Nurse My Ardon,
I went for a booze cruise to France a couple of weeks ago with some mates to stock up for a party we were having.
On the way over we had a couple of beers straight away and then noticed some girls sitting around a table, doing a lot of giggling over a bottle of wine. We sidled over to introduce ourselves, but this proved to be a little difficult as they turned out to be French, and we didn’t speak a word of the lingo.
Luckily they spoke a bit of broken English, and soon we were having a laugh over nothing in particular – the beauty of alcohol in any language ! Steve, sitting beside me, leaned over and whispered to me that he bet I couldn’t get into Martha’s pants before the end of the trip (about another half an hour). Martha was a bit of alright and seemed game for a laugh, but it was still a bit of a tall order. He gave me odds of 3 to 1, however, so I put 10 quid on and got to work.
I suggested to Martha that we go up on deck and watch the sunrise (it was about 5am). She agreed, with a little smirk that suggested she knew my motives, and made me feel quite optimistic.
Once up there, I slid my arm around her waist as we stood by the railings, looking out to sea, and she pressed her voluptuous young body up against mine. I felt a jolt in my pants as I realised that a bang may be on, so I returned the pressure, squeezing her waist with my hand.
Sometimes the language barrier can help you out – it stops them realising how goofy you are being.
“You know, Martha, there’s something about you French girls that really turns me on,” I said, laying my cards on the table.
“And I like the English boys,” she purred in a voice that made me almost lose my load in my trousers.
Next thing, our tongues were scooping out the back of each others throat, and my hands were exploring Martha’s exciting young and large breasts, completely unhindered by the sort of fake resistance which English girls feel that they have to put up.
Instead of fending me off, Martha’s hands were gripping my belt, pulling me in closer, and then, right out there on the deck, unzipping me and scraping her sharp but elegant fingernails along the underside of my rigid cock !
I couldn’t believe how well things were going, and I felt almost embarrassed –inhibited, so I suggested we go.
We slipped behind a massive life jacket chest, and now Martha really got to work with me. Kissing my bare, hairy chest which she seemed particularly fond of, she eased my cock right out of my trousers, and played it like a virtuoso.
With one hand still snaking through my chest hairs, she lowered her mouth and began to flick her tongue across the glistening, pre-cum dribbling tip of my shaft.
I moaned, and for a moment forgot all about my efforts to feel her up. But I am an honest guy, and the bet had been to get into her pants. And despite the attractions of getting head from this French maestro, I wanted to take her as well. And I knew I’d only have time to come once.
Gently I lifted Martha’s head, then lifted her loose cotton dress above her full hips. She seemed uncertain, until I sneaked a finger around the edge of her panties, and by more luck than judgement, settled it neatly on her clit.
Her little moans soon told me she was won over, and I knelt down to remove her lacy panties altogether, giving her hairy French pus a few lashings with my tongue for good measure. Her pussy lips were swollen and red now, unfolding and glistening in the dawn light like a flower.
I stared, awestruck for a moment, then parted them slowly with the tip of my fingers, watching as they opened up to reveal their pink juicy treasure.
Martha was still moaning softly, leaning back against the chest, her hands in my hair.
Then I raised myself to my feet and pressed my swollen cocks head into her pouting pussy. There was a moment that hung in the air as she bit her lips and I looked deeply into her eyes. Then, as the ship hit a wave, I entered her.
We started to rock with the motion of the ferry, until that was unbearably slow and I had to speed up before I lost my mind. Martha arched her back away, holding the back of my belt as she scrambled to wrap a leg around my waist and I buried my face in her ample cleavage.
As we picked up the pace more and more, slamming together as my prick slid in and out of her wet chamber, she began to mumble incomprehensive (to me) French, although even I could tell that they weren’t wholesome
Finally we came together, her spasms pumping the gunk out of my aching balls. She collapsed into my arms with the first bit of French I did understand – “Magnifique, je t’adore !”
Of course, I’m sure she was just being polite, but believe me, if you’ve never been told you’re magnifique by a French girl, you haven’t lived.
I decided to preserve her honour, and I actually told Steve that we had just had a cuddle. She was worth the tenner, and I got her telephone number too.
Rich H.
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