Narcissae Amor

Big Tits

Before I could continue Jola’s story, I was summoned to a rather run-down hotel near Hamburg. Our Belgian network administrator had managed to combine favourable accommodation costs, personnel-availability and enough notice to enable Friday travel, arriving for dinner and then beginning work.

Following terrorist attacks including foreign visitors, the aim was to prepare for communication, in a second or third language, with police, emergency services, and others involved. My contribution was the provision and direction of dramatic scenarios intended to rehearse, and ensure memory of, appropriate dialogue and statements.

Although we get a list of participants, there are always last-minute arrivals and absentees, so I was not surprised to be greeted outside the dining-room after the meal by a late arrival who knew of me but whom I had not met. She was a little taller than me, thanks to high heels, in her early thirties. An elegant navy-blue suit, over a light blue blouse evidenced an attractive figure. Her short, neatly-styled, hair was a shade too dark to be blonde, but I wondered if it was natural. Although stereotypes are dubious, I identified her as Slavonic, thanks to the high cheek-dons, and the slightly slanted, grey-blue eyes, accentuated by eyebrows which swept upwards and outwards.

She offered her hand and drew me towards her. ‘You are Norma,’ she told me, rolling the ‘r,’ in an accented, warm, deep contralto. And without waiting for my nod, but retaining my hand, ‘I am Zbyszka.’

It took a second, but then I said, ‘You are Jola’s -‘

‘Tak,’ breaking into Polish, ‘Sister of Jola and Kasza.’ An interesting formulation.

‘You are taking the Spanish element?’ I asked in English.

‘No, the German,’ she said, still holding my hand. ‘We have learned much of each other’s languages.’

‘Well,’ I said, in English again, ‘I’m working in English this time, so we won’t be together, but I hope we can meet up in the free time.’

She was squeezing my hand, and, as we looked into each other’s eyes, a curious sinking sensation swept through me, as if I were going to faint, though actually it was more an intensifying of consciousness than a possible loss of it. I also understood that she herself was feeling the same and knew that I was. Which was why she was gripping my hand for so long. She was waiting for me to catch on, or to catch up.

‘I come to your room later,’ she murmured in English. ‘You will see about my hair.’ She laughed and relinquished my hand.

Such immediate understandings are not uncommon. They obviate all the hintings, flirtings and negotiations often required to initiate a liaison. She had cut through the chase: no further confirmation needed. Was I being passed on by or from Jola? Perhaps intercourse with one of the ‘sisters’ opened the way to intimacy with the others. Whether or not, I was glowing with a heightened sense of well-being, that although I was thirty years older, this beautiful person desired me, wanted to consummate our mutual attraction. Indeed, I self-confessed, I had ‘fallen in love.’

And being ever the linguist I self-diagnosed in Latin. As well as being the plural of ‘Narcissa,’ ‘Narcissae’ is the genitive singular, so I was harbouring ‘Narcissae Amor.’ And I was feverish with it, nipplerected, gushgusseted.. But now needing to go to work, with just time to knickerinsert a pantypad.

Halfway through the evening session, Zbyszka brushed past me during the coffee-break, murmuring, ‘ Don’t wash for me, please.’ So, she wanted me scented from a day’s travel and her earlier stimulation, sweaty and cunty? Well, I myself also do rejoice in the panty-pong of an unlaved partner. So, I refrained from showering after work, but did remove the pad, since experience has shown that while pheromonic panties are inflammatory, such hygienic aids may depress the ardour. Knicker kleptomaniacs are common (usually male or trans) but padologists are rare. Mind you, some years ago, I had a one-night lie-down (we were not standing, I assure you) with a lesbian who collected such items as souvenirs of her encounters, though she complained that the perfume faded.

I was more than ready, leaking into my padless panties, when Zbyszka knocked on my bedroom door, and it was impossible to judge which of us was trembling more. We fell into each other’s arms, hugged tight for some moments, our joined bodies shaking yet more, until our lips limpeted together and our tongues wove and strove in each other’s mouths.

Eventually, Zbyszka actually seemed to be in danger of fainting, for her limbs went limp and I was holding her, looking into her half-closed eyes, a little alarmed at her lolling head, until she gathered enough strength to stutter out, ‘Taking me, Norma. Make me. Please having me, now, Normaczka.’

I was charmed. But it was no time to pause in enjoying the diminutive of my name. This was someone in need of speedy succour. Therefore, I felt for, and drew down, the zip at the back of the skirt, which pooled round bostancı escort her ankles. As it was lined, she wasn’t wearing a slip, and in the mirror on the wardrobe door I was contemplating the lower curves of her smooth, all-enfolding knickers, beneath the tails of her blouse.

I wondered how to continue the undressing of this semi-conscious creature, but I couldn’t simultaneously support her and remove her clothing. I sat her on the bed to get off the fallen skirt and the shoes. The jacket was comparatively easy, and I unbuttoned the blouse and took it off, one shoulder at a time. I paused to appreciate the deep cleavage.

The clinic’s careful chemistry had grown her a perfect pair, which were soon released into my reverential hands. And when I nudged the nipples with my thumbs, they stood to attention like keen little soldiers, eliciting a gasping, ‘Oh, oh, Normaczka, take, take!’ Which I assumed meant that I should tongue-suck those firm nubbins, moving from one to the other, teasing them between my teeth.

‘Going down, Normaczka,’ she said, ‘Take me in your country.’ It took a second before I understood the word was ‘cuntry.’ Evidently, her knowledge of English sexwords was either limited or she was being inventive. I certainly wanted her in my country, into my landscape through my estuary.

Her stockings were stay-ups, but they didn’t stay up for long. Then I was ready for the panties, which were puzzling. I should surely have by now been seeing a bulge in the pubic region, or an escaped erection. But no such protrusion was evident and I wondered if the pleasant task of hardening the item would fall to me. Perhaps she was too overwhelmed, beyond mundane desire into some more ethereal realm of arousal.

‘Lift bottom,’ I instructed, easing down the knicks, and staring into the snug nest of curly, slightly darker than blonde, foliage. ‘So,’ I said, ‘Matching thatch and thicket,’ which she didn’t understand but which I recorded in my expanding lubricity-lexicon. ‘But where is the joystick? Perhaps you’re really Kasza, not the Jola-twin.’

She laughed. ‘Take off,’ and I hastened to drag the panties all the way off. ‘Watching,’ she said, parting her thighs, and I saw that her penis was drawn back between them, concealed until revealed, and not yet awakened at all. She said, ‘Always soft in that place. It grow when coming out.’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘Perhaps it’s time it was coming out,’ and fumbled at its roots to draw it forth. To my surprise it resisted. Something was holding it. I laid her legs wide, explored further, and found there was a band of fabric round the shaft, lodged below the glans. This was, apparently, anchored somewhere to restrain this shy organ. Hesitantly, I pulled at the cincture and it came loose. The little band of material attached to a little dildo which lodged up her bottom. An ingenious device I had not come across before.

Now the cock was loose in my hand it began to expand, and I drew it out of its little sling. ‘Ah,’ I said, ‘You are Jola-sister, and you’re going where she went.’

‘Suddenly!’ she said, ‘Suddenly!’ Did she mean she was going to come at once? ‘Into your cuntry,’ she said.

I stood and made to undress, but she said, ‘Not taking clothes. Putting in majtki.’ (Might-key – knickers in Polish). This seemed clear enough, and I lifted her legs onto the bed so she was lying straight on her back. I straddled her, reached under my skirt, eased aside the right leg of my panties with one hand, took her cock in the other hand and guided her into my well-prepared country-cuntry. Her penis was quite a bit larger than Jola’s and it felt snug and warm as I pushed down to engulf it.

‘It happen now,’ she announced, suddenly no longer trembling, her voice calm and steady. ‘Cudowna!’ (Sue-dov-na – wonderful). And I felt her stiffen, and release her warm cream in five or six pulsations. After which she seemed to doze off, and I kept still, feeling her junket leaking into my panties round her slackening tool.

I have, of course, like many people, had sex when fully, or nearly completely, dressed, because the circumstances didn’t permit disrobing, but this was the first time in my forty-plus years of intercourse that I had done so when nakedness would have been possible.

Mind you, I reflected, I had catered for various fetishists, such as one of my earliest men. He was nearly thirty years older than me, and a lifelong knickeromancer, who couldn’t come unless I was pantied. He said he wanted me ‘knockered and knickered, but not knackered’ (note: ‘knackered’ means ‘possessing testicles’ as well as tired). He was the only partner I ever had who required me to put my panties back on before we consummated.

Oh, he was delightful, though, a superb cunnylinguist. As I know well, the tongue gets tired quite quickly, but Simon’s was inexhaustible, darting in and out of my vagina, slurping my clitoris, cumming me again and again. And the kindest, most generous fellow, a doctor devoting fatih escort his life to medical work in disasters and war-zones, in one of which he was killed some years later. He would write before coming on leave, ‘Dear Knickerish Allsort, are your labia ready to be labialed?’

Those were my thoughts as Zbyszka snoozed beneath me, and they continued into wondering what sorts of fetishes were available before the invention of knickers around 1800. Petticoats and corsets, perhaps, and before those the mediaeval smock.

It was getting late, with a day’s hard work to come, and the sight and feel of that charming cock and those beautiful breasts had certainly aroused me, so that I was hoping there might be some easement for the ageing Norma. But maybe that was the trouble. The crow’s feet, grey hair and some drooping of the bosom were a turn-off, and that was why Zbyszka had wanted me dressed. Any cuntry in a storm, but keep its surroundings concealed.

Then she woke up, gave me a sweet smile and said, ‘Normaczka, thank you, thank you, and now, please, we take clothes and I give orgasms, like Jola give.’

Well, naturally, I stood up, and she undressed me, commenting as she went. ‘Inside this stanik (bra) are beautiful breast. Oh, yes, lovely. I put in mouth.’ Which she did, skilfully, for some time, ensuring that the hot tingling spread through me and downwards, till ‘Now I take majtki, and turn to kiss beautiful dupka. I put you on bed now, Normaczka, and see your pochwa (vagina), which have my sperms coming out, which I take with my mouth.’ And she did, kneeling beside the bed, and reminded me in her assiduity of long-gone Simon, which memory helped to spark my first climax, which she brought on by focusing on my lechtaczka and easing some fingers into my cipa. The long wait actually helped, as if my whole body had been primed, and needed only this attention to concentrate its responses into my gynae and electrify my nervous system.

As the feeling ebbed I realised I had a pressing desire to see, touch and take into me, that charming penis I had slid into myself what seemed hours ago. And she intuited this was the case, for she stood over me and showed me her new erection, shiny with our mixed fluids. She eased the foreskin back and forth, revealing the neat, rounded bulb, and I reached through her legs and spread my fingers over her delicious bottom and pulled her to me, so that I could take her cock in my mouth and caress it with lips and palate.

She said, ‘You take in your cipa now, Normaczka, and I move long time orgasm.’

Unhurriedly, I lay back and spread my legs, while she knelt again by the bed, eased her shoulders under my knees and brought her cock to bear, but did not enter. Because she knew I wanted to put her in, so as to feel that hard prick pass through my fingers and glide slowly in. I gripped it in my vestibule, causing her to exclaim, ‘You holding.’

I reached behind her, took her bottom-cheeks in my hands and pulled her deep inside. Then she withdrew till her bulb was just within me and I pulled her all the way into me. We set up the rhythm and I entered a near-mindless state in which my whole attention was centred in my cunt.

The sexologists tell us there are no nerves in the vagina to trigger an orgasm, and that the trick is done by pulling on the labia minora to stimulate the clit. There is also, I believe, the possibility of a cervical orgasm. Well, I was abundantly aware of Zbyszka’s tool’s probings, bearing in mind the vagina is muscular, so capable of sensation through flexure. At the same time my labia were also flexing with the pressure of prick and pubis, which was also impacting on my clitoris, which was also enjoying the stroking of her pussy-fur. Perhaps that is why we naked apes have retained the pubic hair, for its stimulative benefits. One of the joys of tribadism, scissoring, and simple between-legs pubic friction, I can attest, is that of mutual pussy-rasping. I love to lesbianise with a woman with abundant minge-fuzz.

Slowly another orgasm accumulated behind the clit, around the cunt, perhaps, even, in the cervix, for Zbyszka was probably just long enough, in this position, to tag it when fully home. And she knew it was gathering, perhaps because all that sex with Kasza and Jola had attuned her to all kinds of orgasmic stimulation. After all, she was accustomed to a woman’s responses as well as to her own and Jola’s. She said, ‘You coming soon, Normaczka. I feel.’ But what completed the climax was that instead of closing my eyes I looked into hers, and I saw such love that the ecstasy soared through me as much from the heart as anywhere. And she read the answering love in my eyes and my vagina, and poured herself into me, jammed tight inside me, in systoles and diastoles of her spirituous essence.

She collapsed on my breasts, uttering little coo-ing noises, and as her breasts pressed against my stomach I noted a wonderful phenomenon. The swelling of a woman’s breasts at or just bağcılar escort after orgasm is well known – my own blow up like balloons, delightfully cancelling for a little while the saggings of age. But what of transwomen’s titties? Are theirs so integrated into their sexuality that they inflate? Well, Zbyszka’s did! Firm and resilient as they already were, they grew and went hard, echoing her spouting penis, and added a final frisson to my exultation.

So far, so far, our love-making was the making of love. If I had doubted her desire for my body at one point I now knew that I was, indeed, in love with her and that the feeling was mutual. It was in the glow of this recognition that we snuggled together, mouth to mouth, bosom to bosom, hands smoothing bottoms, murmuring little nonsenses of appreciation and satisfaction in several languages.

But I had sensed all the time, beneath the mutual emotional involvement, that there was a sadness. I had wondered whether it was mine, the regret at being so much older, so tainted by age, and now I realised it was largely hers, even before she took away her lips and wetted my teats with her tears.

I guessed the source. Yes, though the sisterhood were never be dissolved, its members were separating. Since her entry into full womanhood, Kasza had reorientated to relate to men, not to the exclusion of Jola and Zbyszka but to a definite commitment to heterosexual union and the bearing of children. This, as I have already reported, was her future. Jola, likewise, was discovering a primary orientation to relationships with women, which had, apparently, been assisted by her activities with me. She defined herself now as a translesbian.

Zbyszka was not weeping at these changes happening. She was rejoicing that her sisters had found their true natures. This had been their shared aim, after all, from the moment they came together and were set on the path by Danka. But there was a sorrow that the threesome must now mutate, develop new priorities.

Was this sudden love between Zbyszka and me her attempt to find a new outlet? Was it significant that I was, as it were, being passed on to her by Jola, so that I was in some way a connecting thread retained in the new fabric? I was old enough and wise enough not to speculate about it. Better to live the new relationship without worrying about its past, or its future. Her breasts had swelled from the force of our passion, perhaps, and that was enough, and I didn’t ask her whether she had also understood her sexuality to be towards men, women or transwomen or all of them. It seemed to include one woman, anyway.

After a while, she said, ‘One more way. I have ficked your cipa, and I want now bugger your bottom.’

I resisted my pedantic inclination to point out that she didn’t need to specify the target, since buggering is, by definition anal penetration. I didn’t, either, point out that ‘ficked’ was from German ‘ficken,’ or tell her that no-one had ever expressed the desire in this splendidly direct manner. Instead I said, ‘Zbyszka, my darling, I want you so much to bugger my bottom. Do you want to bugger my bottom from the front or the back?’

‘I want to see your bottom while I buggering,’ she said. ‘It is lovely bottom, like big cushions for me also.’

We were soon in position on the bed, both kneeling, I with my face on the pillow, and she was sliding into my vagina to lubricate herself. Then she presented the nose if her glans and pushed a little. I am not used to anal intercourse, and Jola’s cock was smaller, so I feared she might find entry troublesome and I might find it painful. But she eased her way without too much difficulty and I found I actually enjoyed the sensation of fullness. What made it special, beautiful, was that this was my lady-love, my darling, completing our consummation, blessing me with her dear cock, about to siphon herself into me with her love.

Keeping one hand on a cheek, she reached under me with the other and began to tweak my clit, so that as she began to breathe faster, making little thrusts, and say again and again, ‘Normaczka, is coming, is coming, in your bottom, is coming, you feeling is coming, taking my coming, Normaczka, it coming,’ my climax slowly accumulated, apparently around her steadily probing penis, and when it arrived my sphincter clenched with such force that she cried out in surprise as she first ejaculated at the moment of greatest pressure. This evidently enhanced her ecstasy, for she drooled onto my back, mouthing scattered words and phrases in several languages.

We collapsed onto our sides, both trembling with the afterglow of our exaltation, and she remained lodged inside me for a long time, held in my anal embrace. And when at last she slipped out we turned to embrace, and fell asleep.

We woke, chilled and crusted with dried cum, noted that there was just time for a lightning fuck and scrambled to it. We kissed as she forced her way into my gluey cunt, and we came together as she spurted against my cervix. Then, as we showered together she prodded her re-erected tool against my bottom, and I did what I love to do to transwomen, I tossed her off, so that she spurted against my thigh. She shuddered in my arms as I stripped the last drops of semen out of her, and promised her further frottage.

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