As old farts go, George rampart was a middling nice guy… for an asshole -- at to the lowest degree, that 's what Lucy, the live on of his three wives, had to say of him.

'' George, '' she said, blonde hair tied in a bun and her curvy body bound by a constricting, dark, but smart-looking business concern suit. They were at the lawyer 's office for the final mediation session of their divorce.

'' You 're chic, and you 're as loyal as a dog to his original, and your cock is as long and as thick as a baseball bat. But you 're an relentless SOB in bed. My pussy, my mouth, and my drab torn-up asshole are allergic to your monstrosity dick. ''

Right after she said this, Lucy pouted. George remembered how cute her deep red red lips looked turned down and out, a bit like a tike after having a lollipop taken away from her before she 'd finished sucking on it.

Three old age gone, and he stilled missed those pouty red lips.

'' Georgie dear, '' she said, laughing. `` I ca n't take it any more. I 'm joining that club, that special sorority of char whose snatch you have worn out with too much fucking. Shoot man, I have to divorce you because I need a relief ! You and your dick, I 'm either going to become a nun, or I 'm going to become a lesbian. ``

He chuckled remembering this.

George surveyed the restaurant. The home was well established, and the food was good. The menu was just expensive enough to observe out the riff-raff : teenager, or families with squealing kid. The walls were paneled with benighted reddish brown, the mesa had great deal of distance between them, the carpets were plush and rich-looking.

The server knew George III and respected him. They gave him a good mesa every time he ate there, which was usually at Night for dinner. Today was different. He'd closed a undecomposed mass that forenoon, and so gave himself the day off and decided to have a late lunch at his favorite restaurant in townsfolk. The plaza was quiet. Only a few patrons were in the dining elbow room, strategically placed far apart so that each could have a secret space to eat, work, short sleep, have a drink.

George didn't recognized anyone in the room. No surprisal, really, since this wasn't the hour of the day when he was usually there. He sipped his Bourbon and surveyed the room.

And across the room, against the far niche, George saw what appeared to be a woman of amazing smasher and sex. She was in her 50 ( but George could tell that she was in very in force SHAPE ). She was blond ( but he thought, not a natural blonde ). She wore a red sundress that displayed a proud flop line and exposed the clean-living soft skin of her shoulders ( not a wrinkle on her skin, he thought ).

The woman was officious studying the contents of a black leather portfolio, and every so often she would use a pen to build a notation on one of the Sir Frederick Handley Page. She's got a head for business enterprise, he thought. She's focused on that portfolio and completely unaware of the relief of us in this way. That made him smile, and his sat back comfortably in his chair to admire the view. She wouldn't look up for a long meter, he knew. He could await at her, admire her torso and face and long pilus, and she wouldn't know for a farseeing prison term. So he started to wonder about her boob. They were round and entire, and they pushed hard against the cotton framework of her sundress. Faintly, her pap pimpled the cloth that wrapped her white meat and formed luscious form that made George think of creamy, cherry-filled chocolates.

He would like to cause her as afters, he thought. His cock, which till now lay limply between his stage, pulsed slightly and started to thicken.

The persuasion of making honey to this gorgeously influence char broadened his smile, and George began to laugh gently.

When George bulwark laughed, the pleasure of his laugh started deep inside his consistency and welled up like a newly outpouring of sparkling Champagne-Ardenne. He exuded pleasance and joy and an incredible physicality that drew women to him the way attractor attract steel.

It was the sound of his splendid laughter that caused the woman to reckon up at him.


KoKo latte to raise her steel-gray optic up from the script she was reading in the portfolio to see just who could be making such a elated sound, and why. She decided that joyful was the right parole to describe what she heard -- and what that sound caused her to feel.

And there he was, this man - big bodied, about fifty or so, with slightly graying hair and a sportsmanlike, smooth-shaven face, was boldly studying her and gently laughing with what appeared to be genuine joy. It was slightly disconcerting. But only slightly. Because it was also pleasant.

KoKo Latte was an know - and skeptical -- business woman with a hide hardened by nearly XXX eld of producing, writing, directing, and starring in pornographic feature movie. Koko Latte, whose real name was Sarah Evangeline Gouverneur Morris ( and she hated that name, God-damn her mother for branding her with it ! ) had developed a reputation as the hardest-working, porno queen in the industry. She wisely exploited her reputation, too, marketing herself on her site and in her movies as 'The Greatest Female enterpriser in the Porn manufacture. ''

Her fans loved it. Her commercial enterprise married person loved it too, because the movie that started Koko made them thousands of dollar bill a year.

As you can conceive of, Koko - after having her pussy probed every which way by cocks and cameras of every size and build - was a ruffian customer. She came to this restaurant every good afternoon for a late tiffin to play diligently without break on whatever her electric current undertaking was at the clock time. Today, it was the playscript for the next movie she was to guide. She had written it. It had a political theme : The madam of a whorehouse is running for President of the United res publica, and garners campaign contributions from the chief executive officer of spheric pot by giving the men ball-bursting blowjobs. There was one female CEO in the mix, too, which gave Koko an opportunity to film a girl-girl conniption. She was working on this division of the script, trying to figure out who would make the better female person co-star, when she became cognisant of George II's oceanic abyss and pleasant laughter.

What small body fluid KoKo had, she kept locked up in a midget room trench in her heart, where no one could possibly get at it, destroy it, or choose it away from her. But this man … there was something about him. Electric, animalistic sensations began to prick at her hide. Her heart raced just a petty faster, and she felt her buttock blush and grow warm as her roue pulsed warmly in her veins. a great deal to her surprisal, her slit began to find a warm wetness.

looking at at George IV 's brown heart and hairy arms, his thickening midriff and stiff limbs began to unlock the threshold to that secret, deeply guarded orphic room inside her middle. This man had kindled a flame, and he was stirring the fires of passionateness !

She put down her pen, placed the portfolio closed on the table."What's so fishy ?"she asked. She smiled. Her expression was frank, open, non-confrontational, and welcomed conversation.

George beamed. He accepted her apparent invitation, smiling broadly to show his Stanford White teeth and red spit.

"I'm not laughing because something is funny story. I am laughing because I feel soundly. I feel very good looking at you. You're the reason why I feel so happy,"he said.

Koko gave the man a professional person estimation. Was this fellow star material - that is, porno flick star material ? Hhm, she wondered. It would bet upon two factors : His dick, and his staying power. He needed both to be foresightful … well, she thought. There's only one way to obtain out.

Koko stood up. That in itself was a major statement of carnality. Her chest swelled, her lean waist accentuated the upper and lour contours of her amazing figure. Her long peg - smooth, unhampered with stockings of any form, strong, muscle toned, brown with sun and sea.

Well, she said to George II. Let's see just how happy I can clear you. She provocatively strode across the restaurant to his tabular array. upkeep to come, she asked, and started out the door. And then she stopped, and turned to him again. You do know how to come up, don't you ?

* * *

As she walked away from his table through the restaurant, George felt a label pressure in his
undershorts. He pulled out his wallet, threw a few bills on the board, and hurried after her. They didn't have far to go. At the entrance to the eating house, there was a narrow, steep staircase. George hadn't ever given it very much thought before. But here at the foot of these dark-stained wooden step this stick goddess was waiting for him. As he approached her, she turned and climbed the stair … and George followed close behind her giving ass. Was it possible, he wondered, that he was going to get a while of that amazingly beautiful ass, wrapped in a conservativist business skirt, and propelled in all sorts of stupefy instruction by those strong, slender, lickable peg ?

The stairway was recollective and narrow-minded as the two climbed to the bit tarradiddle. George had a foresightful clip to watch this charwoman's ass checks rise and pin under her tight-fitting chick as she led him through to a dimly lit hall to a conservative-looking business sector office with a sign on the door, Cytherea Productions.

The woman led George into the office, shut the door, and locked it.

My name is Koko, she said. What's yours ?

George V, and he was about to say that he thought her an incredibily beautiful woman … but before he could say another word, Koko started to take her clothes off.

After she'd freed both breasts and stood with only her panties on, she looked at him quizzically."And you, do you plan to bonk me with your pants on or off ?"

George yanked at his wearing apparel, pulling off buttons and jamming the zipper in his haste.

Koko lost no time. She looked at him critically, examining his erect penis and muscular legs, arms and dresser, the flat iron intemperate tummy. Yes, she said to him. One of out two.

"Huh ?"

"Never nous, you'll find out."

In five min Koko was licking her way up the muscular tissue of his inner thigh. George thought he'd died and gone to heaven.

Koko had tit that won't quit. In fact, she had nothing that would cease. Everything was moving around like weirdo. George V wrestled her up off his stopcock … just in time … and went to work on, diving his rima oris in between those unit of ammunition, smooth thighs to subscribe to a big, big juicy mouthful of curly, soft, warm, wet cleaning lady. He began gently, teasingly, just touching the labia and her rigid button-like clitoris with little twinkle licks. She smelled like a warm honey drenched lamb chop served on a summer terrace in the Aegean Sea Sea. Koko was murmuring something entirely unintelligible.

Then George started to dig in, started to eat that sweet-scented kitty alive. Koko was sighing and squealing. She was singing and filling that little fur cup with pink champagne. That round ass was bumping and jumping. It was time.

George wasn't gentle with her. He placed his big cock, set himself, and drove the core total into her. All the way.

She took it with a groan. And when he slammed it into her again, she shouted something and clamped her teeth into his berm. He could sense the succus running out of her pussy each prison term shoved it in. Those large beautiful eyes were staring up at him in stupor.

The marines had landed !

The Yankee-Doodle were here !

The horse cavalry was coming … and so was Koko Latte.

She came with a grunt and a heave that almost threw George I off the desk. But then he started pumping, and pumping, and pumping into her until he was dizzy with the movement. She was laughing and shouting, scratching his ass, and kicking like a Colt. Those heavyweight knocker were bouncing around like association football balls.
This was one of the in effect, thought George, as he spurted a warm, pulsing gusher of his man juice inside of her. This is one of the very right !

Koko lay shuttering beneath him. Her optic were glazed and rolling around in their sockets, and for a time she had that dopy feel of a woman who'd eaten too many magic mushrooms. When she came to, she looked up at him and smiled. Two of two, she said. You'll do a damn OK job.

How would you like me to make you into a smut star ? she asked him .