I will not repeat what I wrote at the first part. Read that one first and you will understand.
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Warming Up
After a week of the expected fallout I finally decided I had enough. Blocked some phone numbers, refused opening the door for some people.
Then I decided to just run away. I sat in front of my phone awkwardly for some time, considered moving to Kazakhstan and then, finally, gave Papa Bear a call. After exchanging stories for a while he invited me and I accepted (that was the purpose of my call after all).
I told no one about my whereabouts (Papa Bear asked me to. He was roughly twice my age after all and I wouldn't have told anyway. I just wanted to be left alone).
The ride was quite nice. I had taken my 500 Enfield Bullet from the garage and set off. I had been saving up for a motorbike for a long time and then surprisingly found a cheap used one. Accordingly, I had some money left over and threw it straight down the throat of a tuner.
What can I say? 45 hp is not too much, but in a frame that hasn't changed since about 1936? With a duplex brake at the front and a simplex brake at the rear? "Publicly dangerous" or "creative suicide" are still the nice descriptions. But as long as you keep an eye on the oil temperature and either brake early or not at all, nothing can really go wrong.
Saddlebags packed, top dead centre sought with the toe of the boot, kicked once hard and flushed the earwax out of the neighbours' ears onto the nasal septum and away I went.
After a few hours and a few little detours, no, I didn't get lost, I always know exactly where I am. Only the surroundings are sometimes in the wrong place.
Anyway, I arrived.
And I have to say: looking other people in the ass earns you a lot of money. Large detached building, large plot of land away from towns with a high wall around it.
I find broken glass embedded in concrete on the wall a bit exaggerated. What does someone who does this kind of nonsense expect?
The welcome was nice. To be lifted up by strong arms like a little girl is really beautiful. When I want to be lifted up. Usually it leads to a kick in the fork in combination with a headbutt. But when I'm looked at with a beaming smile, my hair is ruffled and then I'm first pressed against the broad chest...
The house was a palace.
We had a late breakfast in the breakfast room. Huge windows that took up almost the entire wall. An overcrowded table on the parquet floor. Soft music from invisible speakers.
I can just feel small and dirty. Combat boots, black wax cotton clothes, and yes, I'm not really that tall either. The boots are size 38, and that makes my feet look pretty damn big. That's all I'll say.
Papa Bear told me to freshen up first. So take a very hot shower, wash my hair, get the dirt out from under my fingernails. I just have to look at my bike and my fingernails have black edges.
And the bathroom! Freestanding bathtub, check. Shower with rain function, check. A steam bath, check. One wall fully glazed with frosted glass, check.
This temple of cleanliness was bigger than my whole flat.
After I had found out what which lever and which knob was for, I cleaned myself extensively. And yes, such a bidet is really fun.
On a table (who on earth has a table the size of a dining table in the bathroom? Except Papa Bear.) there was already a dress in my size ready. Nothing else.
White cotton, very thin, almost transparent. Large, round neckline. Low enough to pull it down enough to expose the two things, to make men look down even further than my eyes. The little dress was not long enough to cover my knees. Not by a long shot. If it had been a hand's breadth shorter, they would have seen what hairstyle I had from that day.
Papa Bear was already waiting for me in the breakfast room. He gallantly led me to the table, pulled out my chair and had me sit down at the set table.
I smiled over my shoulder, lifted my dress a little and put my bare bottom on the chair.
The food was delicious. I could have died for the fruit salad alone. My host was an accomplished conversationalist. Only when I generously sprinkled freshly grated horseradish on my cold roast, he was taken aback for a moment. Horseradish has to burn your nose, otherwise it's not enough.
The breakfast was rounded off with tea and cider. Tea for me.
"Well, my little one, don't you want to thank Papa Bear for breakfast? I didn't think a little girl like you could eat so much. Come to me."
Obediently I came to him and kissed him on the cheek.
He pushed his chair back, smiled at me, stroked my hair and opened his knees.
Obediently, I knelt in front of him and opened his trousers. I knew what he wanted. I knew why I was here. I knew my task.
He stopped me and handed me a large glass of cider. "Horseradish," was the only thing he said.
I set to work.
Belt, outer trouser head, zip, inner trouser head, yes, he wore a double-breasted suit to breakfast. With pocket watch and watch chain on the waistcoat.
He smelled very clean. That's the way it's supposed to be. Should I lick clean what he's too lazy to wash? I think not.
I took his very clean cock in one hand and his hairy balls in the other. And licked the tip of his fat glans with the tip of my tongue.
His first drops, as is always the case with the first drops that venture out carefully, were still clear and almost odourless. The thick cream that would come later was neither.
Slowly I began to jerk him off and kissed the tip of his cock.
I gradually opened my mouth and let him slide into me and let my tongue circle around his glans.
My mouth started to fill with a slightly salty, soapy vanilla taste, that's when he put his hand on my forehead and commanded "Lick my balls!".
So I let go of his cock and licked his hairy balls.
Hair in the mouth doesn't bother me. I don't find it very arousing, but there are worse things. Unwashed cocks are pretty high on the list.
With his testicles in my mouth, I pulled down his trousers.
"That's a good girl. Now shove it back in deep!"
You're welcome.
I swallowed his fat fuckstick as deep as I could and slid my hand between his legs. Oh, his ass cheeks were hairy too. Never mind, that didn't bother me either. Men should look like men and not like Ken after using up Barbie's vouchers for the beauty salon.
I was massaging his rosette with one finger when I felt him start to push my head down with his big hand.
Not nice.
At the same time he pulled up my short little dress, exposed my bottom and pushed his fingers in. In my pussy, no problem. It was wet. But the thumb in my butt hole hurt!
"Then I hope you've cleaned yourself thoroughly." He reached into my hair, pulled my head up, ordered me to "Lick it off!" And stuck his thumb in my mouth.
I was very thorough. I had come to fuck. I don't mind anal, but it's not for me without preparation. And I didn't expect it to be like this. But good.
And again his fingers were in both holes. Better. Not perfect, but better.
Fortunately, it didn't bother my butt too much. On the other hand, I had a completely dry finger at his rear entrance. Self-protection, probably.
There he pressed my head down again. I felt his balls move a bit. At the same time his breathing deepend and I heard the sound of a roaring stag in heat. He startet to push and then fuck my mouth. I don't like that much except I invited beforehand to do so. He didn't care.
He held my head with an iron-hard grip as his cock began to pump his cum down my throat.
He flooded my mouth with his sperm. It ran out between his shaft and my lips. It ran down my throat. It ran out of my nose.
When he had emptied himself completely, he pulled me up and looked me in the face.
His sperm was running out of my mouth and nose.
He smiled at me "How beautiful you are. I like you like this."
I nodded.
He lifted the front of my dress. "But we have to change that. Didn't you see the razor in the bathroom?"
I had. But I actually thought my hair was quite nice.
I nodded.
He continued to smile. "All gone, please."
"Okay."
Then I don't really look grown up. But good. Grows back, after all. Itches a little. But why would he want that? Fetish, maybe.
Well then, I had come here to have decent sex. Give and take. I just hoped it was my turn to take next time, otherwise this would be a short and last visit.
I went into the bathroom.
Of course, I could have used my own shaving kit, but if there was an original packaged one lying around...
So, I put on a warm cloth, lathered up the soap (what's that smell? Eau de Smurfette works her shift at the travelling whorehouse?), and then once with the hairline in to get the hair off and once against the hairline so it looks and feels like there never was any.
I admit it felt nice.
But that... girly smell.
The whole thing had taken less than four minutes. There wasn't much there.
+++
Cinderella
I put the short dress back on and decided to explore the villa a bit. After I had blown the owner, I thought I was entitled to that. Besides, I wasn't at Bluebeard's.
Large, open rooms, flooded with light. A kitchen, like in a restaurant, only less used. A pool. A library. A balcony facing south....
I didn't walk, I skipped.
It was so beautiful.
I don't have a balcony. I'm a small town girl. Our house is at the end of the street. Behind our garden it's only woods, meadows and fields. I love living there. But no balcony, no breakfast room, no library and no freaking pool.
It felt like a Cinderella castle.
And I was allowed to be here.
And I was Cinderella.
I was Cinderella and here was a prince who liked me very much. Who cared for me. OK, he was more than twice my age, but OK.
How nice it would be to be allowed to be here more often! Maybe even...
No, don't think about that. It's bad luck. Or something like that.
But a girl can dream, right? Dreaming is allowed.
I felt warm all over.
No sorrows, no bad thoughts. My mind was like an early morning in the late spring. All smells fresh, everything is growing, it's warm and comforting, but not hot. Everything is clean, expecting a great time.
I was happy.
I walked into the library.
