Ectasy on Fire

Chapter Four

Suddenly Steve began shivering and his arm shook as he held her around her neck.

"What is it?" Melissa sat back with just the suggestion of alarm in her voice and eyes.

Poor Steve was humiliated, mortified. How could he answer?

"What is it, Steve? Are you well?"

He felt like crying.

"Are you okay?" she urged.

His entire body trembled again and she held him as a mother would a young child. She rubbed her cheek across his brow as if she were trying to determine the presence of a fever.

"It's nothing," he said slowly.

"It is something," Melissa said firmly. It was plain to Steve that she had no idea that his young prick had already blasted off inside his shorts.

"Well," Steve began, "I just had a little accident. Not much to talk about," he added. His embarrassment was waning now and he was feeling that wonderful sense of afterglow. His prick was still throbbing, probably spitting more come into his shorts.

"What?" she pressed on. Melissa was sitting back still with a look of alarm, although it was vanishing. Again she rubbed her cheek against his brow. "You're very warm."

"It's the weather."

"You know the car is air-conditioned? Want me to buzz Maurice and tell him to turn it on?"

Steve laughed. "No."

This had all taken place in the space of about three minutes while the sleek black limousine sped along the curving highway in the direction of Cannes. Stars twinkled in the sky. Out in the harbor were sailing craft of every description, their lights blinking like the stars in the sky as the vessels bobbed up and down in the gentle waters of the harbor.

"Will you tell me?" she asked, distracting him from looking out the unshaded portion of the rear window.

"Yes, but it's very embarrassing."

This remark brought a smile to her attractive face. "I think I can guess, Steve."

"It wouldn't be all that hard to guess," he said. "It's just embarrassing. Like I said."

Instantly her hand went to his crotch. Her fingers searched for his penis but of course, by now, his prick had softened and shifted its position inside his shorts.

"I understand," she laughed. "But it's not a big thing, is it?"

The pun amused both of them and they laughed together.

"Very funny," he said.

She hugged him. And this was the first definite expression of her affection for the youth. She kissed his brow and tried to bring his mouth up to hers, but for some reason Steve resisted. He didn't know why he was resisting her, but he was.

"Steve?"

"Yes.?"

"Are you uncomfortable? Should I order Maurice to take us home immediately. so you can. change?"

He shrugged. "It'll probably dry." Steve was not accustomed to having an orgasm in his shorts. It had happened only once before. He'd been riding in the back of a school bus when he'd suddenly seen a young girl sitting on a seat to the left. There had been only a few kids on the bus and the driver was rushing for one reason or another. The girl, who was young, blonde, a loner, as was Steve, had been staring out the window as the scenery flashed by. Her skirt had slithered up to expose her naked legs. She'd had one foot tucked under her buttocks.

As they'd ridden along, Steve idly jerked off his cock through his pants. It had grown stronger each time he'd jerked it and when suddenly the young blond girl shifted her position on the seat, the foot under her buttocks had moved exposing their beautiful curves. And to Steve's utter astonishment, the girl hadn't been wearing any panties. His eyes had widened and his heart had begun thundering.

Then she'd changed her position altogether and pulled her foot out from beneath her. Her entire bare bottom had come into view, her ass crease, even her asshole. But most of all, he had had a sudden, sharp view of her cunt, with its sweet blond hairs covering the sensitive cunt lips. Before she was seated properly, he'd also caught a brief glimpse of the pinkness of her small virginal lips. It was at this point his prick had exploded in his trousers!

Melissa touched his lap. "Yes," she said lightly, "but if you are uncomfortable, it's no trouble. Besides, you might be a little hungry, no?" She tried to kiss him again and this time he let her lips brush over his.

"No, just thirsty. But not all that much… Melissa." She kissed him again, a soft, gentle peck on his nose and when she pulled back, he let out a long sigh.

"Steve.?"

"Yes?"

"Was it a. was it a good one?"

"What?" He knew very well what she meant and he felt a hot flush of embarrassment. He'd never discussed anything sexual with anyone. He felt the old familiar trembling, the shuddering, the anxiousness begin to steal and creep all over his body. Then he began to smell his own sweat.

"You know."

He shivered and looked away. She was holding his knee. He loved the feel of her fingers. They were strong, firm, insistent as they caressed him.

Finally, he had the courage to face her.

"Yes."

"Really a good one? Hot?"

He had to smile. "Yeah, hot. They're all hot, but some are hotter." This made him go into a giggling fit, which soon had both of them in another mood altogether.

"Could I see?"

"What?"

"Steve, I asked you if I could see."

"You mean. you mean.?"

"Yes."

"You mean, right here? Here in the car? Here in the back of the car? Won't Maurice. won't he.?"

"No, darling," she said before catching herself. She'd called him darling. That was how she was beginning to think of him.

Steve sat up and moved away from her slightly, not into the corner as he felt like doing, but just far enough to put some space between them.

"No," he replied, not looking at her directly, but looking past her, out the window opposite. "Not here, Melissa. It would be altogether too messy."

"Very well. So we'll go home. I don't want you to catch a cold with wet clothing on."

They both roared with laughter.

So this was the beginning, and a very promising one, indeed. As Maurice guided the beautiful car around the curves of the Cote d'Azur, passing through the outskirts of Nice, Steve marveled at the abundance of olive trees, sea pines, familiar umbrella pines and Mediterranean Aleppo pines. Magnificent eucalyptus trees were all over the broad avenues, standing singly or in groups in parks and private gardens.

After Nice came Cap Ferrat, then Juan-les-Pins, the road to Cap d'Antibes, Grasse, and finally Cannes, the world-famous resort frequented by millionaires and celebrities, bums and musicians, students and tourists of every description, from every corner of the globe.

At the entrance to the chateau, Maurice parked the limousine. In the rear, Melissa had arranged her clothing properly. She and Steve had checked the front of his pants to see if there was any evidence of his release. There wasn't. This made the youth feel much more comfortable.

As Maurice held open the rear right door of the vehicle, Melissa alighted first, with Steve following behind her. The chauffeur helped each out by the arm.

"Thank you, Maurice," said Mrs. Staunton. "We won't be needing you any longer this evening," she smiled. Maurice bowed from the waist and this interested Steve. He'd seen things like this only in movies. It also amused him. But he didn't grin because Maurice was looking directly into his eyes.

"Good evening," said Maurice. Without looking at either Steve or Mrs. Staunton, he climbed behind the wheel and headed the vehicle in the direction of the garage behind the great house.

From an upstairs window, Madam Andre, the housekeeper, watched. She was wearing a dressing gown, under which she was nude. Madam Andre was attractive, with a full, ripe body, luscious breasts, a broad backside and firm legs. She was also an especially hairy woman. Her triangle was a great bush of thick, wiry black hair. Through this veritable forest, her plump, meaty cunt lips were not visible, but when she parted her pussy to examine herself, her cunt lips appeared thick and spongy. Unlike Melissa's cunt, which opened like a flower in bloom, Madam Andre's cunt was long and narrow. When it opened wide to admit a finger, a prick, or a sweet tongue, it was a genuine tunnel of hot love, and it required much attention; it took a lot of fingering, sucking, stroking, tonguing, and caressing before her clitoris, about the size of an olive pit when fully erect, would respond.

Her breasts were magnificent and beautifully curved. Her nipples were unusually large and stiff. The color of her aureoles was deep, complementing the blackness of the hair on her head, in her armpits and between her thighs.

Madam Andre had peasant feet, peasant hands and a walk one would associate with a farm girl. She loved to eat. She loved to drink. Cognac was her favorite beverage after champagne and beer. But seldom was she seen drunk. Madam Andre could handle her booze.

As she watched now from the window of her small apartment (which fronted on the cobbled courtyard and had its own private bathroom, sitting room, and a spacious bedroom), she grew hungry for George to come to her.

As the car disappeared, Madam Andre closed the pale lemon- colored curtains. Dimming the light, she went to her dressing table. Using an atomizer, she sprayed her body with a new perfume that smelled of jasmine and lily of the valley. She rubbed it into the hair of her armpits and all over her crotch, even touched a dab of it into her anus.

Smiling at herself in the mirror, she opened one of the drawers in her bureau and took out a twelve-inch-long dildo. Bringing it to her lips, she kissed it. Then she introduced it into her mouth. Holding it away from her, she smiled at her reflection in the mirror.

George was coming for it.

When he arrived, he was not at all shocked to see her standing there naked, with the dildo strapped around her waist. He had seen it many times before. She ordered him to strip, which he readily did. She called him over to her and he complied.

His cock was hard from the sight of her obscenity. When he was standing before her, Madam Andre reached out and took hold of it, squeezing it lightly, then harder, until he groaned. Then she ordered him onto the bed, where she lay atop his prone body, sticking the dildo in between his legs. She rubbed it back and forth teasingly; she scratched his back with her long fingernails and bit his neck.

"Do you want it?" she asked.

"Yes. Yes, I want it," he said, his voice hoarse and urgent.

She teased him further by continuing to rub the instrument between his legs. He lifted his buttocks into the air as if to suggest where she might put it. She slapped them hard and they contracted and sank back into the bed. His flesh stung and turned red. He lifted his buttocks again, and again she slapped them. Again they contracted and expanded. He grabbed the pillow and stuffed it under his stomach, reached behind him and spread his buttocks with his hands, his fingers sinking into his own flesh.

She placed the instrument in the exposed opening of his dark passage. She drove it in and his buttocks clenched, drawing the dildo further in as he dug into the bed beneath him, giving pressure to his hard, aching cock.

"Fuck me!" he yelled. She pumped the dildo in and out with increasing force. All the while, he continued to dig his cock into the bed, finally bringing his hand beneath him to squeeze it since the pressure of the bed was insufficient to give him release.

During the excitement, Madam Andre's clitoris had rubbed against the edge of the instrument and brought her to a pounding orgasm. When she came, she could not think of moving, but instead began rubbing herself with as much agility as her position afforded against the dildo. The instrument was buried deeply inside George, who squeezed his cock hard and rubbed it up and down, desperate to come before she removed the dildo, which she always did as a sort of joke — saying that she, like a man who had spent himself inside a woman, also went limp with exhaustion and had to withdraw.

He envisioned what she looked like behind him, the dildo strapped to her waist and buried within him. He squeezed himself hard, grunted and came to the image in his mind.