Travelling North Ch. 02

Next day we explored Munich, a city I did not know but as a historian knew much about. What surprised me was that Isabelle, while she seemed to be interested in its attractions and galleries, tired so quickly. We often paused for a rest, cuddled-up on a bench in a park, or sat outside a café holding hands and watched the world go by. After a nice evening-meal, we returned to our room; Isabelle seemed to want an early night.

During the day Isabelle had made no attempt to talk about our night, our love-making and why she could not, or did not want to fuck. I did not ask, although we were often intimately close, resting on a bench or sharing a coffee, and everything seemed just right for us to talk about the 'Whys'. Partly, I feared to spoil the day for her, partly it was the language barrier which kept me silent. Tonight, however, I sensed that Isabelle would want to talk. When she emerged from the bathroom, she wore in addition to her panties a skivvy. She opened the little fridge and asked what I wanted to drink. We settled on vodka. I had sat-up in bed and she joined me. Strengthened with a sip of vodka, she bravely set to the task.

In a convoluted mix of French and English, getures and frustrated pausing she told me that she had been ill, had been in hospital until shortly before her flight. Pointing down to her lap she said she was not, or no longer ill, but recuperating. The last point she indicated by gesturing pain. This much I understood immediately, but the critical details became only clear over the following days. What I picked-up with my limited French was the repeated mal in Isabelle's narration. I must shamefully admit that on her first telling, I thought her malady could be a venereal disease and that she wore her panties for my protection.

My problem was that I failed to understand 'avortement'; it was to my ear not close enough to 'abortion'.

The whole, quite traumatic story of Isabelle's Japanese experience and her eventual escape I pieced together over the next four days. She had met and fallen in love with an older Japanese man in France and had followed him to Tokyo. It was a bad decision. Japan was not cosmopolitan like the Europe she had left behind. She found herself isolated in a frighteningly alien world, language and culture. Most harrowing for her was that her partner immediately and uncompromisingly reverted to his pre-France-holiday self. Isabelle, in trying to make me understand, almost chocked with bitterness by saying that he, like all Japanese men she claimed, believed that all European women where whores. And he started to treat her like a slave and a whore. Sex meant for her now rape.

Isabelle decided to leave him. She secretly wrote to her mother, asking her for money so she could return home. Then she found herself pregnant. She did not tell her partner or husband, I never knew whether they were married, and made her preparations.

With the assistance of American acquaintances, it still took her weeks to arrange both an abortion in a private clinic and to book the first available flight out of Tokyo after the termination of her now relatively advanced pregnancy. She feared that any delay would enable the partner she had deserted, to locate and repossess her. There was no time to recover from the operation in the clinic.

This was the reason for us meeting in Manila on a Pakistan Airline flight to Frankfurt, why she was curled-up in a state of exhaustion on my seat, why she had so little luggage. Furthermore, it was probably the main-reason why Isabelle took the risk to trust me, almost blindly, and had so readily allowed me to take charge in Frankfurt. She needed to recover before returning home to a worried mother. And so briefly after the abortion and strenuous flight, the week's rest on her own in Stuttgart became a blessing! For one, it allowed the post-operation bleeding to subside.

Telling me all this, on that night in Munich, was difficult for Isabelle. When she finished, she silently looked down for a while before she turned to me. Her face was serious, she looked even pained: In a low voice she said "Sorry". I had, at that stage not understood the full story. I failed to understand, therefore, that her 'Sorry' was meant as an apology for having used me. During our long flight she realised or, perhaps, hoped that I was sexually attracted to her; she had quite knowingly taken advantage of it. In her condition and with her recent experience she was past being interested in any man. Neither could she, nor did she want to engage in any sex.

Not understanding what she apologised for, I did not react the way she expected. I took her in my arms and told her how sorry I was about what she had gone through, and how sorry I was for having been so insensitive about her panties. So, I consoled her in - what I took to be - her grief and we fell asleep in each other's arms.

The next day we drove only for a few hours to one of Upper Bavaria's many lakes. We booked into a nice inn, took a cruise on the lake, and after dinner retired for an early night. I had become very conscious about Isabelle's, I thought, still weakened condition. She seemed to have enjoyed the day and both of us avoided talking about what Isabelle had revealed the night before. As I lay in the bed waiting for her to join me, I was expecting another night of companionable affection with Isabelle. I accepted that she had to heal, physically and emotionally. While I desired her, I truly liked her companionship. I was no longer a randy youth, nor was I sexually frustrated. When she came out from the shower, she again posed in the doorway. This time she smiled at me. She was naked - no panties - as she walked very slowly to our bed.

It rendered me wide-eyed in surprise and there was something triumphant in Isabelle's swagger and how she slipped into bed. She had surprised me so much that I had not sat up. She swung a leg over to straddle me and bent down to give me a kiss that promised more than a peaceful Good Night. Without bothering with English, she cradled my face and told me that she was no invalid, that she loved me, and that she liked the good sex we had. I suddenly understood every word and knew that Isabelle did not want our relationship to remain non-sexual. She trusted me enough to know that I would not hurt her. As she was straddling me and her now unshielded pussy sat on my rising erection, I had to provide immediate proof that her trust was justified. I reached down to grip her sexy buttocks and forced her body into a dismount.

Then we made love, slowly building up our levels of arousal. It was not just consideration that made me proceed very tentatively and seductively in making love to what previously had been under cover and off limits. As my lips and tongue circled over her belly and slowly wandered south, her hand in my hair made no attempt to pull me back as I lingered over, kissing her trimmed bush. My hand reached ahead and stroked her still pressed together thighs, fingertips caressing up and down to tease them to open. And they did, and my lips and tongue moved down Isabelle's thigh. I raised it over my head and drew my tongue up its silky inside and planted a long kiss next to her pussy, before kissing the way back again. Her hands on my head, each time I came close became more feverish until finally, it was her that forced my mouth from the spot I was kissing onto the succulent lips of her pussy. With no fingering that could hurt her, I tongue-kissed her open, licking and tonguing her carefully, always responding to the quivering of her thighs closing in, the movement of her hands on my head, and the moans and whimpers escaping her mouth.

There were no signs that Isabelle wanted me to stop but I wanted to learn from her kisses how aroused she had become. I began to kiss my way up again her now heaving body, sinking my tongue into her belly-button, kneading her firm buttocks, and ravaging her perky little breasts. When I finally arrived, her kisses were shameless and wild, only to pull away to moan, then half-shout fragments in French that I did not understand but knew what was meant by the lascivious intensity of the kisses that followed. She had taken possession of my cock. Then she broke away from kissing me and almost threw herself over my thighs, pushing me to lay flat. And her mouth found my cock and I immediately felt its heat and hunger and lust.

I, like last time, wanted to caress whatever part of Isabelle's, in excitement twisting body I could reach. This time she knelt too far away and all I could reach were her feet. I grasped her ankle to pull her closer. She reacted in a way I did not expect by quickly throwing a thigh over my head and laying down flat on top of me. As Isabelle was so much shorter than I, we finished up in a momentarily imperfect 69.

We were, however, so in tune with each other that it became a new source of salacious delight in our love making. While Isabelle sucked my cock, I had the sensuous glory of her ass, spread open thighs, and the wet-gleaming pink of her invitingly half-open pussy before my eyes and fondling fingers. Whenever her hot mouth was driving me to the edge, I pulled her whole backside to my mouth. Half crouching, half sitting-up she quickly realised that she was no longer only passively licked and tongued; she could push and grind her pussy against my face in search of the ultimate titillation. In fact, she made my tongue, in switching from her wildly aroused clit, sink into her cunt to a depth hitherto not reached. And then, I suppose, when she came close to an orgasm not yet wanted, she pushed herself forward and her now ravenous mouth could again engulf my cock, tempting it to spurt first and, for me, always too soon.

She always won! Always stopped me from withdrawing. She always knew, I was not going to leave her satisfied with satisfying me. And she knew what she wanted and what desert was awaiting her. When she was ready, her sexy backside swayed back so that her pussy's lips could find mine. I slid my hands up her sides to cup and caress her neglected breasts and she ground her hot wet pussy hard against my face and lips while my probing tongue pleasured and tormented her clit to drive her over the edge. Isabelle had a beautiful love-song and in her final, uninhibited orgasm she came quivering and shaking and screaming with laughter.

Our love-making left us in an exuberant state of wakefulness and, what can only be called, love for each other and ourselves. We simply could not stop kissing and hugging and touching and smiling at each other. Our pain of not having the language to express what we felt was almost comical. I wanted to tell Isabelle what it meant to me that a woman like her, so beautiful, courageous, sensuous and so breath-takingly sexy, responded so generously to me as her lover.

Isabelle was more direct. She embraced me and kissed me with her lips opening and her tongue engaging mine. Her hand found my cock while she told me how happy she was that our sex was so good. What poured out of her then was the horror story of her Tokyo experience, of being treated by a partner that she thought loved her like a whore and slave, of 'mal sex' with every sexual intercourse becoming a violation and rape. In the alien world of Japan, it threatened to destroy her self-image. It was not male vanity alone that made me believe that I, as a lover, helped her to reawaken her belief in her desirability and the confidence to sensually respond.

The next day we meandered through the beautiful Upper Bavarian country-side, had a leisurely lunch, and in the afternoon took a guided tour through one of mad King Ludwig's castles. In a village close to the Tirolian border we booked into a small hotel for our overnight stay.

For the whole day we had been in an exuberant, sexily charged mood. Like horny teenagers, we could not keep our hands from each other. Whenever we stopped the car to admire the view, we sunk into another groping embrace and suggestive kiss. Our hands seemed to search constantly for a touch of breast, ass and cock, even while we pretended to listen, standing in the group, to the tour guide. Isabelle's sly winks, mischievous smile and the way her muscles played against the palm of my hand when I furtively pressed it against her pert, sexy ass, and how her hand reached back to touch my semi-erection was provocatively salacious in somebody so childlike small. For me this was new. I had never been particularly attracted to child-like women.

The night that followed was one of lustful, licentious sex, interspersed with pure, loving affection. Isabelle more than I needed to express what she felt, and she did so in French. Almost all of it would have left me guessing, if it had not been for the warmth and sexiness in her voice. We still did not fuck, although Isabelle clearly wanted it as much as I. When we were laying side by side in an, at the beginning, companionable embrace recovering from a long, voluptuous entanglement in our version of 69, her hand again stole down to my cock. The way she gripped it, her quickening breath, her hot-whispered words and, finally, the way her lips and tongue engaged mine let me know how much she wanted our night not done.

I was easy to persuade, and my cock played its part. Her power to arouse pleased her greatly. She raised herself on her elbow, swung a leg over to straddle me. She firmly gripped my cock and made it kiss and rub her pussy. I thought she would mount, but she kept her pelvis raised and moved it in unison with the hand controlling the cock. When she kissed me, her mouth was ravenous. Her face, as she crouched over me, glowed with lust as she made the cock circle and tease her clit and then, sliding it lower to kiss her pussy open. She could not help herself; she made the tip of cock progressively slide deeper into her cunt, but always still leaving her unfulfilled. Not daring yet to fuck made her whimper and fight for breath, but it did not make her stop.

So, I grabbed her and threw her on her back. I knew what I was doing and did it for myself as much as for relieving her. I threw myself between her legs spreading her thighs wide open and sank my tongue into the wet, delicious heat of her cunt. It brought her very quickly to a spectacular and jubilant orgasm. When she released my head from the quivering hold of her thighs and she pulled me up, she was shaking with tremulous laughter. This time our second post-orgasm embrace ended in us contentedly falling asleep.

What followed were two pleasant days and, for us lovers, two last, wonderful nights in Innsbruck. On arriving there I suggested to Isabelle that I would try to secure an appointment at a doctor or at the university-clinic for her. She refused, assuring me she felt better than she had felt in years; anyway, in a few days she could see their family-doctor in Antibes.

Innsbruck is a beautiful, historic city and its surroundings are spectacular. I think, I can speak for both of us in confessing that we were too much focused on our libidinous hunger for each other to appreciate the beauty surrounding us. Yet, we stayed during the lengthy day out of our hotel-room and, thereby, out of bed to avoid succumbing to what so tempted both of us.

Our deliberate abstention from love-making during the day and from fucking at night infused the sex we allowed ourselves with an intensity that even I had rarely known before. I am certain it was so for Isabelle. There was no longer for us such a thing as foreplay, of being satisfied with a mere foretaste of what was to follow. The way we kissed, the way I caressed and kissed her breasts, her belly, her thighs, and how her sexy ass twitched in excitement under my hands were, for both of us, lust-filled, ecstatic ends in themselves. And there was always the, we had decided, ultimate orgiastic pleasuring and tasting of cunt and cock by our hungry mouths and lasciviously teasing tongues.

On these last two nights Isabelle decided to dare the ultimate, tantalising arousal. Crouching over me, with her pelvis raised, she gripped my cock; at first, just under its head. Then, lowering her crotch over the hand guiding the cock's tip, she set it to work on opening her pussy's lips, and caressing her clit. My so difficult to suppress urge to ram my cock into her, urged against her hand. While she prevailed in holding me out, fighting me only increases her arousal. She covered my face with frantic, quick kisses. Her grip was vice-like, it hurt and raised my excitement over the long, long minutes that Isabelle extended her torturous play. Then, for a split second only, she released her grip, only to strangulate my cock even harder. But she had given it more head now to allow it to grind deeper into her overheating little-girl-cunt. A half-swallowed cry and moan welcomed the invasion; it did not sound like pain. As her pelvis lifted to allow the cock to again rub up and down her lust-inflamed gap, her whole lower body was aquiver. Every time she guided it lower to her opening, her grip tightened, and she drew in her breath in frustration.

It had to come: she finally decided to release about half of my cock, then sink down on it to be stopped by her fitfully gripping fist from being penetrated to the hilt by the remaining half of my rampant erection. It proved enough for her to ride into a trembling, convulsing, long drawn out climax. During it, interspersed by tremulous laughter and shaking her head in disbelieve, she moaned and whispered words to me that I wished I had understood. Being a vainglorious male, at that moment I was certain that Isabelle wanted me to know that our love-making was a miracle for her, that it excited, aroused, pleasured and satisfied her beyond anything she could have imagined and, yes, ever again hoped for.

Next morning at the Innsbruck's railway-station we said our farewell. Isabelle had given me her address at Antibes. She assured me that her mother would love to meet the rescuer of her daughter. Both of us knew, however, that it was 'Fare Well' and not 'Au revoir'. We parted bravely.

I don't know if she realised that I could easily have extended our stay for days, even for more than a week. I did not do so. Falling even more in love with Isabelle than I had already was threatening real, even though we were still almost strangers. But we had, totally by chance, discovered in each other a magical intimacy of caring and the gift of a perfect, sexual affinity.

For me, bound as I was in an already threatened marriage, it was a dangerous temptation.