tagMatureAn Austrian in Alabama

An Austrian in Alabama

byAlwaysHungry©

"Oh pretty woman, she's the risin' sun..." Virgil was tooling down State Highway 106, watching the Alabama greenery flow by on either side of the road, listening to Albert King. It was mid-morning, not yet oven-hot, and the air conditioner was off; the windows were open, allowing the still-cool air to stream into the Dodge.

Virgil was on his way to a barbecue in a state park, being held to celebrate the end of the 2010 Census. Virgil had been employed as an office supervisor, and now that the census had concluded, Virgil and his former subordinates were set to go their separate ways. In three days, Virgil would say good-bye to Alabama, where he had lived his entire life, in order to start a new job in Georgia. But first, the supervisors had gotten together and organized this outdoor event, complete with numerous kegs of beer.

It was also Virgil's 40th birthday, although he was keeping that to himself. Most of the census workers were in their twenties, although the age of some employees probably went up to near 70. Virgil liked the young folks who worked for him, but he felt the generation gap whenever people were on break and they began to chatter about the films and pop groups that they liked. At those moments, it was as if he came from another planet. He fully expected a lot of this sort of thing today at the barbecue. But, he said to himself, that's why the good Lord invented beer.

Coming around a bend, Virgil spotted the sign for the state park and pulled off the road into the parking lot. He disembarked from the car and took a moment to stretch, getting the road kinks out of his lanky limbs. Virgil's hair was of a muted ruddy hue, cut almost short enough to be military. His skin was fair and his eyes olive in color. He paused to admire the way the sunlight filtered down between the pine trees in the silence of the country morning. Then he set off down the trail toward the creek. Soon he could hear voices in the distance.

In the creek, in a little inlet away from the current and downstream from where people were swimming, were three kegs of beer, lashed to some rocks there to keep them cold. A few paces further downstream sat Paula upon a rock, dangling her bare feet in the water.

Paula was from Salzburg, Austria, the birthplace of W.A. Mozart. She was still living there a few years ago when she divorced Roland, her husband of 20 years. She was financially secure and her English was good, so, looking for a fresh start, she had rolled the dice and wound up in the USA. She had secured a job as a Field Operations Supervisor for the census in Fall of 2009, and stayed with it until the census ended in mid-summer.

The sun was now approaching its zenith, which is the point where it really begins to sting on a summer day in Alabama. Paula pulled her feet out of the stream, put them back in the sandals, and began to walk up the trail towards the spot where there was an open keg of beer. She was just shy of six feet tall, with a mop of blond hair that seemed immune to graying. When she walked, she moved with a kind of authority that was the legacy of having taken ballet lessons as a girl.

She was wearing a purple sun dress; most people she had worked with had never seen her in anything but a suit. The census dress code was "business casual," but Paula had wanted to set an example for the young people who worked for her. However, the census was over now, and Paula could afford to relax a little. Not quite as much as the young people; she was coming over a little rise in the trail where she could suddenly see the swimming area. The young ladies were dressed in minuscule bikinis, attended by eager young men in cut-off jeans. Paula smiled indulgently, and then turned left to where the beer keg was.

Paula had never experienced anything like the humid heat of the Alabama summer. She felt simultaneously oppressed and excited by it. It was like being trapped in a warm cocoon that amplified her senses. She had been living in 'Bama for almost two years, and during that time, in fact, since her divorce, she hadn't had a man. She had lately begun to develop a super-heated fantasy life. On the job, she was a model employee. At home, her thoughts turned steamy. She wrote stories about her fantasies, in her native German, but didn't show them to anyone. She would simply write them, and then re-read them, after which nature would take its course.

Up the hill, by the keg, stood Virgil, along with a group of young lads, and a comely young wench who was dressed in her bikini top and a towel wrapped around her waist. They all held cups of beer, and as they drank, the admiring gazes toward the young lady's long legs and saucy bosom became increasingly less covert. Virgil kept his eyes under control; although the census was over, he was still maintaining his decorum. His jeans were clean and un-tattered; he wore a wine-colored short-sleeved shirt with a button-down collar; and his running shoes were shiny and new. The young lady announced her intention to get back into the creek, at which point all the lads felt the urge to swim as well. They went scampering off, leaving Virgil alone with his beer for a moment, until Paula walked up.

Virgil had come frequently into contact with Paula in the course of his job, and he respected her as a highly intelligent and responsible person. Despite her foreign accent, which made her seem slightly exotic, she was more articulate and concise in her way of expressing herself than anyone else in Virgil's census office. Virgil grinned and asked, in his Alabama drawl, "Were those some of your troops?"

"Sheryl was one of my crew leaders," Paula replied. "I have probably seen those young men around somewhere." She helped herself to the beer. "So, Virgil, what will you do now that the census is over?"

"I have a new job in Atlanta. I'll be headed over there in three days. Between now and then, I guess I'll just kick back."

"What does it mean, 'kick back'?"

"It means to relax and enjoy myself. Let my hair down a little."

Paula grinned mischievously. "You're not going to go chasing after Sheryl, are you?"

Virgil grinned back. "Nah... she's a bit out of my age bracket."

"Really?" said Paula. "What is your age bracket?"

"I dunno. Probably 30 to 60."

"30 to 60! You're giving yourself a lot of leeway!"

"Hey, I need all the leeway I can get!" Virgil attempted to re-fill his beer cup, but all he got from the keg was a disappointing trickle.

"I know where there is more beer. Come with me, I'll show you." Paula led the way back toward the creek. The gears in her mind were turning. She was the consummate professional, and her relationship with Virgil had been proper and collegial. But on her own time, she had cast Virgil in a starring role in some of her most vivid fantasies. As they passed the area where the bikini girls were cavorting with their admirers, she snickered and looked back to see if Virgil was ogling. He grinned at her. "30 to 60, you say? I'm 50."

"You're 50? Really?" Virgil wasn't quite sure what to make of this. He had always admired Paula's high standards of conduct. The notion of any hanky-panky had been carefully excluded from his mind as long as he and she both were in positions of responsibility. But now they were released from that responsibility, and as Paula hiked down the hill in front of him, he had to admit that there were other things about her to admire. The way she moved, which had always lent her an air of authority, was looking quite attractive from this vantage point, and her firm ass didn't look a day over 35.

"Yes, only 50." Paula looked back and winked.

Before Virgil had any further opportunity to consider the implications of all this, they arrived at the little inlet where the kegs were stored. Someone had already hauled one up onto dry land and it was open for business. Chivalrously, Virgil filled Paula's cup and then his own. They sat down on a log and each took a serious pull on the beer, because the punishing heat of the early afternoon was upon them. Paula sat close to Virgil and he was suddenly very aware of her nearness. "Whew!" she said. "I'm very hot." Here she stole a glance a Virgil.

Paula's pulse was racing. She was thinking that this man might be persuaded to help her live out some of her fantasies. He was leaving town in a few days, so she didn't have to worry about whether they were "good for each other", or how long the attraction might last. She just wanted something to happen soon, because it had been so long since she had had a man. She only hoped that American men were orally inclined, because she had had a particular craving for that lately.

Virgil noticed that her fingers were long and delicate, yet looked strong, like a musician's hand. Virgil drank his own beer down and re-filled both cups. Then he sat by Paula again, a little closer than before. She took a long drink from her beer. A droplet of sweat tickled her as it rolled down between her breasts.

"So, Virgil, what does it mean, to 'let your hair down'?"

"Well..." Virgil was starting to feel the beer. He couldn't really tell whether Paula really didn't know the idiom, or whether she was teasing him. "I know my hair isn't very long. It's a figure of speech. It means to relax, to be not so straight-laced."

"'Straight-laced'?" asked Paula. She was charmed by what she regarded as his exotic dialect and home-spun idioms.

"Well, you know, working as supervisors at the census, we have to be more well-behaved than we might normally be."

Paula smiled mischievously. "Do you normally behave badly?" She drained her cup. Virgil held out his hand for it, gesturing toward the keg, and Paula gave him the cup to refill.

"Normally I behave pretty well," Virgil was saying. "Except under great provocation."

Paula was on her fourth cup of beer and feeling emboldened. She smiled and said, "How provocative do I need to be?"

This is really going to happen, thought Virgil to himself. "Would you like to go for a walk?" he asked.

Paula simply answered, "Yes," and they started off down the path, leading them downstream from the swimmers. After a couple of minutes, they passed a grove of cedars, up the hill from the creek. Virgil gestured toward it, and up they went. When they arrived, Paula walked up to Virgil, standing very close to him, and smiled expectantly. She looked like the same person he had worked with for nine months, except that she wasn't formally dressed, and there was a wanton glint in her eye that he had never expected to see. He pulled her close and kissed her. Her mouth opened wide as she caressed his tongue with hers. He pulled her a little closer, letting her feel his erection pressing through his pants against her. "I want to touch it," she whispered, and undid his fly.

As her hand closed around him, Virgil gasped. This was not the innocent groping of a college girl -- this was a full-grown, hot-blooded woman who knew how to thrill a man. Through her hand he could feel the intensity of her hunger. He was abandoning himself to the sensation when he heard a group of former census workers headed their way down the path. He growled his frustration while stuffing his cock back in his pants. As the people came into view, he and Paula tried to look nonchalant, as their former colleagues smirked at them and kept walking.

"Let's go up the hill," said Virgil, and they walked up to the top of the little rise. But to their disappointment, on the other side of the rise was the barbecue area, now teeming with people.

"Let's go back to where we were," whispered Paula. "I want to touch it some more." They clambered back down to the cedars, but heard more people coming. "Let's go somewhere else," Paula said. "I don't want any more interruptions."

"How about a motel?" asked Virgil.

"That would be perfect," she replied. They began walking back to the barbecue area, looking like models of propriety, but inwardly they were doing a slow boil. Paula had a brief errand to run; she had come with friends, so she found them and gave them a made-up excuse for not riding back with them. Then she made her way to the parking lot. As she walked, she imagined what she might soon be doing with Virgil. Her dress was plastered to her body with sweat, but she knew that the growing wetness in her panties was not caused by the sun overhead. She came around the final bend in the trail, to where she could see Virgil waiting by his Dodge. She walked demurely to the passenger's side. Virgil opened the door for her, then went to the driver's side and got in. He looked at her, and she leaned over a kissed him slowly, feeling his tongue glide against hers. "Let's hurry," she said.

Virgil started the car and pulled out on to Highway 106. "I think there's a town not too far from here," he said.

There was an awkward silence, that was broken by Paula softly saying, "Would you like to taste my Möse?"

"Do what?" asked Virgil, in his best Alabama accent.

Paula was searching for the word. "My... my cunt."

"Oh!" said Virgil. "I'm dying to taste your cunt."

"OK." Paula lifted her butt off the seat, and pulled her panties down to her knees. "I'm rubbing my... cunt now... I love to rub it. I do it every night at home." Virgil could hear her squirming against the car seat. "Here," she said, offering two fingers to his mouth. Virgil sucked them deeply.

"That's good," he said, pushing his foot down on the accelerator.

"You don't have to hurry quite so much," said Paula, smiling sweetly. "We'll be there soon." She paused. "Do you want some more?"

"Yes," said Virgil. She offered him three fingers this time. He sucked them with abandon, feeling his cock strain against the confinement of his pants.

"There's a town coming up," said Paula. She pulled her panties down over her sandaled feet and held them a few inches in front of Virgil's nose. "Do you like that?" she asked.

"Damn, you're driving me crazy. Wait a minute... there's a place." Virgil had slowed to 25 miles an hour as they entered the town, and right away he spotted "Bettye's Breeze-Inn" on the left, a rustic little robin's-egg-blue affair. He signaled and turned into the lot. For a moment he was worried that the place was closed, because he saw no cars, but then he saw the old lady in the office. He pulled around and parked by the motel units, then got out and walked to the office.

There was a thermometer on the wall outside the door. It read 99°. It's probably hotter inside those motel rooms, thought Virgil to himself as he turned the door handle and entered the office. Bettye, if that was her name, smiled a bit mechanically and passed Virgil the paperwork, which he filled out as calmly as he could. It seemed to take forever. Finally he returned to the Dodge, where Paula was waiting. He kissed her slowly and passionately, and then spoke softly into her ear. "Here's the room key. I want you to go inside and start touching yourself. That's what I want to see when I come in."

"OK," Paula replied. "Here, you can keep these." She handed him her panties, smiled sweetly and then let herself into the room.

Virgil looked around. The place seemed deserted, so he allowed himself to press her panties to his face. The scent of Paula's aroused pussy was strong enough to make him feel weak in the knees. He fought the urge to stroke his cock there in the parking lot. After a few minutes had gone by, he went to the door and entered the room.

It was a small, somewhat seedy motel room. Paula had found a battered armchair and moved it to a spot directly facing the door. She had closed all the windows and blinds, but turned on every light in the room. The place was hot enough to bake a pizza, and the air was thick with the smell of Paula's pussy. She was still fully clothed except for her panties. Her dress was bunched up around her waist; it clung to her body, damp with sweat, and she had one leg splayed up over the arm of the chair. Her face was a mask of concentration.She had three fingers of her right hand inside herself, while with her left hand she was teasing her clit. When she heard Virgil enter the room, she moved her right hand to let him see. Paula's pussy hair was trimmed but still quite furry. Her labia and clit were swollen and puffy and wet. She looked directly into Virgil's eyes and smiled broadly. For Paula, this was a dream come true.

Virgil approached her and knelt before her. She plunged the fingers of her right hand back into her cunt, and then pulled them out again, making a sort of sloshing sound that caused Virgil to gasp again. She offered them to Virgil's lips, and he moaned as he accepted them. Then she inserted them back into her pussy, moving them in and out, making that wet, sloppy sound that made Virgil's pulse pound.

Virgil abruptly stood up and tore at his belt and zipper, until he got his pants down to his thighs, at which point he pulled down the front of his briefs to free his cock, which sprang out big and hard. Paula cooed in appreciation, and her hand motions became more urgent. Awkwardly, Virgil crossed the room to get another chair, which he pulled over and placed opposite Paula's. He gazed at her and began to stroke himself. Paula, for her part, had her eyes riveted to his cock, and she gasped, "That excites me. If you do that you're going to make me have an orgasm." Virgil just looked at her and kept stroking. "That looks so good. I can't wait to suck it," said Paula, her voice quavering. Virgil watched the involuntary contractions of her hips and toes, and listened to the sounds of her excitement building to the moment when she said, "I'm going to have an..." which simply turned into a wail of ecstasy.

After a moment, she got up and walked to Virgil, using her hand to smear her juices on Virgil's lips and nose. Then she leaned down and said softly into his ear, "I want you to have an orgasm in my mouth. I want to taste it and swallow it down." With that, she pulled her purple sun dress up over her head and smiled down at Virgil, wearing only her brassiere and sandals. A moment later she had taken off the brassiere, and was pinching her big, rough-textured nipples.

Virgil stopped stroking himself and rose from his chair, so that he could take one of those nipples in his mouth. Because Paula was nearly his height, he didn't have to bend down much to reach her breasts, which were slippery with sweat. He teased a nipple with his lips and teeth. "I like that," said Paula. Her fingers found his cock again as he continued to suckle her. "You are going to make me have another orgasm," she said, and abruptly she cried out. Then she commanded, "Come," and led him to the bed.

With one decisive motion Paula stripped the shabby bedspread from the bed, while Virgil shed his clothing. Paula lay on her side with her feet at the head of the bed and smiled. Virgil seemed to get the message, because he laid himself down in the other direction. Paula slowly raised one knee so that he could get a close-up look at her glistening cunt. Virgil pulled her close and rubbed his cheek against her pubic hair, savoring her hot aroma, as he felt her hands gliding along the length of his cock. He ran the tip of his finger along the crevice between her cunt lips, feeling the softness and the abundant juices welling up there. Then he felt her hungry mouth engulf him, and he couldn't restrain himself; he pulled her cunt to his face, feasting on it.

They began slowly, trying to make it last, but soon there was no stopping them as the momentum toward climax built inexorably. Paula came first, and a minute later Virgil was shooting into her mouth. They lay quietly for a minute or so, and then Paula said, "That was delicious."

She rose and straddled Virgil's chest, and began to lazily finger her clit. "I guess you took off your straight lacings, is that right?"

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