Carry On, Pierre

Emilia’s orgasmic screams and the **** of her body twitching and shuddering were so great the Pierre released her head and withdrew his erection from her mouth. In awe, he watched her response as Marcel drove her through her climax. When the woman’s body went limp, her head hanging down and her arms dangling, the older valet let his still erect cock slip from the wet pussy.

“You are a mess back here,” Marcel announced with a smile and patted her pert backside. Looking up from her derriere to Pierre, he said, “I have an appointment I have to keep, but if you wish to continue to use her, feel free to do so.”

Marcel started dressing, continuing with his instructions to the other Valet. “Otherwise, take her and her luggage up to her room.”

Pierre nodded, acknowledging Marcels directions, but his gaze was focused on Emilia’s pussy as he now stood behind the restrained woman. Her labia were swollen and inflamed. The sparse pubic hair wet from her juices.

“Yes, I think I will try her twat, thanks,” Pierre said to the departing Marcel, who was climbing the stairs.

Aligning the tip of his erection with the puffy lips of Emilia’s well-fucked snatch, he drove into her with one hard, swift thrust.

“Oh, sweet Saint Januarius!” she cried out, her head flipping back as the throbbing ramrod skewered her, the man’s nutsack pressing up against her red snapper. The woman had just had an earth-shattering orgasm and already she was craving more.

“Oh, yes man!” she cried out, temporarily forgetting the Valet’s name. “Fuck me. . . Fuck my. . . my . . . twat!”

That is what the Valet had called her pussy.

“Fuck my twat!” she yelled hysterically. “Fuck the shit out of it!”

Not for the first time Pierre pondered how readily these well-heeled, elegant, posh females turned into mindless, babbling slut-whores. All it took was a little physical **** and a good hard fuck, and their brains turned into mush.

“Ughn! Ughn! Ughn!” Emilia grunted with each forward lunge of the servant plowing into her. The impact of his pelvis against her fanny caused it to ripple and undulate. With less finesse than a bull with a bellowing heifer or a stallion with a mare in heat, Pierre slammed into her. Fucking her like she was just a mass of flesh to get his rocks off in.

“Oh, yes. . . Oh, yes. . . Oh yesyesyes!” she screamed, her head thrown back and her eyes wide. “OHHHhhh…”

Every muscle in her body went rigid and spasms convulsed her as the bent-over Chattel obtained her second orgasm.

When she once more collapsed into an inert form like a rag doll, Pierre ceased all movement. He remained buried inside her, sheathed in her damp, clinging, velvet-like vagina. He watched her heaving form as she drew in and expelled air, catching her breath as she came down from her “big O”.

Gradually she lifted her head and glanced back over her shoulder at the man who had driven her to such a wild climax. Her eyes were hooded, lids lowered and a dreamy look in them.

“Oh, no,” she gasped when Pierre started sliding his hard-on back and forth within her. “Not again. . . not again.”

Despite her slurred words of protest, her own hips started to move in rhythm with his, bucking back to meet his thrusts.