Ectasy on Fire

In lieu of the late dinner Madam Andre had planned to serve when Mrs. Staunton and her houseguest Steve returned from the opera in Monte Carlo, the two decided cold chicken sandwiches and beer would be okay; so this was the menu. Both enjoyed themselves. Steve sat at one end of the mahogany table while Melissa sat in her regular place.

After sending the staff off to do as they pleased, the older woman was content to be alone with the boy. She felt quite safe with him, comfortable in her own house, full of expectancy and the anticipation of what the night might yet bring.

As for Steve, he was all charged up. The air of excitement since they'd come back from the opera was spine tingling. While showering – just before climbing into his pajamas and his new ankle-length robe with the deep pockets and the fur trim around the wide collar and hem – his prick had throbbed constantly.

Tossing his stained shorts into the hamper for Nellie to launder, he had taken one last look at them, and the memory of shooting his semen into them while Melissa's delightful fingers caressed his cock under his clothing returned to further stimulate and excite him.

He doubted that he'd ever forget the intense thrill of her nearness to him, kissing him as she had. Neither would he ever forget the wild excitement of seeing her with her skirt up, the delicious sight of her pussy mound under tight panties, and how the crotch of her panties had clung to her plump lips.

Nor would he forget the view of her long, beautiful legs encased in the filmy, silky stockings, or her pretty toes wiggling so provocatively under the sheer material. Until Melissa, Steve hadn't paid much attention to women's toes, but now he found them sensually arousing. He didn't understand this, but several times at dinner, he found himself licking his lips over the thought of Melissa's feet.

As far as Steve was concerned, Melissa was the most rapturous woman he'd even know. As he let his thoughts drift pleasantly, he was pleased that she was as old as she was. The idea intrigued him. It was spicy, and added a kind of frivolity to the new experiences he was anticipating.

"A penny for your thoughts, Steve," said Melissa from her end of the table.

"About that crummy opera," he lied.

"I agree. They're not all the same. This was one of the worst. But then, here in this part of the world, one doesn't just attend the opera for the music." She fell silent. She looked at him, at his clean face, his sparkling eyes, his hair still tousled from his shower, his new pajamas sticking out from under the new robe.

Melissa found herself wondering if he was wearing anything under them. This thought excited her, increasing her desire for the young boy. She began to feel a quickening in her cunt, a fluttering in her clitoris at the thought of the boy's young penis, hard and proud, long, thick, and white inside his pajamas.

Her mouth was watering as she imagined his cock. She was famished for sex, almost drooling for it, her clitoris stinging, as were her erect nipples under the robe she wore. While she'd bathed and prepared for their little impromptu supper together, she had fingered her cunt, pinched her clitoris and finally massaged her index finger up into her tight moist asshole.

As she'd done this, her thoughts had concentrated on the fun she anticipated having with Steve. She'd reviewed all that had gone on between them so far, from the moment she'd first set eyes on him.

She was continually impressed with the young boy's manners and ways, how he did this and how he did that, how he walked, stood, sat, bent his head, how he smiled or did not smile in response to something said to him or something he said himself.

"We won't have to go to the opera all that often," she said after a long lapse into silence. "It's just that it's fashionable at times, and living here, I mean, around these parts, it's sort of necessary to maintain one's image. You do understand me, don't you, Steve?"

Melissa picked a fresh, ice-cold bottle of beer from the beer chest, which rested on a little table placed to her side. She opened it.

"Yes," he replied. As he watched Melissa, he was growing more conscious of his reaction to her luscious body, to the often mischievous look in her bright eyes. She spoke in a refined accent, a mixture of British and American. Hers was the conversational tone one associates with sophistication rather than snobbery.

Sometimes her eyes seemed to be burning. Other times her lids would flutter coolly and coquettishly like a young girl's. Sometimes – like now – her shadowed face was stunningly beautiful.

When dinner was finished, she said, "We'll leave the dishes for Nellie." She paused for a moment, wondering if she dared ask him. Then she decided to take the plunge.

"What do you say to having a little chat, perhaps a nightcap up in my sitting room? You've not seen it yet, Steve. It's very cozy. It overlooks the sea, a most pleasant view."

"Okay, but I am getting sleepy."