Priceless!

Edward stepped off the plane in Slovenia, 28 hours from home in the USA. A bit of an odd situation: an American professor, he had inherited by accident a young woman graduate student who was attending his institution's sister university in Berlin – she was known to all as Kiwi, the nickname being the only remaining consequence of an unfortunate amateur haircut during grade school. He'd spent considerable time, over several years, just keeping her morale up in the face of relentless German academic snootiness and condescension. He'd also expended a lot of time and energy teaching her how to define researchable problems, and then editing the resulting analyses and write-ups, including her now-accepted dissertation. Teaching her how to write good, simple English had been the central chore. It was, in fact, only his support which had kept her in the program at all. Unfortunately, he'd been unable to physically attend the final defense – he'd participated remotely - but he could sign the papers now.

Kiwi had twice visited Edward in the US, staying in his guest room for a week each time. The first was with her original boyfriend; the second, with the current one. Whilst Kiwi was certainly both attractive and very much heterosexually active - as proven by her and boyfriends' nocturnal noises during their stays - Edward had allowed himself not the slightest glimmer of interest in or appreciation of her femaleness. He fully expected that to continue. Very professional!

Kiwi had insisted for years that upon her finishing the doctorate, he simply MUST come take a vacation in Slovenia. She wanted desperately to show off her home country and culture. It needn't be expensive - he could stay with her and her mother in Momma's apartment most of the time. Kiwi routinely used the second bedroom as her refuge whenever escaping from Berlin, and Momma - well aware of his role in Kiwi's success - was insistent. When Edward noted and asked about boyfriend #2's absence, Kiwi just shrugged and said matter-of-factly that she and he were presently "...taking a 6-month sabbatical from each other after two years..." and that she was at the moment sans boyfriend. "But I am a better tour guide than he, anyhow. You will not suffer due to his absence!"

In the terminal, he was greeted with extreme enthusiasm by Kiwi and Momma – Momma specialized in death-grip whole-body hugs. Edward had never even seen a picture of Momma – and she and Kiwi made an interesting pair. Their facial structures were similar enough to confirm the relationship, but comparing body morphs might make one wonder about genetics as a science. Kiwi was tallish, slight, slender-hipped, wafer-thin from navel to spine. And at absolute maximum stretch she sported a 32-A bust. Momma was short – perhaps 5'3" - broad of beam and thick-waisted, and at age 53 carried (almost flaunted) a bosom at least 42D, and perhaps one or two clicks beyond. It was bound snugly enough to prevent actual escape, but shivered and shimmied as she moved, rather like a pair of bagged small animals. The texture of the mostly-exposed upper surfaces suggested that gravity had won the battle, and only nylon was suppressing the evidence of surrender. Momma also had the largest nipples Edward had ever seen, poking right out at the viewer despite their multiple layers of coverings. Edward politely ignored the whole bosom phenomenon as best he could – but Momma proved an inescapable flirt, something he loved and couldn't help responding to.

There was of course the matter of language – Kiwi's English was far from perfect but well beyond merely passable. Momma's was limited to a couple dozen universally-known core Anglo-Saxon words, plus the occasional astoundingly incongruous esoterica, always delivered unexpectedly and upon reflection always appropriate, even if at third remove from the literal. Edward's Slovenian was non-existent. He was hardly a linguist, but had studied several languages – Spanish (his only genuine alternative fluency), French, Greek, Latin, FORTRAN, German – but most importantly for this trip, Russian. Those studies plus an abiding interest in the history and development of English gave him a good ear for cognates and word-roots, which in turn often let him understand far more of a new language than one might expect – particularly so between Russian and Slovenian, sister Slavic tongues with an inordinate wealth of cognates.

At the apartment, arrangements were simple. Edward got Kiwi's room, while she shared Momma's – their standard arrangement when entertaining guests. Dinner that first night was homemade moussaka and a quite good local wine, then off to bed before midnight. Edward planned to get up at about six, feeling that a short night and good session of early-morning yoga would help fight jet-lag. Kiwi would get up at six also, and head immediately for the train station – an hour's trip to the nearest large university to arrange for microfilming of her dissertation, which under local rules, now that Edward had signed the document, was the final step in getting her degree. She would reach home precisely at noon via the only available return train. Momma and Edward would just have to -somehow- manage to get along through the morning. When this was explained to Momma, she instantly declared that she, too would get up and do yoga with him: she bent over and easily put her palms flat on the floor – astounding flexibility and well beyond Edward's even with his ten years of yoga. Edward could teach her, she said. Then afterwards she would make coffee and take him out for pastries. Edward agreed, explaining that he could show her poses and correct her, and in return she must help him get into poses more accurately than he could without assistance... mutual tutoring, a fine idea.

A few minutes before six Edward awoke, put on his yoga shorts and tank-top, headed for the living room. The bare wooden floor would do nicely: he slid the sofa and table to the walls to make space. He had just sat down to begin when Kiwi appeared, looking thoroughly bleary-eyed. To his astonishment and pleasure, she was wearing only a pair of fuzzy-bunny slippers and a gloriously short nightie made of thin pale yellow satin against which the sharp tips of her boobs created a lovely pair of protuberances. She said hello, asked if he'd slept well, got assurances, then turned away towards the sink. She got herself a drink, then bent down to fish out a teakettle from the lower shelf under the counter. The rear hem of the nightie rose nicely, stopping more than half-way up her buttocks. She wore no undies. Edward's crotch brittled at her beautiful runner's legs and stunningly shaped bottom. The inner surfaces of her thighs nowhere touched one another, and plugging the gap at the top was a perfect polish-brush of jet-black pubic hair, silhouetted against the nylon. The view lasted only a couple of seconds, and certainly seemed accidental: she straightened, turned on the faucet again. "I will put the water on the lowest, smallest flame so it will be ready for you and Momma to make coffee when you finish. I will take my own coffee from the station."

Just then Momma burst upon the scene, wearing a tight set of legless short-shorts and a sleeveless low-cut, seriously supportive top, underlain with a heavy bra. She threw her arms wide, and let fly with a few of her English words: "Yoga time! Good morning!"

Kiwi looked at Edward and winced slightly, then said "She likes to flirt, in case you have not noticed. She wears these clothings to the gymnasium because it makes the men look at her. She has had no husband for 20 years, and no real boyfriend now for almost a year, so I think maybe she is a bit sex-hungry, no? She also wears Brazil thong-bikinis when we go for the beaches in summertime. I often tell her how she embarrasses me! I would not wear such things myself, but it's her body and her life, so be it!"

In five minutes Kiwi was out the door, and the yogis hard at work. In fact, problems of spoken language aside, they made a good team: he demonstrated poses, then helped her into them. Once she understood the essence (which she did remarkably quickly) she would help him get back into the same pose, and improve it. All this demanded an increasing familiarity of touchings – thighs, butts, legs, chest. She was quite serious about learning, and about getting real exercise – in short order they were both glistening wet.

Some poses were exceptionally interesting to Edward – for instance, when she lay on her back, arms fully overhead against the floor, and he used his weight to jackknife one stiffened leg through the vertical and towards her forehead, he could legitimately and discreetly study her armpits and crotch. The hair on her head was coarse and jet black (surely chemicals, he thought, at her age) as was Kiwi's, but there was no five-o'clock shadow in her pits. And, too, she had a prominent mons: smooth pits and big mons spoke strongly to his deepest letches, heated his cock alarmingly. Plus, not a single stray pubic hair was to be seen straggling out from beneath her shorts. He wondered: given her predilection for thongs, perhaps she was "Brazilian" in more than one way? All this distracted him and produced a better-than-half hardon.

Momma seemed oblivious.

An hour of good work, then he declared shavasana – corpse pose, relaxation, lying supine and slightly spread-eagled. He demonstrated, they agreed on five minutes. He regulated his breathing, eyes softly closed – and tried to deflate his cock through pure mental control. That was worse than an abysmal failure – instead, it gave him a world-class erection. Short of five minutes, he heard tiny sounds of stealthy movement beside him, but maintained his attempt to relax. Finally he gave up, took his usual long, deep, slow inhalation for starting to emerge. As he did so, a hand settled gently against his abdomen an inch above his shorts' waistband, less than two from the tip of his now throbbing erection.

He let his eyes open, shifted to gaze in her direction. Momma was kneeling beside him, nude. It was a hugely erotic sight: her knees were well apart, forcing him to notice that she was almost clean-shaven, just a thumbprint-sized midline patch remained, high on her mons, cropped short. His breathing changed involuntarily as her fingers drummed lightly against his belly. Her unsupported breasts swagged far downwards, showing a pattern of glistening, elongate, spider-fine stretchmarks on their upper surfaces. They were the most thoroughly aroused set of boobs he had ever seen – nipples starkly erect, areolas puckered up all crinkled and turgid. Even the skin inches beyond the pigmented circles had gone taut with desire and need – a whole-tit erection to match his cock.

Their eyes locked, but he didn't move.

Silently she cupped her left boob in her free hand, leaned slowly forward over his face, proffering the nipple for his attention. He accepted, inhaled it far back, nursed with it caught tightly twixt palate and mid-tongue. She sighed, slid her right hand beneath his waistband. Her fingertips explored, expressed silent delight as they circled the base of his cock and found baby-butt smoothness to match her own. Her hand cupped his contracted ball-sack, squeezed gently. Momma allowed a minute, perhaps two, to pass, then slowly leaned back, breaking Edward's suction.

She turned to face his crotch, caught the shorts' waistband with both thumbs, and shoved the garment down. He raised his butt automatically, and his erection caught. She added force: the tube popped free, whapped him solidly on the belly. She giggled appreciatively. The shorts disappeared and her hands came together in a combined investigation.

He squirmed gently in delight at her touches: after a few seconds studying his body, she muttered, in Spanish, of all things, "Que bueno, que bonito es! Me gusto mucho, mucho, mucho!" – 'How good your body is, how beautiful! It pleases me greatly!"

Then, moving with the deliberation and grace of a stalking cat, she turned from him, repositioned the yoga mat, and without a backward glance knee-walked onto it, stopping with her knees far apart. She stretched her arms overhead, raising her breasts delightfully, and with eyes closed folded forward. Her breasts swung out before her: the nipples touched, then were slowly buried as the masses settled and puddled softly atop them. Once she was fully down, chest on the floor, bottom high in the air like a cat in heat ready for her Tom, she gave a series of small wiggles, as if getting all parts properly adjusted.

The wiggles moved from torso to bottom, after which everything stopped for a moment of total repose. Only then did she finally look back at him over her shoulder - and as if to make ABSOLUTELY certain there was to be no possible misunderstanding, her hands slid to her buttocks, her fingertips gripped, she spread herself wide.

And waited.

But not for long... this variety of meta-language was truly universal, squeaky-clear.

Edward rolled over, and while rising to his knees stripped off his shirt so as to match her nudity. He settled three feet behind her for a longish moment, studying the scenery. Her inner lips were opened wide, their glistening pink inner surfaces outlined butterfly-like by a quarter-inch rim of almost royal purple. He leaned forward and his fingertips made a brief preparatory exploration of her inner upper thighs, where they skidded dangerously on pussy juices when still two inches from the opening – thus giving the lie once again to Madison-Avenue myths of universal post-menopausal "female dryness". Reaching her clit with his mouth from behind was awkward, a pose maintainable for two or three minutes at best, but her shivering, shuddering responses made the neck-crick worthwhile.

Finally, when his neck grew too unhappy and she was gasping hoarsely with each flicker of his tongue, he re-arranged himself, settled into position and entered her fully in a single slow, strong, authoritative plunge, as if re-taking possession of known, familiar territory. After several delicious cycles she made it clear via the meta-language that what she really wanted was to have him in her bottom. That having been his lifelong favorite, he obliged: she sighed in deep satisfaction, and as his pubes plastered against her buttocks she shoved herself back urgently, seeking the maximum possible juncture.

He took command of her chest, she of her clit. Together, their combined efforts produced the desired result, although with the preliminaries delightfully prolonged by unspoken but clear mutual consent. Eventually her entire body clenched into a single gigantic, spastic knot, while her insides vacuumed from him half a dozen lovely gouts of thick, hot semen. Her orgasm rolled on for a full minute or more, eventually slowing like a dying avalanche, until they lay together, fully coupled, soaking in the afterglow. The nail-marks in the palm of her free hand were still visible a day later.

As they relaxed, in the innermost recesses of her rectum his sperm, confused and helpless, were perishing by the legions every minute. That was when she launched a major linguistic incongruity, using most of her English capabilities in one outburst. "Millions and millions! Potential souls! All dying!" she muttered sideways from below him, waggling her butt to stir her insides with his unrepentant hardon.

He was puzzled, asked for clarification.

She provided it: "Your sperms, in my ass, wrong place, all dying!" She giggled: "Me, old Catholic, but not now today -no more Catholic. No potential souls, really!"

Over the next four hours they managed an amazing four orgasms for Edward, plus way beyond that for Momma – as is only proper. Well before noon they were properly dressed and sitting at the table over coffee, believing themselves demure and innocent-appearing. Kiwi arrived at precisely noon, bursting through the door with a bag of groceries, obviously ready to chatter. But she stopped cold, took one look at Momma's face, went pink – looked at Edward, and went pinker yet. "What HAVE you two been doing all this time?" she asked, then repeated it in translation for Momma. Momma went pink herself and answered, with giggles – apparently honestly.

Kiwi's eyes widened, she looked back and forth between them and finally said, in English, "For the WHOLE time? All five hours? Is that really possible?"

Edward nodded.

Kiwi turned to Momma for a rapid-fire exchange full of motherly giggles.

Amongst the Slovene/Russian cognates are the counting numerals and most anatomical and medical terms. Edward picked up the word "orgasmi" and then "... at least ten, maybe fifteen, maybe twenty, I don't really know..." Kiwi's eyes widened again and her pupils dilated: her eyes met Edward's and she said softly "She says you gave her perhaps so many as twenty orgasms! Is that possible?"

He nodded matter-of-factly, said "Of course! It's only proper that a man should satisfy the woman. That CAN be a lot of work sometimes – after all, women are so much more capable than are men – but it's a great deal of fun managing it!"

Momma broke the ensuing silence with a long speech: Kiwi hesitated to translate, but Momma insisted. Obviously embarrassed and a little worried, Kiwi launched: "Edward, Momma says she has been wondering for a long time what she could do, what present to make for you, to thank you for all the help you gave me – she says all your work was just as much help for HER as for me! She knows, and I do too, that without your help my degree would not have happened. She was not expecting you to be such a handsome and personable man, and of her own generation, and in such nice physical condition too. So, when she saw you, this idea came immediately into her mind – and the yoga was a perfect opportunity. But this morning was also a big selfish reward to herself, she says, because after all she, too has contributed to my program for years. She is afraid that in fact the morning's event turned out to be MOSTLY selfish, and therefore not a proper thank-you – so she will keep thinking and perhaps decide upon something additional later. And, Edward, she wants no protest from you – not one word!"

Kiwi stopped. Momma laid a hand atop Edward's and spoke to Kiwi, who smiled, then giggled, finally translated. "She says that you, and your mouth and your penis, should all be declared a national treasure, like they do in Japan with their best craftsman. You have given her the best sex-adventure of her entire life, she says! She also says that for tonight our sleeping arrangements will be restructured. I will get my own bedroom back, and you will move into hers. At least for tonight! I assume that is okay with you?"

Then, softly, "Edward, all this is certainly a most unexpected and unpredicted turn of events! I am astounded, to be frank. But sort of pleased, too!"

Edward's nod and sheepish grin provoked another burst of Slovenian from Momma, within which (thanks to the God of All Cognates) he made out quite clearly, "Kiwi, he's mine for tonight. But don't worry, if you want him for yourself, you can have him tomorrow!"

Kiwi didn't translate THAT – but she saw that I had understood.

The look on her face was priceless.