What I Did This Summer...!

Güvercin is a very wealthy man, laced in family treasures from a dynasty of shipping and other industries. But wealth is not his only asset. His face is chiseled like a Michelangelo sculpture. A frame put together so nicely with long toned legs and shoulders so broad and bumpy as the isle of Capri. When I gaze upon his magnificent shirtless body, I am reminded of the Greek slaves of the ottoman empire, chosen as children for their superior beauty and physical perfection and then stolen from their Greek parents in a painfully cruel system called Devschirme.

In Turkish history, during the Ottoman occupation of Greece, spies sought out the most beautiful boys and girls for their royal harems and for use as soldiers (janissaries) in the Turkish military. More than one million of the most perfect greek children inadvertently became the seed of change for all modern Türks.

But as much as I have loved this man for ten years, I never fail to secretly amuse myself with the thought of how his name rolls off my multi-lingual tongue. Güvercin in Türk is a name for a bird...a Pigeon. When I say his name, all I can think of are the little flying rats in St. Marks Square and the countless raindrops of **** and disease they so proliferatously spread.

I seldom wait sixty days without a call from my beautiful pigeon. I trust that the list of instructions he provides will include some sort of brief connection as he is incredibly busy and his wife weighs heavily his absences. I think she must know the synergistic power of his animalistic sex appeal and a pocket overflowing with banded Euros.

He arranges with my private aero services and pulls me to whatever location he can conveniently escape for a few hours. I pack my bag of tricks and treats, especially for my the pigeon who through metamorphosing becomes the ever colorful peacock. What, I ask you, could be so much fun as playing dress up with a billionaire?

I arrive at the stately mansion exactly on time as demanded having first indulged in a dose of Cialis. I meet his personal assistant in the bar who takes me to a private room where I and my bag are thoroughly searched for the technology common of reporters and sleazy tellers of secrets. A key is provided and I arrogantly make my way to his quarters - the best available room.

When I arrive, I find my little birdie nude, standing in front of the sunlit window, gazing out as if to look for Mussolini's secret polizia. His fantastic frame is washed in the bright light, in contrast like a wooden black and white etching of a statue. His body is smooth and void of all hair, ready to make the journey of a Türkish princess.

I call out his feminine name, "Goncagül" which I chose for him many years ago. In English, this common Türk name for girls describes a rose, yet unopened. It is a perfect name. He slowly turns to me and asks me in his most delicate voice what gifts I bring for him. I say that I have brought for her a dress so stunning that she could be dangerously confused with princess Niloufer who is known in Turkey to be one of the most beautiful princesses in its history.

A look of excitement emerges from her worried face. I point my dainty finger at her - then motion with it for her to approach me. I, as she is now inches from me, feel her hot excited breath on my face and intimately absorb the reverberation of her elevated heart rate. Her body is like a sub-woofer in a New York City discoteca.

I most sensuously begin to lick and bite her left nipple. She responds with a shiver and an equally exposing release of diaphragmatic exhaust. I move slowly with my tongue down her smooth muscular chest to the object most anticipated by me, 23 centimeters of pure love as firm as a pigeons beak, nearly as dark as the **** of an Africano.

I look into her eyes as my tongue rises with the length of her penis-like clitoris from the base to its engorged mushroom end. My right hand softly gripping it's length while my left hand caresses the tightened purse which holds the jewels of her ancestry. Excited beyond explanation, she delivers a gift of royal seed within a moment of time that can only be measured with scientific devices. It is ok, because she and I both know that she is better able to best enjoy the day if she first erases the edge of taboo.

Once I allow her to recover with an equally slow and wet return to my starting point, I offer my tongue to her for a passionate exchange of appreciation and a healthy dose of her own *********. I then slowly slide the silky strap of my ruched viscose dress over my olive shoulder exposing a portion of my right breast. My erect nipples are eager to announce the absence of a bra.

Once the opposite strap is pushed aside, my dress slides effortlessly to the floor revealing a very seductive under bust corset with matching LaPerla Brazilian tanga panties, delicately patterned thigh-high stockings and ten centimeter aqua coloured heels. She blushes in utter admiration of the site. These are among the most fulfilling times in my life when the moment of reveal produces an ever-lasting amazement. It is the drug I cannot put away.

She carefully watches me as I walk to the bed and open my sinful luggage, eager to see what gifts are held within. "Come to me now princess." I uttered in a heavy breath. The panties...the lovely delicate panties, that is what she so eagerly anticipates. But I make her wait. I feel for the lace edging of the azure Aubade bra and lift it from the opening of my bag then ask her to turn around.

I reach around her aroused body, her hands instinctively find the holes of the straps. I then carefully hold the cups of her expensive bra against a pair of highly sensitive breasts, shifting the silky cups around to seat them in the proper place. She releases a quiet moan and I pull the strap to her back and fasten it at the tightest adjustment.

I sensuously wrap my arms around her again to embrace and reassure her that I love her and I place my hands on her hips to spin her around that she can finally accept her pretty panties. I carefully slide the delicate matching panties from my bag and rub them across her chest and down to her grossly engorged appendage. "Oh I love them, may I?" she says to me. I reach down to her feet and open the lovely panties so she may step into them. I slide them ever so slowly up her shaved legs to seat them in their proper position; only, nothing is proper about the display before me. I pull her **** through a leg opening of the panties and walk up against her, letting her **** slide between my legs against the tight fabric of my own panties.

My pretty peacock, against her own preparation and pre-planning, has endured all she plans to endure. She pushes me on the bed and pulls my panties down slightly, just over my semi-rigid ****, and starts to return the indulgence I first gave her. She loves to slide her other hand all over my panties and corset, intoxicated with the hand of texture, while she eagerly attends to me orally.

After I am well hardened, I hear her effeminately begging, "please, can you **** me love? I need your **** inside me now!"

I had planned for a makeup session and to get her in the stunning dress I had selected for her. She typically loves to be bejeweled with gold and diamonds and courted into sexual submission like a virgin at a fraternity party. But today I must have done well. I must have learned the mating call of pigeons on my last visit to Venezia.

I withdrew a condom from my bag and told my princess to roll it on for me.

"Get on your knees Goncagül. You want your little ***** ******? You need my ****?" "Yes, Signora Efe. Yes, **** me, I need your **** inside my ***** so badly!"

Pulling the crotch of her panties aside, I carefully lubed her ***** with a finger while I kissed her back from her bra strap down to her pretty panty. I slide the head of my penis into the opening of her quivering body and waited for her to adjust to the invasion. Feeling her body relax, I slowly and deliberately push beyond her opening and into the depths of the woman living within this shell of a confident and masculine muslim man.

I reach around her waist and begin to caress her testicles through the silky material of her expensive panties. "Oh God Allah...siktir...siktir!" I move deep and hold it tight against her while I move around to massage her prostate gland with my rigid ****. This I continue while I pull her **** from her panties and begin to softly stroke it...I slowly withdraw to the very end then aggressively slam inside a few times then push hard against and move around again, repeating my actions and alternating with slow and sensuous *******.

She is begging and thrusting her *** toward me, completely caught up in the sensations of having her royal princess ***** ravaged by the piston of my overheated engine. I know from experience that she is very close. By now she is vocalizing her demands so excitedly, I fear her security will break through the door any second and kill me with a pistol and silencer.

All at once, she backs up against me firmly and hovers her hungry ***** around on my **** so vigorously that I know she is about to ****** in a most serious way. I too am close to my own ****** and her gyrations had easily brought me there too. I stroked and pumped her steamy ********* from her, her *** shooting across the room and on to a lovely light shade and sophisticated looking alarm clock. I pulled away and pumped my own **** deep into her in such a way as to coax my own ******.

When finished, she collapsed underneath me, her once lovely panties stained and ruined. I could not help myself but to feel a slight bit of remorse for the ruin of those great panties although not my size. I was also thankful to have not been killed in the execution of my assault.

After a moment of cuddling and re-acquaintance, we showered together. I eagerly resumed my role of sexual servant and carefully bathed my beautiful and vulnerable lover. One additional blow job and we were dressed and ready to part ways.

Our final embrace resulted in a handsomely decorated envelope. I walked unescorted to my rental and drove back to the aeroporto and the plane which awaited me. My lovers soiled costume inside my bag. Not bad for a days work, no?
LapiudolceTS LapiudolceTS
41-45, T
3 Responses Sep 26, 2012

I'm crying at the edge of my bed reading this!!!

Haha, I love him but his name forces the humor from me. I could not resist.

I think I need to get a new job as a billionaire, lol :)
I would like to imagine that I would have been able to hold on until you had beautified and feminised me with make up and the stunning dress you had chosen for me, before finally allowing myself to be taken.
Sounds a wonderful way to spend a day.

Not bad at all. Your writing generates the expected excitement and for that I thank you.