A Lust For Lifebyrobertreams©
Kathleen drifted slowly up from sleep. Gems of reflected sunlight from the crystal chandelier in their bedroom, danced across the ceiling. Sleep, blessed sleep. She couldn't get enough. She was always tired. Her once glowing golden tresses hung over her shoulders, limp and mousy. She knew she was ill. The doctors Dion had brought had all tried to convince her she was not ill, only tired from the stress of being married to such a rich, influential man. In truth, there was no reason she could discern for her exhaustion. With over thirty servants, the household ran itself. She had no job, no responsibilities. She had her own masseuse, manicurist, hairdresser, and personal trainer. Even with daily workouts in the gym in the cellar of their 35 room estate, the hardest work she performed was making love to Dion. And it was strenuous. Not that she minded, quite the contrary, she could not keep her hands off him, desired him constantly.
But she was tired, very tired, all the time. Something was wrong, she knew it, felt it in her bones. Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on her bedroom door. "Hey beautiful! It's me, Dion. I've brought you something."
"Come in Dion."
He was shirtless, as he almost always was at home. Though older than she by almost thirty years, he had the most beautifully perfect body she had ever seen. Not that she had seen many, at least not naked. His torso was firm and muscular. Broad shoulders, bulging biceps. A patch of heavy dark curls started between flat taut pecs, flared out broadly, over his six-pack belly, then descended in a vee to a tight line down the center, pointing, like the pathway to heaven, under the waistband of his worn jeans. As always, the sight of him brought strange gentle, far away music to her mind. She had always thought of it as music, that aching longing deep inside her, taking her breath, tightening her belly, hardening her nipples and causing that inner contractions, there, making her moist and hot.
"You are blushing again, darling." Dion told her. "Here's your breakfast." She sat up, struggling at the effort and he placed the tray on her lap. The back of his hand grazed the exposed flesh of her thighs and she jumped. Something moved inside her. She looked at him. He smiled down at her. His enchanting smile and deep dark eyes bored into her. The sound of music came to her then, like a soft flute playing in the wind.
How could it be only fifteen months since she had met him? At twenty-eight she had thought her life pretty well set up, and she, thoroughly set in her ways. But then there was Dion. She had met him at a dinner party her office had given during a productivity enhancement seminar. It was fate, she supposed, that had placed them at the same table. He said little, yet commanded the attention of all ten people at their table. Especially her. She had arrived an acceptable few minutes late. Already seated, he had risen and offered her his hand like a gentleman. That touch! She would always remember. It was as though an electrical current had passed through their fingertips up her arm and straight to her heart. Though she had never known a man, never felt a man's hands upon her, never had much interest in such things, she found herself, before the evening had ended, impaled atop him, riding his engorged manhood. Her elegant black dinner gown was pushed above her breasts, where his thin elegant hands plied their magic. Her head was flung back, her long golden hair brushed his thighs and she wailed a wild eerie, pagan call from deep in her throat, deep in her being. He joked often that he had released the beast within her, found and freed the slut that dwelt in her.
"Kathleen, honey? Are you with me? Hello? Earth calling Kathleen!"
"Hi Baby. I am here. I don't feel much like eating."
"Now, now, no excuses. You have to eat to keep up your strength. I'll sit with you while you eat, here let me feed you. I always enjoy that." he spread gourmet tangerine marmalade on a toast point and held it to her lips. She never could say no, never could resist those eyes, those deep compelling eyes, black with a fleck of gold in each pupil.
Though she was exhausted she found herself wanting him, wanting it. An aching fever rose from deep within her, its heat flashing through her. High piping music overruled her brain. Her thighs became damp with fluid seeping from her. She fought to control herself, failed. Kathleen reached roughly over, inserted her fingertips over the waistband of his worn jeans and pulled him toward her. "I want," she said, unbuttoning the top button, reaching impatiently inside. His cock was dark and heavy, ominous, almost fearsome in its length and girth. Wide at its base, it narrowed toward the tip, like some strange arrow, designed especially to pierce her. Dark wrinkled foreskin covered his penis completely, enfolding the deep scarlet head, even when he was fully erect. His entire groin area, testicles, and upper thighs and almost all of his penis, was covered with dense, dark curly hair, stretching down his legs to his ankles.
Kathleen took him roughly, rudely, quickly into her mouth as he stood beside the bed, dark hair tickling her lips and tongue and nose. She had learned in the time they had been together, to take all of him into her throat, breathing expertly through her nose. She placed her hands on his buttocks; he set his hips in a rocking motion, driving his cock deeply in and out of her eager throat. He set an easy loping rhythm of long slow strokes. He pulled out each time until only the very tip remained in her mouth with her lips closed over the foreskin, then eased his long shaft forward through his captured foreskin, along her wide tongue and into her waiting throat.
The first time they had done this, three nights after their wedding, She had hated being on her knees in front of him, despised the demeaning nature of the act. Kathleen had been appalled and shamed, hating the fetid smell and taste of him, detesting the feel of his coarse hair on her face and lips, gagging on the mass of him, nearly puking, eyes watering.
The fifth time, five nights after their wedding, she had suddenly understood, had let go, relaxed opened her mouth and throat and person to him, fully accepted him into her body. She found herself mightily aroused, vagina dripping, so slippery that when he finally knelt behind her and inserted himself, all resistance to his penetration had disappeared. He had slid in so effortlessly that she had found herself full of his massive maleness before she was aware of his entry. She could dissemble if she wished, but her body could not lie. She wanted him in her, needed him penetrating her.
And through it all, throughout it all, there was the music. Whenever she was with him, "that way", a strange halting melody seemed to weave its way into her consciousness, faint but powerful, dancing through her mind, somehow linked to Dion, to their love, to their lives together.
The morning after that first wild night, that first wild ride, he had proposed to her, explaining gently, simply, that he, "could not live without her". They were married two weeks later. On their cruise to Monaco, they had scarcely seen the ocean, had been locked in their stateroom and in each others embrace throughout the journey.
When they had arrived in Monaco, they had been driven in a chauffeured Rolls-Royce to the famed Hotel de Paris. By the time they reached their suite, Kathleen's neck ached from trying to take in all the splendor that surrounded her; from the elaborate lobby, glistening with rainbows reflected from thousands of crystals in the huge chandelier, to the grandeur of the Louis XIV dinning room. Wherever they went, people bowed and scraped as if she and Dion were royalty, though they never strayed far from their magnificent bed in their fabulous suite.
Once home, her life was a constant whirlwind of parties and social gatherings, charity events and celebrity dinners. Dion had made her the administrator of his charitable trust, a special fund to provide life-changing opportunities for teen-aged unwed mothers. She was now the director with fifteen staff. At first she had been pleased that he had placed so much trust in her, but she soon found that she did almost nothing for the non-profit; everything ran itself.
Her main job, as it turned out, was to be the beautiful young woman on the arm of Dion Isis, Greek billionaire and owner of, it seemed to Kathleen, some of everything. Though she felt her talents were under-utilized, she performed her wifely functions admirably. Everyone said she was the most beautiful, most gracious Mrs. Isis ever. After hearing this the first time, she had asked the staff how many Mrs. Isis' there had been. It seemed no one really knew. Some said four, some five. She had even heard someone suggest there may have been six. When she had asked Dion directly, he had mumbled something about that not being important, that she was the woman he loved now.
Her other main role was apparently to provide this tremendously attractive, rich and powerful man with the level of sexual satisfaction he obviously needed. And, while at first she had been awed by the frequency and variety of their joinings, she had now come to crave them as much as he.
Kathleen had not known she was a sexual person, had always eschewed physical contact with males. But now she admitted to herself she was indeed a slut, a raving sex maniac. She smiled as she thought of herself that way. But it was true. She simply could not get enough of Dion. Each time they were together, she felt their love making had culminated in her ultimate satisfaction. But despite the flood of satisfaction that came each time she offered herself to him, despite the hour-long orgasms that sometimes overwhelmed her, left her weak and trembling, she always found herself wanting more. More and more.
The breakfast tray lay discarded on the floor, its contents spilled, egg congealed on the carpet. The dozen long stemmed white roses he had brought, lay scattered and crumpled on the bed. After Kathleen had taken his essence into her throat, had swallowed every drop, he had pulled her to her feet, bent her over the bed and entered her from behind. This was his favorite way of 'having' her, standing from behind. And she had to admit she well appreciated the freedom of movement it afforded him. After he had spilled his seed deep in her the second time, she rolled him over, climbed atop and rode his straight hard prick to an orgasm so all-fulfilling as to leave her weeping with pleasure, nearly unconscious. When he was in her, deep in her, she often thought he had some special power, his cock seemed to rove around inside her, touching every deep, sensitive spot inside her. And always, deep in her subconscious, there shrilled that high eerie music. When she tried to listen, to determine a tune or rhythm, she heard nothing. It was only at her and Dion's time of intimacy that she imagined the titillating sensuous piping.
She awoke wanting him, wanting more, but as usual with their bouts of lovemaking, when she awakened, he was gone. Bone sore and weary, she dragged herself to the bathroom, where a hot shower and a good hair washing restored her somewhat. She rang for Edward. Less than two minutes later, he was knocking at her door. "Edward, I'm starving. Do you think you could scare up something for lunch?"
"With pleasure, madam. I believe Martha has some excellent breast of game hen left from last night. . ."
"Anything Edward. As quickly as you can, please."
"I shan't be a moment Ma'am."
In less than ten minutes Edward was back with a delicately made sandwich, neatly trimmed of crust with watercress and grated peppercorns, plum sauce on the side and a class of excellent Cabernet Sauvingnon. In addition, the tray contained a small dish of tangerine sorbet garnished with dried cranberries. "I hope this meets with madame's approval," Edward said, " Shall I place it just here on the dressing table? Or would Madame prefer it in bed?"
"Thank you so much Edward. You are a peach. But thanks I'll get up and come over there."
Kathleen's spirit was stronger than her body, for it took her several minutes to leave the bed, don a robe and walk across the room. Pains wracked her muscles and joints. Her breath came with difficulty. Diving into her lunch as if she had never eaten, she made a firm resolve to speak to Dion about her health. She needed professional help, a doctor of her choosing, and right away. When she finished eating, she rang for her personal maid. Using her cream colored, gold-edged Isis family stationary with the family crest embossed top center, she carefully composed a note to Dion concerning her health. She spoke of her pain and weakness and asked his help to see a physician as soon as possible. "Gloria," she said when the letter was finished, carefully folding it and placing it in a matching envelope, licking the seal, "please be sure this message gets in Mr. Isis' personal mail, marked 'urgent'. I want him to see it this evening. Thank you."
Too proud to let the maid see her disability, she waited until Gloria left, then hobbled back into bed, pulling up the down comforter and tucking it around herself, glad for the feeling of security it provided.
Eight hours later, Dion was gently shaking her. "Honey, honey, wake up, you said you had to talk to me. Wake up. You left a message, said it was urgent. Come on honey, wake up!"
"Huh, wha. . .?"
"Sweetie," Dion said, bending to kiss her softly on the lips.
"Hmmm. More," she murmured sleepily, raising her arms to twine around his neck. "Much more."
He kissed her again, more fervently. She clung to him as if her life depended upon it, dragging him down. He lost his footing and fell heavily upon her. She rolled him over, fumbling at his belt, dragging down his pearl gray wool trousers. His cock sprung free. She loved the way he was always ready, always hard and wet for her. Using one hand and wriggling her hips around, she guided his huge penis, finally plopping it inside her. Sitting up heavily on him, she ground her hips down and around until the soft flesh of her clitoris ground harshly against his pubic bone. She cried out as the waves of pleasure swept over her tiny form. "Yes, oh Yes," she screamed.
Kathleen bent over him then, nipping at his neck and shoulders. Her hands went under him to claw at his buttocks, draw them up to her. He bent his knees then, to give him purchase, ramming up and back, to drive his swollen cock deep and hard into her. At the moment of his climax, the wild piping began again in her brain, its exotic echo triggering her own release as she squirted his belly and thighs with fluid.
For a long time she lay atop him, shuddering over and over and leaking on him, until the last throes of her passion had passed. He murmured love sounds in her ear as he gently stroked her back and buttocks, softly kissed her lips and throat.
Finally he spoke. "Is this what you wanted to see me so urgently about," he asked, giggling.
She slapped him playfully on the arm, laughing with him. "You are so bad," she said.
"The best thing you ever had," he responded immediately, paraphrasing words from their favorite song. They laughed and played and tickled together for a time, then grew serious. "Really, darling, what was it you wanted to talk about?"
"It's probably nothing, Dion. I have just been felling very tired lately. Kind of worn out and, oh, I don't know. . . just, just, tired. Like I said, it's probably nothing."
That is good, because i promised my great grandmother we would dine with her this evening.
"Oh dear, do we have to?
"Yes, we have to, we must keep up appearances, so. . . thirty minutes to shower and get ready?"
"Give me forty-five and you're on."
"Great. And, darling, would you wear the necklace please?" By 'the necklace' he meant his great grandmother's diamond necklace, a horridly ostentatious conglomeration of diamonds and emeralds that weighed about five pounds around her neck and was worth so much, in the millions perhaps, that she was afraid to wear it without armed guards around. "Must, I?"
"Well, dear, proyiayia will be dining with us. You know she has left you that necklace in her will. Along with the funds I have set aside, it would serve you well if anything should happen to me.
"Yeah, that's what you say, but you know that old hag will never die. How old is she anyway.
"She's only 98."
"Ha, I'll probably die before her."
"Don't talk like that!" He made a sign over his shoulder to ward off evil.
"You know how I feel about all that old Greek superstition stuff," she said. Cut it out!"
"Oh, honey, you know I don't take any of it for real, but you still shouldn't call down death or evil by saying it aloud."
"Ha ha ha, you're not superstitious, not you,"
"Okay, okay, maybe a little. But anyway, wear the necklace, okay, please, for me?"
"Well all right, but it's so heavy you'll have to rub my back afterward."
"You got yourself a deal! Now hurry and get ready. I'll go use the other bath. See you. Love you!"
"Love you, too."
They sat and had a perfectly lovely dinner of broiled lamb with mint sauce, dolmades, grape leaves stuffed with a delicious blend of who knew what, and a delicate salad of Greek olives, endive and feta cheese. Conversation was light because proyaiyai, Dion's great grandmother, preferred speaking Greek, which she loudly proclaimed was, "the language of the gods". However, Kathleen could tell that proyaiyai was quite pleased she had worn the precious necklace. Dinner was washed down by copious amounts of retsina, the harsh Greek wine with overtones of evergreen resin. As the waiter approached with tiny demitasse glasses of thick strong Turkish coffee and a platter of baklava, Dion's great grandmother spoke to him suddenly in Greek, of which Kathleen still spoke only a few words, even after fifteen months in the family. "What did she say?" she asked Dion.
"She said that my new wife, was nearly as lovely as the necklace and that it and you belonged together. Actually she said you 'shone together'."
Kathleen blushed deeply at the compliment, which sent proyaiyai into gales of cackling laughter.
"Afaristo poli," Kathleen said, directly to the grandmother, thanking her for her gracious compliment. Her clumsy attempt at Greek only sent the old woman into renewed fits of laughter.
When the sommelier brought Metaxa brandy in crystal snifters, Kathleen begged off. "I'm sorry darling. I think I have had enough to eat and drink tonight."
"Enough? Enough of the sweet nectar of the gods? Never enough, "Dion laughed. Tilting the snifter back and inserting his nose to capture the strong bouquet.
Kathleen faltered. "I. . . I. . . Don't feel. . . Feel. . . Very, good," she barely managed to squeak.
"Perhaps you should go back to the room and lie down. I can see to it that proyaitai gets safely home."
"Don't be silly, darling. I'll be all right. It's probably only all that exercise I've been getting lately." She grinned up broadly and tenderly at him. He was so kind, so tender, so concerned. She leaned close to whisper. "Especially the unusual type of exercise I have been getting for the last year and a half."
*** *** ***
Not long after that dinner he had taken her to relax and recover her health at the American Pacific island of Samoa. He was called away often to converse for hours on the phone, conducting business which she neither knew nor cared about. But all the rest of the time, they spent together relaxing, sunning, and swimming and, of course, making mad impassioned love. One magical night, he took her for a walk down the tropical beach. The sky was filled with diamonds. The only sound was the gentle wash of the waves. It lulled and comforted her