The Countess

But this woman’s got stamina, no doubt. She swivels herself around like a gymnast doing floor exercises in the porno-Olympics, and I pull my knees up so she’s got something to rest against when she’s facing away, and then after a bit she scrambles away onto all fours and I follow, kneeling behind her. She’s got her butt right up in the air and her head in her hands on the ground, and I see the cutest little puckered-up butt-hole looking at me and it’s temptation beyond endurance. I lick my finger and probe at it gently, but the Countess looks back over her shoulder, smiles and says “Merci.”

That’s French for “No, thank you,” in this context. If ever you’re at dinner with a Frenchman and he asks if you’d like another drink, don’t say “Merci” if you mean Yes, or you’ll still be waiting for it an hour later. So I guess she’s not into that kind of action. That’s no big disappointment. I’d butt-fuck her for two pins and love every minute, but I ain’t a card-carrying ass-bandit. Instead I spread her lips apart from behind and I push into her again just as the rain starts falling.

By the time I’m all the way in the storm’s hit in earnest and these great big marble-sized raindrops are pounding down on us. You’d think it’d cool us down, but it doesn’t. Not one bit. The lightning starts up and it’s nearly on top of us ’cos the thunder comes less than a second later, but I’m slamming into the Countess from behind like a bull with four dozen cows to do and I’ve got hold of her hipbones and I’m squeezing hard, and so’s she but not with her hands. I’m banging right against her G-spot like this and she’s screaming and yelling stuff in French and English and Gujerati for all I know different.

I take my hands off her hips and reach round for her tits, and she collapses forwards on the wet grass, but her behind’s small enough I can still stay inside her like this, so I go astride her legs and keep banging away. She’s got her legs pressed together and she’s virgin-tight like this, and I’m squeezing both tits and she’s squealing “Harder… harder!” and I don’t know whether she means to squeeze harder or fuck harder, so I do both. And she comes again and this time I’ve got there too and I unload my balls deep inside her while I squeeze her wet, slippery tits so hard I’m scared I’m hurting her. But she doesn’t complain.

“Don’t move,” she whispers, as I go to pull out of her, and so I just lie there, and she’s got twice her own weight resting on her and it doesn’t seem like she minds at all, and that rain keeps on lashing down and the lightning keeps flashing, until eventually the storm blows away to the northwest. After a while my hard-on’s completely gone and I slip out of her and she gives a little whimper, and still we just carry on lying there in the long grass, worn out and soaked to the skin.

“And then what, Jake?” I hear you asking. “Was this just a one-off roll in a hayfield with the hired hand, or did the Countess come back for seconds?” Well… that’s another story.