Chapter 32: A Long Weekend

Pierre woke up slowly. The bedclothes were rumpled, and bright sunlight was pouring through the windows. Slightly disoriented, he sat up in the bed and ran his hands across his face, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and massaging his temples. It was certainly later than he normally woke, but as he opened his eyes and looked around the bedroom blearily, it all came back. A slight smile crept across his features.

From the condition of the bed, it was obvious he hadn’t been alone. He was in his Miami home, and the evening with Georgia wasn’t simply a marvelously erotic dream. He couldn’t help but grin at the remembrance. After their first bout on the ride down to Miami, he had stretched out naked on the floor of the limo, and Georgia had draped herself across him, snuggling against him. After talking, she had coaxed another erection from him, and had climbed onto him. This time she had lain over him, engulfing him, and had barely moved, allowing the movement of the big and heavy auto to move them. It had taken an exquisitely long time for her grasping cunt to pull another load surging upwards into her.

Afterwards, they had dressed, although Pierre had stuffed their underwear into his coat pockets and had opened the moon roof to air out the vehicle. Once they had gotten home, it had been too late, and they had been too tired for a tour. He had simply taken her by the hand and led her upstairs. They had undressed and crawled into bed and fell asleep in each other’s arms before anything further could happen. Later, well after midnight, Pierre had woken spooned up behind Georgia, his stiff erection poking against her warm rump. Neither had said anything. Georgia had simply raised her leg and moved back against him; Pierre had angled his cock so that it slipped into her from behind. This was another slow and quiet session, but very enjoyable, nevertheless.

Looking around, he saw two piles of clothing, his and hers, on the floor near his dresser. The door to the bathroom was open, but there didn’t seem to be any movement or sound, and she hadn’t dressed, so she must be somewhere around the house. Pierre scratched his head and yawned loudly, and then swung his legs out of bed and stood up. He scratched his chest and ambled slowly off towards the bathroom. As he passed the door to the hall, he opened it and peered out. He couldn’t hear anything, but he did catch a faint whiff of coffee. Nodding happily, he ambled into his bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, Pierre had finished the shave and shower routine and was tossing his bath towel into the hamper. He wondered what to wear. Glancing back into the bedroom, he saw that Georgia hadn’t put her dress back on, and he didn’t see how she had taken anything from his closet. He didn’t have any women’s clothing from previous lovers. He shrugged to himself. He grabbed his robe off the back of the door and slipped it on. It was entirely possible that Georgia was wandering around downstairs in the nude. If so, he thought with a smile, he could join her.

As he got to the bottom of the stairs, the smell of coffee made it obvious that Georgia had managed to figure out the kitchen and make a fresh pot. He could hear her voice as she talked to somebody in the living room. Turning left, he followed her voice, to find her curled up in an armchair, wearing something white, with a coffee cup in one hand and her cell phone in the other. She smiled at him and nodded. Pierre waved his fingers at her and went to the kitchen. The drip coffeemaker was set on warm, with a fresh pot of coffee. He retrieved a mug and poured himself some, black but sweetened, and headed back towards the living room.

Georgia was giggling as she talked into her phone. “No! We haven’t done that yet ... I don’t know yet! ... Oh, you’re so bad! ... No, I’m not going to call you and let you know! ... I can’t say, he’s about to come back in ... oh my God! No!” She glanced around and saw Pierre standing in the doorway idly watching her. She began to laugh. “No more, I’ll talk to you on Monday! ... Yes, I told you, let the kids and their cousins use the pool. Just make sure you or Frank are there at all times ... No, it’s not like they’re going to bother me, will they? ... Got to go! Bye!”

Georgia snapped her phone shut and twisted around as Pierre came into the room. “Sorry about that.”

Pierre smiled as he stepped closer. He had finally figured out what she was wearing, a lightweight white terry cloth beach cover-up his mother had given him once. It was short and short-sleeved, and he had accepted it graciously, not telling her that he really thought it was the gayest item of clothing he had ever seen! Now, seeing it on Georgia, he knew that his first impression was spot on; it looked far better on a woman than on a man. “Friend back home?”

“My neighbor next door, letting her know where I was going to be this weekend.”

“And what haven’t we done yet?” he teased.

Georgia blushed deeply. “Never you mind! Once we do it, I’ll let you know!”

“Hmm, maybe we’ll have to put the phone on speaker so she can know.”

Georgia stood and slipped the phone into a pocket of the beach cover-up. “Never you mind!” She picked up her coffee cup. “Did I make it the way you like?” She moved towards the kitchen. Pierre stopped her as she passed him and turned her to face him, and then gave her a quick and tender kiss. She moaned pleasantly before pushing him away. “Don’t get me started unless you want to use that speaker phone. Besides, I’m hungry. Food now, that later.”

Pierre laughed and followed her into the kitchen. “Okay, I’ll keep that in mind. What do you want for breakfast?”

Georgia climbed onto a barstool, an action which Pierre heartily approved of. The beach cover-up was like a short robe with a zippered front and an elastic waist, and a small hood which was hanging down her back. It was very snug, molding itself to her body and very short, barely covering her rear, and if Georgia hadn’t been crossing her legs, Pierre’s physical reaction would have been embarrassing in the extreme. She gave him a slightly perplexed look. “Well, actually, it’s kind of late for breakfast, isn’t it?”

He glanced at the wall clock. “Ten-thirty, just in time for brunch. More coffee?”

“I’m on my second cup already,” she confessed. “That’s really good coffee! Much better than Starbucks.”

Pierre snorted in derision. “Starbucks! The Arabs have been brewing coffee since before Columbus ever set sail. Don’t be surprised if you get better coffee in the Middle East than in the rest of the world.”

“Really? I thought coffee was invented in Columbia?”

Pierre shook his head. “Ethiopia. Did you know that the first coffee houses in Europe date back to when the Turks invaded Vienna? When they got kicked back out, they left behind all this coffee, and some enterprising fellow stole it all and opened a coffee house.”

“That’s fascinating! So, what do we eat?”

Pierre opened his refrigerator. “How about a nice big bowl of a very nice fruit salad? Maybe with some mimosas?”

“Now that sounds decadent!”

Pierre began pulling ingredients from the refrigerator. “Doesn’t it, though? Still, it kind of goes along with my overall plan for the weekend.”

“Oh?”

He leered at her. “Yes. I intend to ravish you over and over and use you for every decadent pleasure I can imagine before sending you home, ruined for the touch of any other man!”

Georgia laughed at this. “Oh my God! That is so corny! Besides, what makes you think you can pull that off? I told Brenda I was planning on leaving you a weakened shell of a man, as dry as a corn husk left too long in the sun.”

“Now who’s being corny,” laughed Pierre. He spooned two bowls of fruit salad from a dish already prepared in the refrigerator, and then poured some champagne into a pair of flutes, topping them off with fresh orange juice. “So, who’s Brenda?” he asked.

“She’s my next-door neighbor. That’s who I was talking to just now. Those were her boys staring at the limo the other day.”

“Oh, yes, I remember them. Are they twins or just look alike?” he asked.

“Oh, no, they’re twins all right! She’ll be older than I am by the time she gets those two out of her hair! She has family staying with her for the week visiting Disney and I told her she could use my pool with them.”

“They live next to you?”

Georgia nodded. “There’s Brenda and Frank and their boys, then down at the end is Barbara and her kids - she just got divorced and they’re all teens, but I think she’s started to see somebody - and, oh, across from Brenda and Frank are Terri and Tom, they don’t have any kids, they’re real estate agents, and across from us is Paige - did you see her when we left?”

Pierre smiled at the torrent of information coming forth. “No, I don’t think so.”

“She’s the youngest of us. She and her husband Bob are thinking about having some kids of their own and they are spending the weekend in Daytona Beach practicing,” she said.

“Oh? Practicing? Is that what they call it now?”

Georgia waggled her eyebrows lewdly at him. “I think you know exactly what they call it. Sort of like what we’re practicing this weekend, only without the children portion of the program!”

Pierre sipped some more of his mimosa. “You’ve never had any children?”

Georgia shook her head. “You?”

“No. Never been married.”

“Well, one doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with the other, but, anyway, no. I was married, like I told you, but he was quite a bit older than me and had already had a couple of wives and two sets of children and had gotten himself snipped.” She made a scissors movement with her fingers. “Then, after he died, I was too old.”

“You’re not old...” sputtered Pierre, but Georgia laid a hand on his and smiled.

“For that, I am. I was. Paige and Brenda did it right, while they were still in their twenties. I don’t mind. I have two nephews and two nieces, and I get to spoil them rotten when I see them, and I can send them back to their owners when I don’t. What about you?”

“Well, pretty much the same thing. I guess I never met the right lady. When I was younger, I was so consumed building my business, and now that I have it in a good place, I don’t want some twenty-something with eyes on my wallet looking for a payoff.”

Georgia gave him a wry smile and handed over her flute for a refill. “What makes you think I’m not looking for a payoff?”

Pierre grinned. “Permission to speak freely?”

“Sure.”

“That Mercedes of yours.”

“Huh?” she replied, confused.

“Those little hotties looking for a sugar daddy are not driving around in Mercedes convertibles. That told me you were a woman of some degree of substance and independence. I was right, too, wasn’t I?”

Georgia laughed at the frank admission. “Yeah, you were!” She pushed away her empty bowl of fruit salad. “So, who makes the fruit salad? Or are you a gourmet cook as well?”

“Not really. Consuela, my mother’s housekeeper, comes over a couple of times a week to stock the fridge and clean up. I think my mother thinks that without her supervision I will quietly die of starvation and neglect. She also reports to my mother everything I do.”

Georgia laughed again. She stood up and picked up her flute. “Okay, so show me around. Last night we just went upstairs, and I haven’t seen your house at all!”

Pierre topped off his drink and climbed off his bar stool. “Sounds good.”

Pierre topped off their drinks and led Georgia through the house. It was a very modernistic building, with several levels, multiple stairs, lots of concrete and glass and stainless steel. Along the way, as they went from room to room, Pierre showed her examples of various Oriental carpets being used as wall hangings and tapestries. Several times a strange look came over Georgia’s face and she looked around wildly. Finally, she stopped and said, “I’ve seen this house before!”

Pierre grinned broadly. “Where?”

She looked at him curiously. “I don’t know, but for some reason I’ve seen this house!”

“But you’ve never been here, right?”

“No.” She eyed his broad grin warily. “You know something. What are you up to?”

“Moi?”

“Yes, you! You know why it looks familiar!”

Pierre laughed. “Perhaps you’ve seen a home like this on television or the movies?”

“No, no, nothing like that...” Georgia looked around wildly. “That’s it! I have seen it on TV, but where?”

“I hate to say it, dear, but you are dating yourself. This house was used on Miami Vice. It was a drug lord’s house in several episodes. There were several big gun battles around the swimming pool. Lots of blood in the water!” he answered with a laugh.

“That’s it! That’s it! How did you get it?” she asked.

“I bought it,” Pierre answered with a shrug.

“You bought a TV house?”

“No, I bought a house that had been on TV. You don’t think they actually built a house like this just so they could shoot it up for an episode of a television show, do you?”

Georgia looked at him blankly. “Well, I don’t know. I never thought about it. I always thought it was just sets and fake stuff.”

Pierre nodded in understanding. “Well, sometimes it is, if it’s a regular location for a show. They’ll build a special set on a sound stage. Still, a lot of movies and TV shows in exotic locations, they’ll find a real home and set up and shoot at the house.”

“Really?”

He nodded again. “You ever see the James Bond movie Diamonds Are Forever?” When Georgia nodded, Pierre continued. “Remember the house where Jimmy Dean was being held captive? Sort of a modern place like this, on a cliff? Just like this, a rented real home. The movie people come in for a week or two and you move out, lock, stock, and barrel, and they’ll pay for everything, including enough money to make it all worthwhile.”

“Wow! How much is enough to make it worthwhile?” she asked.

“I don’t know for sure, but I have heard that there is this college fraternity in Troy, New York, that actually owns a Victorian era mansion that is so perfectly maintained that every few years Hollywood producers come in and rent it out for period movies, and they pay so much money that these college kids live in the most expensive house in the city for almost nothing!”

“Holy shit!”

“Yeah!” Pierre led Georgia back to the kitchen, where he poured the last of the mimosas into their flutes, and then led her out to the back yard. There was a small swimming pool, a pool house, and a flawlessly maintained back yard with the grounds carefully sculptured and laid out so that the rear of the home had a beautiful view to one of the inland waterways, but the pool area was hidden from view.

“It’s beautiful!” said Georgia. “I feel like swimming. Can we?”

“Sure, but I don’t have a suit on.”

Georgia smiled and tugged the zipper down on her beach cover-up. “Neither do I.” She set down her champagne flute and peeled off the cover-up, to stand seductively in front of him. “I don’t mind if you don’t.”

Pierre feasted his eyes on her nakedness. It hadn’t been completely apparent the night before, but in the light of day it was obvious that Georgia’s deep-golden tan was total and all over, without a hint of tan lines or the unhealthy color of a spray-on tan. “No, I don’t mind, but I suspect I’m going to be swimming with a bit of a rudder problem.” He could already feel his erection beginning to tent out the front of his bathrobe.

“Well, maybe I can help with that,” she replied coyly. Georgia reached inside his robe and fondled Pierre to stiffness. “Why don’t we get in the pool first?” She continued tugging on his cock shaft and Pierre was compelled to strip off his robe and toss it aside. She backed up to the pool and let him go, and then slipped into the water.

Pierre grinned and jumped in after her. He followed her towards the shallow end, where she was standing seductively at the side of the pool, exposed from the waist up. He slowly breast stroked towards her, and then stood in front of her. “I suppose that was one way of fixing the problem.” The cool water of the pool had cancelled out his erection.

“Don’t be so sure of that,” she replied coyly. Her hands went down between them and promptly brought him back to life. “I think I still have to do something about this problem, don’t you?”

The sensations felt delightful to Pierre, and it was all he could do to simply nod and mumble his assent. Georgia had one hand tugging and stroking his cockshaft while the other reached below and was gently fondling his ballsac. He reached out and began tweaking her nipples in the hope it would distract her, but that didn’t seem to have the effect he had been hoping for. Instead, as her nipples perked up and she moaned, the sight and sounds began pushing him closer to ejaculation. “If you keep doing that, we’re going to have an accident in the pool,” he commented.

Georgia laughed. “I’d hate for that to happen! Sit up on the edge of the pool and I’ll prevent that.” She gave him a final quick tug, causing him to groan, and then stepped back.

Pierre moved back against the side of the pool and levered himself out, to sit on the edge with his feet dangling in the water. His legs were spread, and his cock was gloriously erect. “We still have a problem,” he commented.

“Not for long!” Georgia stepped back up to him, between his widespread legs, and resumed playing with his cock and balls, although now she began softly licking and suckling on his cockhead.

“Oh, sweet Jesus!” he exclaimed quietly.

Georgia giggled. She could already taste the pre-cum flowing freely from his cock and it had a pleasant, almost sweet flavor. This had been one of the questions that Brenda had asked her earlier, just before Pierre had come in, and she hadn’t had a chance to tell her friend that she didn’t know yet. She looked up at him with a twinkle in her eyes, and said, “No, I don’t think this is going to be a problem for very long, not at all.” Her tongue snaked out to lick underneath his glans, toying with his frenulum, eliciting another groan. “No, not long at all.”