Paths Straight and Twisted Pt. 03

By now, I knew that Gertrud loved to be sexually challenged. I believed that she was game and likely to go much further than we had gone before in love-making. And I wanted not just her consenting to my wishes. I wanted her to shed her last inhibitions, not in surrender but in demanding her due. I moved my lips to kiss into her ear my hot-breathed whisper: -

"God, woman how I want you! If you were naked, I would ... You want me to say it, don't you? ... I would fuck you, now, right here! First, here on the sofa. Then, I'd spread you out on the table!"

Gertrud twisted in my arms, but her response was quick and did not disappoint: -

"So, you want me naked already to ... take me? ... On the sofa ... the table? ... Can't you wait till I invite you to my bed? ... Naughty! Very naughty!"

She got up, moved out of reach. Her head held high she now challenged me: -

"You like to watch me strip, don't you? ... I'll do it, but you have to match me piece by piece."

She started with her shoes, shedding piece by piece of her clothing on the way up. I matched her. By the time her panties and my boxers were thrown aside, both of us were breathing heavily. When she finally unbuttoned her blouse and dropped her bra to the floor, she stepped up to me. Her arms, as always, were crossed to hide her lovely breasts. I had still my shirt and tie and claimed to have won the contest: -

"You should have worn your girdle and chemise. Just as well you decided to wear your panties when you dressed for dinner with me."

She laughed. Then she faced me, uncrossed her arms and sat down straddling my naked thighs. Her crotch began immediately to rub provocatively against my no longer dormant cock. Stretching back, she showed me her tits in all their upright, perkily-nippled glory. Before I could grab or kiss them, Gertrud had reached for my tie, undone it, and thrown it on the floor: -

"I'll show you. I am a sore loser. I want you naked too!"

My shirt quickly followed. Then, Gertrud lifted her ass off my thighs. With an unashamedly blissful look on her face, she reached down for my cock. Sinking her tongue deep into my mouth, Gertrud lowered herself until my cock was to the hilt in her cunt. Mounted she arched back and demanded: -

"Now I'll do to you what you boasted you would do to me!"

Gertrud was still too proper to utter the word, although she now rode me and fucked me with skill and finesse. When I firmly gripped her buttocks to add push to her grind, it was not long before she tensed. A little, mewing cry escaped her as her body arched back. I knew that she had just allowed herself a little, first orgasm.

Holding her close, Gertrud rested her head on my shoulder, and her lips were on my neck, covering it up to my ear with nibbling, little kisses. I had not released my grip on her sexy ass and, eventually, began to lightly press her groin against my not spent, warmly encased in her, cock. Gertrud reacted with a softly murmured - "Mm, that's nice. Is there more?" - and a teasing tip of her tongue in my ear? She was obviously enjoying it hugely that she had won the challenge. She had taken the initiative: SHE had fucked ME on the sofa!

In the spirit of our game, I played the humbled he-man. In truth, however, I was flattered, excited and elated. This wanton witch met every challenge! However, I could remind Gertrud that we only had been 'doing it' on the sofa up to now. (I could be as prissy as her in avoiding the 'doing it' word!) I went on, again hiding the f-word behind a commonplace phrasing, to demand an answer: -

"Now, have you ever been made love-to on a table?"

She was slow to answer. Eventually, embracing me tightly, she whispered haltingly in my ear: -

"I have never been made love-to. ... Never before I met you."

I remembered what she had told me last time we were together and was suddenly ashamed about being flippant. But Gertrud had not meant it as a reprove. With a quivering of barely controlled excitement in her whispering, she asked: -

"A table? ... what is so special about a table? ... Are you going to show me? ... On this one? ... I'm curious."

I freed myself of her legs that were still straddling me, and we got up from the sofa. Without even glancing at her, I started to clear the table. Deliberately unhurried, I put everything orderly away on the sideboard. When she had waited long enough, I gave Gertrud a commanding come-hither-wink to join me at the head of their large dining-table. She, naked and swaying her hips, sidled up to me. Her mischievous grin clearly meant to tell me - "Look, I'm innocent and defenceless. What are you going to do to me now?''

I refused to tell. Instead, I lifted Gertrud to sit on the edge of the table. I stood between her spread open thighs, and my cock was poised at her pussy's still half-open lips. Holding her shoulders, I pushed Gertrud back onto the table. Her face glowed, and she stretched her arms behind her head in trembling expectation. I raised her legs high and sunk my cock into her waiting pussy. In the soft candlelight, sensuously laid-out on the table, Gertrud was an irresistibly sexy dish!

Undoubtedly, with cock already firmly in her pussy, she waited to be lasciviously fucked. It was hard to resist her expectation, but I wanted more When I withdrew and let her lower her legs, she cried out a protesting "No!"

I, however, pulled up the chair to sit down between her thighs. I reached into the hollows of her knees and lifted her spread open legs. Then, without warning, I pressed my lips on the beautiful fleshy folds of her pussy. Gertrud cried out, but I heard no NO. Still, her hands clamped down hard on my head. Was she trying to push me away? I had succeeded to shock her.

But my mouth could not be shifted. When my lips and tongue began to explore the sexy lushness of her cunt, Gertrud's hands on my head came to rest. Instead, they played in my hair and pressed me closer. Gertrud wanted my lips and tongue where - I was sure - no other man's mouth had ever been. My tongue continued to play, again and again, over the aroused, succulent fold of her beautiful cunt. Minutes earlier, they had engorged my cock. Now, I licked them open, and my tongue pressed repeatedly and deeply into her hot wet inner opening. Then my tongue found her clit. Its twirling and flicking almost drove Gertrud too quickly over the brink.

I pulled away and stood up to lean over her. Enticingly spread out on the table, Gertrud was an offering to feast on. And, it seemed, I was invited. With her quivering ass on the table's edge, I rammed my cock deep into her throbbing cunt. Gertrud's face was flushed in sensual excitation as she reached up to pull my face down. It was wet from where it had been. Without hesitating, Gertrud's opening mouth closed on mine and feasted on the taste of her own pussy's juices. She had indeed come to the table with an appetite that matched mine.

Gertrud's now uninhibited lust delighted and excited me. I wanted her to know what I had found in her. I was less than fully coherent. Joined hotly at the hips and fucking her, I cradled her flushed face. Babbling in bursts, I told her she was beautiful, how much I loved the look and the feel of her body, her sexiness and lust. I told her how I had fantasised about spreading her out on a table to lick and suck and tongue her luscious cunt into the wildest orgasm she ever had. If she did not stop me now, it would happen!

Instead of a 'NO', Gertrud drew me into a kiss where the wild and suggestive play of her tongue signalled an enthusiastic Yes. And she would not wait. She cradled my head and started to push me down, allowing only the briefest of stops over her breasts, her belly and pubes, till I sat again in the chair. And it was Gertrud that now pressed and ground her now kissed alive cunt onto my greedy mouth.

With her legs on my shoulder, I parted her fold and pressed my mouth and tongue deep into the delectable, hot flesh of her pussy. Her hands on my head urged me to go deeper. I could hear her throatily whispered - "Yes! ... Yes! ... Kiss me! Kiss me hard!". Her groin heaved and ground against my face. There was no pretence of restraint: Gertrud wanted her pussy to be devoured, to be feasted on, eaten out. My mouth and tongue roamed and searched. It found the sweetest of spots, and Gertrud's moans changed in pitch, became prolonged, breathless whimpers, broken by shrill, half-swallowed cries.

She was coming, and I wanted to drive her into the wildest of orgasms. I pressed my hand on her heaving belly just over her triangle. My lips and teeth closed over her sensitive clit, sucking it in and flicking it as hard as I could with the tip of my tongue. She grabbed my hair and tried to pull me away as her groin began to shiver and shake. She cried out - "No! No! Oh, God, I am Coming!" Then her thighs locked around my head, and my face was ground into the heat and wetness of her uncontrollably climaxing cunt. There was no escaping; I was held in a lock until the last spasms of her orgasm had ebbed away.

When I staggered-up from the chair, Gertrud stayed-put, stretched out on the table, her hands gripping its edge. With her face turned away, she asked me in a low voice to go to the bedroom and give her a few minutes alone.

A while later, she joined me in bed, Gertrud wordlessly snuggled up to me wanting to be held. With a touch of tremor in her voice, she told me that she was confused and, yes, a bit frightened by what had happened to her since we had met: -

"I did not know I could be the woman I have become. You know, ... that woman stretched out on the table outside. ... And I wanted it! God, did I want it! ... Loved it! So much. ... Is that normal? Is it wrong?"

I cannot remember exactly what I said to comfort Gertrud. I probably told her that she was a wonderful, normal, sexually alive woman. We had good sex. We were wonderfully compatible in our appetites.

Somebody wiser than me at that stage would have understood Gertrud's concern better. I knew then too little about 'normal' women and what sex 'normally' meant to many. My formative sexual relationships, due to circumstances, had all happened outside the normality of conventional courtship. As a single migrant in a new country, women and I had found each other opportunistically as desired and desirable sexual partners.

I assumed, therefore, that it was 'normal' for women to like and enjoy sex. I had experienced that women, Gertrud paradoxically included, were active sexual partners. They, as often as men, took the lead in initiated a sexual relationship and then in bed. I did not understand then that for many 'normal' women sex was primarily a means to an end. In seeking a permanent partnership, they accepted that having sex with an otherwise acceptable man was part of the deal. They were, however, neither obliged nor expected to seek or like sex.

Now I know, of course, that for women such an attitude to sex had advantages. Firstly, as moral conventions and taboos equate sex with sin, a woman not interested in sex belonged automatically to the saints. Secondly, if women set aside their need to be sexually attracted to their partner, their field of choice for an acceptable partner widened considerably. Thirdly, if one accepted that interest in sex was an exclusively male affliction, the moral superiority of women in socially approved relationships was established. When it came to sex and sexual demands, men were the undeserving mendicants to whom their saintly woman had to gift their bodies.

I misunderstood, therefore, Gertrud's dilemma. At that stage of our relationship, her concern was not that she had discovered herself as a 'new' woman. It was that she thought her newly discovered enjoyment of sex was threateningly abnormal. She could not reconcile it with the taken-for-granted normality of her previous sex life and, most of all, of being happily engaged to be married to Nils. Surrendering her 'normality' was costly. It would have meant abandoning all the above advantages and benefits of not being sexually involved.

Gertrud had been engaged to marry, first in Germany, and was again now. As I learned later, in neither of the two engagements had she cared about sex or was sexually attracted to her fiancées. And yet, as her concern expressed, Gertrud still considered engaging sexually with a man she did not sexually care about as normal behaviour. In contrast, she saw our sexual liaison and her enthusiastic sexual responses as a confusing abnormality. She clearly believed that it was incompatible with her, and with the otherwise orderly normality of her life.

As I have said, I misunderstood her concern. Luckily, for our affair, it proved to be for Gertrud a passing worry. Our horniness had us quickly otherwise engaged. I had brought three condoms which I placed on the bedside table. She noticed and giggled: -

"You have plans? There are two more from last time in the drawer."

I could not resist and asked - "Haven't you used them?"

She let it pass without reply.

Over the next twenty-four hours, we left the bed only for brief toilet-, shower-, and coffee-breaks. With intermittent naps to recover, our sexual bouts were intensive and lasciviously varied.

It was during the first night that Gertrud decided to surprise me anew. I had fallen briefly asleep when I was woken by a pleasant stirring. Not only was my cock being caressed by Gertrud's hand, but its tip was warmly encased in her mouth and enticingly sucked. She had snuck under the blanket, and there she remained, hungrily fellating me until my cock was throbbing ready to burst. She emerged from her hide-out, threw the cover aside and mounted me. It was pitch dark. Then she whispered, panting and hoarse with lust, all the so long avoided words, telling me she loved my hard cock, loved to be fucked and now she was going to ride me. Lifting her groin, she guided my cock in.

As Gertrud, slowly and a little awkward at first, started her ride, I begged her to switch on the light. She complied but playfully scolded me for being such a voyeur, for making her strip and for wanting the light on " ... while I ride a lover ... for the first time ever!"

As she talked, Gertrud found her rhythm. Her face was flushed. With her lips sexily half-open, she raised arms to push out her beautiful tits over her tense stomach. Gertrud rode me sinuously slow; looking down on me, she responded to my eyes ravishing her arching and twisting body as she fucked me. But finally, with my thumb circling her clit, she rode us both into a bucking climax.

When after quite a few minutes we had recovered our post-coital poise. Gertrud cuddled up close to confessed that her going down on me before was for her a first. She giggled: -

"I know you were asleep, but it's your doing. You put me on that table. It was my revenge."

Turning serious, she explained that her ex-fiancé in Germany had tried to force her to suck his cock. She had resisted and was determined never to engage in filthy oral sex. I had to tell her how glad and thrilled I was that she had changed her mind. She laughed: -

"I have just become a depraved woman. ... I want your cock too much ... want it to be hard for me! ... I'll do whatever it takes."

And then, as an afterthought - "And I love it that you find my pussy so tasty!"

As before, confessing had turned Gertrud on. When she snuggled up, her leg lifted over my thigh. Gertrud was clearly not yet ready for sleep. So, I started to stroke over her ass, enjoying the play of muscles as I gripped and released her shapely buttocks. As Gertrud's lips found mine, she whispered - "Oh, that's nice. I want more of this." When my fingers, stroking up and down parted the cleft, Gertrud began to moan; not in protest but in expectation.

So I risked letting my fingertips and nails stroke up and down her crack, slowly, pressing lightly, again and again. Gertrud twisted and whimpered, but then repaid me by sinking her teeth into my lower lip as a naughty finger began playing over her ass' rosette. Eventually, two fingers found her pussy hot, wet and opening. As they sank in, Gertrud cried out. Then her tongue thrust deep into my mouth while her hand tore at my cock. We were perfectly matched: I was as hard as Gertrud was wet. Then we fucked again like demented.

With a few toilet- and shower-breaks, we stayed in bed all Sunday. In the evening, we were starving, and now it was for food. For the past twenty-four hours, we had been, as continuously as our bodies allowed loved and devoured each other.

As there was little to eat in the house, we decided to go shopping in nearby Acland Street. We walked arm in arm, only partly because we were in love. Both of us had difficulty walking. But we found it difficult to control our mirth about our shared, and so richly deserved affliction.

***

It just happened that this wild weekend was the last time we had Gertrud's and Ingeborg's shared rooms for ourselves. For the remaining months of our relationship, Gertrud would visit me, often staying overnight, at my place. Neither my room's sparseness, nor the single bed, nor the proximity of other tenants, could quell our desire for each other.

Ingeborg's affair with Josef had been brief. She said nothing about why it ended but was shoulder-shrugging cheerful. For her, what was past was clearly not important enough to contemplate or explain. Josef haughtily claimed that Ingeborg was 'frigid' and that he had ended their relationship. I had suspected from the beginning that they were ill-matched. With the mind being the primary sexual organ, Josef's was much too one-track dull for Ingeborg's lively one.

Ingeborg, then only nineteen, was an intriguing and fascinating woman in whom innocence and guile were interestingly combined. Born in Vienna in 1941, she never knew her father.

Her mother, as a young war-bride had married a flying officer. Not yet twenty, pregnant with Ingeborg, she became a war-widow. She was a tailoress and worked in one of Vienna's fashion houses. The photos Ingeborg had of her showed a beautiful woman. She never remarried but had over the years that Ingeborg was growing up a succession of gentlemen-friends.

Ingeborg readily admitted that she, like her mother, had always liked men. The men courting and winning her mother had often spoiled sweet little Ingeborg as well. It taught her that most men were not only nice but easily seduced.

Although Ingeborg did exceptionally well at school, her mother apprenticed her at fourteen at the fashion-house where she worked. All its tailoring was done for fashion shows and individual orders. Vienna's fashion had prestige, and its workforce was given almost professional status. It meant that Ingeborg at nineteen, with five years' work-experience in high-fashion, did not lack confidence.

On arriving in Melbourne, she ignored the employment office and job advertisements. She strolled through the city looking at the clothes displayed in the windows of Melbourne's fashion-houses. Finding one she liked - in the upper end of Collins Street - she walked in and offered her service. Although the firm had chosen to put a French name on its window, the owner was a Viennese Jewess. A brief interview, a look at her Austrian qualifications and letter of recommendation, and Ingeborg was offered the job she wanted.

Ingeborg was fine-boned, with a lovely figure about which, I would learn, she could be quite disparaging. Her brunette, shoulder-length hair had just the right coppery touch to make it shine. Her face, finely featured, would have been just girlish pretty if it had not been for Ingeborg's eyes. They were bold in the way they challenged, questioned, laughed, winked, and invited. They had met mine across the dance floor at the Club.

Summer was approaching. At that time, I visited Gertrud and Ingeborg quite often in their flat. I often brought either some delicatessen or cakes and frequently a bottle of wine or champagne.