I like to spend my holidays at home most of the time, but from time to time I take trips around european cities and go sightseeing. On one of these vacations I travelled to Paris and treated myself to a stay at a more fancy hotel than I usually do, just because I fell in love with the interior. It was an old place, with lots of scrollwork, nice stucco ceilings and golden inlays in almost all surfaces. It even had a waterfall in the lobby and a great room.
I stayed there by myself, but had taken a double bedroom, because the prices were almost identical to a single one and I preferred the large bed. I found that a lot of people stayed in high-class establishments that weren’t yet outrageously expensive, who liked to give the impression of being richer than they really are, and so I met my fair share of “aristocrats” and “businessmen”, “executives” and “managers” on that trip. One of them was Rosa.
Rosa was an older woman, maybe in her late 40s or early 50s, with permed brunette hair and a nice round face. She dressed fancy, but without taste, usually wearing white pants and colourful blouses, some scarves and large gold and pearl jewellery. She was short, almost a head shorter than me, but about the same size, which made her look much heavier than me. Her hips were wide, but her butt was nice and tight and round for her age, while her breasts, though still large and impressive, had given in to gravity and were hanging a little lower than they once had.
I know this because the first time I met her was in the hotel’s sauna. I was relaxing there after a few minutes in the pool when she walked in. It was already late, about 11 PM at night, and the pool was vacant, so I thought to have it all to myself. Well, she might’ve thought the same, as she looked at me surprised. I smiled and leaned back onto my towel, sweating as I was closing my eyes. She entered the sauna naked, but still wearing her jewellery, and sat down opposite of myself, taking an awful long time to put down her towel and some lotion and oil she had brought with herself.
“My name,” she said suddenly. “Is baroness Rosa de XXX.” (I actually don’t remember her last name, and even if I did, wouldn’t post it here, though I’m sure i was fake to begin with.) I raised my eyebrows, looking at her as this seemed a weird way to address strangers. “Nice to meet you,” I said. “I’m Anna.” She spoke english with a heavy accent, either eastern european or from some romanic country, I couldn’t be sure. She nodded and tried to look regal, but obviously putting up a front. “I’m charmed,” she said, “I had not thought anyone to be here at this hour, as it is my usual time to bathe, and there rarely is anyone here then.”
I shrugged. “I’m a night owl,” I said, catching her staring at my pubes and breasts. “But I can come back later if you’d like some privacy,” I offered, acting like I didn’t notice. “Oh goodness, no,” she said, raising her hands. “I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just ... being accustomed to solitude, I rarely get a chance to engage in conversation with other guests, so this is a refreshing change, I might say.” She sat down and looked at me. “Coming from a family such as mine, it can be difficult at times to make new acquaintances.”
I didn’t take the bait and ask for her family history and instead just nodded. “But I am delighted to meet a nice young lady like you,” she concluded finally. I laughed. “I’m hardly a lady,” I said. “Oh, but you seem nice enough, and you’ve got some ... royal features. Trust me, I know these things,” she said, looking at me ominously. I laughed again. “So what brings you to Paris?” I asked. “Ah, this is just my escape from my dull chores and the strict confines of my life,” she sighed. “I, too, need some reprieve at times.”
If I wasn’t sure what she meant by that, it became clearer when she got up and bent over, trying to straighten an already perfectly straight towel, making sure I could get a nice look between her legs at her rosy, sweaty labia and curly dark pubic hair that clung to it damp. She stayed in that position longer than necessary, then straightened up and turned around, acting embarassed. “Oh my,” she said, as she saw me looking at her. “I hope I wasn’t baring myself.”
I shrugged, smiling. “It’s alright,” I said. “We’re all women here, and I’ve seen enough pussy in my life.” She didn’t know what to respond, but giggled. “My,” she said finally. “Aren’t you the cheeky one?” I laughed. Her posture was just too funny, and didn’t otherwise match her behaviour at all. “Ah,” I said. “I just know what I like, and pussy is part of it.” She looked, seemingly uneasy. “Oh,” she said. “So, you find me ... attractive?”
I bit my lip and didn’t say anything right away, letting her dangle from the rope she had made for herself. “Because...” she said after a moment, clearing her throat, “I think you’re a very attractive young woman, if I may say so.” I smiled. “And you haven’t even seen my pussy,” I joked. She blushed. I sat up and turned towards her, lifting my legs up under my chin as I sat on the bench, knowing she could see between them that way. “I thought you weren’t looking for... ‘company’,” I said, watching her try hard not to stare too obvious between my legs.
“Oh,” she said softer, “I do get lonely, and I’m just a woman after all.” She smiled. “And I don’t get many occasions. I think people are afraid of me due to my ... status.” I leaned forward, letting an arm drop between my legs and running my fingers along my labia absently. “Well,” I said, “I don’t mind any of that as long as you’re down for some mouth full of muff.” She stared at me with wide eyes, then placed her hands on her ample breasts and asked: “Would you do that with me?”
I stood up and walked towards her, placing my hands on her shoulders as I slowly brought our bodies closer, feeling my breasts rubbing hers as my hands moved down her shoulders and arms. Her skin was soft and sweaty, I guess we both were, and all she did was look at me at first. When I reached between her legs though, my finger slipping between her labia, playing with the entrance to her pussy, she began to moan. “Can I lick you?” she asked.
I smiled and kissed her as my finger slid deeper inside her. She tasted sweet, like lemon and strawberries, and cheap lipstick, and her tongue flicked fast and greedily against mine. When I pulled back I brought up my finger, covered in some whitish clear sticky fluid and held it out to her. “Well, start here then,” I said.