Mongol Hoard

I am returned, 140 years after Borodin, from the Steppes of Central Asia. Oh, yes, I've made the Golden Journey to Samarkand. I've stayed in that Caravanserai Whose Doorways Are Alternate Night and Day. Maybe sometime I'll relate some of my travels, but now I'll tell you my adventures with Borte. No-one now knows now what this name means, but it was that of the wife of Temujin, the great tribal leader of the Mongols, Genghis Khan.

I arrived, as I like to do, the day before the language course was to start, in a small Balkan town. The battered taxi put me down outside the hotel, which is striving to boost its tourist trade, clearly not as flourishing as when the country was part of Yugoslavia.

At the reception desk two middle-aged women were seated. The paler one gave me a bright smile. I said 'Dobro vece,' and gave my name. Before independence

the lingua-franca

, or

lingua slavonica

, was Serbo-Croat, and I assumed this lady was old enough to know it. She did, and soon had me booked in, gave me a key, excused herself and disappeared through a door behind the desk. She had clearly been instructed to make herself scarce.

My attention had already shifted to the other woman, because she was not only striking in appearance but gazing at me with a broad grin. She was not Slavonic or European at all. Her plump cheeks were brown with a hint of yellow. Her eyes were Asiatic, dark, slightly slanted, with the epicanthic fold. They were Clavdia Chauchat's 'Kirgiz eyes' (see Thomas Mann, which is appropriate, as you will see, for I was shortly to be ascending some Magic Mountains). Her short hair was shiny black.

She stood, showing that she was about my own height but was more fleshy. Though elderly, I am quite proud of my bosom and bottom, but this lady's dimensions exceeded mine by several inches. She was also amused, noting my scrutiny of her figure. At the same time she was projecting a sexual intention so intense I could feel myself moistening. She stepped out from behind the desk, revealing she was wearing a tailored orange suit over a lemon-coloured blouse. Garments clearly chosen to emphasise her skin tone.

She came close and spoke in a husky voice, in heavily-accented English. 'Norma, I wait for you.' So, our meeting was evidently important.

'Well,' I said, 'Thank you. Is it about the course?'

She laughed and suddenly embraced me. 'No, Norma. It about me, and you.'

I am quite a tactile person, so have no objection to hugging. Indeed I like it, even if with a perfect stranger after exchanging only a few words. I said, 'Perhaps you have some special task for me?'

She half released me. 'Oh, yes, I have special one. I take you to room.' She let me go, picked up my small holdall, took my hand and led me away up the stairs.

I unlocked the room and we went in. The bed had already been turned down. My companion dumped my bag, took my hands and said, 'I am Borte.'

'Hallo, then,' I said. 'You obviously know who I am.'

'I am from East,' she said, 'Long way my people come on horse. We live in skin house. We go drunk with special milk.'

'The Mongols,' I said.

'Yes, I am Mongol Horde.' She laughed and drew me against her impressive chest.

'You're going to rape and pillage?' I said.

'Pillage I don't know. I rape, if you like.'

'Is that why you were waiting for me?' I asked.

'Yes. You be special for me. I want be special for you.'

Though weary from a long journey and in need of a meal and a drink, the erotic charge she was generating, and the mystery she was creating, were having an effect. 'Tell me more,' I said.

She released me again, and, gazing into my eyes, took off her jacket. Then she unzipped and removed the skirt. She was wearing big, cream-coloured silky knickers, through which was visible the dark shadow of her puss-hair. Then she unbuttoned and swept off the blouse, under which was a substantial, well-engineered bra, sustaining with impressive cleavage her generous breasts. These, like her rounded stomach, were firm and cushiony. Needless to say, I was excited by this spectacle, and anticipated a little pre-prandial lesbian dalliance.

She turned her back and pushed down the pants. She seemed to be aware of my bottom-relish, and hers certainly was a gem. It jutted out abruptly from waist-level and formed two hemispheres of firm, yellow-infused brown delight. These were even slightly shiny, as if polished by the silk now removed. She said, 'You like my bottorm, Norma?'

'Magnificent.'

'Now I show you special,' she said, turning to lie on the bed on her back, 'My raper.'

At that moment a suspicion dawned upon me, as she lay back, but it was allayed for a moment as she squeezed a breast and a drop of milk oozed from the erect nipple. And what nipples they were, little tubes protruding from huge, dark areolas, which were puckering as I watched and admired.

She ran the hand not palpating the breast down her stomach and stroked the long, straight, close-growing mane at her crotch. So dense was the growth that all underlying configurations were concealed. And then she slowly parted her thighs, watching my face as she did so.

Perhaps you have guessed, but your surmise would surely, like mine, have fallen short of the case. Yes, she was a transwoman. Yes, there was a penis. But its nature and position were surprising. To me, anyway. For the cock was part-erect, but still flexible enough to emerge from the pubic pelt, travel down to pass between and trap her balls, and tuck its head into her anus.

She laughed, enjoying my surprise. 'You like my Mongolia snake? It is good snake, not have poison, make milk, like mammas.' She squeezed her breast again to show me.

'I think you want me to look after that sweet serpent,' I said.

'Much, yes. Give ponties.'

'They'll be pretty ripe,' I said. 'I've been travelling many hours on trains and buses.'

'Good,' she said, 'Parfum of cont.'

I seldom wear trousers, and dislike tights, so I had my knickers off immediately and gave them to her. She put them to her nose and breathed deeply. She said, 'Snake will come from hole.' As I watched, the penis slowly engorged and stiffened, so that the head drew out of her bottom. I almost expected an audible pop. Like a snake, indeed, it reared up, wavering a little, the glans fully plumped and gleaming. It was long, at least nine inches, and so slender below the sharply defined shoulders.

'Take clothes, Norma,' she said. 'I need so much, so more much.'

I sensed that her excitation, though intense, needed feeding. She could orgasm any moment. A touch would do it. But it would be insufficient to bring full release. This was a transwoman suffering extreme inner pressure, the build-up of sexual tension to danger point, but needing maximum stimulation for complete catharsis. Indeed, I understood that purging her strung-tight nervous system would be my joyful, though daunting, undertaking for the next few days, even weeks. Teaching on the course would be one responsibility; achieving total, though temporary, satisfaction for this woman would be another.

It was a matter of seconds to disrobe, and she devoured me with her eyes, to the point I began to be anxious my mid-sixties body would be insufficiently desirable, since she plainly needed her desire to be stoked to the max. But she reassured me. 'You like I hope, I want,' she said. 'I knew you must. Show bottorm.'

I turned obediently. She said, 'Pretty bottorm help me. Snake can rape.' Well, all right, if she wanted to bugger me, so be it. 'Put on tetties,' she commanded, and I went to and climbed onto the bed, straddled her, lowered my bottom onto her chest and awaited further instructions. Her hands went round my cheeks and she pulled me towards her, till my surely rank puss was under her nose. She said, 'You have nice clytor.'

She clamped her mouth against my vulva and jammed her hot, strong tongue to my nice clytor. She sucked so hard that it was pulled out of its hood, while the powerful licking sent jolts of lightening through my tissues. She wanted me to cum, my cumming would add to her inflammation. I was nothing loth, and answered the summons by rocking a little, and she reached down to lift her breasts against my cheeks. The feel of her milky exudations was delightful and the orgasm began to gather behind my perineum.

'Hold snake,' she said, and I felt behind me to take it in my hand. It was pulsing, poised on the point of ejaculation. But I was not to bring it on yet. The feel of it brought me over the brink, and, juddering and shuddering, I came. It felt as if my clitoris had swelled into a penis resembling hers, and was wrapped in the vagina of her enfolding tongue.

She hummed and crooned as my orgasm faded, and said, 'My body like your gasmus, Norma. It go into me, give good feelings.'

I was still holding her penis and wondered if now she wanted me to squeeze her off. But she said, 'Norma, I explain you. I have many gasmus, many durs, not stopping. Three time, four time. In hand, in mouth, in cont, in bottorm. We do later. Now with hand for starting. I liket see her sporm. You like see, too?'

I am highly voyeuristic, and transwomen ejaculating is one of my favourite visual sexualisms, so I nodded, got off her chest and lay next to her. She gathered me close with an arm and for the first time we kissed. The blend of her mouth and my own juices was delicious. Her lips were positively prehensile. They gripped and pulsated around, between, within, mine. The powerful tongue probed and swirled in my mouth. And when we broke the kiss, she said, 'My tongue make rape, too.' She drew my head to her breast and I took its gorgeous, engorged nipple into my mouth as deeply as I could, and savoured its sweet milk.

She began to moan and her body tensed and rocked on the bed. Her hips thrust upwards spasmodically. And I sensed that it was now time to use my hand, but slowly, drawing the loose skin up to the edge of her shield and gently over it, then drawing it down and staying still a moment. She gasped and her bottom locked and thrashed up and down.

The necessity was to edge her into the orgasm, slowly. It must accumulate in its own time, in her innermost core, my touch simply helping. The eventual spermfall must flow from all channels, physical, emotional, psychical.

The cock went rigid, but this was not yet the moment. I ceased and it eased a little. I brought it to rigidity again, and let it ease off, several times. Each time a bead of moisture glistened at her cock-tip. Eventually I was confident that everything was propitious, and when her penis hardened the next time I continued, still slowly, tenderly holding that slender stem, not to pick the flower but to bring forth its nectar.

In a quiet voice, almost matter-of-factly, she said, 'Norma, sporm come. I ride my sporm-horse. Taking my sporm-milk.'

'Yes, darling,' I said. 'I can feel it coming. You're so hard. Here it comes from your balls, from your bottom, your whole body.'

Her hips lifted, her cock pointed up towards her breasts, her eyes opened wide to watch, and with a small gasp the first ejaculation blossomed in a thick, jelly-like, dollop on her tip and slid down the shaft into my fingers. There was a brief pause and then a stronger gush. The third spasm travelled through the tool, through my hand and ejected a discrete splash into her belly. As if the way was now clear, there came a geyser of this thick homogenous substance arcing through the air, splattering her breasts and my cheek.

For a moment I was tempted to take her cum-slathered cock into my mouth, for the taste of her spermilk, and for her the comfort of the warm containment. But I knew not to do that, because enclosing her in my body now would be premature. That would follow later, part of draining, temporarily, the reservoir of psycho-physical sex-liquor suffused through her system. This handheld spermulation was merely a siphoning away of the excess.

Instead I slurped a tongueful of the fascinating exudate and brought my lips to hers as she turned her head. She drew her semenessence in and swallowed. 'Make drunk,' she said, 'Like drink of Mongol Horde.' She drew away from, smiled to contemplate her persisting erection, and studied my face, perceiving in it what I had not been fully conscious of myself. 'You like so much you near your gasmus,' and she scooped some cum-jelly from her stomach, slid her hand down my body and sought my vulva. I rolled onto my back and her thumb and forefinger, well coated in her lubricant, homed in on my clitoris and gently rubbed it between them. I came at once, as if my whole physiology gave a sigh.

We lay still a while, acutely aware of ourselves, separately and together. She said, 'We have shower now, then eating. Then will be course. After, Mongol Horde rape all ways.'

'But,' I said, 'If I'm willing it isn't rape.'

'What does word mean?' she asked.

'Well, it's from Latin, "rapio, I seize, I grab." So not really accurate.'

'Latin I don't know. So, not say make shodor in utree.' I rightly guessed these were Mongolian for penis and vagina. 'I don't grab.'

'I want you to hold me, and put your lovely shodor in my utree when you're ready.'

'Norma, you are clever woman. You know I do when right time.'

We crowded into the shower and soaped each other copiously. The feeling of her superb bosom and bottom under my hands was wonderful, and she evidently enjoyed moulding and lathering me, too. Her erection had only partially subsided, and as she ran her fingers down my crack I felt it harden again. She said, 'Just little more, Norma.'

She turned and bent me forward a little so that I was resting against the wall. She stood behind me, parted my legs and cupped my cheeks in her hands. She said, 'Not inside your teneg, Norma, just between.' She guided her cock into my crack, so that it glided upwards over, not into, my anus. She pressed my buttocks against each other, trapping herself, and slid her cock up and down in the cleft.

'Later in teneg,' she promised, 'Now just like now. Sporm quick, quick.' She moved a little faster. Within my cheeks I felt her harden towards climax, and, with a little scream and a final thrust her spunk-custard flooded my crack and drained stickily down my thighs, mixing with the shower.

This was a lesser orgasm, a kind of aftershock after the initial cumquake, a little easing of the ongoing tectonic tensions. I realised I had known since she first looked into my eyes, that there would be more to come, to cum, and cum. I had that special feeling, known to women, transwomen, and a few men, the joy of offering myself totally to a fellow human being, for her, or his, complete satisfaction, or satisfied completion.

She washed me off, and we towelled each other dry. She was still partially erect, holding herself in readiness for later. Consequently, she did not try to reinsert her cock-head in her bottom before resuming her knickers. Seeing me noting this she said, 'No ponties for Norma, maybe?'

I said, 'I always wear knickers for work,' and fetched clean ones from my holdall.

The dinner was plain but filling. We both ate hugely and drank glass after glass or juice or water. It was an intimate, congenial occasion, because this was a small course, with only a dozen attenders, all women, drawn from Slovenia to Bulgaria and Romania. They were also of greatly varying standards in their command of English.

We were, indeed, going to focus on those basics with which even advanced practitioners often make errors. For instance, Slavonic language speakers often fail to realise that 'explain' takes an indirect object: they say, 'I explained him,' not, 'I explained to him.' In pronunciation we were going to attend to the tendency of the native language to infect the English, so that '-ing' endings often come out as '-ink.' We were also to deal with gradations of offensive words, since these change over time: so that nowadays 'bum' is no longer rude, and you can read 'fuck' and even 'cunt' in respected newspapers, though you need to be careful using them in speech. There are the differences from American, too: 'ass' for 'arse,' with 'asshole' being more acceptable than 'arsehole,' though even that is much more commonly used. Our female attenders would also learn that in English-speaking countries women may swear as much as men, without the opprobrium that would once have entailed. But I have strayed into professional territory.

Though it reminds me that even in the most intimate encounters words may be risky. Can one always safely say, 'I want to fuck you?' Or, 'I love licking your cunt.'

Over the meal I wanted to learn more about Borte, and she told me she taught Russian in Kazakhstan, but wanted to extend her skills. She also made plain that her other motive in travelling so far was to find me. Apparently the online grapevine for our courses was reporting me as approachable and sympathetic, especially in sexual circumstances. I was flattered by this news, but a little concerned about my reputation. Then I concluded that at my age I should be glad to be regarded in a positive light.

I also sensed that some of the women present understood the developing engagement of Borte and me, and approved. They intuited her need and my happiness in meeting it.

After an intense evening of teaching and learning, and a communal night-cap, we all headed to our rooms. One pair of, married, women was clearly also going to end up in one room. Perhaps part of the motivation for their coming, too, was a hope of answering a need other than the purely linguistic.

Borte and I went to my room again. We closed the door, looked at each other, laughed a little and embraced. She said, 'Don't afraid, Norma.' She meant not that she was going to rape me, or harm me in some way, but that I shouldn't be anxious about fulfilling her enormous, compelling, demanding, need. That need which was dissolved in every cell in her body, as if her very blood, bile and lymph were infused with her semen.

A kind of lassitude came over me, a sense of needing to be purely receptive, passive until I should do whatever was required. So, I stood still, arms loosely round her waist, and she detached herself and rapidly stripped. Through half-closed eyes I absorbed the lush beauty of her breasts and noted the slow twitching of her erection. Its slimness and length afforded me delight and wonder.

She took off my blouse and detached my bra. 'Khokh so beauty,' she said, gently hefting my breasts, licking and kissing my nipples. She bent to remove my shoes and ran her hands up and down my legs, she slid her hands up the back of my thighs and into my knickers to stroke and squeeze my bottom. She took off my skirt, and, without particular expectation, I wondered what next. She took me in her arms, rubbing our breasts together, and I felt her penis prodding at my groin, till she slipped it under my knicker-elastic and it lay against my fur and lower stomach. She said, 'Start in ponties, Norma, fastly. Hold bottorm.' And as I clasped her cheeks she began, by clenching them, to move her cock gently up and down through my hair. After only a few minutes, she said, 'Norma, Norma, my sporm to your ponties, it come.' The stiffening of her penis had alerted me, of course, and I loved the feel of her hot, thick white-sauce coating my stomach, soaking into my pubics, filling my knickers and sliding down my thighs.

This was, I knew, merely a preliminary, foreplay, and I even felt a little anxious that I might not, after all, fulfil her enormous need, despite her high hopes. But it was crucial to remain both relaxed and alert, as she peeled off my spermy knickers, took my hands, led me to and lay me down on my back on the bed. She was smiling reassuringly as she climbed onto the bed and mounted me, thighs gripping my sides, bottom planted on my chest. She wriggled back and raised her bum so as to lower it onto my breasts, but not with her full weight. In this position her still inevitably rod-like penis was pointing exactly where it was intended to go. For she put a hand behind my head and drew it towards her, so that her cock-tip lay against my closed lips.