Naked in New York

At the close of the evening I joined Marilyn in the hall to say goodbye to all her guests, each of whom gave me a kiss on the cheek and a pat on the bottom as they left, and effusive thanks for the pleasure I had given them.

When everyone had left, Marilyn invited me to join her in her boudoir for a light supper and a glass of champagne. Once we had eaten she led me into her bedroom and told me to help her off with her dress and underslip and then to kneel facing her.

"You were such a good boy this evening that you deserve your reward," she said in a voice husky with desire, "and I hope that you have one more climax left tonight . . . inside me this time."

For someone of her years — for a lady of any age — she looked fantastic standing there in bra, panties, suspenders and stockings, and despite the difference in our ages there was nothing I wanted more at that moment than to fuck her all night. She then proceeded to remove her bra to reveal her superb breasts and slipped her panties down her legs and after stepping out of them stood with her pussy just in front of my face. The scent of her arousal was better than any aphrodisiac, if I had required one, and I needed no invitation to feast on her nectar. It didn't take long to make Marilyn climax, moaning in ecstasy as she rode her first orgasm of the night.

So the first of many similar evenings since ended in the bed of an outwardly respectable American matron following an evening of deliciously kinky pleasure, the wonderful outcome of a chance meeting on a plane bound for New York and something I could never have imagined in even my wildest sexual fantasies.