force! I think you have filled me completely up! So many satisfactions you gave me in such a short time, so wonderful! And here you are, still perfectly hard and still completely inside me! A wonderful condition, don’t you think? And very unusual, too. Maybe, though, there is some problem, that is why you are still hard? Are you not satisfied with my bottom? Was your own satisfaction perhaps not quite good enough?”
She was genuinely worried — so I provided reassurance. Then she turned her face slightly and said between sideways kisses “If you will slide out for a moment, and raise up higher, I can turn around and we can do some more kissing!”
She led as we slid me out ever so slowly, savoring the suction of the slide, the taut clamp-down of her sphincter. As I actually left, she sighed deeply and said into the mossy blanket beneath her face “Oh… Dear! I feel so empty now. My bottom is all lonely, I’m afraid! She likes having you inside!”
Then she rotated under me, lay back on the moss, wrapped her arms around my neck and thighs around my hips, pulled us together snugly, and undertook to swallow my tongue. After a few minutes of recuperation, she reached between us and took my cock in hand. “Nice! Still very hard. Perhaps you would like to do the encore, since you performed as you promised me? This can be the first encore — I believe that for exceptional performances often there are several?”
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