Travelling North, Part 2. free porn video

When I got on the plane in Manila to continue my journey to Frankfurt, my assigned window seat was taken. A child or woman was curled up in sleep or indifference against the cabin's wall. The plane's flight had started in Tokyo, and she or it had taken possession of the vacant seat.

I was in a happy mood and let it be. After stowing away my hand luggage, I quietly sat down next to this rolled-up bundle.

Close to midnight – I had not managed to fall asleep - the bundle stirred. What emerged was a woman with short, unruly hair. In the low cabin-light, she appeared almost waif-like, slight in body and a drawn, pale face. Sitting up, she unhurriedly straightened out her crumbled clothing. I noticed she had beautiful hands and manicured nails. When she looked sideways at me with a tentative smile, she pointed down into her lap and asked: ‘Your seat?’

Her voice was mature and well-modulated. English was for her clearly a foreign tongue. Now that she looked at me, I saw an interestingly attractive, not at all childlike face. I could not guess her age: She could have been twenty or thirty-five.

During our torturous, long flight to Frankfurt, we became attached. In addition to the scheduled stops in Bangkok and Athens, there was an unexplained delay in Islamabad. All passengers were herded under armed guards into a function room. After a four-hour wait, we continued our flight on a different plane. We, somehow, just stayed together. I did not encourage her, nor did she cling.

Isabelle was French. When she gave me her name, I repeated it in my best French accent. It earned me an approving smile. But not then and not during the rest of the flight did we get to know much about each other. Isabelle slept for extended periods. But the main reason was the language barrier. Isabelle’s English was almost as poor as my neglected school-French. As I learned later, she had acquired her English only in Tokyo in meeting with other foreigners.

Nevertheless, we fell into liking each other. As strangers, we were at ease with each other in a state of suspended distrust.

Isabelle had lived for almost two years in Tokyo and was now permanently returning home to her mother in France. She was willing to tell me what brought her to Tokyo and what she did there. I gathered that Isabelle had met a Japanese man in France. She had followed him to Japan. But now, their relationship had ended. Isabelle's body language suggested a sadness tinged with anger as she struggled with words.

I wondered why Isabelle was flying to Frankfurt and not Paris. Isabelle hesitated for a moment. Then she explained that she wanted to return to her mother's home on the Cote d' Azure by train and bus through southern Germany, Austria and Switzerland. I somehow did not believe her laboured explanation. Pretending it was the truth, I jokingly suggested that she come with me for part of the way. Isabelle did not answer but looked at me with a thoughtful smile.

During the lengthy flight, I also told her about myself. As much as the language difficulties allowed, I told her about my background in Australia, my teaching and study leave in Germany, and my holiday plans.

Therefore, Isabelle knew before we landed in Frankfurt my immediate intentions: I would spend a week with my in-laws near Stuttgart, buy a car, and then drive to Austria for a holiday with relatives.

At Frankfurt's airport, with our suitcases at our feet, we stood in embarrassed silence. I tried to find the words to ask her, ‘What now?’. Suddenly I did not want Isabelle out of my life with a goodbye I could have said in perfect French. So, I haltingly mentioned that I was going to a hotel for an overnight rest before going on to my in-laws tomorrow by train. Isabelle looked down at the luggage at her feet. Then she turned to face me. With a blush and stammer, she asked if she could come with me. My smile must have told her that I was pleased.

We, with all our luggage, took a taxi. I did not know Frankfurt. Therefore I asked the driver to take us to a hotel close to the central railway station. The one he chose looked somewhat seedy. When the unshaven fellow behind the reception desk asked whether we wanted two singles or a double, I looked at Isabelle. With a show of fingers and in French, I enquired, ‘Un? - Deux?’ Isabelle’s ‘Un!’ was emphatic as her hand grasped my arm. I suspected it was the hotel's and the receptionist's appearance that discouraged her from being in a room on her own.

The room and the bathroom appeared clean. I was dead tired, and Isabelle looked exhausted despite her periods of sleep on the plane. I pointed her to the bathroom to shower while I went down to the reception to check the railway's departure times for tomorrow.

On returning to the room, Isabelle had not yet left the bathroom. I started to undress. When I looked up, Isabelle stood in the bathroom's doorway, unsmiling, with her eyes fixed on me. She wore school-girlish cotton underpants but had left her top uncovered. Isabelle's lithe body, with her perky little breasts, appeared to glow from the shower's heat. Then, Isabelle lowered her eyes and walked to the bed. Without looking or speaking to me, she slipped under the doona.

I, like her, had a long shower. I thought about Isabelle’s provocative display. She had surprised me with her temptingly sexy nakedness. Still, in my state of tiredness, my cock showed no response. When I joined her in bed, Isabelle did not open her eyes. Her body gave no sign of stiffening resistance about our skin touching. So I drew Isabelle into a comforting cuddle. And it was Isabelle that – shyly and childlike lovingly - offered me her lips for a gentle, first kiss. Then, in our state of exhaustion, we quickly fell asleep.

Despite our falling asleep so closely embraced, we awoke at ease with each other in the morning. It almost felt we were lovers. And over breakfast in a nearby café, Isabelle reached across the table for my hand: ‘Fred, can we be together a bit longer? I want to –‘, she paused, searching for the right words, ‘travel to Austria with you?’

When I stammered, ‘Yes, yes, I’d like to have your company!’, Isabelle burst into a peal of delighted laughter.

During our train journey to Stuttgart later in the morning, we laboured through our language difficulties planning our shared time. Up to then, all that Isabelle knew was what she might have gathered from our laboured talking on the plane. Now I told her again that my in-laws expected me to stay with them for a few days. I was also uncertain about how long it would take to buy and register a car for my one-year stay in Germany. This involved a wait for Isabelle. The length and details of our journey together to Innsbruck in Austria could be left open.

I was set on making our time together worthwhile for Isabelle. She readily agreed to wait for me in Stuttgart, for however long my in-law visit and car purchase would take. Then, in my car, we would travel leisurely through Bavaria to Innsbruck. From Innsbruck, Isabelle could conveniently continue her journey through Switzerland to her mother in southern France.

After arriving in Stuttgart, I relied on the Tourism Office at the station and not the ill advice of a taxi-driver to book suitable accommodation for Isabelle's stay. When we got to the hotel, we were pleased. I glanced at the king-size bed and asked if I should stay the night. Isabelle answered with a smile and spontaneous grab for my arm. I phoned my in-laws, telling them that I would arrive tomorrow.

Then we went for lunch, and after to a tourism office to collect brochures on Stuttgart’s attractions. These Isabelle could sample while she was waiting for my return. Both of us needed to go to a bank to convert our traveller's cheques into the local currency. My side-way glance at Isabelle’s transaction eased my mind. With the money in her wallet, she did not need to attach herself to me for mercenary reasons.

We concluded the day with dinner in a restaurant close to her hotel. I introduced her to the local specialities. Tiny as she was, Isabelle was a hearty eater enjoying the food and local wine. We were in good spirits when we returned to her room.

Without much ado, Isabelle let me know that she wanted me to be first in the shower. She joked, telling me she took so long that I could be asleep by the time she finished. As she wrestled with words, I took her in my arms for a first proper kiss. Isabelle pretended, I thought, to be surprised. But then – with a sigh – any thought of resisting was overcome. When I released her, Isabelle had a cheeky grin on her face.

After my shower, I lay in bed and waited. When the bathroom door opened, I pretended to be asleep. From under only partly closed lids, I looked at her. Again, like last night, Isabelle stood in the doorway in her cotton panties. But bravely bare-breasted, with her pointy nipples, Isabelle was invitingly sexy! She reached back and closed the door with a bang. My supposedly shocked awakening was met with a grin. Putting her hands on her hips, Isabelle skipped to the bed. I folded the cover aside to invite her in.

Isabelle quickly slipped into bed to lock me into an affectionate embrace. It contradicted, in a way, the seductive allure with which she had stalked to the bed. I took it to be a sign of her uncertainties: What would or should come next between us? So, I let her cuddle me. I stroked gently over her short hair till she raised her face and offered me her lips for a first, tentative kiss. Then, as if she regretted it, Isabelle nuzzled her face with a murmur into my neck. But when she eventually raised her face, her lips greedily sought mine.

They opened with a hot gasp of breath, and Isabelle’s tongue welcomed mine in a possession-taking twirl. It encouraged me to let my hand stroke down her back to take possession of her shapely little ass. Isabelle moaned into my mouth as I caressingly moulded her shapely buttocks. However, I took care not to press her too suggestively against my growing erection.

But it was no longer Isabelle’s tongue and quickening breath alone that signalled her mounting arousal. As my fingertips stroked up her spine and down her sides, over her buttocks and down her thighs, Isabelle pressed her pubes against my stiff cock. There was no denying that we were turned on by each other!

But then, with a cry of ‘Non!’, Isabelle pushed me away. What did she mean? She neither turned her back on me nor curled up in defence. Instead, stretched out before me was Isabelle’s slight, but so delectable, in arousal quivering body. And her eyes, with her lips sensuously half-open, looked questioningly at me.

I bend over to kiss her pert tiny breasts for the first time. Isabelle quickly cradled my head. In the minutes that followed, she guided my lips and tongue over her quivering body, from her throat and shoulders down to the boundary of her panties. After our intermittent, now telling-all kissing, Isabelle pressed my lips time and time again on her sweet tiny breasts and rampantly pointy nipples. It caused her body to arch against my mouth and her thighs to twist in undeniably lustful expectation.

I thought it was time to raise the curtain: Isabelle needed to be freed of her superfluous ‘not-yet panties’. I reached down and placed my hand on her pressed-together thighs. When I drew my fingers, barely touching, up over her pubes, Isabelle's body went rigid. She hissed an emphatic ‘Non, Fred! Please!’ and twisted away from me.

What came first into my mind was that Isabelle did not want unprotected sex. I had actually put a condom on the bedside table while she was in the shower. So, I kissed her gently. I must have murmured something to appease her anxiousness before I reached for the condom. She shook her head. Averting my eyes, she repeated a low voiced, ‘Non. Non’ Isabelle sounded genuinely regretful, choked by her inability to explain.

I thought there was no need: She just had her period. I did not want to show any disappointment. I pulled Isabelle into an embrace without digging my cock into her now off-limits pubes. In between consoling kisses, I must have murmured some comforting sounds to soothe Isabelle’s, I thought, silly anxiety. When her hand moved down my sides and feathered towards my still rampant cock, I demonstratively jerked away from its touch. I grinned at Isabelle’s still worried face as I pressed out my exaggerated ‘Non! Non, please!’ She responded with a happy giggle and snuggled up close, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like ‘imbecile’.

Eventually, we fell asleep. I think it took me longer. It was our second night together, and we had not yet fucked. And I, for one, not only had begun to desire Isabelle badly. I was well on the way to fall in love.

The following day, I caught a train to my in-law's hometown. Neither Isabelle nor I had - in those long ago pre-‘mobile’ days - a phone. With our oral communication anyway shaky, I would send her a telegram to let her know when I would return to Stuttgart to begin our journey. The dozen words required I could even manage in French! She accompanied me to the train to bid me, with a loving hug, "Au revoir." It reassured me. Isabelle did not want it to be a goodbye.

I spent six days with my in-laws, who were glad to see me. I liked my in-laws and had planned to stay longer but was eager to return to Isabelle. I managed to buy a suitable car and get it registered and insured.

When I pulled up at her hotel, Isabelle was waiting in the foyer with her luggage at the ready. She looked rested, refreshed and enticingly attractive. She had paid the hotel for her stay and was as eager as I to begin our journey.

We planned to spend two nights in Munich and two nights while crossing through Upper Bavaria. The decision about how many we would spend in Innsbruck before parting we left for later. That I remember it now in term of the nights suggests - correctly, I admit - that my attention then focused more on the nights ahead than the happenings during the days.

We arrived in Munich mid-afternoon, booked into a small hotel not far from the centre. In the remaining daylight hours, we strolled around the hotel’s neighbourhood: First in search of coffee and then for an unhurried evening meal. Isabelle was happy and chatty, and our struggle with language was fun, animated by her expressive gesticulations. And I began to remember more and more of my long-neglected French vocabulary.

When we returned to our room, I wanted to rush Isabelle into bed. She, however, smiling sweetly, freed herself after just one kiss to busy herself with unpacking a few things. It established an almost domestic normality. After Isabelle had put some of her stuff in the bathroom, she told me to go in first. She sat down on the bed and watched me undress. I felt both shy and determined not to show it. Her eyes never left me until I stood there naked and walked past her to the bathroom.

When I was finished and opened the door, Isabelle was still sitting on the bed. She was naked. My eyes were immediately drawn to her closely trimmed bush. Getting up from the bed, Isabelle’s stood for a long second before me, with a smile playing over her face. Then, swaying her hips, she brushed past me in going to the bathroom. While earlier she had not averted her eyes from my then limp cock, she now did not glimpse at my promising erection. 

When Isabelle reemerged in the doorway, panties were back on. They were a briefer but not a provocatively sexier version than her cotton ones. I searched her face for a wink or a held back grin. Was she teasing me with her on/off chastity panties? But Isabelle avoided my eyes as she walked up to me.

I reached for her hips and stopped her from sliding into bed. Swinging out my legs, I embraced her and pressed my lips on her belly for a long, sucking kiss. Isabelle stood still; the kiss was to leave its mark, just near the edge of the damn panties. I grabbed their elastic seam between my teeth and let it snap back on her drawn-in belly. Isabelle grabbed into my hair and pushed me away. But then, sensing my growing annoyance, Isabelle quickly pulled my face to her breasts, whispering a pleading ‘Non! Please, Fred. Non.’

At that moment, I no longer heard it as a teasing ‘Not yet.’ nor was willing to accept it as a justified plea. Isabelle’s refusal to properly make love was beginning to hurt and anger me. It questioned, firstly, the genuineness of her affection for me. Even more so, her refusal to fuck made Isabelle’s otherwise openly sexual behaviour, I now thought, a calculated lie.

Isabelle was no longer a naughtily playful little virgin still afraid to finally fuck. I suddenly saw Isabelle’s behaviour as a cynical ploy. I was offended. I had not forced my attention on Isabelle, just as I had never in my life coerced any woman into sex. It was not my nature to take what was not willingly given. And with Isabelle, even my gentle attempts to take off her panties rendered me guilty of what I had sworn I would never do.

My first thought was to end it right now: I would drop Isabelle tomorrow morning at the railway station and say cooly, goodbye. Male pride made me quickly change my mind. I would take her to Innsbruck as promised. For the remaining days, I would ignore her false sexual innuendoes and book us, for the nights, into separate rooms!

We were now silently lying next to each other. I don’t know if Isabelle sensed what was going through my mind. During our following days and nights, Isabelle never asked, and I did not confess what I had planned to do. By then, I had learned and accepted why Isabelle behaved as she did. However, it was Isabelle’s all but the last reservation surrendering loving that stilled my anger and suspicions at this critical moment before I knew more.

As Isabelle’s lips came searching to be kissed, her body pressed and wriggled against mine. I was lying on my back, not responding. With a moan, Isabelle slid full-length on top of me, and her gasping lips found mine. With anger still simmering, I thrust my tongue brutally into her mouth. With her body's weight pressed against me, she did not shy away from the feel of my growing erection.

Soon our kisses grew more demanding as our tongues wrestled each other. Isabelle was much shorter than I. Her thighs had opened to embraced my cock, safely away from her panty-sheltered crotch. When I slid my hands under her panties to grab her buttocks, she cried out, half in protest, half in excited surprise. I loved feeling the shivering play of her ass’ muscles under my hands.

Isabelle, between ever hungrier kisses, had started to whisper in French. Her thighs now opened and closed, rubbing and caressing my rampant erection. Overcharged as Isabelle’s behaviour had left me, she would make me come. I still felt and feared this happening as a threatening humiliation. I had to escape.

Linked together as we were, I turned us around and rescued my threatened cock. Kneeling close to Isabelle’s now shivering body, I began to kiss her petite tits and tantalise with teeth and tongue her perky nipples. She moaned and whimpered, holding and cradling and pushing my ruthless mouth from tit to tit. And there was no holding me back as I ran my tongue down and up her sides. In circling over her heaving belly, I sank my tongue twirling into her navel before feathering along the slipped lower rim of her panties.

While I so kissed her, I had begun to stroke up her thighs without trying to force them apart. Whenever they strayed over Isabelle’s panty-covered sex, her pelvis lifted. And could feel how her pussy shivered against my lightly fondling fingers. Did Isabelle dare me to do more, or was her resistance truly overcome? Slowly, centimetre by revealing centimetre, I peeled down her panties. Suddenly, with a tortured, long drawn out ‘Non, Fred! Non. Please!’ Isabelle grabbed my hands. However, instead of pulling them away, she pressed them onto her feverishly grinding pussy.

As she held me and her crying-out mouth sank into my shoulder, I suddenly knew. Isabelle was not playing a game. There were reasons for her refusal to fuck. She was deeply affected by her incapability and upset that I misunderstood her NOs. Now, she clasped my face to look at me pleadingly while he muttered a repeated sentence in French, of which I only picked up my name. Throughout, Isabelle’s groin pressed and quivered against my restive cock.

So, I hugged Isabelle into a consoling embrace. Every time she started to search for words I would understand, I kissed them from her lips. As she still pressed her body against me, I began to caress Isabelle’s shapely ass again.

Isabelle responded with a gasping sigh. Suddenly, she no longer wanted to be gently kissed; she now kissed me hard, her tongue hungrily invading my mouth with a probing, sucking abandonment. And then Isabelle broke free to shift onto her knees. Crouching over me, she wildly kissed me. I could feel her stiff nipples rubbing over my chest.

And then her hungry kisses moved slowly down my body. When Isabelle’s head was at rest on my thighs, her hand took possession of my cock.

The bedside light was on, and I could look at Isabelle’s flushed, lust-filled face. Her lips and tongue played over the tip of my firmly held cock as she looked up at me. She wanted me to see, to look at her, perhaps worship her in this – for us then - most intimate way of loving. I whispered something down on her as I began to stroke her hair. I did so gently, without pushing her loving-me mouth deeper onto my cock than she wanted to go.

For my other hand, Isabelle’s excitedly wriggling ass was in reach. As it slipped under her panties, Isabelle’s teeth closed momentarily with a threatening growl over my cock. But then, suddenly, she pressed and ground her shapely buttocks into my grasping hand. When the tips of my fingers started to caress the parting cleft of her ass, it responded with a sensual wriggle. Swallowing a cry, Isabelle thrust her mouth deep onto my cock.

Isabelle was still kneeling, crouching on my side. As the intensity of our lovemaking – her hungry mouth on my cock and my hand and fingers on her ass - increased, Isabelle drew in her legs more and more. My marauding hand was in her panties. As Isabelle’s thighs spread open, my fingers slid from her ass down onto the raised fleshy fold of Isabelle’s pussy. Her thighs began to shiver. Convulsing, they clamped shut, and the tips of two of my fingers were pressed into the pussy’s slippery heat.

Her mouth engorged now my throbbing cock with an intensity I had never experienced. I tried to hold back. However, Isabelle’s sucking and the play of her tongue over my cock and ball undid me. I reached for her head, tried to pull her away. She resisted. She drank what I poured out, lovingly sucking and licking me clean.

Afterwards, Isabelle rested her head for quite a long time on my thighs. She smiled up at me, contentedly fondling my now satiated cock. In a low voice and a French that I half guessed, Isabelle told me she was happy now. She loved me and wanted me, and our sex was beautiful and good for her, and that she wished it to be good for me too.

In each other's arms, with our worries almost forgotten, we fell asleep.

The next day we explored Munich, a city I did not know but as a historian knew much about. Isabelle seemed interested in its attractions but tired quickly. We often paused for a rest, embraced on a bench in a park, or sat outside a café holding hands and watched the world go by. After a delicious evening meal, we returned to our room; Isabelle wanted an early night.

During the day, Isabelle had not attempted to talk about last night’s conflict and our tempestuous making up. I still did not know why Isabelle insisted on her panties’ protection. All I knew now was that it was a protection that had almost failed last night. It was not meant as a barrier against me. During the day, Isabelle and I were intimately close. But I shied away from asking while we rested on a bench or shared a coffee. Everything seemed just right for us to talk about what was wrong. But, primarily because of the language barrier, I kept stum.

After dinner, back in our room, it was Isabelle that finally broke the silence. Emerging from the bathroom, she wore in addition to her panties a skivvy. She opened the bar-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, Isabelle set bravely to the task.

In a mix of French and English, gestures and frustrated pausing, she told me that she had been ill: She had been in hospital in Tokyo until the day of her flight. Pointing to her lap, she said she was not sick but – was it recuperating? Isabelle’s gesturing indicated she was in pain. This much I understood immediately, but the critical details became only gradually clear.

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 the French word ‘avortement’. To my untutored ear, it was not close enough to ‘abortion’.

The whole, quite traumatic story of Isabelle’s Japanese experience and her eventual escape I eventually pieced together. She had met and fallen in love with an older Japanese man in France and had followed him to Tokyo. It was a decision Isabelle came to regret. 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. In trying to make me understand, Isabelle almost choked with bitterness. Her partner, like all Japanese men she claimed, believed that all European women were 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. Isabelle 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 man she was fleeing from to locate and repossess her. It left her with no time to recover from the operation in the clinic or with acquaintances in Tokyo.

I understood now why Isabelle was on the cheaper and first available Pakistan Airline flight to Frankfurt and not Paris and why she was curled up on my seat in a state of post-operation shock and exhaustion. Also, why she, a woman of class, had so little luggage. I also realised that Isabelle’s weakened condition was probably the main reason why Isabelle took the risk to allow me to take charge in Frankfurt. She needed a rest, was likely close to a breakdown. She needed to recover before returning home to a worried mother. And so, after the abortion and strenuous flight, the week’s rest on her own in Stuttgart became a blessing! For one, it allowed the post-abortion 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 sad, looking pained: In a low voice she said, "Sorry."

I had, at that stage, not understood the whole story. I did not suspect, therefore, that Isabelle’s ‘sorry’ was meant as admission and apology for having used me. During our long flight, she had begun to hope that I was sexually attracted to her and help her. But in her condition and with her recent experience, it was a desperate, exploitative plot. Isabelle, at that stage, was past being interested in any man. Neither could she nor did she want to engage in any sex.

In retrospect, I think it was fortunate that I did not understand Isabelle’s apology. 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 about having been so insensitive about her panties. I consoled her in - what I took to be – her grief until 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 friendly 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 Isabelle came out from the shower, she posed for seconds in the doorway, smiling at me. She was naked - no panties - as she strode provocatively sexy to our bed.

It rendered me wide-eyed in surprise. There was something new, almost 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. Then Isabelle gave me a kiss that promised more than a peaceful good night.

Without bothering with English, she cradled my face and whispered, interrupted by giggles, that she was no longer an invalid, that she loved me, felt sexy and wanted us to make love. I suddenly understood every word and that Isabelle trusted me enough to know that I would not hurt her. As she was straddling me, her now unshielded pussy sat – it teasingly kissed, I thought – the tip of my awakening cock. I had to provide immediate proof that her trust was justified. Grabbing her ass, I forced Isabelle into a reluctant dismount.

Then we made love, slowly building up our levels of arousal. It was not just consideration that made me proceed slowly and gently in making love to Isabelle’s previously off-limits region. As my lips and tongue circled over her stomach and slowly wandered south, her hand in my hair made no attempt to pull me back. So I proceeded, kissing and breathing into Isabelle’s plump, bush-covered mound.

I also began to stroke her still pressed-together thighs, my fingertips caressing up and down, tempting Isabelle into spreading her legs. As they did, I quickly shifted between them. Raising one to my lips, I slowly kissed my way up her thigh. As I came near, Isabelle moaned a hoarse, ‘Oh yes, Fred! Kiss me!’ In one shivering move, she pushed the hot slit of her pussy onto my mouth.

I could have breached its lips and sunk in my tongue. Perhaps, Isabelle wanted it. But instead, I began to draw my tongue, with its tip barely touching, up and down her lovely pussy’s lips. My hands glid up her sides until my fingers found and closed over Isabelle’s rampantly pointy nipples. Over sweet minutes, my tongue - with no fingering that could hurt – licked her pussy hot-glistening open. And then, my sucking lips and circling tongue closed in on her pearly clit. Isabelle's whimpering got louder as her thighs started to press and tremble against my cheeks. And then Isabelle cried out as her feverish hands ground my face into her climaxing cunt.

She held me captive. And I licked and ate Isabelle’s hot little cunt through wave after wave of coming with her juices and taste filling my mouth. Even when the last tremors of her orgasms faded, Isabelle left her pussy pressed against my lips.

I, however, wanted to be assured that I had not gone too far. I began to kiss my way up over Isabelle’s still shivering body. When our lips met, Isabelle’s kissing was shamelessly hungry, with her tongue twirling in my mouth, relishing the heady taste of her coming. She murmured something sexily in French. But it was the intensity of her kissing that told me what was to come.

As Isabelle broke away from kissing me, she grabbed at my cock. Throwing herself over my thighs, I was pushed on my back. And then a ravenous mouth took possession!

I, like last time, wanted to caress whatever part of Isabelle’s body I could reach. This time she knelt too far away. All I could grasp was an ankle to pull Isabelle closer. She reacted by throwing the leg over my head and sliding with a moan of delight on top of me. Isabelle had grasped the opportunity! Although she was so much shorter than I, we finished up in an only momentarily imperfect sixty-nine.

In our sexual inclinations, Isabelle and I were perfectly attuned. Our apparently mismatched sixty-nine became a new source of sensual delight in our lovemaking. While Isabelle sucked my cock, I had her sexy little ass and the luscious, wet-gleaming pink of her half-open pussy before my eyes and fondling fingers. When Isabelle’s ravaging mouth was driving me to the edge, I pulled her delectable pussy and ass to my mouth. Half crouching, half sitting up, Isabelle would push and grind her pussy on my lips and tongue in search of ultimate bliss. It was her, that made my tongue sink deeper into her cunt than either my cock or finger had yet reached. And then, when my ministrations brought her to the edge of a too soon orgasm, Isabelle threw herself forward. Her now even more ravenous mouth engulfed my cock until it spurt. For me, it was always too soon.

It was a contest that Isabelle always won. She loved to drink me dry. As she pinned me down, she wriggled her raised ass and her glistening, in excited turmoil, twitching pussy at me. As my seed filled Isabelle’s greedy mouth, I wished I could fuck and fill her in lust palpitating pussy more than ever. It had to keep. And Isabelle knew how to be compensated for not getting fucked into oblivion.

When Isabelle was ready, her sexy backside swayed back, and her hot-glistening pussy lips settled on mine. For tantalising minutes – both of us wanted them to last and last – Isabelle’s delectable hot pussy was mine. Hard against my face, my tongue probed the depth of her cunt, pleasured her clit, and drove her, multiple times, close to the edge. Isabelle had a beautiful love song. And in her final, always her pussy hot-flooding orgasm, she came quivering and shaking and screaming with laughter.

Our lovemaking left us in an exuberant state of wakefulness and, what can only be called, love for each other and ourselves. After our wild, giving and taking all sex, we simply could not stop kissing and hugging and touching and smiling at each other. Our frustration with 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 and breathtakingly sexy, wanted me as much as I lusted for her.

Isabelle was more direct. She kissed me with her lips opening and her tongue engaging mine. Then she told me how happy she was that our sex was so good. What poured out of Isabelle then was the horror of her Tokyo experience. The man that she thought loved her treated her like a whore and slave. With the ‘mal sex,’ every sexual intercourse became a violation and rape. In the alien world of Japan, her self-image was being destroyed. It was not male vanity alone that made me believe that our loving was for her healing.

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

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 unrestrained kiss. Our hands seemed to search constantly for a touch of breast, ass and cock. We pretended to listen to the tour guide, standing in the group. I relished how her muscles played against the palm of my hand when I furtively grabbed her cheeky ass. And the way she reached back to check my cock’s response was provocatively bold in somebody so delicate and small. For me, the way Isabelle turned me on was new. I had never before been attracted to childlike women.

The night that followed was one of lustful, passionate sex, interspersed with loving affection. Isabelle needed more than I to express what she felt. It bubbled out in French. Almost all of it would have left me guessing had it not been for the warmth and sexiness in her voice. We still did not fuck, although Isabelle wanted it as much as I. When we rested in a companionable embrace recovering from a long, voluptuous entanglement in our version of sixty-nine, her hand stole again 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 to fuck.

I was easy to persuade, and my cock played its part. Isabelle enjoyed her power to arouse me at will. She raised herself on her elbow, swung a leg over to straddle me. Firmly gripping my cock, Isabelle began to rub its head over her pussy.

For a moment, I expected her to impale herself. But Isabelle was still in control. She kept her pelvis raised in unison with the hand gripping my cock. Isabelle’s face, as she crouched over me, glowed with lust as she began to circle the cock’s head over her clit. Eventually, she dared to brush it repeatedly up and down the opening up the slit of her pussy.

It was an overpowering, sexy game Isabelle played. I stretched out on my back, dug my fingers into the sheets. Isabelle bent over to kiss me; her mouth was ravenous. With an iron grip on my cock, she pushed now its engorged head some centimetres into her cunt. She cried out and laughed into my mouth as my cock twitched in her cunt’s hot embrace, just deep enough to leave her unfulfilled. Wanting to and not daring yet to take all made Isabelle whimper and fight for breath.

Isabelle just had to be stopped now to avoid being hurt. 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 opening legs and sank my tongue into the palpitating, cock-aroused entry of her cunt. Repeatedly thrusting my tongue in as far as I could, brought Isabelle – and me - to a triumphant orgasm.

When she released my head from the quivering hold of her thighs, Isabelle was shaking with tremulous laughter. This time our second post-climax embrace ended in us contentedly falling asleep.

What followed were two pleasant days and, for us lovers, two last, wonderful sex-filled nights in Innsbruck. On arriving there, I suggested to Isabelle that I would try to secure an appointment at the city’s University Clinic. Isabelle smilingly refused: She felt better than she had felt in years, she said. 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 can speak for both of us in confessing that we were too focused on our libidinous hunger for each other to appreciate the beauty surrounding us. Yet, we stayed during the long day out of our hotel room and, thereby, delayed till nightfall, what obsessed both of us. It infused the sex we allowed ourselves with an intensity that I had never known before.

I am sure it was so for Isabelle. There was no longer for us such a thing as foreplay, of needing a build-up appetiser. We devoured each other in our kissing. The way I possessed Isabelle’s arching out little tits and how her pert sexy ass twitched in my hands were, for both of us, lust-filled ends in themselves. And we always could finish with our chosen ultimate: The orgiastic pleasuring and tasting of cunt and cock by our greedy mouths and lascivious tongues in a drawn-out session of sixty-nine.

However, on these last two nights, Isabelle raised the stakes of our arousal to new heights. Crouching over me, with her pelvis lifted, 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 kissing her pussy open. My hard to suppress desire to ram my cock into her cunt and finally fuck her urged against Isabelle’s tiny hand.

Holding my rampant cock at bay heightened Isabelle’s excitement. She covered my face with frantic, quick kisses. Her grip on my cock engorged its head, which Isabelle – for what seemed long minutes of hesitation – played over her pussy. Suddenly, she shifted her grip, only to strangulate my cock even harder. But she had given it more head now, and it slipped all too readily into Isabelle’s overheating, slippery cunt. Her mouth fastened on mine with a throaty moan. It did not sound like pain.

But Isabelle had shocked herself with this daring. With all of her lower body aquiver, Isabelle lifted off the invader. However, she gripped my now rock-hard cock anew to rub its head up and down her lust-inflamed gap. Every time she brought it to a trembling halt before her cunt’s already breached opening, Isabelle swallowed a gasping cry of frustration. Finally, Isabelle sat up and looked down at me. Her lips moved with unspoken words. I guessed them because her face was aglow with lust. And Isabelle now sank, centimetre by centimetre, onto the in her grip hugely engorged half of my rampant cock. It was either pain or the longed-for sensation of its sweet-torturous entry that rushed Isabelle – for me much too quickly - into a shivering orgasm. Throwing herself forward into my arms, my only half in her pussy cock slipped out.

Isabelle’s mouth fastened wildly on mine to moan and whimper her part apology, partly lust-charged frustration into my mouth. Still, in the grip of coming, Isabelle’s groin twisted and ground as it tried to recapture its loss. Failing, she eventually reached down to push my cock, none-to-gently, again into her hot-slippery cunt, screaming out in triumph as cock parted its lips. At that moment, she wanted it all, and her body arched up almost into a seating position. Somehow, I still had the sense to catch her and pull her back into a crouch to stop her from hurt.

For a long moment, heavily breathing, Isabelle lay still, pressed against me. Only her ass, with my cock now safely, only part-way in her cunt, gave an occasional, involuntary twitch.

As I held still to avoid entering her any deeper, Isabelle cradled my face. Her lips, murmuring something sexily loving in French, closed in. It was a longing kiss, with her tongue, shyly at first, entangling mine. Aroused as I was, it lured both of us quickly into a lust-charged contest of kissing.

And Isabelle had begun to make magical love to me. With my cock hotly gripped in her cunt, she massaged it now by gently rotating her hips. Now and then, with a breathy gasp, she risked a boundary-testing thrust. After long, sweet, but too short minutes, Isabelle brought us to the edge. As the first wave of orgasm hit both of us together, Isabelle burst into triumphant laughter and grabbed my face. 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 sure that Isabelle wanted me to know that our lovemaking was a miracle that had aroused and satisfied her beyond anything she could have imagined and, yes, ever again hoped for.

The following day 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. However, both of us knew that ours was a goodbye and not an au revoir. We parted bravely, waving as the train pulled out.

I do not know if Isabelle realised how easily I could have extended our time together for days, even for more than a week. I did not do so. Falling more and more in love with Isabelle was threatening real, even though we were still almost strangers.

But we had, by accident and chance, discovered in each other a magical unison of caring and with it the rare gift of a perfect, sexual affinity. For me, bound as I was in an already threatened marriage, it was too dangerous a temptation.

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