I was already bored with my 'date' from the night before, the prototypical one-nighter with a nurse from Clifton Park who chain-smoked like a runaway locomotive.
As Apollo Creed once told Rocky Balboa,"Ain't gonna be no rematch." Rocky, of course, grunted back, "Don't want one." So, in all fairness, I'm sure the feeling was mutual. We both got what we wanted, that's what makes a one-nighter a one-nighter, right?
However, I was hungry and the restaurant was right across the street from my timeshare. So, I figured I'd go through the motions and at least buy her some breakfast at Grandma's, one of the many quaint dining establishments on the hillside overlooking scenic Lake George. Besides, the nurse had been whining since midnight that I had never fed her, so it was the least I could do to maintain some semblance of gentlemanly honor. And Grandma's had the best breakfast on the hill. Hey, why not?
Also, due to the combination of meticulous planning for my week of rest and relaxation, and electronic dating sites, I already had lined up a rendezvous with another horny local this coming evening, so I was still in a relatively jolly mood. And it wasn't like the nurse was a BAD fuck. Just, well, a little annoying.
What did Bryant Gumbel once ask and answer? "What's the definition of eternity? The time between when you come and she leaves."
Anyway, my morning brightened considerably when I saw our waitress. I couldn't help but focus my eyes on her name badge, which coincidentally enough, was perched right on top of two of the nicest globes I have seen on a tall woman, even though the tits were semi-obscured in a loose-fitting matronly waitress outfit. Yvonne was her name, or so said the name plate, and I made it a point to refer to it a few dozen times during the course of our meal, just to be sure.
Yvonne was one of the thousands of Eastern European and Russian imports that are shipped to the Adirondack region each summer to try to service the influx of tourists that flood the area from Memorial Day to Labor Day. But, she was definitely the most memorable that I had come across. She stood perhaps six feet, even in flats. Golden hair tied back in a tight French braid. Flashing green eyes the color of the Baltic Sea. (And, did I mention those tits?) And a shameless 'flirt-for-tips' smile that would make a stripper take crib notes.
I left Yvonne a more than healthy gratuity, if one considers a seventy-five percent tip generous. This was not lost on my nurse companion, who remarked, "You're leaving her a fifty? How much was the bill, twenty-eight bucks? Boy, I wish I had tits that big and firm."
Me, too, nursey. Now, kiss, kiss, and buh-bye now. It's been fun.
The following morning, as fate would have it, my new companion from night number two on my vacation was also famished after some vigorous nocturnal and pre-dawn romps. This woman was an attorney from Lake George Village named Susanne, and she was perhaps five years older than me, which I estimated made her perhaps twenty-five years older than Yvonne. Susanne knew her way around a cock, I had to give her that, and I didn't at all rule out a rematch with Susy the Attorney as the week progressed. Time would tell.
I knew just the place for breakfast, conveniently enough. Yvonne saw me enter with a different acquaintance than the prior morning, and she gave me a knowing grin. I shrugged as she grabbed two menus and led us to a table on the porch, overlooking the lake. It was spectacular scenery, and I'm not talking about the panoramic view of the lake.
When Yvonne came back the second time, it wasn't difficult to notice that she had unbuttoned at least one or two buttons on the blouse of her almost Amish-like waitress uniform. This observation was not lost on Susanne, either, who was by far old enough to be Yvonne's mother. "Keep your eyes in your head, big boy," she said in her best attorney stern-voiced castigation. "I'm the one who's been sucking your cock all night, remember?"
I diverted my gaze from Yvonne's ass as she went back to get Susanne more coffee. "Yes, counselor, how could I forget? You make very compelling oral arguments, I must admit."
Duly satisfied with my compliments, Susanne excused herself to visit the ladies' room. To my surprise, Yvonne took the opportunity to rush over while the proverbial coast was clear. She made a clucking sound with her tongue in that adorably seductive Russian accent. "Tsk, tsk, you've been a busy boy," she teased, bending down to fill my cup even though I wasn't drinking coffee. I didn't stop her.
I smiled, sensing a pang of envy in Yvonne's voice, and even imagining I detected a slight glimmer of lust in her eyes. "Yes, it's been a fun first two days of my vacation. But I have an even better dinner date this evening." I examined Yvonne's eyes and did indeed see a flicker of disappointment.
That's when I went for it. "You, Yvonne. I'd like you to be my dinner date this evening." Not expecting this, Yvonne looked around anxiously to see if we were being watched.
I didn't wait for an answer, I moved in with the all-in plunge. "See that blue house right there?" I pointed across Lake Shore Drive. "That's number twenty-three. Join me on my patio tonight around six-thirty and I'll grill us some steaks and seafood, just you and me, what do you say?"
Yvonne stepped back and blushed a bright Russian crimson. "No, no, I'm afraid I cannot do that," she stammered nervously. Her eyes darted through the restaurant. She saw Susanne heading back to the table. I figured I had scared her off, my plan was too soon, too impetuous.
Instead, Yvonne's next words made my week. "I have to work the dinner shift tonight. Um, I can be there at eight, would that be fine?" I smiled and slipped a fresh fifty into her palm just as Susanne approached. "Thank you, Yvonne, and, yes, everything was just fine."
After some admonishing from Susanne regarding my shameless flirting with our waitress followed by a good-bye mid-morning romp in the sack with Susy (damn good fuck for an attorney, I must admit), I spent the remainder of the day taking a nap and headed to Price Chopper about five-thirty to see what they had in the way of fresh steak and seafood. Oh, and a side trip for some wine and a bottle of Stoli Elit, just in case.
I sat on my deck watching the sunset when I heard a voice from below which sounded something like, "Pri-VET? Hello?" I looked down onto the grass and saw Yvonne peering up, shading her eyes from the sunlight.
It dawned on me then that I didn't even know where she lived, but it appeared that she had walked from wherever she was coming from. She was barefoot, holding a pair of red shoes in her hands. She wore a long red and white flowered sundress, which reached to just below the knee. Her locks were unburdened tonight from any French braid or ponytail, and the golden mane cascaded down her shoulders in flowing twirls and curls.
"Up here, Yvonne, you've found me!" I yelled, hurrying down the steps to escort her.
She stood there brushing the hair from her gorgeous face. "Yes, I've found you, but do you know I don't even know for sure your name?" she asked in slightly fractured syntax.
I reached her and we embraced lightly and she gave me one of those double-cheek European pseudo-kisses. She frowned. "Is it John, is that what all your girlfriends call you?"
I smiled at her and took her by the hand to lead her to the deck. "Yes, it is John, and there are no other girlfriends tonight." I turned to catch her straight at my legs. "What are you looking at?"
She blushed again. "You have very nice legs. Strong." She flickered her eyelids at me. or was she squinting still? "I like."
When we reached the deck, we took inventory of each other. Her sundress was almost transparent in the sunlight, and it was a button-down, the entire length. The top three and the bottom two buttons were undone, so that the dress revealed an ample amount of what appeared to be at least 36D cleavage, and the slit on her dress displayed skin on her left leg up to mid-thigh.
"You, dear Yvonne, are the one with the beautiful legs," I said sincerely, hoping they would be wrapped around my head, ass and shoulders as the night progressed. There was that blush again.
I handed her a chilled glass of chardonnay. "I was afraid you wouldn't show. I didn't know if you liked older men. I'm forty-one."
She raised the glass to mine and we 'clinked'. "I do like older men. But you really don't look that old. Only your girlfriends do," she jabbed. Touche', I thought. She continued, half smirking now."I though that perhaps YOU did not like younger women."
Yvonne looked me in the eyes as we raised the glasses to our respective lips. "Za vstrechi." She said softly, seductively. "Lyubov."
While I pondered the meaning of those toasts, I met her gaze. "So, just how old are you, Yvonne?"
She swirled the wine around between her full, puckered lips. She wore not a hint of make-up or lipstick, but her face was covergirl-pretty. I wondered what those lips would taste like.
"I turn twenty-two on Saturday, my last day in the states. I return to Russia to begin classes next week. It will be my final year, hopefully, at St. Petersburg State University. I'm studying biology."
This was Monday, so I wondered silently how much time we might be able to share for the week's duration, as I gestured towards the table on the patio, the plates already set, with a large fresh salad in a bowl in the middle. I held the back of a chair and motioned for her to sit. "It is my turn to wait on you this evening, my lovely guest. Relax and enjoy. Your every whim is my command."
Yvonne caught on to the obvious double meaning in my remark. "Hmmm, anything? I'll keep that in mind. And perhaps you'll find that I, too, can be very generous when it comes to dispensing gratuities." Now, that was thought-provoking.
For the next two hours, we talked like old friends and lovers, sharing life stories, backgrounds, history. Hers was a fascinating saga. Her mother was French and Russian, and Yvonne was named after her grandmother who was actually a native Parisian.
Her father, a Russian diplomat, met her mother while traveling to an international summit during the Cold War. It was viewed by both countries' political connections as a somewhat risky marriage, so when she was very young, the family emigrated to Poland.
She grew up in Warsaw, was fluent in three languages, but because she was born in Russia, she maintained citizenship. When she was eighteen, she decided to move back to her motherland to pursue her studies. She was in America this summer as part of a work exchange program with State University of New York in nearby Albany.
I sat and absorbed her intently in the moonlight glimmering off of the lake, mesmerized. (Not so much from her story, but, boy, did I mention she had some GREAT tits!?!?)
The wine and time flew by, and before we knew it, we were halfway through a second bottle, and had consumed a delicious meal, if I do say so myself.
"Why don't we take this bottle and bring it down to the shoreline?" I suggested. "There is a dock down there with a gazebo and some beach chairs."
As we walked down the hill, I admired the view of Yvonne's round, tight ass wiggling and bouncing slightly beneath the sheer material of the dress. The dress clung to her body sufficiently enough to make it rather apparent that there was an absence of any undergarments under the dress, which happens to be my favorite color. How sweet!
We reached the gazebo on the shoreline and Yvonne leaned over the railing to survey the lake in the moonlit darkness. She stood on her tip-toes and the lean, muscular curves of her calves became more pronounced. Not coincidentally, so did my erection.
I sat in silence until Yvonne joined me on the bench that encircled the inner perimeter of the gazebo. She lifted her feet up onto the bench and placed them on my lap, spreading her legs apart slightly. "Unnnh, all this walking and being on my feet all day," she groaned. "Does this 'waiting on me' tonight include a foot massage, by chance?"
Yes, it did.
I rubbed the balls of her feet softly at first, and then slowly worked my fingers over each toe. Yvonne let out a soft sound that could probably best be described as a contented purr. "Do your toes ache?" I asked.
"Not any more, that feels wonderful," she replied, almost inaudibly. The stillness of the environment caused almost any sound to echo off the lake and adjacent hillside, emphasizing the intimacy of the moment. "Good," I whispered, placing her one foot directly onto my lap, so that there was no mistaking my arousal. "I would have hated to call the toe truck."
She squinted at me, wrinkling her nose, making it obvious she didn't get the lame attempt at a joke. But she did get the sensation that I was hard as the Russian winter. She sank her foot into my shaft and began to run her toes along the shaft. This emboldened me to caress my way northward on her lovely gams. I kneaded the taut muscles in her calves and she began to give me a subtle toe-job. No toe truck would be needed after all.
"So," she began very quietly, hesitantly. "The two women these last two days........you had sex with them?" She already knew the answer. They weren't at breakfast after a night of checkers.
"Yes," I answered simply, offering no further information. She toe-jerked me a bit more urgently. My hand reached the back of her knee and raised her dress some, meeting no resistance. In fact, she lifted her ass a bit off of the bench to facilitate my manual administrations. "Does that bother you?" My hand was on her thigh now.
She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, parting her legs in an obvious invitation to proceed. "No. It..... how do you say? It turned me on. It made me want you more."
I leaned my body upright on the bench and slid her legs over my own so that we were sitting facing each other, her legs outside of my own, but cradled on top. I began to unbutton the bottom buttons of her dress so that it essentially slid to her upper thighs. "Does this turn you on?" My right hand dipped between her legs, caressing the crevice between her leg and torso, just to the left of her pussy. I could feel the heat radiate from her. "Does it make you want me more?"
With her eyes still closed, she hissed, "Yesssss. And yesssssss."
My middle finger slipped into her gash. It was wet, humid, steamy. Tight. She shuddered, and her eyelids fluttered. I flickered my finger upward, exploring her. I had to know the next question, for some reason. "When was the last time you had sex?" I slipped a second finger into her. Her tight cunt spasmed and convulsed, gripping the invaders, guiding them into her as if on a pulley.
I wasn't expecting her answer, I admit. Nor did it disappoint me, either.
"With a man? Many months. Many months, perhaps six."
Yvonne began to rock forward on my fingers now, essentially using my digits as a dildo. I could feel a thick nectar begin to ooze down onto the bench. I raised her dress to her navel and examined her pussy visually for the first time, watching it blossom and close as my fingers rhythmically churned in and out of her. I slid a finger upward in search of her g-spot. The next question was presumptive, based on the data that had already been proffered. "You've been with a woman?"
She arched her back. My thumb began to gently encircle the protruding labia around her clit, and I tugged on the flap ever so delicately. "Oooohhhhhhh...that feels good. Yes. A woman. My roommate and I... Olga......this summer.....well...we...ummmm..... we explore sometimes, experiment....." She opened her eyes, her green eyes on fire. "It gets lonely. But I've wanted a man, I've yearned for a man."
She began to breathe very quickly now, her face contorting. I fucked her in cadence with her rocking pelvis, three fingers now, my thumb pressing on the hard nub of her swollen clit, poking through the folds. I watched. It was intense. I felt like I was ready to blow my own load.
She continued to talk, rapidly. "I wanted a man to touch me, to teach me, a man with experience, but tender." I felt small spurts of moisture rumble from within her young cunt now. My middle finger was deep within her tunnel, my index finger curled upward, my ring finger rubbed her bottom vaginal wall. And then........
"Ooomppph, fffffuck........" She tried to stifle her announcement of the powerful orgasm by burying her head in her shoulder, but it was too late. A small tsunami pulsed against my fingers and liquid shot out of the corners of her cunt that weren't impaled on my hand.
It was like a faucet that had sprung a leak. I extracted my fingers and she grabbed my hand so that she could finish her release without the pressure of my fingers, and I saw her inner lips spew small bursts of white streams into the air, coating the hem of her dress, and splashing onto my own shorts. Her body writhed for a good forty-five seconds. She must have had about a dozen or more small orgasmic after-shocks. I leaned in to taste the sweet ejaculate. I had rarely witnessed anything so exotic, so erotic. After I suckled the flavors off of my saturated fingertips, I raised them to her mouth, and she finished the cleaning process eagerly.
She looked at me almost bashfully, seemingly embarrassed to be so exposed in the cool night air, her cunt still shimmering like the ripples of a pebble on the lake surface. But I had misinterpreted Yvonne's look. She was far from finished with our outdoor nocturnal activity. Her eyes bore into mine and she massaged her twat with one hand, while the other reached out to grope for my engorged cock.
"Stand up," she ordered firmly, a firmness that both surprised and excited me. She repeated her earlier words as she peeled down my zipper. "I've wanted a man. I've yearned for a man."
Still sitting on the bench as I leaned over her to brace myself against the wooden walls, Yvonne watched wide-eyed as my cock slapped wildly against her cheek. She stroked my length, first with one hand, and then cupped my balls with the other, literally teeing up my cock and serving it on a plate. She licked the head as if consuming a melting ice cream cone. "You are quite a man. Big." She lifted my cock against my belly and began to lick the underside of the shaft, flipping her golden hair out of her face with a pronounced twist of her neck.
"So very big. Quite a man. Not a boy." She looked up at me with suddenly little-girl eyes, almost asking permission. "I want to suck your......" She hesitated. Then, finally, haltingly, "....penis...?"
She formed it in a question, not a declarative sentence. It wasn't so much due to a language barrier as it was a coming-out statement by a young woman who was gaining the self-confidence to state her desires to an older man, though not yet confident enough to use more earthy terms. That would come in time, I mused. Because, fortunately, her immediate needs coincided nicely with my own.
I didn't answer. None was necessary. Instead, I gripped my own dick and began to rub it all over her face as her neck craned like a kitten's seeking a ray of sunlight. I pulled her long hair up in my palm and rolled it into a tight ball so that I could witness the oral assault and also to be able to encourage or discourage her techniques.
It's called control. And it was just what Yvonne was seeking, too.
At times I grasped her head lightly, letting her gobble and nuzzle and suck in varying speeds on my throbbing, mature dick. At other intervals, I put both of her temples firmly in my palms and face-fucked her, my cock burrowing perhaps six inches or more down her throat. Initially, I was tentative with these maneuvers, but to my delight, the more fervently I guided my entire shaft into her mouth, the more Yvonne groaned and responded affirmatively to the directives, both manual and verbal.