Tallest Woman I've Ever Fucked

I saw her on one of the Internet dating sites, not the X-rated kind, but my experience has proven to me that there really isn't much difference, they pretty much all want to fuck. Some ladies are just more outwardly demure or coy about their intentions, and some want to fuck later rather than sooner. And some legitimately want more than just sex: a boyfriend, a relationship, a commitment.

But make no mistake. If they're on a dating site, they want to get laid, it's only natural. Ladies, you're no different than men in that regard, and thank goodness for that!

So, I did something that I rarely do. I contacted her, even though she lived near Montreal and I resided in a Mid-Atlantic state, and to fuck her would literally require international travel.

Ultimately, though, I think that's what sealed the deal for me, I was safe enough from a distance standpoint for her, and I made no bones or pretense about my intentions after a few initial cursory e-mails that she and I shared. I had provided my photo, my background bio indicating that I was an executive in a real estate company, divorced for about seven years now, any info to induce a comfort level for her.

She was six-foot-five, eight inches taller than me in bare feet, and I wanted to fuck her. While she wore the highest stilettos she owned.

And she agreed, rather eagerly and expediently, to let me fly to Montreal and we would do just that. In fact, her exact e-mail reply was, "I think I could be very receptive to that. When and where? Shall we get a hotel near the airport?"

Falls under the category that you'll never get what you want unless you ask for it. In retrospect, I think my candor and forthright approach regarding my admittedly one-dimensional intent appealed to her, even excited her. She concurred that she was deeply aroused by my proposal, and we confirmed a mutually acceptable date so that we wouldn't have to wait long. I made my flight reservations and she secured hotel accommodations and our twenty-four-hour rendezvous was confirmed for within the upcoming weekend. We were moving fast.

During relaxation breaks after phone-sex-induced orgasms in the week leading up to my trip, Sharon (her name) confessed to me that she hadn't had sex in almost nine months, and she was interminably and incessantly horny. She also admitted that she had always thought that men shorter than six-feet-tall (I'm five-nine) were intimidated by her height, or worse, she felt that they were not attracted to her, and she occasionally feared she was viewed as somewhat of a freak, non-feminine. Thus, my contact with her rebuilt a somewhat shattered confidence in her own sensuality and sexuality. Or so she said.

Through the phone lines in our nocturnal long-distance foreplay, I assured her that she was indeed beautiful. Slender, with light brown hair that cascaded in bangs down her forehead and over her big baby blue eyes, full pink lips and perfect teeth (she was a dental hygienist and a cosmetics saleswoman).

Each of my compliments about her charms was met with ecstatic groans and moans and pants as she orgasmed freely in telephonically-induced orgasm after orgasm. As I discovered more about her, I began to ascertain that she was essentially a submissive, and she acquiesced willingly to every request, no, make that demand, that I made.

She would greet me in the airport wearing a top coat that would conceal her outfit beneath, which would consist of thigh-high stockings and a crotchless teddy that would expose her nipples as well. Check.

Her pussy would be trimmed, but not shaven completely, so that I could nibble on the soft natural tufts of her auburn pubic hairs, as she had already described her private regions to me delectably. Check.

She would wear knee-high leather boots with thick heels. She confirmed that she had just the pair that would make her almost six-feet-nine inches in height. Check.

She would bring various outfits for a private fashion show, some short miniskirts, some revealing blouses, and a veritable menagerie of lingerie. Check.

I would drive her vehicle during the short drive to the hotel, and she would not once lift her head and mouth from my cock. Mobile blow-job as an ice-breaker.........? Check.

Anal sex? Check, sort of. Sharon was a tad ambivalent about this subject. "My last boyfriend didn't really like that, but I kinda do, so, sure, I'm a little rusty, but why not?" Why not indeed?

We discussed her bringing a tripod to record the carnal festivities within our room, and I would agree to let her keep the tape. She hesitated just a bit on this one, though the idea seemed to excite her even more than the others. "I'd always wanted to make my very own sex tape, so we'll see," she gushed over the phone while fingering herself to another powerful self-stimulated cum.

Our inventory list complete, my passport in hand, I landed at just past noon on Saturday in Trudeau Airport and saw her unmistakable frame encased in a tan raincoat as I exited customs. I resisted the urge to respond to the customs official's inquiry as to the purpose of my visit by explaining that I'm solely here to fuck the Amazon woman clad only in lingerie in the terminal. I figured that might delay entry, so I answered simply, "To visit a friend and see the beauty of Montreal." Same thing.

The temperature was over seventy degrees and there not the slightest threat of rain, so the sight of a six-foot-nine beauty in heels naturally attracted its fair share of curious stares, especially so when she leaned down almost a foot to greet me with a soft, slow, sensuous kiss, her tongue warm and inviting and explorative, her perfume wafting through the air with an intoxicating sweetness.

I placed a hand beneath her raincoat and felt only the smooth, firm curve of her hip and abdomen, confirming her attire as discussed.

She groaned softly at the feel of my palm and fingers on her bare skin. "Hello, Sharon," I whispered in her ear, momentarily breaking our introductory kiss, no doubt disappointing the spectators trying to make sense of this curious pairing. We probably looked like the number "ten" together.

She leaned her pretty head back, and brushed her hair off of her milky-white forehead, like a graceful giraffe again rising to full stature. Her eyes blazed into mine lustfully, her gaze alone bringing me to full erection, as she towered over me. "Welcome to Montreal, John, and your dream come true. Fuck me."

Sharon continued to kiss me and rub my crotch none-too-surreptitiously as we rode on the moving walkway leading towards the parking garage. I felt a bit like a puppy being pampered and groomed. Fortunately, she had the foresight to park in a rather secluded corner of an upper level, and I resisted the urge to remove her raincoat on the elevator lest those pesky airport surveillance cameras would record a public exposure scandal of potentially international proportions.

But when we got to the car, I pushed her lithe torso against the SUV's passenger side and unwrapped the belt of her coat, and pulled it from her body in one firm tug. I gasped as I examined her tall, magnificent body, like a goddess in a distorted vertical mirror, except this was real life and in the flesh. Seventy seven inches of female exquisiteness, black silk against smooth, white, pale skin. On her lean neck she wore a strand of bright pearls, and my gaze continued downward to admire the black bustier which exposed surprisingly big breasts topped by bright pink areolas that were topped by what looked like red M and M's for nipples.

The sheer ebony lace of her camisole teddy stopped at her belly button and my heart, and cock, leaped as one in a team celebratory gesture as I saw the naked valley between her impossibly long legs, and what was in between.

Another strand of pearls, perhaps six inches long, protruded from beyond the folds of her labia and dangled in tandem to the sway of her body movements. My face flushed with heat and blood and desire, and she soothingly patted my head and eased me gently down onto my knees, directly in front of her pearl-filled pussy, undoubtedly the most erotic vision I had ever witnessed.

Sharon guided my head with both of her large hands until my face grazed against the gently swaying pearl strands, and I inhaled to absorb and enjoy her sweet, musky scent, reminiscent of the aftermath of a Spring rain shower, clean, airy, moisture and humidity permeating the air.

"Watch," she purred softly, holding my head in place in front of her slit, which began to open almost imperceptibly as she clenched and unclenched her vaginal muscles, her lean thighs quivering, resulting in a rhythmic dance of the pearls as they softly rubbed along either side of her taut, muscular thighs.

She pulled me even closer so that the tip of my nose was pressed against her silky, wet snatch. She smelled exquisite, and my hands instinctively reached for my prize.

"Ah, ah, no hands," she admonished, tapping the top of my head in a gentle demonstration of discipline. If possible, I became even more aroused as she exercised this domination. I was on my knees in a public parking lot in front of the tallest beauty I had ever seen, who had pearls dangling from her cunt. That puppy-like feeling washed over me again ("Sit, boy, good boy!").

Sharon smiled down at me, gripping my head more firmly, and she growled seductively at me, "Stick out your tongue."

I did as instructed, and little by little, perhaps an eighth of an inch at a time, her kegel muscles eased the slithering serpent of pearls from her sopping slit until the last tiny ovals plopped onto my waiting tongue with a slight but discernible squishy pop as they exited her saturated gash. I swirled the pearls inside of my mouth for a second, savoring her nectars on the Mikimotos, until she picked me up and lowered her own mouth to mine, extracting the pearls with her tongue like a fisherman picking bait from a bucket.

She opened her mouth, showing me the pearls, and she gently spit them onto her palms. As I stood mesmerized, frozen with incredulous lust, she flipped a pair of keys to me, and as I caught them in mid-air, she climbed into the passenger seat, rolling down the window as she said, "Those pearls were a tasty appetizer, but I think you said something about sucking your cock while we drove to the hotel, so the next thing white in my mouth better be your cum." She patted the driver's seat.

"So, c'mon, undo your zipper and hop in."

"And welcome to Montreal."

Sharon waited patiently as I paid the parking garage attendant in loonies and toonies (generously provided by Sharon, what, you were expecting compensation in pearls?), then eased the coat from her shoulders and it dropped to the floor of the car, and she maneuvered her long, lean torso in strategically placed mobile sucking position, which is not as easy as it sounds when the woman passenger is six-five.

When the waistband of my boxers uncovered my erection, it sprang free slapping against Sharon's pale cheek.

She gasped slightly when she realized the size of my cock. She muttered, "I'm wondering if it will even fit in my mouth," yet she tentatively began stroking it with her long fingers. She softly said to me, gazing at my twitching cock, "I've always been told that I have long fingers, but they can't even wrap around the girth of you, you must be taller lying down than standing up, wow, huge!"

Her pink, tight mouth watering now, she began licking up and down the shaft avoiding the head for now. She started rolling her tongue under the ridge of the head, then licked all the way down to the base of my shaft, taking my balls into my mouth one at a time, and she sucked on them gently.

I moaned softly as she moved her tongue back to the base of my cock and licked the underside. Sharon continued to lick the underside of my cock from the base to the tip before finally wrapping her lips around the head. She slowly started to lick the head ringing around the ridge and flicking at the little hole at the tip. She only then began sucking gently on the head of my cock as she more firmly cupped my balls in her big hands.

Slowly, excruciatingly so, Sharon began to take me deeper into her hot mouth, with each sucking motion bringing me closer to the back of her throat. With my cock in her mouth, the tip at the back of her throat, she held still letting me feel the warmth and wetness wrapped around me. Then she slowly started to pull me out of her mouth and sucked gently until I was almost exploding. My hands held the wheel in death grip as I tried to focus on the voice of the GPS woman squealing at me. Only then did I realize the verbal directions were in French. Auggh. Who gives a fuck, we may end up in Nova Scotia, though.

She next slowly moved my thick cock in and out of her mouth with longer strokes, still cupping my balls in her palm. She move her long digits slowly to the base of my dick as she continue moving my cock in and out of her mouth, faster now, accelerating the pace. Her hands were wet with the saliva that has dripped down my cock from her constant licking and sucking. She started to move her hand up and down in pace with her mouth, giving me a blow job and hand job at the same time until shed taste his pre-cum mixed with her saliva, and we moaned in tandem.

My free hand removed the small clip from Sharon's hair and my fingers were now tangled in her long brown curls holding her hair away from her face so I could peek, and guided her mouth deeper into me, preparing for the pending release. She began taking me deeper and sucking almost my entire length, using her talented tongue to wiggle and flick the underside of my throbbing meat with each thrust. She tasted the first spurt of semen on her tongue before she swallowed the remaining bursts of sticky seed and sucked me further down her throat.

As I pulled the car to a merciful stop on the shoulder of the highway, Sharon still continued to massage my balls and suck my cock until I was empty. She pulled her mouth off my cock with a pop and looked up at me. She opened her mouth and with her tongue curled, stuck it out to show me the puddle of cum. I smiled as she pulled her tongue back in her mouth and closed her lips.

"Mmmmmmmmmm," she moaned softly as she smiled and swallowed again. "This is tastier than pearls." She lifted her head up and looked around, trying to get her bearings.

I pulled up my zipper and switched off the audio to the GPS as the French woman continued to frantically scream at me, probably yelling something about not receiving a blow job and trying to drive in a foreign land, which is universally prudent advice, I'm sure.

I looked over at Sharon to see cum dripping down onto her collarbone. It was incredibly sexy. "Um, that was absolutely sensational, Sharon, maybe the best ever, but one thing, we're in the FUGAWI tribe territory now, I fear."

Sharon wiped the dribble from her chin and looked at me quizzically. "What does that mean, Fugawi tribe?"

I remembered I wasn't in the states anymore and sarcastic, non-literal humor gets misinterpreted up north.

I stammered, "Um, well, see, there was this group of nomadic Indians who always wondered the frontier getting lost, at least this is how it looked to the cowboys, and the only language the Indians knew to say in friendly greeting was 'Were da fug ah we'?. Because that was the name of their tribe, the Fugawi.

She continued to look at me, completely, utterly confused by my ranting.

"So, ya see, the cowboys interpreted that they were asking 'Where the fuck are we'?..."

She graciously stuck one long finger to my lips, effectively shushing me, and pointed to a red beacon in the distance. "Never mind. See that Marriott over there, John? That's our hotel. You did just fine multi-tasking and getting us to our destination, perhaps my oral skills weren't distracting enough?" She pouted in mock distress.

"I'll give you another opportunity once we check in, Sharon, but we're fortunate we didn't end up in Alaska, you were that good. Best blowjob I ever got by a beautiful, tall woman while driving in Canada, really."

When we reached the room, I made notice that this was the first woman I had ever seen who had to literally duck under the door jamb to avoid hitting her head. That observation passed instantaneously, though, and literally within seconds, we had torn each others' clothes off and we were naked on the king-sized mattress. Once again, I bid slow foreplay a gracious adieu and immediately dove between those long gams of Sharon's, determined to lick her cunt until her head exploded with orgasmic glee.

Sharon knew intuitively what I had planned to do based on our hours of phone sex and my stated propensity for pleasing a woman orally. She seemed more than OK with his concept, indicated by lying on the mattress and tucking her legs almost behind her ears in a gymnast-like contortion, and stating simply, "Eat me, stud."

So I did.

I gathered a bit of saliva and first, gently laved her clit side to side. When I started circles on it she soon began to scream. Loud. Her hips were moving now with every oral and digital stroke I made. Her nipples became rock hard. My hand left her thigh, and suddenly I eased a finger just barely inside of her tight pussy. I could hear, and feel, the wet sounds as I began stroking inside of her. I love the reaction I can evoke from a woman with just one finger. It was apparently unbearable for Sharon; the combination of my breath and tongue on her clit added with the sweet torture of my finger. Her legs raised up on tip toes; she offered all of her spread wide. I soon added a second finger inside of her tunnel ... in, out, in, as I licked at her. It was nearly enough pleasure to send her, and me, over the edge, but not quite yet.

I shifted position, slid my hands under her taut, athletic bottom, and positioned my mouth directly over her sweet, engorged clit. I kept my face locked onto her cunt as her hips ground into my face harder and faster. She was driven to pump even though it wasn't necessary. Heat spread through her whole body, her clit on fire as I lashed at it with my tongue. Finally she tried to hold it back, but I was just too smart and determined, I guess. Briefly I thought she was regaining control, until I formed a mild vacuum with my lips over her clit and flicked faster with my tongue. Sharon cried out wildly and came so hard her legs squeezed shut tight against my temple, momentarily suffocating me. Trying to keep her legs open was futile; the intensity of the climax was thumping away hard, making her legs twitch and spasm onto my skull, until she cried out, "OH John, OH FUCK, you're making me come!"

Her wonderful torso body froze its motion as I let the waves of a really great orgasm settle over her. I watched and knew just when she started to climax, and as she did, I put my tongue flat against her clit and held it there. It throbbed and pulsated against my tongue for what seemed like an eternity, making it more wonderful for me, and by the looks of it, not too shabby for her, either. After a moment, I softly kissed the fuzz above her slit, and stiffly stood up with a chuckle.

I asked her very calmly, "So, do you want me to fuck you like a good girl or like a bad girl?"

She smiled, pleased. There could only be one answer to this.

"Like a bad girl," Sharon said, her voice a few notches lower than usual, drawing out the delicious little word "bad". Oh, didn't I ever love it.

My hand eagerly kneaded Sharon's heaving breasts, my fingers tweaking and teasing the peaks. How she seemed to love that tiny almost-pain. I kissed her deeply, resuming my work on her now raging clit with one hand, while stroking my other hand over my pulsing shaft, preparing for entry.

"Oh baby, you're so hot like this...so beautiful... your face, your incredible body. I want to fuck you so hard you'll feel it all week."