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than all of those other women. What I'm trying to say is that Mum Decker was like our flight to Paris: non-stop. She was a non-stop fucking machine.

That wasn't her only talent. The following morning, I got the best blowjob ever. Far better than even Olga Semenova or Lillian Windsor. The difference was that she was just a few years older than me. Like fucking, Mum was a non-stop cocksucker, too.

I needed to recuperate. Mum understood. "Why don't I go to the Louvre? I love just wandering about. You can get some rest. You better. I'm going to want more of your marvelous cock when I get back," she laughed.

Soon after she left, I called Pierre Choiniere and we arranged to meet. The off-the-beaten path bistro was quiet at this time of day. Pierre was with another man who he introduced as Jacques; just Jacques. I showed them what I had pilfered from Lillian Windsor.

I had a dollar amount in mind, and Jacques made me an offer just a few thousand dollars below that number. I didn't haggle.

Mum and I were scheduled to return to New York in less than 48 hours. I took his offer. Jacques pulled out a tablet and transferred the money to one of my Swiss bank accounts. After a few minutes of small talk and finishing our coffee, I checked my phone. The half million-dollar transfer had gone through.

I could have fucked Mum in New York, but I had to move Lillian Windsor's jewelry. Now, I could focus on fucking Mum Decker's pussy; her tasty, juicy pussy.

It didn't quite work out that way, but I have no complaints. Don't get me wrong, she was a great fuck, but later that day after I'd prepared her pussy for my invasion with my tongue, I got on top of her. My cock slipped right in.

"Hmmmmmm, Eamon, you have the best tongue and now, oh yeah." She slowly got that perfect ass moving.

The fucking was grand, until . . . "Eamon, as much as my pussy adores your cock, nothing makes me wetter than hearing you whisper in my ear in your delightful accent how much your tongue adores my pussy. Tell me you want to eat me."

I exaggerated my already put-on Irish accent, "Mum, you have the sweetest, most delicious pussy. My tongue craves it. Please."

I'd found that most women went wild and couldn't resist when you asked to eat their pussy and said ‘please.'

Mum was most women. "Yes, Eamon, yes, oh yes. Show me how much you love my pussy, and tell me more."

It was the greatest day in bed I'd ever spent. It would be an understatement to say that Mum's pussy and mouth were insatiable. As soon as I spurted, Mum was all over it; cajoling and encouraging me to get hard again.

Then it got better and it was nothing I planned. I'd made reservations for dinner at the finest restaurant in Paris which means that it might just be the finest restaurant in the world.

Mum's cocktail dress was stunning. Low cut, showing off those perfect tits; showing off that perfect ass. An ass that moved when she was on her back like no other.

Now, you'd think that would make a man like me get a little excited, even after what had transpired during the day.

You'd be right, but it wasn't the gorgeous Mum that did it. The broach above her left breast was brighter than the brightest sun; only the matching diamond necklace around her neck shined brighter; except for the bracelet on her wrist.

I just had to; had to figure out a way to make those baubles disappear without Mum knowing they were gone.

The morning of our flight, even though we were on the private plane I'd chartered, we had to rush to the airport. We rushed because we'd spent most of the night fucking, eating, sucking. In fact, when the alarm went off we were in the midst of a long 69ing session. Who quits 69?

As we rushed to pack, I slipped the broach, necklace and bracelet into my bag. Mum, who was in just as much of a hurry, didn't even put her bra on until we were at altitude and she slipped into a bathroom. When she came back, "Eamon, I didn't even time to brush my teeth. I think the stewardess noticed. I'm so embarrassed."

"Maybe when we get back to New York, my tongue can make the pain of that embarrassment go away."

"Oh Eamon, just thinking about it makes me feel better."

Back in New York, I called Pierre Choiniere. His friend, Jacques had a friend who had a friend who might be interested. He was and within a week, Mum's jewelry was sold and one of my Swiss accounts was that much healthier.

As much fun as Mum was, it was time to disappear again.

This time, I promised myself that I'd live a quiet life. Pussy, yes; taking advantage of those women financially, no. It was too dangerous.

TO BE CONTINUED

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