The First Surprise in Amsterdam

Jack and Michelle leave her husband, Brad, in England and explore their growing feelings and sexual attraction in cosmopolitan Amsterdam. Michelle surprises Jack with a sexy treat.

***

Michelle never told me how he'd reacted and I never asked. The important thing was that she'd left him for the weekend and was with me at the airport. We embraced and, in silence, our arms linked through one another's like any 'normal' couple embarking on a romantic weekend, we checked-in and passed through security.

The first complete thing she said was over a glass of wine in the departure lounge; it was about her husband, Brad. "Not long after you left in the morning, he and Andrea left. He didn't come back until the following afternoon." She sighed and pursed her lips. "It seems the rules we had are being broken by both of us. More him than me, I'm following suit, but that doesn't make it OK or normal, I suppose." She paused and took a sip of champagne and popped an olive into her mouth. She looked magnificent in dawn's bright sunlight coming through the windows that overlooked a parked fleet of planes. Looking at her wearing a chunky blue sweater with a rolled collar and her face immaculately made-up, I felt giddy with my good fortune. No more hiding, no longer were we ensconced in their rural home, me the guest and confidant to aid their rural passions. Michelle and I were free to enjoy each other's company in the streets and bars of the world's most liberal city. While she held the fine stem of the wine glass, I noticed her wedding ring was not on her finger. After sucking off the briny salt off the olive, she concluded with: "And that's all I'll say about Brad and I."

I hadn't asked. She'd revealed Brad and Andrea's movements out of the blue. I think she needed to say something to get him out of her head and to assuage any feeling of guilt she may've been having over a sudden European break with her new lover while hubby tended to the chores at their countryside pile. As sure as there are tulips in the Netherlands, I'm sure Brad had arranged some company. His weekend wouldn't be all silence and seclusion.

To change the direction of the conversation and to enliven the drowsy, reflective mood settling upon us after a 5 am alarm, I leant over and, squeezed her thigh and said: "Three nights, three days. Amsterdam!" I took her hand and kissed it, unconsciously placing my lips on the pale sliver of white flesh where her wedding ring had been.

She smiled and then widened. "Yes, yes! Let's board already! I'm so excited."

"We have forty minutes. Let's have some more bubbly, shall we?"

All her bristling energy disappeared on the plane. Maybe it was the early morning booze? She was asleep before we took off and woke only as we began our descent into Shipinol airport. I had to entertain myself by reading the inflight magazine and spying the asses of the stewardesses, who were chirpy and flirty at that early hour, as they busied themselves delivering food and coupons up and down the gangway. Their stiff blue dresses nicely exposed the size and shape of their bottoms. I was beginning to feel excited and rubbed at Michelle's warm inner thighs while she dozed. I was thinking about her arse. I was erect for most of the flight: my heightened state of arousal would be with me for the duration of our short break.

*

"I brought something special for you."

She was standing at the foot of the bed where I'd laid down after walking from the Centraal Station to our four star hotel in the Jordaan neighbourhood, a forty-five minute walk. I sat up, pulled from my hazy reverie. She was playing with the cords of the fluffy white dressing gown that had been hanging in the wardrobe. "Do you want to see?"

She'd showered, and her hair was damp and straight, combed back from her face. "Yes, please." She carefully undid the cords and pulled the sides of her robe apart while swaying her hips from side-to-side, a slow motion but a sexy, seductive movement, one that she knew would enrapt me.

She revealed a pair of suspenders clasped at her mid-thigh, a pair of lace panties and matching bra. "Do you like this little number?" I nodded and stared, like a dog captivated by a treat teased by its owner. "But," she said, stepping toward the edge of our double bed, "this isn't the surprise!" "You tease. What is it?" She spun around, raised the hem of her dressing gown and pulled down her panties; they caught on the cups of her large buttocks before slipping free and revealing her big, creamy ass. "This. Look close." She giggled coquettishly. Nestled in her ass hole was a butt plug. I could see its shiny red base protruding from between her cheeks, almost choked from sight by her flesh. It winked at me, like a ruby nestled in the gooey dough of bread mixture.

"Are you trying to give me a heart attack, Michelle?"

She giggled. "I thought you'd like it. You're such an arse pervert! The thought came to me when I was playing with myself in the library and thinking about you."

"You are trying to kill me."

She moved toward me. "Will you think about my butt plug stimulating all those nerve ending in my tight little hole? Will you picture my stockings while we tour the Rijksmuseum? How will you feel knowing that I have it there to prepare my ass for your

cock?"

"I think I'll feel horny as fuck! I won't be able to function. Do you know CPR?"

"Good. I'm glad I make you so horny. I want you to follow me and know that it's in there, waiting for you to remove it and fill the gap with your big, hard cock. Does that sound like a plan, Jack?"

I reached out, aiming to stroke her bare thigh that was a foot away. She lightly slapped the back of hand and then shook her finger in the manner of a reprimanding schoolteacher. "Naughty, naughty. You'll have to wait for a touch. Let's go and see the museums." She leant into and spoke into my ear, so close that I could smell the whiff of peppermint tea she'd drunk while I'd slept off a small part of my drowsiness. "You'll be able to touch everything later. In fact, you'll be able to do whatever you want to me. First, let's get some culture."

*

Her quest for a good painting was insatiable. All I wanted was a Heineken in a local's pub with an unobstructed view of the people of Amsterdam and, for the hell of it, a canal.

Obligingly, I followed her though the crowds moving through the large halls of the Rijksmuseum. As much as she was mesmerised by the art collected on those enormous, vault-like rooms, I was equally immersed in the sight of her arse and hips in the pair of tight blue jeans she'd dressed in. A camel-coloured raincoat was draped over her forearm and a guidebook in her left hand which she would study for a few moments before directing her critical gaze at the coinciding piece.

I enjoyed drifting back and watching other man glimpsing at Michelle, mostly as her arse. Most of them were with their wives or girlfriends, so their glances were quick and almost subtle, concealed with premediated looks at signage and exit points. Yes, honey, Egyptian art is through that hall while thinking Look at the ass on that blonde! The single ones gawped and hoped for a sign from Michelle that they'd been noticed and appreciated. They didn't receive any. Even I became something of an afterthought in the museum.

I was unable to focus on artworks and the antique piece, nor the silver plaques and the white writing stuck beside them, because I would think of the hidden ruby that was waiting for me. My heart would flutter. My mouth would salivate. Try as I did to learn some history, I was unable to concentrate. Desire was burning inside me, making my impatient. But I knew that I couldn't act like a child or like an entitled lover with Michelle, I would have to bide my time, she would let me know when she was ready for me.

After two hours or perambulating through the hallways and galleries, Michelle sat on a small bench bathed in midday sunshine.

"It's extraordinary," she said.

"It is."

"Such a shame there's so many people here."

"Are you hungry? Ready for a cultural timeout?"

"I'm famished. Sorry for dragging you around here for so long. Your patience has been noted."

*

We ate, we drank, we acted like all horny couples spending a weekend city break away

together. Hands roamed and kisses were long and sensual, not a damn given to the other tourists.

*

We were staying in the Museum Quarter, a half-an-hour stumble from the centre of Amsterdam. The streets seemed to be full of couples, young and attractive people as unashamedly open about their destinations as we were. Everyone was in good spirits: perhaps because they were either drunk or high and going to get laid. We had to make a final dash to the hotel because rain suddenly clattered down, causing cyclists to push their pedals with sudden fury as though they were whipping around velodrome. Dodging them through the gassy haze of two strong joints was a difficult job. Michelle, two-thirds of my weight, was hit hard by the single joint she'd smoked. And when the hotel came into sight, it took me some time to coax her out of the rain and through the revolving entrance door: the lights from the hotel, garishly lit in reds and greens, reflected on the pools of water in the carpark; she danced among the puddles with her eyes closed to the bright lights.

A few expressionless taxi drivers watched from beneath the green awning out front of the hotel. They'd seen a lot more in Europe's most liberal city. One woman twirling in the falling rain was curiously bland entertaining for them. If only they'd known about the red ruby fitted snugly in her ass hole.

We made it through the lobby without incident. In the elevator, however, Michelle decided she wanted my cock in her mouth, which was fine with me, but judging by the formal dress and reserved demeanour of a fifty-something American couple impatiently awaiting their floor, they preferred to retire in peace to a cup of tea and a complimentary biscuit while they watched the news, rather than an impromptu sex show from two inebriated Brits. It's no wonder we have such a soiled reputation.

I'd barely unlocked the door when Michelle surged past me and sprinted into the bathroom. I stepped into the doorway and saw her sitting on the toilet seat while the sound of a steady stream of urine echoing off the bathroom tiles.

"Bit of privacy," she said, flicking the door shut with her extended foot. "It's my husband who's into water sports."

I'd completely forgotten about her husband. We'd been contentedly playing the happy

couple, naturally playing the happy couple, so much so that Brad hadn't been mentioned in any context on Dutch soil. I'd begun believing that we were a genuine couple spending a sinful weekend in one of Europe's most liberal and attractive cities. I'd been treating Michelle as though she was my girlfriend, and there hadn't been a single moment where it had been awkward. While sipping at a bottle of water as Michelle was washing her hands, the idea that this state of bliss was temporary saddened me, made the sound of the lashing rain oppressive. It reminded me of England and my single life, my sterile flat in London and the transitory lovers and the soiled sheets they left behind, the strands of hair and the misplaced hair bands.

"Are you ready for me, Jack? I hope you're not tired," Michelle called. I could tell she'd regained some sobriety; she was in control of her syllables, and her accent was once again prim yet salacious.

She entered the bedroom wearing a black basque and a pair of matching stockings. Her breasts were cupped and raised in the lace material, her hard nipples visible through the floral material. She'd pinned her hair up but a few long blonde strands framed her face. A bright red lipstick illuminated her lips in the moody gloom of our room, making them the first stop for my rapacious gaze. She twirled in the centre of the room. Because of her impressive confidence and innate control, I felt like a rich man enjoying the company of high-class escort. Her transformation from girl-next-door sexpot to mysterious enchantress had left me flabbergasted, dry-mouthed. I snapped from my reverie to close to blinds (the hotel was the shape of a horseshoe, and a small courtyard was nestled between the three sides, so anyone peering through their curtains would see Michelle advancing on stockinged feet toward my seated self).

"Leave them," she said. "Concentrate on me." She was using a strong perfume that lingered on my tongue and in my nostrils. It was sharp and seductive, but not as stimulating as the smell her skin was exuding, a warm and sweet scent as arousal and adrenaline pumped through her veins and arteries.

"You like an audience?"

"I like you. I don't care about anyone else right now." Yes...she liked an audience.

She was leaning over me with her hands holding the arms of the armchair. Her cupped breasted formed a curvy W a foot from my crotch. She kissed me once and stepped backwards. "What do you think of my outfit?"

I had to clear my throat before responding. "I think you look incredibly sexy."

She turned around and pulled her black panties down her big butt cheeks. "This has been stretching my arse hole all day." She carefully removed the plug. It seemed stuck in her tight ass hole for a moment before it slipped out. Her hole was spread to the size of a penny, the opening of a tiny well, before it the sides eased back toward a tighter, constricted hole. "Are you going to fuck my ass tonight?" Without taking her eyes from me, Michelle licked the pointed tip of the small plug.

"Yes, I'm going to fuck you in the ass. I'm going to eat your ass and then I'll fuck it."

"Do you want to taste it?"

"Yes."

She teased it toward me, but paused and swivelled around quickly. "Wait. Move to the bed."

Obediently, I went and laid on the double bed. My erection pushed painfully at my trousers, but I'd decided not to undress until my seductress had given me permission to do so. While she followed me to the bed she was running her red cashmere scarf through her hands. "Sit up," she said. She covered my eyes with the scarf and then wrapped it around my head twice. After the second wrapping the faint outlines of the room I'd been able to see were gone; all was darkness. I ran my hands along the duvet and settled into the pillows, trying to find some comfort in something familiar now my sight was gone. I remembered that the curtains were open and I imagined the erotic tableau that was on display for any keen-eyed occupant staying on the other wing of the hotel. This thought was quashed when Michelle said: "Open your mouth, Jack, and stick out your tongue."

She rested the plug on my tongue and gently, but with enough force to remind me who was in charge, pushed my lower jaw up so my lips closed on the slender stem that connected to the handle held in her fingertips.

"Suck." Was her command word. Suck I did. I relished the taste of her inner sanctums, a sweet, fecund taste that she'd imbued the small rubber plug with during eight hours of exploring Amsterdam's canals and museums. "You like it, don't you?"

I nodded and hummed while she twirled the butt plug with her fingertips, brushing its smooth surfaces against my salivating tongue. She removed it, and told me that she was placing it back in her ass hole. "We have some other business to attend to first. I need to feel your cock in my mouth. Now." Her voice was strained, full of yearning and desire.

"Would you like me to suck your big, hard cock?"

I assumed the question was rhetorical because she was frantically undoing my jeans; she'd revealed that she could play the role of the calm seductress with impressive control, but Michelle loved cock, she craved cock, so waiting patiently while we bantered about whether I did or didn't want my cock sucked was where her self-control left her and her base nature regained control.

For me, it's always been a magical moment when someone undoes your jeans, revealing your hard, proud cock and smiling with delight at the sight of it. She grabbed the base of my engorged member, dutifully shaved to adolescent baldness for our fuckfest vacation, and pulled it away from my stomach so the head was pointing directly at her mouth, like a cruise missile locking onto its target.

"Mmm," she groaned while engaging in a slow, sensual and extensive suck of my very swollen, precum-dampened head. "I love sucking your cock. I love your cock in my mouth." Her voice was breathless, the words rushed from her mouth so she could immediately place me back between her lips. She wanked my shaft while exploring my head with her tongue and lips. She alternatively licked at my glans and the exceptionally sensitive frenulum. Michelle was a talented cock sucker, the type of cock sucker who almost enjoys the moment more than the recipient, so she understood she could only focus her attention on these areas of heightened sensation sporadically, and that concentrating on them too much would lessen the pleasure and ratchet up the pain, which is not my thing. Such was her singlemindedness that she rarely looked up at me - it could've been anyone's cock - but remained diligently pleasuring me while occasionally dropping her hand to her own aroused sex. She was fingering herself, and above her deep groan and the squelchy of her mouth muscles creating a copious amount of saliva for her to routinely spit back onto my cock, I could her the wet insertion of her fingers in her cunt and the occasionally tap she delivered to her highly-stimulated pussy.

With my eyesight relegated, my other senses prickled with importance. I ran my fingers along her smooth shoulders. I'd never noticed the scent of her shampoo in our earlier trysts, but now I could smell a fruity conditioner and the meaty undertone of my hard member, as well as the tart perfume. The sounds of her sucking at my cock and her staccato breathing, seeming farther away than in my lap, were a mesmerising counterpoint to the insistent rain tapping against the windows.

She swallowed as much of my cock as she could deep into her throat and gagged when it reached her gullet. She pulled her head back and made a gasping sound, like someone releasing their breath after holding it underwater. I felt my cock: it was as slick and slippery as if I'd dipped it in a tub of lubricant. She kissed me, and I could taste my cock on her lips and tongue. She removed the scarf from my eyes. Now she looked up at me and nodded - I knew what she wanted. She plunged back onto it, forcing it back into her throat's tight passageway. I put my hands on the back of her head, and while she was running her tongue along the back of the shaft, I was pushing her head down more, forcing my cock a few more centimetres deep into her gullet. Her hands were gripping the sheets and her hips were buckling. I held it there and even thrusted upwards with my hips. I released my grip. Great lengths of foamy, bubbly spit were dribbling from her lips and chin. The mascara around her eyes had started to run and the lipstick was smeared around her mouth cartoonishly. The girl-next-door turned escort had become a cheap, nasty whore.

"Oh, my god," she said. "That was deep."

"Do you like it?"

"Yes, I love it. Now, fuck my ass."

"Yes, baby."

She sat on all fours with her face against the mattress and her big round ass sticking into the air. The sharp line of her thin, black thong was crossing the red handle of the plug inside her ass hole. I was positioning myself behind her, readying to feast on her wet pussy and ass, when she began wriggling her voluptuous bottom in front of my face and teasing me with more of the mistress language that Amsterdam seemed to have imbued her with.

"You love worshipping my arse, don't you, Jack? I bet you can't wait to stick your tongue in there? Take the plug out and suck it."