Sex, Lies and Stories

I was coming to my hometown for the third time, after 35 years. The city wanted to buy part of my land inherited from my father, along with part of the forest. I had, if only to let the wound on my shoulder heal better, accepted the Agency's offer of an extended sabbatical and had taken up residence at the Hotel HERMES for ten days. Every morning my lawyer came to the HERMES Hotel for meetings, and we also went together to the town hall when we had an appointment there. – To put it bluntly, the lawyer was really worth his overpriced fee, I ended up going home with not one handful, but two handfuls, and parked the good money tax‐free in Nassau.

One day I was strolling down Main Street after a town hall appointment and went into the town bakery to buy some nut cookies. While paying, I stumbled and asked, "Maki?" and the baker stumbled. That's what they used to call me, now Markus, and he looked at me inquiringly. The – the, he rummaged in his memory, yes – the Englishman! I acknowledged with a nod and gave my name, then we had a relaxed, normal reunion conversation, rarely interrupted by a customer. I let his life story into my ear and right back out at the other, because Markus and I were not friends at the time and I felt no desire to change that.

Already foreseeing the end of our monologues, I asked what might have become of Babsi and Evi? Markus did not need long to think and blurted out, "the three musketeers!" and I muttered to myself that we came up with the most stupid epithets in school and immediately bit my tongue, Markus seemed not to have heard. Evi, Evelyn K., had a room in the old people's nursing home after the fire, until she graduated from high school, then she went to England or Scotland and was married there. Fire, what fire? I asked, and Markus knew nothing more than that her parents had suffocated in the smoke and Evelyn had become an orphan, but the city had accommodated her well, until her Graduation. Babsi, yes, that's Barbara F., she's a teacher and still lives here with her mother. He looked her up in the telephone book and gave her address. No, I said, you don't have to call her, I want to surprise her. He cowardly avoided my clear "command–look" and dismissed the idea of calling her after all. Coward, I knew how to deal with cowards. Disappointed, Markus put the phone book aside, and after a few minutes of more small talk, I was out, cab, Babsi's house.

I waited until my heart was beating normally again and pressed the doorbell. Quiet creaking of the stairs, light‐footed footsteps, the turn of the key. The door swung open, a slim, well‐built woman in her early fifties.

Babsi.

She recognized me immediately, with a loud sob she stepped forward and hugged me tightly. We stood hugging for minutes outside her door, she kept whispering, "my love!" and crying softly. Slowly we let go and Babsi said, come in, come in, my love! I entered and immediately saw the old, white‐haired woman sitting in the room on a sanitary chair, her gaze fixed on the window, where one could see the pleasant field and far away also the forest. I saw the whole thing in an instant, living room, furnishings, the old woman – I was trained on that. I greeted the woman quite kindly, but she did not look at me, so I greeted again, a little louder, but she did not return the greeting and stared out the window. That's my mother, Babsi said, she can't hear or see you. Come on, let's go upstairs to my apartment! I followed her silently up the stairs.

Her apartment was all newly furnished, a small one‐man kitchen in the front, a desk, computer screen and tall bookshelves in the middle, a small dining table with three chairs, a large bed and clothes closets at the other end. A single beautiful, high‐ceilinged room with no frippery, a loft. You had a hipped roof done? I said half‐questioningly, it's very nice here, airy and high in contrast to the small‐minded cramped attics of our area. Babsi looked at me in amazement as she sat down at the table, are you an architect? No, I said, I was just saying that, I like it a lot. Tea, coffee or booze? she asked and stood up quickly. Coffee and booze, I laughed, better than any tea in this rainy November weather! While she was making coffee, I got up and handed her the paper bag, look, I brought a dozen nut cookies from Markus, I used to like them very much!

She turned to me and I saw her wrestling with herself whether she could, was allowed, liked to hug and kiss me. I hugged and kissed her as before, we kissed for a long time until the soft ping of the coffee machine admonished us. I sat down and Babsi served coffee and put down the liquor bottle. Coffee with shot, I said before she thought of the glasses. Coffee with shot, she smiled.

She told that her father had died five years ago, heart attack at the living room table. She wanted to leave for school early in the morning, saw her father lying on the table with his face and eyes open, her mother sitting next to him, completely expressionless. The emergency doctor issued the death certificate and said he had not suffered, a happy secondary death. Happy secondary death, she repeated. The mother, the doctor scratched his head, the mother is completely shocked, but she can be well after hours or days. The doctor was wrong, the mother's soul had died with her husband's. I said softly, ascended into the heavens, Babsi smiled and said, for five years she has been sitting there, silent, staring unblinking at her forest.

Her father had made her sole heir, the house, the fields up to the grove and the grove itself. In return, she had to provide for her mother. She had become wealthy by selling half the land and immediately had the new hipped roof built, with the apartment underneath with new walls, floors and furnishings. After a week the construction site was finished, then she waited a little longer until the kitchen and bathroom were ready. All in all, she only had to take a few days off school, everything else she did on the side.

So, that was a lot about me, come on, tell me about how you've lived the last 35 years? I took a running start and reeled off my legend, carefully crafted by the Agency, which was laid out very close to innocuous facts. My father had sent me to London after high school, to a very well‐known academy, where I learned everything about IT, i.e. computers and telecommunications. At the same time, I took courses at the diplomatic academy, just as my father had wanted. Two years later, my father crashed with the helicopter in Spain, but that's when we saw each other, Babsi nodded and said, Isabella seemed to be completely broken.

Yes, I said, I went to London with a heavy heart, because Isabella just said that the beautiful life was over. She just lay on the bed, drank and only went out of the house to go shopping, then she continued to drink. I asked the Eders to look after her and left. Six months later, the Eders called and left a voicemail telling me to come quickly, Isabella was very unwell. But by the time I arrived, she was dead. It was at her funeral that I saw you and Evi for the last time.

Babsi noticed my sadness, came around the table and sat on my lap. She comforted me with kisses, stroked my head and I smiled briefly, because she would not leave her lap place so quickly. And, how did it go on? she asked and I had the impression, she steered consciously on a point. So I told her about my assignments, the many trips abroad, and Babsi asked, are you a diplomat then? Laughing, I said, nonsense, I do something with computers and telephone systems, everything just in the background. And, are you married? I took the killer question calmly, dug out the family photo from my jacket pocket, showed her the stranger and said, Suzanne and pointed to the strange children, Edward and Linda. An ancient photo, I added, Edward is studying – at least in theory, in reality he's screwing his way through all the degree programs, Linda is still in college. We laughed when I mentioned Edward's screwing.

Then I said, sticking strictly to my script, we were only together four years, after Linda was born Sue became frigid, bigoted and asexual, she took up pottery for self‐discovery and moved with the kids to the outskirts of town where she ran a small pottery store complete with esoterica. I was abroad a lot, we are practically separated, married only on paper. I'm practically single, I shoot everything I can get my hands on, and Babsi laughed uproariously at my unusual formulation. And you, I asked Babsi. I'm single, caught a fierce, nasty infection from one of my lovers during teacher training. The gynecologist was able to cure it completely, but after the month‐long procedure, she said I probably wouldn't have children. I didn't mourn menstruation for a moment, I can fuck when and who I want – I interrupted, and, do you? – and she chortled, yes, I seize every opportunity by the, uh, head. Marry, what for?

We kissed for a long time and very intimately, she wiggled her butt insinuatingly back and forth on my lap and whispered conspiratorially, I feel him, he wants one, he needs one very urgently! She kissed me intimately and then said, "I'm going to take a shower" and disappeared into the bathroom. She no longer heard my "yes, boss!" The splashing of the water hit my bladder, I suppressed it and the splashing stopped. I could wait a little longer, but after a while it had to. I knocked on the bathroom door and answered her question, I had to, very urgently. Come on in, we already know each other, she laughed cheerfully.

I quickly slipped in and sat down, sitting in a lady's house. When I could finally piss, it was very liberating. I looked at Babsi, who sat naked on a stool in front of the mirror and just rubbed shaving cream on her pubic. Then she shaved with quick strokes and said, for you I want to look good! I mumbled in the affirmative, then stripped and got in the shower, quickly and effectively, while Babsi finished shaving and rubbing her pubic mound with sweet scent. I dried myself and went into the loft, where I hung my clothes neatly over a chair before lying down on the bed. Babsi came in, smelling good and naked under a short, sheer mini–negligee.

"Get rid of that rag!", I joked, Babsi carelessly let it slide to the floor and came closer. Then she saw the big plaster on my left breast and asked, I replied, a hunting accident, I'll tell you later, I'm on sick leave because of it, on convalescent leave. So, now let me look at you! Babsi sat down cross‐legged opposite me and I looked. She had become slim, her breasts still a hit, although no longer so proudly virginal. Her pubic, her labia, all top! I clicked my tongue appreciatively.

And, what is your verdict, Prince Paris? she asked teasingly and I replied that she was, of course, the only one of those present who deserved the golden apple and that her clit had visibly grown larger. She winked her eyes and said, a lot of practice, a lot of practice, and above all a lot of finger sport and leaned forward, bending over me. We kissed and cuddled endlessly, her hand had long since embraced my semi‐stiff and caressed him. Between the French kisses she whispered, Sick leave! What to do with the hunting victim? and continued to kiss me, kissing and deliberately smacking, shaking his head, Sick–hunting–victim! Under her tender stroking, I passed the stiffness test and she murmured in my ear, "let me ride!"

Rehearsed, she assumed the position and inserted my cock into her vagina. She was really good at riding, had a good rhythm that made it easy for me to hold back. I had my head up and could watch my favorite body part, her clit, very well. It had grown a little bigger by now and it seemed to me that it was getting stiffer and stiffer. Babsi supported herself with her hands behind on my thighs, put her head in the neck and orgasmed with closed eyes that it was a pleasure to watch her. I held out for a very long time and admired her as she orgasmed and orgasmed while riding, I no longer counted how many times.

After what must have been three quarters of an hour or more she gave us a little break but stayed on my cock. She asked about my wife, how she was like that, and the lie beaded from my lips that she resembled her a little and I told that we spent whole days in bed, fucking and masturbating in the beginning. Babsi listened to my descriptions with her eyes closed and put her middle finger on the clit that had grown so wonderfully and masturbated it very gently, at the same time her vagina watched over the fact that I remained stiff. Tiny micro–movements of her vaginal muscles took care of prolonging, delaying my orgasm. At my obscene, debauched descriptions, she could stand it no longer and quickly made herself a very strong orgasm, which immediately made me squirt violently. Babsi beamed and pumped my squirting with fast riding until the end, until our orgasms died out.

Babsi, who thought nothing of pausing, asked about the hunting accident as soon as we lay down to catch our breath. While I described the story with the drunken diplomat during the wild boar hunt (there was nothing more in the script, I had to improvise) Babsi squatted on her heels and spoiled me with her mouth and tongue, brought my cock up again, but it fell over after seconds and she went on incessantly. After a dozen attempts he remained stiff, I felt it very clearly in her mouth, quickly I put her on her back and fucked her, ignoring the shoulder. She orgasmed quickly and kept her excitement from orgasm to orgasm. She closed her eyes with pleasure and as I squirted she milked me gently with her vagina.

I was exhausted and very tired. It was already quite late, we arranged that I would come visit her at noon, as long as I would be in town. She threw on a bathrobe and said we couldn't kiss at the front door and we said goodbye before she escorted me downstairs, murmuring with a twinkle in her eye that there would be lots of finger sports today before she locked up.

Next day I dropped me off a little in front of her house and walked the rest, in a small town there was always gossip. Babsi opened, and when we went up, she said she had just showered, coffee was also ready. While we drank two cups of shot, I reported on the progress of my town hall negotiations. Her eyes glowing, she went to the bed, I to the shower. Babsi unexpectedly came in naked and washed my cock very "thoroughly" and seemed satisfied because it was very stiff afterwards. Come on, she said, and I followed her into bed. After fucking, I slid next to her and said I needed a longer break at my age, I'm not 18 anymore. In the meantime she should tell me about Evi, how she had fared after I had left.

We lay quite relaxed next to each other and Babsi, the indefatigable, masturbated quietly and reported, noting that it becomes a long story. During my last year of school, we continued our love triangle, usually meeting once or twice a week at Evi's place and fucking to our hearts' content, until one day I had to leave. The two of them still cried often, but they stayed together and made lesbian love. During our year Evi had forced the uncle to stop, who only reacted very grumpily to the termination of fucking and suspected that the three of us would not only learn in Evi's locked bedroom.

Evi had had to overhear during a violent argument of the drunken parents, how her father scolded among other things, her mother had foisted a cuckoo egg on him... From now on it did not let her rest any more, restlessly she rolled theory by theory, who her real parents would be. She had dark, almost black long hair and was willowy, her parents both chubby, fat and blond. She stole all the letters and photos and hid them in Babsi's closet, they read everything and pondered together. Evi had decided to look for her parents after school.

I stroked Babsi while she talked and sometimes stroked herself. It's going to be a long story, she murmured and continued. Evi overheard a conversation, apparently Uncle Peter knew very well. Impulsively she decided and seduced him after a year of rejection, made him fuck and squirt to his heart's content and did everything to make him feel spoiled. Ingeniously, she reinforced his feeling of power, that he was simply the best, although she only wanted to sound him out. When she had him right in front of the shotgun, he said he had to tell it from the beginning, maybe then she would understand the parents better. Evi nodded in the affirmative and stroked his flaccid while he told his story. As often as he got hard, she let him fuck her and smiled gently when he groaned and squirted inside her. She wanted the truth and wasn't afraid to give herself over for it.

He was a few years younger than his sister, from an early age they shared a children's room, because there was only one. Since he was afraid of the dark, he was allowed to slip naked into her bed as soon as his parents were asleep. With her he was no longer afraid, and it was so pleasant when she played with his little cock and it became stiff. As far back as he could remember, she "always" masturbated. As he got older, she masturbated him too, even though he couldn't even squirt yet. He was about 9 when she told him about fucking and they fucked practically every night, very quietly. At 11 he could squirt, and she calculated exactly the night when he wasn't allowed to squirt in, then she interrupted the fucking and he had to squirt on her belly. Sometimes she didn't manage to push the ramming brother away in time and they banged until her period came. She also had to do it with her hand whenever she wanted to orgasm, so practically all the time, Uncle Peter said, smirking.

Incest? asked Evi and he nodded, now too, sometimes. Evi could not get out of the amazement. Uncle Peter continued, they were both not good students and she left school at 15, went into an apprenticeship with a dressmaker. She soon lost interest in Peter as she went with boys. Soon there probably wasn't a man under 90 in town she hadn't screwed. Peter was already going with girls himself, but on occasion he and the sister would fuck when the situation demanded it. Can you understand that? asked Uncle Peter and Evi nodded, although she did not understand it as an only child, what attracted brother and sister so much.

Babsi kept silent to enjoy her orgasm before continuing. One day, at 19, she fell in love with a local boy, they married and lived in this apartment that belonged to him – your father –. After two miscarriages she was very depressed and began to drink as well as her husband. One day, Uncle Peter, who was passionate about sweepstakes, won a ten‐day trip for two to Galway, in Ireland. Since he lived with them on friendly, secret incestuous terms, he gave them the trip as a gift and, since they spoke well of it, booked the third ticket for himself. And your father doesn't know about your mother and me, so shut up, Evi! said Uncle Peter.

The posh, expensive hotel in Galway did not suit them. His sister had met a young fisherman in the bar and he invited her to stay with him. The young fisherman, disappointed at first that she was taking husband and brother, helped them get a refund from the hotel, then they moved into his house and bought everything, liquor and beer especially, and gave the fisherman something for living. They didn't see very much of Galway, they waited for the fisherman to come home from work.

Minutes later, he went upstairs with your mother, and Uncle Peter and the father soused all afternoon, while you could hear the two of them upstairs bumping and screwing. Father slammed his glass down hard and furious on the table and poured himself a drink, and the two men swigged and listened to the moaning, squirting and orgasms until the sister came down with red‐hot cheeks and fixed supper. They ate in silence and never looked at the Irish friend, the father was usually pretty full by this time and he didn't notice much of the fisherman and wife quietly sneaking up and fucking until they went insane.

At midnight, when the fisherman went to work, the father slept soundly, his head on the tabletop. Uncle Peter, who did not drink as excessively as the father, often crept up to the sister, who willingly let him fuck, because over the afternoon it had accumulated with him. Before squirting, however, she always took his cock in her mouth and let him squirt there. She said she didn't want the "two seeds" to come together. He didn't care at all, the main thing was fucking and squirting.

After they returned from this trip, the father made a lot of effort and started to mount his wife again after long months. When they had already had a–two beers, he reached for her and flipped up her skirt, not caring at all that Uncle Peter was sitting next to them. He bent her legs apart, penetrated her vagina with his short cock and fucked briefly. Groaning, he unloaded into her vagina, pulled her skirt up and gave her a slap on her fat ass. He put his pants back on and then continued drinking. So, from me she gets it too, he often said triumphantly.

Once they got into a fight and she said snappishly, he could only once! That seemed to have hit him deep, because the other day he fucked her as always, took a break and tried again. But it didn't work, so she took his little cock in her mouth and sucked it for a long time, looked at Uncle Peter with an indifferent look and took the little cock out of her mouth. Sneering, she showed Peter how small and flabby it was and sucked smacking. She deliberately pulled the foreskin far back to show Uncle Peter how tiny the glans was and continued licking with her tongue and lips. Then she masturbated the father with her hand until he was finally stiff. This time he lasted longer, but as he squirted he slipped out and his seed splattered wearily over her cunt. Good, she said dismissively, and disappeared into the bathroom.

After the trip, they had been back for a few weeks and the father gave her what she was due, that's when she let us know she was pregnant and she really wanted to have it every day. The father did as ordered, she bravely drank nothing during the pregnancy and showed up every day with her belly getting thicker, lifting her skirt with obscene gestures and asking the father to fuck her. Afterwards, when the father had fallen asleep at the table with his head heavy, Peter often crept up to her, because watching had aroused him. During pregnancy she was especially hungry for fucking and could not be fucked often enough.

And then you came into the world.

After the long report, Uncle Peter already wanted to fuck Evi again, who gratefully let him and stroked his head while he squirted pumping in her vagina. Afterwards he mumbled that he could turn it any way he wanted, but all that ever came out was an 8–month pregnancy. Evi thanked him for his openness and masturbated him until he could fuck again.

She would look for her biological father in Galway after school, she assured Babsi. Then one day there was a fire in Evi's apartment, and when Evi came home from school, she screamed for minutes until someone attended to her. Her father, mother, and Uncle Peter had suffocated in the smoke, and a kindly paramedic told her for reassurance that they had not suffered, but had fallen asleep peacefully. Evi remained silent and mourned wordlessly for several days, but she was fortunate that the mayor immediately and unceremoniously placed her in an empty room in the old people's nursing home.

Babsi got up and drank a sip of water. When she came back to bed, she took care of my semi‐stiff without further ado and made him stand again with gentle kisses, caressing lips and her mouth. Satisfied, she swung a leg around me and gave me a wonderful long ride and let me watch, "he likes to look so much", masturbating and orgasms. And how it went on with Evi, I'll tell you tomorrow! she said with determination. I looked at my watch, it was already late. We said goodbye intimately as yesterday and I promised to come back tomorrow punctually at half past twelve.

Other day, of course, she welcomed me with the ready coffee along with brandy, and in the welcome hug I felt every fiber of her wonderful body, and she smelled so good! We sat down and her robe opened in the process. Before the second coffee, when she unexpectedly asked if I had showered in the morning, she said, come on, let's not waste time, I have not had a finger sport since the morning, it is already so urgent! Seconds later we were lying on the bed in a naked embrace, letting nature take its course. Riding, she let me, "he likes to look so much!", see everything, willingly showed the swollen labia and stiff clit with an understanding smile before she masturbated just before my squirting and we orgasmed together at the same time. We lay next to each other in silence for a long time and I stroked her clit the way she liked it and let her orgasm gently, letting her float along on her arousal high with gentle stroking, orgasming one after another until she said "enough!". I went to the table, I needed a coffee with a decent shot and a cigarette. The morning had gone very stressfully.

Smiling in relief, I complimented her on how beautiful she had become in these 35 years and that she would only make any other woman pale with envy. She smiled and blushed a little, then said: good food, good fucking and lots and lots of finger sports! We laughed heartily as I lay with my playmate and stroked her nicely rounded hips, then I reminded her to continue Evi's story.

Evi wrote to her just a year later asking if she could come to her, saying she needed some time to think. Babsi wrote that she was welcome, the parents were happy too, so come and stay as long as you want. Evi came a few weeks later, and Babsi came home from school as quickly as she could. They had a lot to talk about, locking the room door and whispering quietly on the bed, making love while playing fuck games and masturbating happily and detachedly with each other.

Evi had made her way to Ireland, to Galway, by hitchhiking, which she paid for more than once with a handjob in a parking lot. After a few days in a fucked up bed–and–breakfast that she could just afford, she finally found an old fisherman who took a long look at the photo with the young fisherman, her parents and Uncle Peter with narrowed eyes and then declared, sure, I know him! That must be young Patrick! She had to ask long and patiently and press some shillings–coins into his hand until he finally came out with it: this is Patrick so‐and‐so, he owns all this! He waved his arms, all this, the harbor, and everything! Where he lived, he did not know, but that he was during the day in the white office building, back there, to fish he must not go out for a long time!

.

The next day a very tiring advance to Patrick. After waiting endlessly, the receptionist looked up and said rather ungraciously, Sir Patrick please enter. A tall man with beautiful, thick flea‐white hair stood at the window looking out over the harbor. He turned, his tanned face smiling, and they shook hands in a friendly manner. Patrick anyway, Evelyn anyway, she said. She knew it was him from the first moment. The young girl from Austria, and Patrick didn't smile until she mimicked the outer office lady's face and pointed her thumb back. He smiled appreciatively, then asked her to take a seat. So, what can I do for you?

Evi reported that this was one of the most difficult lessons for her. Patrick listened attentively as Evi reported that her parents had died and she had set out on a long journey to find her biological father. A long silence followed. Evi dug the old photo out of her travel bag and handed it to him. No trace of recognition, no suspicious twitch in his features. He looked up after a long contemplation and looked at her questioningly. She enumerated, Uncle Peter, the father and mother, and on the far right, you, Patrick. After a long silence, he tapped his phone and barked into it in an Irish, unintelligible dialect and pressed the button again. He sat back, the photo in his hand, and said thoughtfully that they had every time to discuss it now.

He asked that Evi tell everything again. When she spoke of the fire, he asked if it was these three, if they had all three died. Evi answered in the affirmative and went on, about the whole trip (she didn't mention the handjobs) and at the end that she was now in this anyway–Bed–and–Breakfast. Unexpectedly, he asked how much money she had left. Evi was a bit startled, because she couldn't make any sense of it, did a quick calculation and named a sum. I can get by with that for another two months, she added, and withstood his inquiring gaze. He thought for a moment, then tapped the phone again and barked unintelligibly into it again, then ended the call.

Patick leaned forward and said, my company has always reserved a room at the GOLDEN STAR hotel, right on the main square by the sea, a very nice room with a view of the sea. I would like to ask you to be my guest there, it is a really good hotel. He misinterpreted her hesitation and quickly added, you can accept it as a gift, I don't want anything from you!, and you can stay as long as you want. Patrick paused for a long time and looked at Evi tensely. She hesitated a little, then she had made up her mind and thanked him for the unexpected gift. She asked if she could visit him here again, she still had many questions.

Patrick looked her very directly and honestly in the eyes and said, Evelyn, I am not your father! I don't recognize anyone in this photo, besides – he picked up the photo – the date on the back, no, that's when I was in military service. I am certainly not your father, sorry, I would like to be, because you are a nice young girl from Austria. Patrick laughed with a wink and said, if you can stay a few more days, I would be very happy to get to know you better! At the young girl Evi almost blurted out that she was already 20 and had been a woman for seven years, a real woman! but she kept silent and struggled with her feelings. Every fiber of her body, every instinct and all her feelings cried out silently, that's my father!, but he says no and it couldn't be him, he was in the military service at the time.

Patrick did not miss her reaction, her beautiful bosom under the flimsy t–shirt quivered and rippled. He looked at his papers on the desk and said he had a lot of work to do. She should check into the GOLDEN STAR hotel right away, he said, and he could take tonight off and meet her at the hotel for dinner around 8 o'clock, if she agreed, my dear? Evi nodded in the affirmative, knowing that this salutation was friendly but meant nothing else. He escorted her to the door and stopped for a moment by the outer office lady. All done? he asked, and she answered with a yes, sir! Then he introduced Evi by name and added that she was an impotant guest of my Company, so if she needed anything, she was to be accommodated accordingly.

Babsi suddenly fell silent and sat up. What is it, I asked, how did it go on? But she smiled with catlike eyes and said, the further tomorrow! Ah, I said laughing, with pleasure, my dear Scheherezade, but Babsi already had her mouth full and played gently, but demanding with her tongue on my limp companion. Although it was already very late, we loved each other still longer than an hour, I left very late and got only in the hotel bar something "exceptionally" to eat.

.

I came a little late to Babsi, she opened with red cheeks and bright eyes. I thought you would not come today, she said, saying that she had already started a little finger sport – I dispensed with the coffee ritual and immediately lay down with my naked lovemate. Without objection she let me stimulate her and we let the hard‐on wait. She was back on her arousal plateau after a short time and impatiently and greedily took over the masturbation. The technique she had refined over the years, her many orgasms were not single sequences as before, but she masturbated virtually up a mountain and held this height, often for hours and hopped from peak to peak, only then she made herself a, often very wild orgasm. It was always a horny pleasure, because she let me look, "he likes to look so much", every detail lasciviously showing, willingly. She smiled, because she could always clearly read from my hard‐on how it was for me.

After the final crescendo, she swung on top of me to ride, giving my hard‐on the pleasure of her pulsating vagina and my eyes a clear view of her finger‐spread labia and stiff, pumping clit. Rapidly she rode me and she came up to the peaks, and as I spurted, she reached for her clit and masturbated to the finale, for she loved to cum and orgasm simultaneously and together as much as I did.

We lay next to each other, exhausted and gasping for air, until we calmed down. I reached over to her, stroked her thighs and labia, and murmured, if you don't tell me more I'll have to have your head cut off tomorrow, Scheherezade! She laughed softly and whispered little‐girlishly, I know, I know, your majesty! Then she became serious and continued with Evi's story.

So Evi lived in the most beautiful hotel, Patrick came every evening, they dined quite finely in the hotel restaurant and she had to tell him everything in great detail. Every evening she brought up fatherhood, every evening he denied it smiling. He was pleased that Evi drank at most one glass of red wine, mindful of her parents' addiction, but she said that this proved best that they were not her real parents. Patrick told how he had built the Company, starting with one ship, into one of the largest businesses in the city. Evi asked why some said "Sir Patrick" and laughing he said that as a land owner he could use the title but he was no Tirana, it was abolished in 1922. He said that if some subalterns addressed him as Sir, it was purely out of respect, and nothing more. She should please just call him Patrick, and she muttered that Daddy would be more appropriate, but he just laughed and shook his head in denial.

One evening, as they smoked in silence after dessert, he suggested that she move in with him, in the beautiful white house on the hill. She asked for time to think it over, although she had already made her decision immediately.

The next evening she agreed on the condition that she get her own room and not have to cook, which she deeply detested. Patrick was almost offended, he was a gentleman and had no ulterior motives. However, he could not talk about everything, certainly not private matters, in the often busy hotel restaurant, but they had reached a point where he wanted to talk about everything with the young girl from Austria (they smiled nostalgically). His housekeeper usually left the house at noon, and they could have the food delivered. On the other day, Evi packed her suitcase, full of clothes she had bought with the generous Sir, and took a cab to his house. He was already waiting for her.

A beautiful, large and bright house on a small hill, about ten minutes walk from the city center, the sea and the Company. He showed her the whole house, introduced her very formally to Rose, the housekeeper, and gave her the choice between two guest rooms. She chose the bright one next to his bedroom. Throughout the afternoon he was at the Company, she strolled around the house inspecting everything. In the evenings, when he got home, he'd say let's cook, grinning from ear to ear, and pick up the phone. The next two weeks flew by, and they spent the evenings on the patio talking for a long time, looking at the stars or standing, silently enjoying the view of the city. Sometimes he put an arm around her and so one thing led to another. They kissed, shyly at first, then with increasing passion. He lifted her and carried her feather‐light into his bedroom. With a wave of his hand, she let the dress and her panties slide to the floor and lay down on the bed, naked, heart pounding and trembling with anticipation. Patrick lay down next to her, taking his time and hers.

Babsi, Evi said emphatically, my first time with my father! In the glow of the corridor lights, she saw that he had a shapely, beautiful long cock with a large glans. As he gently and considerately penetrated her vagina, tears came to her eyes. I'm fucking my own father, she kept thinking. He was in good shape and lasted a very long time, then his semen spurted hotly into her. She cried and told him it is with pleasure, she stifled the saying with "fuck father". They talked for a long time and when she saw his new erection, they fucked again, he held out again for a very long time and she was about to orgasm. A wonderful time ensued and he was very grateful when, blushing shamefully, she told him she had to masturbate a bit as foreplay so she could orgasm while fucking. They were a well‐rehearsed team after a short while, watching her masturbate excited him even more, as he was already approaching fifty and the second and third time didn't go so easily. She did not hide it from him that she spent many an afternoon masturbating. He hugged her warmly and said, everything you need, my darling.

She read hundreds of books that were on Patrick's shelves and one day in spring he took her to the harbor, to his private yacht named AMELIE (his mother). She had no idea about boats, but she learned that it was a very dignified American 15meter–yacht. They went out frequently now, she learned a lot about how to handle the yacht and they spent many beautiful days and nights in secluded bays. When all worries remained ashore and they listened quietly to the murmur and sway of the sea, they sometimes screwed all night until morning. On one such beautiful night, as they smoked peacefully under the deep blue starry sky after sex, he proposed marriage. No, she cried in fright, and he looked meaningfully at both of their nakedness, at the rumpled bedclothes. No, she whispered through her tears, we are father and daughter after all! He hugged her very, very affectionately and no, he was not her father!

That's why I'm here, Evi said to Babsi, I have to think and decide, I have to go to the town hall to ask for all the papers, because she had nothing except her passport since she left for Ireland two years ago. Babsi didn't have to think long. You finally found him, you love each other idolatrously and he is socially recognized and rich, from Cinderella to Princess! Evi smiled and said he is very, very rich, that's right, then she got serious and said two things bothered her. First, when he looked at the old photo with her parents at the very first interview and heard that all three were dead, he seemed to breathe a sigh of relief – no living eyewitnesses! Second, she had been trying for months to find out about his military service, but had been unsuccessful.

Babsi went to great lengths over the next few days to get her to marry him, father or not, poppycock, there's no proof! Evi went back to Galway, months later Babsi went to Ireland for the wedding, was mother of the bride and maid of honor and before she went home again, she hugged Evi very tightly and whispered in her ear, he is a great man, a true gentleman and most certainly your father, already this resemblance! They lay laughing and sobbing in each other's arms for a long time, then Babsi drove to the airport.

End of the story, said Babsi, now I want to be fucked! But only because it's you, Scheherezade, I laughed and we did the same until we were both exhausted but happy lying next to each other. But, she asked softly, you are still staying, even if it was already 1001 nights!? I reassured her that I had phoned London (that wasn't a lie) and asked for a month's convalescent leave (a lie, they would give me another 10 days at the most). Babsi was overjoyed and said nothing, because she already had her mouth full of cock. We spent wonderful afternoons full of joy, love and incessant sex. My negotiation with the city was successfully done. Babsi gave me the letters from Evi and I read them in one go. Thank God, she was doing very, very well and loving life with Patrick. Evi, whom I loved as much as Babsi, was out of the tired poverty of her parents' house, she was safe.

I read Evi's letters carefully, over and over again. She never had the slightest doubt about Patrick's paternity. She wrote Babsi very frankly, but only if you knew the codes the three of us used to use.

Patrick continued to make a fortune with his fishing business and made it possible for her to learn from one of the best fashion illustrators and remained an illustrator for over 25 years, something she had always wanted. For a few years she stayed at home with Patrick, he had left the day to day business to his nephew as manager and worked from home on his projects as a councilor, she was happy to help him creatively.

She described her love life with Patrick meticulously, they loved each other very much and no, she answered a question of Babsi, she was really faithful to Patrick and never had a lover or fling, although there was no lack of candidates or opportunities. But she wasn't getting any younger, the fire between her legs didn't ignite every hour, but only two–times a week, but that was okay with her.

Patrick's erection problems bypassed her with aplomb and she just continued the cuddling, cuddling and kissing. She began to love caressing Patrick's cock with her mouth and lips until he became semi‐stiff. He enjoyed it very much and she learned to insert his big and thick half hard‐on and fuck him gently and considerately. He couldn't get enough of it and they were both very pleased when he managed to squirt with his half hard‐on. This succeeded once or twice a month, Evi loved it very much and when it wouldn't work, kissed and licked his beautiful big cock as long as he wanted, let him squirt in her throat.

You could almost hear Evi giggling in her letter as she wrote of a secret admirer, a very long account of her first years with Patrick. One day she had left the curtains open and noticed while masturbating that there was a Peeping Tom among the bushes outside her window. A young, dim‐witted fellow peering in the bushes, masturbating and squirting and carrying on. After the initial fright, she felt a wonderful sensation and confessed that exhibiting turned her on a lot.

Day after day she masturbated, presenting herself obscenely and revealingly to the boy, until he came very close to her large, floor‐to‐ceiling patio door. She watched him masturbate, disinhibited by his greedy drooling gaze. The poor guy could hardly keep up with her two hours, at the end he could no longer squirt. He rubbed his long, thin cock incessantly, stretching his red swollen glans directly onto her vagina as if to penetrate her.

When he was close to the glass door, she – rarely, but still – sat down on a stool facing the door, they were separated only by the glass. Hey, how excited the obviously retarded boy was at her nakedness, but she wanted to look at him very closely, for he was unlike anyone she had known. His cock was very long but thin, just about as thick as her thumb, and even when stiff, it bent sideways and very crooked. His foreskin seemed very special to her, covering the glans entirely even when he masturbated. She could tell when he was about to squirt because he curled up and very carefully pushed back the foreskin, exposing the red glans, only the size of a strawberry, and waited motionless until the squirting stopped. He bit his tongue when he pressed his glans directly against the glass and squirted staring at her hole, fantasizing. Once he was gone, she cleaned the glass carefully.

She found this very horny and more than once she pulled her labia all the way apart and let him see deep into her vagina, making him squirt immediately. He splashed on the floor and masturbated just as she immediately continued, although from his glans soon dripped only a very thin trickle on the floor, so exhausted was he. One day he was no longer there, and in the evening Rose reported to Patrick with a deadpan face that she had had the police pick up a tramp who had brazenly unwrapped his cock at the sight of her. Patrick didn't make a face, although he knew about it, because Evi had of course told him long ago.

When Evi came home, they both laughed out loud when he told everything. As Rose showered in Patrick's glass shower after work, as usual, she noticed the guy in the bushes staring at her and playing with himself "down there." Rose was horrified and stayed in the shower for over half an hour, embarrassed, wondering if he would finally stop. Only then, she said, did she call the police. They laughed tears and no matter whether he had just watched her showering or, say, masturbating, as Evi suspected, knowing Rose's cramped living conditions – a room for four people with a toilet in the hallway that allowed no privacy. Patrick promised to intercede for the boy the next day.

Sometimes his youngest nephew Donny, who was studying in Dublin, came to visit for a weekend. She would lie there quietly at night, nestled against Patrick's naked body, and they would both listen to the moans, humps and orgasms of the current love affair. Evi listened to her and Patrick's heart pounding because it made them both equally horny, then she busied herself with Patrick's cock or masturbated herself to wonderful orgasms. Patrick had never been able to learn to masturbate her, but he loved it very much and liked to watch her happily.

Once — Donny sat with his current love forever ready to leave in his Morgan–Sportster — she asked him if he knew where his uncle, Patrick, had served in the military? Donny's answer came as if shot out of a pistol, Patrick had not served after all, he had been able to buy his way out, that was so common at that time for boys from rich homes, he himself was still thinking about whether he would not go into military service and threw a languorous look at his future ex–girlfriend. Then he stepped on the gas and let the gravel splash. Evi stood transfixed, pressing her hand against her chest where an ice‐cold stone threatened to crush her heart.

Over the years, her love of the sea grew and she would often go out alone, anchor in a bay and read, write poetry or lie in the bunk masturbating for hours. When Patrick had appointments, she would go out alone. She described the wonderful feeling when the waves gently rocked the ship, then orgasming was especially beautiful and intense.

"Happiness only lasts a week, if the evil neighbor doesn't like it!" Pretty much exactly a week later the call from London. Come immediately, on the next flight! When I called back, I received only the code, there were too many raisins in the cake, so an internal problem in the Agency and my clever head was needed. I booked immediately, packed my things and had the hotel prepare the bill and everything for departure. With drooping shoulders, I went to Babsi's, sat down for coffee and when I put in two shots instead of the usual one, she came back to the table and sat naked on my lap. That bad? she asked, stroking my hair soothingly. She was very concerned after my report and asked when? I said that everything was already done at the hotel and that I had to leave the house of love, vicious lust and fantastic sex at six‐thirty at the latest. She laughed again and urged me, forget the shower, come, come!

I have a request, I said to Babsi, please masturbate, just for me, I want to look and absorb it, want to take it in my heart! She smiled in agreement, lay down opposite me and began to masturbate. I pulled her to me, pulled her butt onto my lap and watched from very close. Babsi spread her legs wide in the air and opened as wide as she could. I looked at the swelling labia, the still relaxed clit and her large, open vagina. Babsi quickly scaled the mountain, jumped on top and immediately made the finale. I bent over and licked her clit while she pumped and licked her during her finale. She sighed in pleasure and mewed how good the clit licking did her! I fucked her during her breaks and squirted as fast as I could, pulling her back onto my lap after she squirted to continue watching and licking her stiff clit as she orgasmed. I don't know how many times we repeated it, but until we dropped. Because Babsi was also quite finished, because she did it every time until the finale and then masturbated a new round. The admonishing beep of my cell phone tore us from our frenzy.

Our farewell in a sea of tears, hugs and kisses, then I had to go.

And of course, we promised each other, we would stay in touch, and we would meet again.

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