Dancing with The Duchess

For a few minutes I sucked on her boobs -- God, I loved the feel of her long spongy nipples in my mouth -- and she cupped my balls in a hand, lightly grazing them with her nails. Then she pushed me onto my back and straddled me, sinking down onto my dick with a huge gasp. For a woman of her age she had very powerful thighs, and pumped up and down wildly on me, grunting with each downward stroke as I clutched her breasts, rolling the nipples between thumb and forefinger. That time I shot my load first and she continued to ride me for some time before falling onto my chest and whispering "Thank you Richard, I so needed this." Within moments she was asleep in my arms.

I must have slept too. When I awoke it was early evening, and the first sensation I felt was Xenia's lips sliding up and down my burgeoning erection. Opening my eyes, the first sight I saw was her cunt, inches from my face. It appeared she had been to the bathroom -- there was no sign of my jizz -- and the pink white lips were swollen with arousal, the dark void between them just visible. As I clutched her buttocks and pulled her to me she gave a long moan of satisfaction and wiggled her backside at me. I slid my thumbs onto her labia, prized them apart and dived in, tongue first. Xenia groaned more earthily and pushed back at me. I don't know what she'd used down there to clean herself up, but I swear she tasted of strawberries. I licked at the front of her hole and her clit, while I fucked her lower pussy with two fingers. At the same time she continued to wreak havoc on my cock with her lips and tongue. I came first, and after she'd swallowed all I had she sat up, so that she was effectively sitting on my face, my hands gripping her thighs, my tongue and nose burrowing into her, one of her hands stroking my now flagging cock.

I'd slept with half a dozen women around my own age or younger, but what I enjoyed with Xenia over the next few weeks was without doubt the most fantastic sex of my life. She had remarkable stamina, matching me, and was filthy and inventive. As our affair developed we became more reckless: more than once we made love in the garden, and on one occasion , as Xenia was going down on me in a conservatory, she naked from the waist up, when the Filipino maid walked in. She stared at us in open-mouthed astonishment for several seconds, then bustled out giggling. Xenia carried right on sucking me, oblivious to what had just happened.

Each evening after seeing Xenia, as I sat at home with Susie, crippled with guilt, I swore I had paid my last visit to Stewartby, that I was going to end the madness. But I returned again and again, my loins on fire for her, anticipating the moment when we were both naked and her lips engulfed my cock, or she uttered the little whimper she gave each time I entered her.

In the end it was she who broke it off. As we were sitting on her bed, dressing, she kissed me softly on the cheek and murmured, "Thank you Richard, it has been wonderful. But your wife and child need you now -- when is the birth due, two weeks? I will always remember you, and what we have had." I nodded sagely, and we kissed goodbye. I wept bitterly that night, and on numerous other nights, for the loss of my Russian countess. And, on the day we brought Leah home from the hospital, a green and gold Harrods delivery van arrived, and disgorged a rocking horse; bu not just any rocking horse, this was a Bucephalus among rocking horses, a dappled grey beauty with real horsehair mane and tail, and saddle and reins of the finest, softest leather. There was no delivery card, and no indication of the identity of the contributor of the gift. Leah, Jody and Sam all loved that horse, as do their children now.

I was a rising star at the Guardian when I saw a small piece on the news wires about the death of a Russian aristocrat in Bedfordshire, rumoured to have left an estate worth millions. It made a few lines on the obit page, and I cried again that night. And when I was told she'd left me a six figure sum in her will, 'for your friendship'. Susie asked me just one question: "Were you lovers?"

Snorting with laughter, and avoiding her eyes, I brayed "She was a 75-year old countess when I interviewed her, and I was a working class oik from Ilford -- what do you think?" Whatever she thought, Susie nodded and never mentioned the subject again. I shrivelled inside at the smoothness of my non-lie.

I cried for Xenia once more on the morning I awoke in her home, now the Stewartby Park Prestige Hotel. And as I left, and drove for the last time up the gravel drive, to return to my beloved wife of nearly 40 years, to whom I have never since been unfaithful, I carried with me the memory of the woman who will always live at the very centre of my heart.