The Day I saw C.-A. M.

Dear reader,

This is my first story in English and I hope my translation program is better than I am.

The whole thing is a mystery and I want you to guess the person by the story.

I wish you a lot of fun and hope that it is not too easy.

***

I would like to introduce myself briefly. As an author I call myself Arne, I come from Germany and have already published 35 stories on the German site of Literotica. If I don't embarrass myself very much at the first attempt at translation, maybe it could be more.

I would be very happy about comments and critics, so that I know what I can improve.

*****

Hooray, vacation at last. Off to Switzerland to M. on Lake Lugano. With some Swiss friends I want to spend there two weeks of lazing and doing nothing.

Urs is a painter and will spend the next 14 days in his studio anyway and his wife Iris has enough to do with her youth group. So I can pursue my hobbies, sailing and photography in peace. Well, sailing. I just know how to tame a one-man dinghy; I'm just a mountain man and not a tadpole.

But I can photograph perfectly.

As every year, we have moved into our quarters in the community centre, where Urs does his painting courses for beginners and where I hold readings in the evening from my satirical short stories and from works by friends of mine.

After breakfast a light wind blows and I decide to change to the Italian side with the dinghy; for coffee, strolling and shopping. While having coffee I lean back in my wicker chair and let the atmosphere of the harbour affect me.

A few meters away, near the mole, they probably take advertising photos. The photographer and his assistants are very busy and are constantly scurrying around the model. They give loud instructions, constantly argue and seemingly cannot agree on the motifs. The model seems annoyed and sits in a garden chair with a grumpy expression on her face.

I take a closer look at her. That's right, they are also accommodated with us in the centre and I met them yesterday at dinner. The lady seems a little too old for a photo model; I estimate her to be about 45 years old. But she doesn't look so bad at all. Slim, quite tall, a good figure ( wiry ) and a striking face with pronounced facial features. She wears the black hair in a fashionable hairstyle, which lies like a helmet around her head. I also mean that I have seen her somewhere before. I don't know where.

The group quarrels for a while without being able to agree, then they pack up their junk, squat into their premium limousines and get out of the way. Since the wind is slowly easing, I decide to sail back before I row.

Half an hour later I moor my boat in M. at the mole and look for my friends. Of course I meet them over coffee, where else.

As soon as I have taken a seat and Urs talks about my adventures, haha, the photo troop appears and begins to set up their utensils in front of our accommodation.

She had to drive her cars around half the lake, I could take the direct way.

The mood of the model does not seem to have improved yet. She seems to be English or Australian as she only speaks English. I understand that quite well and so I hear the arguments.

She should change because there is still one hour of good photo light left. With Urs' permission, an easel is erected on our house wall and the tripods and cameras are set up. Then the model appears in the door.

Wow, she looks great. She wears a dark grey trouser suit with light grey stripes, high, black high heels and is discreetly made up. Very attractive and very sexy. The contrast to her clothes and the tanned skin is the snowy blouse.

Now it clicks and I know where I know it from. I have seen her in a film role in which she looked more like a man-woman to me, with austere facial features, bony and unattractive. But now she is a woman through and through. She is not an Englishwoman either, but comes from a former British crown colony on the American continent.

The photographer points to the easel. What, with the outfit and shoes is she supposed to scramble up there????!! They are stupid.

C. presses her lips together and rises carefully and insecurely to the top. The photographer takes picture after picture around jumps around like a box devil. Now she should also do gymnastic exercises on the wobbly frame. That can't go well.

And it doesn't go well either. The easel comes from the rocking into the swaying and C. falls with a loud outcry to the ground. If it had been a lawn, then perhaps it would have ended lightly, but she falls onto the sidewalk with pebbles and remains lying crying.

Urs and I hurry to her, pick her up carefully and carry her into the first-aid room.

"Where is the ambulance?' I shout.

"It comes back in broadest Schwyzerdütsch, "Där isch hüt nit do, där hät hüt fri.

"Okay, everybody out," I say. "I need rest now. Urs, please make sure nobody comes in." I close the door.

C. is lying on the couch crying. I go to her, take her uninjured hand and calm her down.

"Don't worry, everything will be fine', I say to her gently and stroke her hand.

"You speak my language?" she replies with big, tear-wet eyes.

"Yes, both."

Her right knee is open, there are some pebbles in her right hand, and she has a graze wound on her forehead. She also complains of severe pain in her right wrist.

I ask her if she can take off her trousers, otherwise I cannot treat the wound on her knee. She looks at me questioningly and then shakes her head.

"Would you please do that, I can't," she replies.

I open her trousers and carefully pull them down piece by piece. Put your shoes away and the trousers are removed.

"The jacket too, please, I can't do it alone," she asks me.

I straighten her up and with one hand I fiddle the jacket off her upper body; a pretty upper body as I see it. Carefully I let her sink back onto the couch. I just can't resist and carefully drive my fingers over her forehead and the back of my hand over her cheek. She sighs and looks at me "Do it again, please. I like that. It feels so good."

I stroke her again tenderly.

"But first her wounds, my lady."

"Oh, my lady, how romantic."

First I clean the wound on the knee, disinfect it and apply a bandage. The door opens and the crazy photographer bursts in, Urs in tow.

"Out with you" I yell. "I don't want to see you in here! Urs, please keep him away."

Urs drags the clamoring Fotoheini with him. I close the door, grab the key and look at C. questioningly. She nods her head violently and I turn the key around. So, now it's quiet.

When I start to remove the pebbles from her palm with a pair of tweezers, she moans in pain. I squeeze her healthy hand and give her a tender kiss on the forehead. C. takes a deep breath and looks at me with big eyes.

"Not good? I ask her.

"Absolutely good" she holds against it. "If it's for healing, go on."

I kiss her again on the nose, she holds her lips towards me. I cannot say "no" and accept her offer joyfully. Our lips merge and our tongues begin a wild dance. Breathing heavily, I detach myself from her and say that it would hurt again if I disinfected her hand. She nods, presses her lips tightly together, but tears still shoot into her eyes.

I kiss the tears tenderly away and again our lips meet for a long time.

"Take them off," she says energetically.

I look at her questioningly: "What?????"

"My clothes, take them off!

"Sure????"

She nods violently.

"I want you and I want you now and here!

I'm off the socks. What does a woman have of her format and her prominence from me of all people? She could have anyone.

"Come on. I regret nothing!

Slowly I open button by button on her blouse and take it off carefully. She wears a tight white lace bra to match her panties. A handful of firm breasts stretch out towards me, with light brown areolas and not so small nipples. I kiss her very gently, stroke her gently and suck on the other.

C. moans loudly and unbridledly.

"Pssst" I say and show her a big band-aid.

She threatens me with her fist.

"Love me finally, love me or I'll scream!

"Not when I kiss you,' I reply and pull her panties down.

A partially shaved pussy with a small runway laughs at me.

I laugh back and begin with the landing approach. I plow through the short shorn landing strip and am stuck in a wet furrow. Wonderful, large labia invite to suck and lick, which I also do not suppress. C. has put her panties into her mouth as a gag.

Not good. I open my trousers, get out my lodger, who already stretches his head quite curiously and holds him out in front of her. The panties fly away and her lips close around my best friend, who acknowledges this with violent growth.

My right hand searches her grotto, one finger, two fingers and a third digging in her wet cave.

C. sucks so hard that my skull almost flies away. I can't stand it much longer, especially since the smacking of her wet cunt contributes to my slow loss of control.

I elude her wonderful, warm mouth cavity and quickly walk around the couch and pull her towards me. My acorn knocks on her vagina and I push my stiffener up and down in her notch of lust.

Protesting, she pushes her abdomen towards me and I no longer torture her and me and drive in my beating to the limit.

Awesome, what a feeling. I slowly begin to push back and forth, but after a few moments I increase my pace rapidly.

C. has closed her eyes, throws her head from one side to the other and lets small, shrill cries be heard. She is visibly struggling with her control and suddenly her abdomen contracts like a cramp. My restraint is also out of place and I discharge myself into her cervix in several powerful thrusts.

I hold on to the edge of the stretcher so that I don't fall down.

"Come on, I want to taste it."

I go to her head and in the twinkling of an eye my slippery prengel disappears into her mouth. Slapping loudly, she enjoys every drop.

"Good, very good, that's the taste I like."

I withdraw from her and find her clothes together.

Pouting like a little child who's had her favourite toy taken from her, she looks at me.

"That's unfair. I'm old enough to know what I want."

"No, you're not. You are married and have children. If that came out, we wouldn't have a quiet minute anymore, you know that!

I help C. with the dressing and then into the stand.

"How long will you stay in M.?" I ask.

"About a week, why?"

"I still two. Maybe we can see each other again."

"In any case. Maybe I'll extend for another week, without a photo team.

We both laugh heartily and leave the first aid room so that the others can see that my resuscitation attempts were successful.