The Demanding Duchess Pt. 02

Weeks into this relationship, we had a standing appointment. Every Tuesday, around 10, dressed in my two-piece suit, button-down shirt with a necktie, I drove to her mansion, where the butler escorted me to the sitting room next to her bedroom. Minutes later, Elsa entered, and we would chat over coffee, perhaps a scone, before becoming nude.

The conversations were on a variety of topics, from current events to what was happening in our respective families.

One day, early into our relationship, we climbed onto her bed, where she sat up and examined my penis and testicles. She seemed to enjoy stroking it, making it hard. She put on a warm lubricating cream to help her hand glide across it. It was the best hand-job I had since I don't know when.

Eventually, she told me to go down on her. I always started the same way, hovering over her to lick her earlobes, suck her nipples and kiss and lick my way to her stomach before my tongue jutted in and out of her vagina. While tasting her sweetness, I gently massaged and squeezed her nipples. In time, she moaned and whispered, "Oh yes."

Her large clit -- the biggest I'd ever seen -- was quite sensitive. I went down on it, licked it, sucked it, making sure my tongue danced all over it. The first time went well. The second time was better with her moaning and groaning; on our third date, she had an orgasm -- much to my relief.

It took about 15 minutes or so of tonguing her clit and massaging and squeezing her nipples, but she came. Her hips bucked up hard toward my nose, almost knocking me unconscious as she grunted loudly, so loud, in fact, the butler knocked on her bedroom door, asking if everything was okay.

"Everything is fine," she replied breathlessly. "In fact, it's never been better."

We cuddled up on her bed and she did what I wasn't sure would ever happen, she kissed me full on the lips with her tongue entering my mouth.

"Thank you," she said, after that kiss. "You don't know how good that made me feel and how long it's been."

"Well, I'm so glad," I said, so thrilled I could bring this beautiful lady such pleasure. "You should be made love to all the time."

There's something about the rich. They have needs us, but they hesitate to express them. At least that was the case with Elsa. Sometimes she was direct but often she danced around what she wanted. As we lay in her bed, still wrapped in one another arms, she looked up at me, asking, "Do you have time to enter me?"

"Of course," I smiled. "Let me just get it up."

"I'll help you," she said, taking my penis into her hand. She rubbed it, even put it in her mouth for a bit and then, when it was hard, greased it with lubricating cream.

I got between her legs, missionary style, placing the head of my penis against her vagina, slowly entering her. She was very tight, much tighter than I expected. As I entered her, she looked up to say, "It's been so long."

Within five minutes or so, my penis was nestled nicely inside her. She was warm, snug, and moist.

"You feel fantastic," I said.

"Thank you -- I needed to hear that."

Slowly, I got into a rhythm, entering and withdrawing from her vagina, kissing her passionately as I did so. She massaged my nipples, too, saying her husband always enjoyed it. I liked it, too.

I wanted this to last so I went slowly back and forth. She squeezed her vaginal muscles, gripping me as I casually thrust in and out of her.

Ten minutes or so later, she asked, "Are you going to have an orgasm?"

"Should I speed things up?"

"Yes," she replied.

And so I did. I thrusted faster than previously, and my hands went under her and gripped her buttocks. She played with my nipples and before long, I reached the point of no return and experienced what I figure was the best orgasm I ever had. I wondered if it was due to our age difference, about 25 or 30 years.

There was something hot -- maybe even sinful -- about cuming inside an older lady's vagina. Perhaps it was the same for her, making her feel youthful, desired and as if she was breaking all the rules. I hoped it did.

We laid on the bed for another 30 minutes, wrapped in one another's arms, kissing more passionately than before. At 70 plus, she continued to possess a powerful, natural beauty. Had she not been the family matriarch -- and as well off as she was -- I guessed, silently, she'd be dating. Or at least mingling and socializing more.

But she was constrained. Her position as one of society's upper crust, as her family's matriarch, and as the top officer of its corporation, forbid her from seeing just anyone. She was American royalty. She had to be discreet, careful, and silent. It was no surprise she made me sign a contract forbidding me to ever mention our discussions or activities.

Smiling, she looked at me, asking if I had time for an early lunch.

"Of course," I said.

"Well, then, we should put on robes. I'll see to it that it's served in the sitting room."