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talk in Italian. The only language Enzo Mancini knew.

By the time we left the bistro, she'd invited me to her home on the other side of the lake. She called it a dacha. I called it a lake cottage. Although, it was far larger than a cottage; more of a mansion.

Friday night, I arrived in my Mercedes-Benz. I'd brought flowers. I was wearing an expensive suit and had a Rolex on my wrist. "Enzo, thank you, the flowers are beautiful. I've sent my staff home. Would you like some champagne?" She handed me a glass.

"Thank you. That would be nice. Are you celebrating something?"

"I hope so. It's been ages since I've entertained a man. I don't mean to be so bold, but when I say entertain, I mean it in a most lascivious way. Come with me," she laughed.

Olga was a tall, round woman with an unattractive face that even her heavy make-up couldn't improve. Big round ass; big round tits, big round mouth. It was that big round mouth that had drained the semen from my cock when Princess Sophie sent me to her. I'd noticed those tits and ass when I walked in. I noticed them because Olga was wearing a luxurious negligee that clung to them.

"Enzo, I've missed the love and affection of a man." She got on her knees and started unbuckling my belt. "I hope you don't mind?" She smiled up at me.

"If you're planning on doing what I think you're planning on doing, of course, I don't mind. What man in his right mind would?"

For a moment it flashed through my mind: with my pants down, would she recognize my cock? I mean that weekend together, she'd become very familiar with it. Very familiar..

Except for the difference between uncut and circumcised cocks, I thought they were all pretty much the same. But what did I know. Just like pussy; pussy was pussy, except for perhaps bush grooming, they were all pretty much the same, right?

The question was, did women think that about cocks? I mean that they were pretty much the same.

By this time, Olga had my pants to my ankles, and was starting to pull my boxers down. As you might imagine, me, a young man of twenty-one was already hard.

"Oooooh my, Enzo, it's, it's, it's . . ." Then she was holding it, slid my foreskin all the way back and was kissing my cockhead. "So big," she mumbled.

Moments later that big round mouth opened wide and my cock began to disappear; inch by inch. Olga looked up at me; her eyes were smiling.

I still had on my tie and jacket and my pants and boxers were around my ankles. Olga's mouth was latched on to my stiff cock.

I could see her head moving back and forth. Olga took the straps off that negligee. I followed suit and took off my tie, jacket and started unbuttoning my shirt.

Olga took my cock out of her mouth. "Enzo, it's been a long time since my mouth felt the joy of a cock; and rarely if ever one like this, but, and I hope you're not disappointed, it's been even longer for my pussy. Please?"

I was not disappointed, although I did remember those blowjobs she gave me that one weekend we'd spent together when I was Ivan Rudzinski. Yes, there was more than one and that's how memorable they were. Like I said, she'd drained my cock.

"Let me finish getting undressed."

Olga got off her knees. The negligee came off. I sighed, not only were her tits huge; for her age, they seemed firm, with not much sag. Were they surgically enhanced? I didn't care. My hands and mouth were looking forward to them.

She got in bed while I finished undressing. ‘Enzo, thank you. From sucking your big, beautiful cock, my pussy is so ready."

I didn't fuck Olga; at least not right away. As you will recall, Princess Sophie von Hauphtmann had trained my then virgin tongue to eat her pussy. She also made sure that I understood, "Ivan, a woman likes a man to make love to her; not just fuck her. I like it when you fuck me, but only after your tongue has done it's magic." By ‘done it's magic' the Princess meant, made her cum.

Even though Olga Semenova was one of the most unattractive women I'd ever been with, I didn't hesitate. Well, actually I did hesitate because I had my eyes on those tits. Those big, firm tits with huge nipples and areolas. My hands and mouth were all over them. Olga giggled, "Enzo, I'm glad you like them. I thought I was getting too old to attract a man to them. Keep making love to them. Tell me you love my titties."

I did, but at the same time, I was thinking of eating her pussy. I thought of Princess Sophie's words, "women my age will be so grateful, Ivan. Now, do me one more time."

Sophie was grateful with her magnificent mouth and a pussy that just couldn't get enough of my cock.

Olga couldn't believe that I wanted to eat her. "Really, Enzo, no one wants to eat my old pussy. No man has been interested in that in years." Of course, I knew she was lying. I mean I'd had a personal relationship with her back when I was with Princess Sophie. Specifically, My tongue had a personal relationship with her pussy.

As I maneuvered between her legs, I slid a finger up and down her slit. "Olga, I'd love to. I'll bet you taste delicious."

Then I started. Under Princess Sophie's tutelage I'd become, at least according to her and some of her friends, highly talented, or as Princess Sophie told me more than once, "Ivan, your tongue makes my pussy sing. Make it sing again."

Now, I wanted to make Olga Semenova's pussy, old it maybe, sing.

I did.

"OOOOOOOH, ENZO, OOOOOOOH ENZO, OOOOOOOOOH, OOOOOOOOOOH GOD. I'VE NEVER FELT LIKE THIS. KEEP EATING ME. YES, OOOOOH YES. EAT MY PUSSY. ENZO, OOOOOOOOH, OOOOOOOOOOOOH." Olga begged me to keep eating her pussy. Olga begged me to fuck her. Olga begged me to let her suck my cock.

I kept eating. My face was in her big bush and stayed there. She was as I suggested, delicious.

I'd eaten any number of women her age; some even older. One was tastier than the next. Like I said, I kept eating, and Olga kept: "OOOOOOOH, ENZO, OOOOOOOH ENZO, OOOOOOOOOH, OOOOOOOOOOH GOD. I'VE NEVER FELT LIKE THIS. KEEP EATING ME. YES, OOOOOH YES. EAT MY PUSSY. ENZO, OOOOOOOOH, OOOOOOOOOOOOH."

Strange, I thought, when Olga was in the throes of an orgasm, she switched languages. Sometimes in Russian, other times in my native Slavic language, but when she wanted Enzo Mancini to keep eating her, she spoke in Italian.

I spoke in Italian, "Olga, I've never tasted a sweeter pussy."

It was after her second or maybe it was her third orgasm that Olga demanded that I fuck her. I wanted more of her tits. I insisted that she get on top. "Are you sure, Enzo? I don't want to hurt you." To be truthful, she probably outweighed me.

"You won't, but if you do, I'll let you know."

Olga mounted me; my cock slid in easily. I mentioned that she was a big woman; her pussy hole was big, too. "Oooooh Enzo, it's been so long. Your cock feels so good."

My hands and then my mouth were all over those massive tits. "Bounce Olga. Ride my cock."

Once that big ass started moving, it couldn't stop if I or Olga wanted it to. It was an incredible fuck and I was having so much fun with her titties.

It wasn't Olga's first time; at her age, of course it wasn't. It wasn't her first time being on top either. She bounced and bounced. She knew how to make herself cum like that. "OOOOOOOH, ENZO, OOOOOOOH ENZO, OOOOOOOOOH, OOOOOOOOOOH GOD. I'VE NEVER FELT LIKE THIS. TELL ME YOU WANT TO EAT MY PUSSY AGAIN. ENZO, OOOOOOOOH, OOOOOOOOOOOOH."

I would have; eaten her again, that is, but the warmth of her pussy and the way Olga moved changed my mind.

I didn't have a choice. Olga dismounted my cock and then mounted my face; rubbing that huge bush all over my face. "Enzo, make love to my pussy. Your tongue is so good to my pussy. Is it really sweet? OH, YOUR TONGUE, YOUR TONGUE."

It must have been the combination of Olga's earlier sucking, the way she fucked me and the taste of her pussy. I came.

Ironically, she came at about the same time. She collapsed on top of me. "Enzo, you were magnificent. I know that even for a boy, it will take you awhile, but Olga's pussy is going to want it again."

I couldn't say anything; her bush was in my face. Her fragrance was every bit as delicious as her taste. In a while she got off me and went down on me; licking up my cum which was all over my stomach and thighs. "Thank you Enzo for giving an old lady a thrill."

"Olga, you were fantastic and you have the sweetest pussy. I'm glad you're going to want it again."

"I do, I do, Enzo, but at my age, it won't be until morning. You exhausted me, but in a good way. Let's get some sleep, but you can snuggle against these." She put those still gorgeous tits in my face. "I know how much you like them," she giggled like a school girl.

I fell asleep, but was up early. While Olga slept, I took a shower and then wandered around the mansion. I smiled as I went from room-to-room. I smiled because on the walls there were paintings. Not just any paintings: paintings by artists like Renoir, Monet, Picasso, Van Gogh. I guessed they were originals.

Frankly, my cock was hard thinking of the possibilities.

When Olga woke up, I didn't hesitate. I went down on her. "I want some more of this; more of your pussy this morning."

"Really, Enzo? You really like it?"

"I do," I mumbled. "Olga, you have the sweetest pussy."

There was fucking, and Olga Semenova, as her name implied was a glutton for my semen. I stayed all weekend. "Olga, I don't think I can cum one more time," I laughed.

"Maybe in the morning you'll be ready for more." She kissed my cockhead.

"I'm sure that if I got a taste of your sweet pussy in the morning, it would excite me."

"Oooooh Enzo, you're so good to me."

Within a month, I'd become not just a regular visitor to the mansion, I was a full-time resident. During the day, I went to the local library and researched those artists. Closely examining the paintings, I was convinced they were the real thing.

During that month and the subsequent months, I got a taste of Olga's pussy almost every day. Sometimes for hours.

It wasn't a one-way street. Miss Semenova never lost her taste for semen. Like I said, even with make-up, she wasn't all that attractive and she knew it. "Enzo, whatever beauty I had when I was younger, disappeared with age, but perhaps this will make me look better." Her eyes were smiling as she made my cock disappear between her bright red lips. Damn, with my cock in her mouth, she looked gorgeous.

It wasn't that we didn't fuck. She loved bouncing on my cock; I loved those sixty-year-old tits in my face.

Giving Olga what she wanted gave me free access to the mansion and her riches including those paintings.

To be clear, she wanted my cock; wanted it in her pussy and in her mouth. She wanted my tongue in her pussy.

I'd been to Paris a number of times. Along the Seine there were artists who were geniuses. I'd seen forged paintings by those famous impressionists that looked like the real ones in Olga's home. Like the real ones in the Louvre and the Musee d'Orsay.

I asked Olga if she'd like to spend a few days in Paris. "Enzo, how romantic. For an old lady like me to have a young man like you make love to me in Paris. I couldn't ask for more."

"Oh, I'm going to make love to you."

"Enzo, with your tongue. Promise me your tongue."

I did. Promise, that is, and it would be bad not to fulfill a promise. "Olga, it must be the air here in Paris, your pussy seems even sweeter."

I took pictures of five of Olga's paintings and brought them with me to Paris.

While Olga shopped, along the Seine I found exactly who I was looking for. His name was Pierre Choiniere. In his studio he had copies of the exact paintings I was looking for. To the untrained eye, no one would know. In our hotel room, Enzo, what's gotten into you? Your tongue seems like a magnet for my pussy."

"Are you complaining?"

"No, no," She pushed my head back into her big bush. There was no resistance. I ate and ate.

I'm sure that Olga thought it was romantic. She was sitting on the edge of our hotel room's bed, legs spread, while my tongue made love to her pussy. When she wasn't looking down at me or having an orgasm, she was looking out the window at the Eiffel Tower.

Back in her Zurich home, it wasn't difficult to substitute the copies for the real thing.

Pierre helped me find a buyer; a South American billionaire, and the money was safely in one of my Swiss accounts, I flew on a private plane to New York. I didn't even say good-bye to Olga. The name on my passport was Eamon O'Reilly.

I had millions stashed away in those Swiss banks. Just think of the value of a Renoir or Van Gogh. And I'd sold five of them. Sure, I had to give the buyer a huge discount, but still.

I planned on living a quiet, unassuming life in New York. If there were still phone books, I'd bet there were forty or fifty Eamon O'Reillys in New York.

TO BE CONTINUED

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