A Musical Sexperience
By UK Snowy

Part 1

Grace was at an all time low and her period wasn't helping. Inspiration had dried up and she felt dry and useless. The chain of hits she had enjoyed over twenty years seemed distant and even coming to her favourite retreat, one of four she owned worldwide, on the coast near Bezier in the south of France had not created any of the special thrills that spawned in her mind that were transferred into wonderful soaring great rock and pop hits that generated her fortune and adulation world wide.

As she sat on the bidet Grace could hear superb birdsong filtering through the heavy overgrowth of bougainvillea and other scented shrubs that grew in profusion round the luxurious and sprawling villa. She concentrated on her morning toilet and reached between her slender legs and seek the gnarled dry tampon string that was curled within her labia.

She sighed as her arm created fat folds on her stomach and self consciously straightened her posture as she grabbed the string. Easing the bloated tampon out of her cunt, Grace budged her butt on the bidet edge and peered into the bowl at the dangling lump of cotton and saw thankfully she was light in discharge, knowing she was nearly at the end of her menstruation. She transferred the tampon into its bag and carefully deposited it into the bin alongside, then Grace sluiced her crotch thoroughly and dabbed and powdered herself dry. She inserted another tampon.

Standing before the full length mirror, she saw the reflection of a tall, shaven headed, olive skinned woman in her forties, with large breasts which sagged dramatically low. She smoothed her hands over her belly finding spare flesh and she pinched it with a grimace before sliding her long fingered artistic hands up to her tits. She cupped them with some tenderness, after all they had been her initial ticket to stardom, gaining attention by never wearing a bra.

She had performed on Top of The Pops, The Old Grey Whistle Test and Later with Jools on the British TV as well as starring in her own shows, Royal Variety Shows, tribute shows, celebrity shows and on and on. Countless interviews on countless international shows like Carson, Garry Shandling and Letterman had kept her image to the fore and MTV and dozens of other names snapped her up whenever she had a date free. She had shared the stage with Bowie, duetted with Diana Ross, George Michael, Tom Jones, Jagger, rapped with Puff Daddy and sung with hundreds of others. Amphitheatres, stadiums, gardens, halls, clubs, she had filled with her glamorous and talent filled image backed by an irrepressible band.

She had won Emmies, Grammies and the like in just about every country and her studio was decked out wall to wall with gold and platinum discs. But it had started with Jed, her boyfriend turned manager who fashioned a great talent into a great diva using her undoubted skills on a guitar and keyboard, coupled with a most spectacular pair of unfettered boobs.

Jed had been killed in an air crash three years ago in Germany, travelling back from a meeting. Now the acknowledged assets were less spectacular although still huge, hung on a frame which was generally spare, apart from the flesh gathering round her waist and hips.

Grace hefted each tit in turn, checking as she did every day for the thing that had killed her mother and breathed a sigh as she found nothing to alert her. She grimaced as she always did at the massive saucer like size of her nipples or rather her areolae. There was no bud in the middle, just the slightest gathering of membrane surrounded by a three inch diameter circle of dark brown flesh with the odd permanent soft pimple. Her eyes swept downwards and she pulled a face at her pubes.

She had endured a bikini line wax two weeks ago, much against her wishes preferring to let the light fluff of hair grow free. It wasn't a rampant growth spreading across her belly and thighs, just a neat bush, but the producer of her new video had ruling on what she wore and the costume design demanded that she had a trim. Now there was stubble and she grabbed talcum powder and smothered her crotch with it.

She decided that she would be pantyless again today, to try and allay the itchy irritation of hair growing back. The new video and a single produced six months ago was supposed to be the launch of a new phase of her career when it came out in a few weeks, but she was pessimistic and down beat about it.

Hearing a bark downstairs then another, Grace flung on one of her ethnic print silk shifts, decided that she didn't need one of her many wigs as disguise, put on her Oakley shades and wandered through the airy space of the villa to find Boris and Benita the two Rottweiler guard dogs happily rumbling about in the patio area. They did not seem disturbed and often barked at passing scooters and cars. She took a drink of fresh orange juice and gathered a purse and left the villa, with the hounds on a lead for the short stroll into the village. Both stopped and dumped taking quite a while to deposit their loads on the edge of the pavement. Grace allowed them, it wasn't an offence in France.

At the boulangerie, with the dogs snuffling around on the floor for tasty crumbs, she bought two sticks of bread and an evil looking tarte and chatted amiably to to the owner a lechorous grizzled man who talked to her swaying tits rather than her fine boned face, but this was something Grace encountered virtually all day every day. Monsieur Platini watched as she exited the bakery, ogling her undulating hip accentuated saunter until Madamme Platini fussed through with another tray of bread.

Grace's fame was known in the village but no one bothered about it and few tourists ventured in as it wasn't a particularly attractive village. Although with her trademark shaven head and big earrings, no one approached her. She wore no glamorous makeup, no outrageously high stilettos and no tight revealing clothes. The high domed forehead, her head shorn of her tawny curls and full sensual lips were the giveaway normally, but today and all the time in the village she remained thankfully anonymous.

Grace found the walk really helped her attitude knowing her menstruation was finishing and she loved the way the balmy morning air wafted through her shift and caressed her unsheathed cunt. She passed a farm by taking a different route back to her villa and watched a massive white Charollaise bull mount one of his small harem of cows. It excited her mildly and Grace realised she hadn't had sex for over two months, since the French rock star, Gilles Deschampe and her had got mildly drunk in Orange after their concert at the Amphitheatre. She chuckled as she left the bull to his sex, recalling Gilles desire to be tied up and teased with her tits for hours. The actual fuck had resulted in good fast and furious action and he was extremely well hung if incredibly hairy, which Grace hated but tolerated.

Jed and Gilles had been great pals and they had enjoyed several threesomes when they met up and had privacy. Several paparazzi based papers had published candid shots of her naked or half undressed, attached to wild stories, many of which were true, but she didn't care and generally the heat was taken out by her passive non confrontational attitude to them.

The day passed uneventfully and she tried some writing and tinkered on her keyboard. She pottered in the rambling gardens but knew little about the plants. She sunbathed and caught up her reading, including a novel called Memoirs of a Geisha. Several international phone calls interrupted the easy pace she set herself, but nothing buzzed life into her inspirational mode. Maurice and his wife Elise who looked after the place while Grace was away, called in at 8pm to see if there was anything she wanted. Maurice explained that he thought Benita was coming into season so he would take her down to his farm away from Boris. He had a lock up compound where she would be safe from his own two dogs and any strays.

Boris was allowed into the villa as he would be peaceful without Benita to aggravate him. He wandered about quietly, sniffing the air round Grace's legs, licking her ring toed feet as she reclined naked on the sofa. She knew he would be disturbed to a point about his soul mate going away and probably fancied his chances at covering Benita, but Grace didn't want any more pups as she idly pondered on Boris's fat fertile balls flopping between his legs. She scratched the itch of her pussy and realised it was a yearning itch, rather than an irritation. Idly lifting her legs she let Boris try to find his own way to the scent. Her creamed and smooth long limbs were offered to him. Boris whined and snuffled around her knees as she teased him, by opening her thighs and closing them again, knowing how we would pick up her scent, tainted with monthly secretions.

It had been some time since she had used a canine lover to ease the ache of hungry fanny. In fact it had been in Tokyo and the little lap dogs of her publicist out there had proved very successful at soothing and then inflaming her citoris, making her seek out a man - and quickly.

The black blind soul musician she was starring alongside and sharing the top floor of hotel suites with, had proved a wonderful lover. His introduction of Hershey bars, especially into her arse had revived memories of when news of Marianne and Mick in the UK and the Mars bar scandal seeped out to the press.

Little Stevie had worked on the premise of smell and taste in his handicapped way and his thick tongue had lapped and pierced her ring before his very considerable cock had filled it.

Now in the privacy of her own space, Grace contemplated an evening of canine sex with the tried and tested and completely discreet Boris. She pulled him to her side as he licked her legs and felt under his belly. The thick dangling pouch of his sheath was damp and within seconds she had teased the tip of his penis out.

It was then she heard guitar sounds drifting through the open patio doors. Intrigued, Grace pushed Boris away, but he followed her as she stepped out to the balcony to listen. The dog sniffed around then lay and dozed. The chords were sometimes strummed loudly, then the most delicate sequences fluttered by. It was amazing stuff and she wanted to know who it was. As far as she knew, there were no other well known musicians in the vicinity.

She leaned on the balcony wall, nude and relaxed, letting the warm air from the lower sweet scented terraces sift round her limbs, wrap round her trim ankles and wind its way up her toned legs, send shivers across her cunt lips and then flirt with her belly before undulating over her lush bosoms and drift upwards into the starlit sky.

The guitar sound was from the east, she determined that. Boris whined and snuggled close to her, brushing his coat against her legs until he curled up and snoozed It was mostly sensual stuff, the sort one would expect to hear on a late night specialist programme for lovers, but it had an edge, a rawness that surely came from a youthful mind, someone perhaps yearning for love.

Grace knew everyone of the eastern neighbours, there being only two in close proximity and the music, yes music, not random sounds or dissonant chords was generated from nearby. It was acoustic too and suddenly on a whim, Grace ran inside and grabbed a guitar.

Back at the balcony, she was disappointed to find the music had stopped, but she clasped the Spanish guitar to her breasts, cocked a leg on the balcony wall to support the instrument and strummed, then started to finger gentle sounds that curled off into the night. There was no response, but she played on finding something inside which had a core, a meaning, a tremor of inspiration. She had to stop suddenly as Boris had woken. That wasn't a problem, he padded about regardless, but this time he took her by surprise, by approaching from behind and sticking his enquiring friendly snout into her crotch. Grace nearly shrieked out with the cold wet surprise, but she merely shooed the dog away and continued her music.

Dramatically, almost on cue to one of her chords, fashioned from deep inside her, the other music started but this time it was a piano. She had to lean dangerously close to the edge of the wall to crane her neck and seek the source but couldn't. There were no obvious lights, but she knew one particular residence was to the side of hers and she wouldn't see it. Grace played on, tinkering with ideas, developing them, releasing whole bars of notes which she found were fitting very comfortably together.

The accompaniment from her neighbour added to the overall scene she was trying to create and she was excited. But as abruptly as it had started, the piano finished. Grace played on, maybe her partner was resting, gone to the toilet, taking a drink, maybe trying to see who she was, but there were no further notes and Grace finally put her guitar away and went to bed.

Very early the next morning, she was delighted to find her period had indeed ceased and she made a quick phone call, then showered before her customary trip to the boulangerie. Monsieur Platini's eyes nearly flew out of his head when she flounced in wearing a see through white shirt and tight jeans over flat yellow sandals with back buckled straps. She bent low over the counter to look at the treats he would have baked during the night, giving him fantastic views of her immense cleavage. She bent away from him so that her jeans would seem to nearly split as she put her purchases into a bag.

Back at the villa, a good breakfast of croissant, jam and coffee was enjoyed until Marianne Clemente, the village hairdresser arrived to shave her head and they chatted amiably in French. She could trust Marianne with this simple task each week and paid her handsomely. She checked some papers that Irving, her manager had faxed and checked her emails and answered what was necessary, but she was impatient and fluffed several spellings and did them again being a fanatic on accuracy.

Full makeup and body oiling was next, it took almost an hour, changing her plain white and slightly tatty panties for a black silk thong. She creamed her head and chose a different, less sheer shirt, although revealing plenty of the famous cleavage and then some different earings. The sandals fitted the jeans ensemble and finally Grace could leave the villa in Boris's care and at 9.30am she set off on her short journey to seek out the night musician. She had eliminated the one villa she could see from the balcony. It was boarded up and there were no signs of life, no break ins or workmen as she passed.

Up the lane she could see a car outside the villa she suspected. She heard music but recognised it as radio as she approached.

The front ornamental iron gate was unlocked which was unusual for the elderly Madame and Monsieur Lebouef. But Pierre and Chloe were away, reasoned Grace and she was sure there was no one in two days before.

She peeked into the courtyard, loving the scents of the many thick shrubs. No one around, but she ventured in daringly. She would be welcomed if by chance the Lebouefs were in, but their car was not the vehicle parked below. Stealthily, her heart bumping noisily under the cushion of her heaving tits, Grace mounted the stone stair to the balcony.

Why was she doing this crazy thing? Coming to a window, knowing it was the kitchen and peering in, she heard the pop music blaring from a radio perched on the sill. No one habited the rustic charm of the room, but there were the remains of meals and a lot of unwashed cooking pots and utensils scattered about. The international rock diva crept onwards to the next window which she knew was the huge corner lounge.

She heard squeals and laughs, but they weren't kids noises. Even before reaching the glass, she could see an acoustic guitar and another - a Martin, then a superb Fender Strata propped up just inside the floor to ceiling window. This must be the place she heard those wondrous sounds.

Grace took a deep breath and tensed her lithe body and suddenly realised she was very wet in her crotch. She suddenly stopped, aware of the risk she was taking. There would be no youngsters normally at the residence. She had known the occupants for over eight years, they were extremely quiet and had a reputation for keeping themselves to themselves.

Grace also knew they had no children and to her knowledge there'd never been child visitors.

Giggles filtered to her from the part open doors as she considered her position. There was no one in the garden as far as she could see and she hadn't seen a soul as she walked the short distance between her place and the Lebouef's pad.

She could claim a neighbourhood watch responsibility if challenged and spoke fluent French and Italian to fortify any argument. Trembling but hyped up, she stepped forward, grasping the rough rendered wall to lean round and peep through the window. She gasped at the scene and froze thinking she would be heard, but the room occupants just continued fucking on an enormous sofa.

A muscular male was on top of a small girl, whose legs could not girdle the man's waist. His smooth toned arse was pumping vigorously at the girl who was moaning and scratching his back. Grace noticed black painted finger and toenails on delicate fingers and tiny feet. She also spotted wispy armpit hair and labelled the girl as French at least. A tattoo was evident on the girl's left ankle and then she moved her head from the far side of the man and long blonde tresses splayed across the cushions.

On the pretty face, wide staring eyes and a grimacing mouth contrasted weirdly with the cooing ecstatic sounds she was making, as the man shunted relentlessly over her. Muscles rippled over his back and when he raised his head, Grace could see wild floppy black hair. He shifted position, pulling the girl with him, letting one of his knees slide to the plush carpetted floor, giving Grace the wide open view up his rear. Curly black hair coated his arse crack, but his balls reminded Grace of the bull in the neighbouring farm. The were being slammed towards the girl's hidden fanny, but dangled so low and heavily they were being pummelled against the side of the sofa.

She loved the rear view sight of a man fucking, where his balls seemed to shuttle up and down the shaft of his dick, from where it grew from just ahead of his anus. The girl's cries of delight echoed the man's grunts of satisfaction as he continued to screw her.

Grace realised that she was soaking her pants, already damp with the excitement and daring of her venture and now by the erotic scene and the man's screwing prowess. The sex athletes decided to try another position and the girl sat up, flinging her arms round his shoulders. Her partner's arms wrapped her waist, his other knee dropped to the floor and with a great effort and a roar, he stood lifting the girl bodily, still impaled on his dick. The girl cried out in alarm, staring at Grace over the man's shoulder.

Grace stupidly stared back and then horror-struck she backed off and ran along the balcony. A sandal came loose and she momentarily paused to correct the uncomfortable buckle that had slid under her heel.

Shouts in French and English called after her and she whirled to see the two sexy fuckers approaching her. Momentarily mesmerised by the blatant unperturbed full frontals, Grace seemed rooted to the spot, then she fled again. In her mind were the man's thick penis dangling wetly in front of solid legs and the girl's tiny fragile body with barely any breasts and minimal pubes.

Heavy footsteps pursued her and halfway down the steps a hand grabbed her arm and flung her against the wall. She grunted almost winded with the force and turned to see the man's moustachioed face glaring up at her. He was considerably smaller in height but was powerfully built. The girl skipped lightly down and joined them.

"What do you think you're playing at?" asked the girl in French. "Getting your kicks eh?"

"No no, please I can explain," answered Grace in the language, still trapped by the man's hand. She glanced back at him. He was studying her closely.

"You one of that posh bunch of thieves down from Montpelier, doing the empty villas I'll bet," snarled the girl who looked nothing more than a kid. She spoke a rustic patois and had recognised Grace's cultured Parisian tones.

"No please, I really can explain. I live nearby, it was the... last night... the music....." stammered Grace.

"It can't be...no," muttered the man.

"Yeah so what if we partied. Wake the old girl up did we?" sneered the girl.

"It was so beautif--" started Grace.

"Hang on, it is, it fucking is. Jesus Christ!" exploded the man, in a broad South London accent. "You're fucking Grace Everson aren't you?"

Grace nodded and bit her lip. Oh shit! This is real scandal she thought. He dropped her arm and backed off, naked, hot, breathing garlic, his cock now dangling small under a washboard muscled belly against the heavyweight sac of his gonads.

"Fuck me," the man declared, tapping his female companion on her shoulder. " tine, tine, Ernestine...Don't you recognise her? Grace, The Divine Grace, Graceful Rock, Grace of the Ages, Gratefully Grace...Shit! I've got all your albums. Wow! I'm so sorry if I hurt you but..."

"Sorry? You stupid cunt," growled Ernestine, her tiny tits bristling with very erect sharp nipples. "She was peeping on us fucking for Christ's sake John. Do you know how much trouble we could be in?"

"No no I wasn't peeping for that. I came to find out who was.....How old is she?"

Grace suddenly turned to John. His face clouded and he bit his lip and he scratched his balls, then he cupped his hands over them self consciously in front of the famous star. His eyes flickered back and forth from Ernestine to Grace.

Grace took time out to study the girl. Maybe five feet tall if that, wiry little light body, long graceful neck half covered by thick blonde sun streaked locks, legs up to her armpits, two small cones high on her chest topped by pink erect buds the size of a10 centime piece, flat belly and just the tiniest fluttering of pale pubes on her mound.

The girl glared fixedly at John who was clearly churning inside, her eyes daring him to reveal what Grace was sure to be quite a small number. The silence was broken only by their communal heavy breathing, warbling birds and the distant whine of a small engined motor bike.

"Don't you fucking tell her John," said Ernestine, now in English.

"Look look, it doesn't matter. Can I explain and maybe..er you might want to put some clothes on?" Grace butted in, her eyes sweeping down over their naked torsos.

John gulped and peered down to his nudity. He grabbed his lover and dragged her up the stairs, telling Grace to follow. They scuttled into the villa and she followed them into the lounge, initially amused by the wobble of their contrasting bums, but then her eyes homed in on the instruments.

She had seen the Fender earlier and the Martin which matched the one she tinkered with last night. Now she saw the Gibson and realised she was in the presence of either extremely knowledgable musicians or plebs with too much money.

John disappeared but Ernestine blatantly picked up a pair of scanty white panties from the piano stool and stepped neatly into them. Grace stood arms folded watching, noticing the tattoo. It was just an elaborate ankle pattern. The girl threw a black, all covering tee shirt over her head, flounced to the sofa and threw herself onto it, her hand reaching out and swiping at something, maybe a cum stain or some pubic hairs Grace guessed with amusement.

"I've never heard of you," said Ernestine bluntly. "Dress like a tart all the time?"

Grace gasped at the rude insults. "When you're old enough maybe you will learn some manners. Shouldn't you be in school?" she countered in French.

"It's summer isn't it?" snarled the girl, who then bit her lip as if realising she had reacted too swiftly.

"I thought so," murmured Grace, sitting opposite on a large wooden carved chair.

John entered, wearing very tight jeans and a white tee shirt. His feet were bare were also very large and he stared quickly at the sofa, as if too checking the marks.

He apologised again and again to Grace who was quite amused by the switch of power. The girl glowered and picked at her toe nails. Grace took a last glance at John's genital bulge, wondering on the old adage about men's feet and cocks and decided to take the initiative. She needed to get some things straight.

"Look, just who are you?" asked Grace. "I know the Lebouefs and I've never seen you here before."

John explained that he was an old friend of Pierre's from when Monsiuer Lebouef lectured French art and literature in London and ate at the restaurant where John trained at in Camden Town.

While the old couple were in Cannes for a few days, John had borrowed their villa to write up his new cooking book, using recipes and ideas from his experience as head chef at a restaurant in Montpelier. Pierre was going to illustrate the book in his light watercolour style. He befriended Ernestine who was on the run from a violent boyfriend who worked as commis chef for John.

The girl having turned up at John's apartment door with three pieces of luggage, the guitars, had pleaded to get away from the cultured city and the dangers she saw there.

"So the music...it was her?" asked Grace quietly studying the sulking face of the girl.

"Yeah! Isn't she good?" enthused John sitting down with Ernestine and stroking her leg. The girl smiled briefly.

"She's as you would say John, fucking brilliant. I want to hear more," chuckled Grace. "Tell me, is she as young as she looks?"

John lifted an eyelid and quizzed Ernestine silently. She sulked and shrugged her shoulders. He took a deep breath and spoke.

"Well it's my problem really Grace. You see she's fourteen. I mean she's so grown up, but she's been on the run for two years from her father and of course the Gendarmerie. I've only known, well had her with me for two weeks but you can imagine the consequences...?"

"Yeah! Especially if you get her pregnant," said Grace, leaning forward deliberately.

Her shirt front parted to the limit of the buttons and John's eyes blinked at the dark crease between her mammoth tits. Grace had noticed that he had generally talked to her face, which she liked, although knowing that sometime he would be bound to peek at her bust.

"Hmm! yes. She told me not to wear a johnny," he confessed. "Didn't you 'tine?" He tenderly stroked the girl's leg up her thigh to the edge of her tee shirt and shifted his position and Grace saw a growing bulge in his crotch.

Ernestine nodded and grinned cheekily, placing her hand on his.

"Oui Johnny. I told you no Johnny," she giggled, lighting up her sullen face. "But I am the pill I told you, they are in my bag if you want. Anyway you are famous?" she squeaked shyly to Grace.

The diva didn't answer, but rose majestically from her chair, drawing herself up to her full height and they stared as she thrust out her chest and parted her legs as if stretching. It was actually to try and release the stickiness of her thong which had gathered tightly through her cunt lips. Grace took the two paces to the sofa and sat next to Ernestine. She saw John lick his lips.

"I'm going to make you both a proposition," she breathed.


Part Two

The music scorched through the villa. Heady, searching, romantic, lilting, rocking, lifting spirits and seemingly brightening the already sparkling mid morning light.

Grace and Ernestine fed each other, improvising, jamming, crying out chord changes, stamping heavily to change beat, switching from the guitars and the piano in a frenzy.

John lounged on the sofa, a hand on his denim clad crotch, not blatantly playing with his dick, but Grace glimpsed him often making surreptitious squeezes. His head waggled to the beat, his huge feet jabbed the air and his spare hand slammed on the sofa. He peered alternately at the two females, seeing the young one's bare legs bending and flexing, the older one's boobs bouncing.

Ernestine's wild hair like a halo round her as she shook her head, contrasting with the smooth patina of a now sweaty Grace. The diva glanced at Ernestine, whose eyes were closed and her mouth hung open, trancelike as they played a latin riff. Grace nodded and shuddered her body forward with the beat, her face gleaming with sweat, her ear rings jangling wildly as she picked the lead. Her nipples were aggravated by the body of the Martin which was her favourite acoustic, as she felt a climatic surge to the riff.

"No no more," cried Ernestine, tossing the Gibson onto a chair.

Grace couldn't believe the way the girl treated her instruments, but was distracted from her concern by the girl flinging herself bodily onto John, tearing at his jeans, pulling down his zip and prising out his very large dick.

It sprung out, surprising and thrilling Grace with its strength and urgency so soon after his albeit interrupted fuck with Ernestine. Then she considered the youthful prime of his twenty nine years comparing it gladly to some of the much younger but drug shot, slack cocked characters she had dallied with in her colourful past.

The girl leapt at it latching her mouth onto his knob and sucking hungrily until Grace, who was still not up to speed into sex since what was for her, a long layoff, realised what was happening. She unbuttoned her straining shirt and let her mountainous mammaries wobble free.

John had been watching her even though the youngster was devouring his cock. He spluttered as the fullness of Grace's upper torso was hefted by her caressing hands. Tits he had dreamed of holding for years, leered at over countless videos, were being rolled and squeezed together, pushed up to her searching tongue, flattened and pulled sideways, being subject to all the things he would often fantasize of doing with his idol and whose tits were suddenly his and approaching him across the room.

Grace stood close, her thighs level with his head, his eyes peering up at the huge globes that hung quivering over him. His hand reached up and he stroked their undersides until Grace unfastened her gold belt and unhitched her jeans. As she slowly peeled them down, letting her thong ride down, rolling its elastic over her thighs until freed from her hands, John explored all of their sumptuous curves as she stooped letting them hang over him.

The tiny silk triangle lopsidely remained over the front of her quim, masking it from John's view, but he was in raptures just watching the super star's nudity becoming near complete. Grace kicked off her sandals, stepped out of the denim and stood over him again. Statuesque, commanding as if it was Madison Square Gardens under her control, she oozed sex appeal. Shaven shining head, expert makeup, oiled lightly tanned body, smooth skin, enormous tits with their vast areolae, fleshy but toned hips and waist and long legs, all made the vision of sexiness complete.

Her body warmth alerted the French girl who stopped deep throating John and knelt over him gazing at the erotic sight next to them. John took the initiative and cupped his hand into Grace's crotch, murmuring appreciatively as he felt the soggy strip of silk and cotton mix. He grasped the miniscule garment and drew it down, Grace helping by undulating and wriggling her legs and feet to allow the tight elastic to pass downwards. He grabbed Grace's thong and rubbed it over his face breathing in her odours, licking her secretions and groaning with desire.

Grace liked his tactile approach and stooped. Putting her hand on Ernestine's shoulder letting the kid snuggle her face into her caresses like a cat wanting to be stroked and pampered. Words weren't needed now as Grace smoothed her hand over the girl's face then down over her tiny tits, momentarily envying the hard erections of her nipples. She felt John's hand feel between her legs and widened her stance to allow him to clutch her cunt. His finger went straight in and he gave out a stifled groan from under the threads of silk over his face.

Grace's breasts swung heavily over Ernestine who caressed the bulk of her massive milkers. Grace swept her hand down to John's erection that lay along his belly and grasped it, lifting it vertical and at the same time nudging Ernestine aside. The French kid slid away compliantly and Grace swung her leg over John, signalling her intentions to Ernestine, as two frontline players in the group, now in tune with each others thoughts.

Ernestine groped for John's cock and held it upright as the diva sank onto it. Grace sighed as she let her sloppy cunt devour his cock in one movement, letting her achingly hungry mott satisfy itself with his meat. She sat full weight on John, loving the tenses and twitches he made it perform inside her cunt as he fondled her hips and stroked her back whilst Ernestine straddled his knees and embraced Grace.

The two females caressed and kissed, tongues intertwined, experienced lovers, both at different ends of the age spectrum but totally in tune. Grace stroked down Ernestine's belly, seeking her pudenda. A few wisps of hair stimulated Grace's hand until she groped further to cup the girl's sex. A smooth slit with minimal labia gave way to her probing fingers and she found the orifice slimy, almost sucking her finger into its heat. She slipped it out and upwards to feel for Ernestine's clitty as John started to buck up at her rump.

The little cherry bud was easily found and Grace flicked it causing Ernestine to jump in delight as Grace raised herself slightly to join the fuck. Her buttocks slapped noisily down on John's belly, her fanny sloshed its juices freely over his crotch as Ernestine cooed, moving with Grace's up and down motions, still managing to embrace and suckle Grace's wobbling great jugs. The tiny wiry body of the French girl assisted the coupling allowing the older woman's hand to fondle her cunt whilst getting seriously fucked.

Revelling in the sudden upsurge in her sex life, Grace enjoyed the wonderfully stiff prick prodding every crevice inside her twat. She pondered on the illegality of the moment, knowing French laws were the same as English in that the girl was a minor. A very switched on little demon of a minor, Grace chuckled inwardly, watching with an almost motherly eye as Ernestine wallowed in the pillows of her boobs, which glistened wetly with the kid's saliva.

But it was not the first minor the rockstar had known intimately.

There had been the fifteen year old son of promoter in Johannesburg who she had screwed as his birthday present, at a request through his father.

The black as coal fourteen year old son of a roadie in Dallas and more recently a shy twelve year old boy she had literally bumped into in a hotel corridor in Sydney who looked like he was sixteen. He had been hung like a sixteen year old Grace remembered and that's what had mattered. Dressed in his bathers and coming out of the elevator behind two very fetching teenage girls who swept away from him giggling and without a look in her direction, she initially wondered if they had been touching him up whilst on the way up twentyfour floors, such was the bulge at his groin. He had been leering at their disappearing tight butted rears as he left the elevator, not seeing Grace and gaped at her without recognition, as if embarrassed at walking straight into her bosom. He had delayed his exit and she thought the elevator was empty. Her eyes had swept automatically over him, seeing the swing of some tasty tackle in the light loose shorts.

Few words were needed to tempt him into her suite as if to run an errand for her and the rest as they say is history. It dawned on a now seriously bucking, fucking, wobbling, trembling, sweating Grace Everson that Ernestine was the first female minor she had had sex with.

Female lovers yes. Some famous, others not. There had been the supermodels Naomi and Elle, two PAs particularly an outstandingly beautiful Russian scholarly girl, Madonna, the three Latino backing singers who had been all she needed as her sole sex stimulus on her South American tour, Brooke, the pouting preening but hot Liz in London, but no fourteen year old bitches like John's waif.

New delights had entered the threesome by way of Ernestine's hand finding Grace's loaded snatch and flicking at her engorged clitoris. John suddenly roared and spluttered and she felt his scorching fountain of cum hit her inner membranes. He certainly was a noisy cummer she thought, but she joined in with shouts to Ernestine to frig her as fast as possible.

Grace could cum to order and she rocked her groin down on John's still spouting cock, milking all she could of his precious sperm. It hit her. Rolling through her fit body, searing her nerves, stars appearing as she felt like losing consciousness. Grace clasped Ernestine's head into her cleavage, urging her to keep frigging as the waves of climax swept through. John was still now, soaking in their combined cum, groaning as Grace's body rolled on his crotch, obscene almost flatulant noises were coming from the soaking joint of their sex.

The point came as always to Grace where she wanted to piss. It signalled the climax of her climax and some men she had known liked her to piss on them, but it wasn't something she indulged in without knowing her partner and of course the Lebouef's probably wouldn't like their expensive sofa to be soiled in such a way.

"Enough," she cried, leaning back over John. Her breasts heaved and wallowed round her sides, making them seem even bigger to Ernestine who had been pushed away from them. Grace supported herself on stiff arms as Ernestine disappointedly mewed, her mouth hanging open, her eyes pleading.

"But I aven't cum," she moaned, in deliciously French accented English, rubbing her own titties, nipping her teats viciously and then sticking her hand between her legs and furiously fingering her teenie minge.

"Come and sit on my face 'tine," said John, beckoning her with a crooked finger. Ernestine jumped round as Grace slid off his cock which flopped wet and heavily onto his thigh.

Seconds later, he was munching on the girl's tormented cunt as she rocked on him, driving her clitty into his lips. Grace turned and backed down the sofa until she levelled her face with his shaft and delicately she picked it up.

Its soggy weight comforting in her hand, the glans dribbling still, slicked with white deposits, the wrinkles of his foreskin gathering round the base of his helmet as its length diminished. Lovingly she bent to kiss it, pecking at the whole soft surface, tasting the rich secretions, smelling its powerful odours. Her cunt was luckily clean and free of the bloody mess she had endured until yesterday, yet she recalled the Japanese record executive who loved nothing better than to prise out her tampons with his lips, searching for it amongst her labia and then slowly munch the swollen wad until he had reduced it to a chewed lump of cotton then spitting it out.

By then his little cock had grown stiff and Grace could indulge herself riding it, for hours as his staying power was exceptionally long. John's cock was shrivelling quickly now, but he was unconcerned, lapping at his teenage lover's cunt as she built to her own climax. Grace held his balls and squeezed them lightly, rolling the two inch globes in her hand until they flopped away alternately, held together by the loose flesh of his large sac. Ernestine squealed and lurched, her thin frame racked with spasms as John sucked her to orgasm. She fell forward to join Grace worshipping John's flaccidity, two females happily licking and sucking on a spent cock. Sticking his fingers into the French girl's cunt, John happily returned the complement until he remembered stupidly that he had a super star sucking his dick. He patted Ernestine's hard rump.

"Darling move please," he murmured. She did as told, but not without French mutterings and curses which he and Grace chuckled pleasantly at. Grace wondered what he wanted next and soon found out.

"Kneel up here Grace," he confidently told her, patting the sofa. She moved round and placed her arms on the back of the sofa, and arching her back, presented her butt to the mesmerised John. He gazed at the rich offering, not believing his luck. His greatest female idol was showing - no, displaying her cunt and arsehole to him like thoroughbred mare and he bent close to take in the beauty of a mature woman's genitals.

Full blown labia folded in crinkly wadges each side of a long slit, which reached almost to the pronounced lump of her sphincter. Scattered light hair and stubble framed the gorgeous cunt which was cocooned in the overall darker hollow of her crotch. Ernestine wriggled round to join him and he indicated with his eyes how pleased and excited he was.

"Merde!" she whispered in the classic Gallic expletive and then switched to English. "We must taste it at once."

"No Ernestine," growled Grace huskily. "I want you here, to taste you."

She patted the back of the sofa and the kid obediently slithered back up and sat splaying her legs towards Grace's eager face.

As she dipped her head to lap at the delicate folds of Ernestine's tender but experienced twat, Grace shuddered as she felt John's tongue lick through her snatch, finally settling on her ring. She loved anal, the best exponent she had found so far being Eric the poetic French soccer player who retired early from playing in England. She had hopes.

Grace let John explore as she in turn marvelled on the wondrous variations of pussies. A fourteen year old one had so many years ahead of it still yet here was Ernestine's neat but well used hole, lips like petals hanging gently open with all the pink folds and crevices exposed to the mature diva.

Grace opened it further with her fingers, clearly spotting her urethra and the dark tight orifice below. The girl cooed, peering down over her flat chest and belly to see how Grace would use her. She ventured a hand lightly onto Grace's bald pate, finding it sexily smooth and warm. Grace pressed her head up to the girl's hand in a gentle recognition of the caress.

Then she dipped her mouth and sought out her cherry. Ernestine yelped as Grace found it erect and tender, nibbling it with her trained singers lips. Grace felt John's fingers penetrate her cunt and pushed back, wanting as much of them inside her as possible.

Then he pulled them out, but continued to suck on her pussy flaps. He was quite hesitant she felt. She was right. The fact that she was a goddess amongst performers and such a big star was making him feel uneasy about letting go in the manner he normally would. He still wondered if this was a dream.

"Look John darling," she turned to him, her elegant creamy tones soothing and encouraging. "You've fucked me already. So what's the problem? You can shove your fist or your dick anywhere in there you want to, I don't mind. Or if you just want to lick me out, but do something. This bitch needs shagging."

He chuckled back at her crudity and realised he was with a full blooded woman who wanted his sex, no matter who he was. How many of his other idols had been in this position, worshipping at one of the most desired cunts in the world he wondered. Had Bowie or Puff Daddy fucked her, had Jagger or Springsteen sucked her, had Clapton or Santana rimmed her?

He took a deep breath and smothered his face in her oozing cunt. The menage a" trois continued silently apart from the lewd sounds of flesh being sucked and licked. Oohs and Aahs escaped all of the lips.

John found Grace's cunt opened into quite a cavernous hole and pushed his nose and tongue in as far as he could. His eyebrows stimulated her clitoris as he twisted and turned getting as much penetration as he could. It felt at one point she would probably have sucked his head in and he wondered if she'd been fisted. Yeah! Course she would have.

Grace meanwhile had a much more delicate approach, which initially made Ernestine impatient, but gradually the searching lips and tongue of the much older woman in her worship of the teenager's cute vagina seduced her and she nipped her teats viciously, at the same time smoothing her hand over Grace's head.

"Shit I'm nearly hard again," gasped an astonished John. "You're amazing, both of you to get me going again this quickly."

Ernestine opened her eyes and leaned over to see. His triumphant face, glossy with Grace's cunt juice was ecstatic as he proudly waggled his dick to the kid.

"Can I 'ave it this time Grace?" asked Ernestine.

An agreeing nod came from Grace as the girl was already eagerly clambering down off the sofa. Grace turned to one side watching her kneel on the sofa, her legs wide as John stood and hefted his cock at her crotch.

With expert hands, Grace grasped his dick and washed it round the smooth pussy pouch, at the same time gripping it strongly as she kissed John. He appreciated this surprisingly tender and intimate touch and found his strength was growing, feeling that there was genuine affection for him from the great star. As he aimed his cock head at Ernestine's teenie twat, Grace crudely stuck her finger into the girl's arsehole.

"You fucked her there yet?" Grace murmured, ignoring the recipient's lurch and squeal.

He shook his head and told Grace he had never fucked anyone in their butt.

She expressed her amazement and then asked if he wanted to and he nodded keenly, but asked about Ernestine's feelings.

Grace's response was not verbal. All the time they had chatted about it, she had been urgently reaming the tightly wrinkled knot of the girl's anus. It had relaxed and was quite the most tasty looking piece of ring muscle, Grace had seen for some time. She moved John's dick head to it and pressed it in as he thrust willingly, excited and ever harder.

His cock bent alarmingly and suddenly shot in about two inches, making Ernestine squeal like a stuck pig. She wriggled and cursed, but John aided by Grace's urging and strong hold pushed on into her fundament. Grace bent and licked round the perimeter of his shaft as he gradually eased it into Ernestine's asshole.

She whispered to him that they should have cleaned her first and he gulped, realising what he was thrusting his precious cock into, but Grace nodded him on, her face expressing keen-ness for him to pursue their goal. John found the pleasure of sticking his dick into to a totally new orifice enormous and also guiltily enjoyed the yelps and squeals of his youthful partner as he pushed further in to her bum. Grace purred as she helped him enter and start to work up a pace and once satisfied, she slunk below his sturdy legs and fingered his great ballocks as they walloped into Ernestin'e's vacant pussy.

The diva's manicured nails sensitised his sac and made him thrust harder, but he found that the buggerised girl was fast learning to relax her ring allowing him easier access. Grace's fingers also traced round Ernestine's cunt lips and pierced them in time to John's swinging sac and occasionally she would dip her fingers down to the kid's clitty and make her lurch with surprising joy at the extra stimulation.

From below, Grace studied John's powerful buttocks flexing, as he rammed into Ernestine's turd tunnel. She managed to stuff one her fingers between the lurching bundles of muscle and find his arsehole. John gasped at this new intrusion, as he felt her digit invade his fundament too.

This made him shove harder at the French girl's rear and soon he was giving her full length action and realised they were both enjoying this new venture. Grace salivered at the sight and dipped her spare hand to her groin, rubbing her cunt with the flat of her hand and flicking her clitty. She extended the rub through her groin into her ass and quickly slicked her butt hole with her foaming juices. She had never felt this wet for a long time and she wanted to be butt fucked too. She stood and tapped John's shoulder as she watched with satisfaction how hard he had become. The veins on his cock were hard and pulsing and she also noticed that his gleaming shaft was clean, showing no residue from Ernestine's bowels.

"I want some of that," she growled into his ear.

"Shit! Yes," he gasped, delighted with the idea.

This was getting better every minute. To be asked, indeed told by her to give one of the world's greatest rock stars one up the arse was a dream come true. He pulled slowly out of Ernestine's shitter watching her ring curl and adjust back to somewhere near its regular shape. As Grace joined the kid, to kneel on the sofa, John saw small muscular formations, pink and purple in colour remain in a distorted pattern round the orifice he had just exited.

Ernestine moaned in protest at her sudden emptiness until she realised what was happening. She had actually enjoyed the act, once she'd got used to it. Beside her, Grace's body arched, as she had when John had shagged her cunt. Her huge bazongers swayed like udders, as she adjusted her butt height to John's movement. Ernestine slithered under Grace and suckled her teats, finding there was no bud to grip on, but the massive milkers gave so much scope for licking. John used his knob end to brush some of Grace's cunt flow up to her butt hole.

"Give me it hard John," she murmured.

"No fucking about, straight and hard. I love it."

He gulped at her lewd instructions and stuck his cock on her ring. The dark crater it was cushioned in was deeply wrinkled and light matted hairs sprouted over its whole area. Now experienced, to the point that he knew how easy it was, he took a breath and shoved. His knob met resistance for a second making his shaft bend banana-like, then in it shot as Grace suddenly let her muscles go.

The force John was pushing with, surprised even the anally practised diva, who found she was virtually filled with his tool. She grunted as it hit the top of her rectum. John stopped on the first shunt and she was grateful for a couple of seconds, realising it had been some time since she was stretched to that extent. Ernestine's constant attention at her gravity dropped boobs was exciting in itself and now she urged John on to fuck her hard.

He took up the task and shafted steadily, finding the diva's much more used brown eye allowed him more freedom in varying the pace and depth, being frightened of hurting the delicate youngster. Ramming energetically he loved the sheer excitement and exclusivity of what he was doing and how his mates would never believe him. How could he prove it? He gained courage and withdrew completely from Grace's gripping sphincter and transferred his dick into her very greasy cunt. She yelped with surprise and delight as he gave a few fuck strokes, then again as he reverted to her arsehole.

"You evil dirty bastard," she groaned lazily.

"I've got to try it Grace," he responded. "Its all new to me."

"Yeah! I can believe that," she muttered cynically, but pleasantly. "Just don't stop doing that Okay?"

Minutes later John had cum, shooting globs of his spunk deep inside his idol's butt hole. She sighed as he crumpled over her, gasps of his breath proving the effort he had put in to the anal job. Grace sighed within at the speed with which he had cum, but for the moments he had lasted it had been pure heaven.

There was a muffled cry from below and Grace chuckled realising Ernestine was being smothered by the huge billowing pillows of her boobs where John had increased the weight. She budged and John slid onto the sofa, to let Grace unveil a flustered and flushed little French girl. She felt a fart coming on and scuttled to the toilet in the hall way.

On the way she shouted that Ernestine and John had better clean up a bit before soiling the furniture any more than it had been. She ruefully remembered she had seen the odd spot as she saved her own explosion of air blasted sperm for the bowl rather than the Lebouef's sofa. On joining the other two, Grace found them cuddled peacefully in each others arms, grinning a welcome to her as her stately presence loomed over them. They confirmed they had swabbed around with some tissues and she joined them in a mutual display of caresses and fondles. They went outside and snoozed and sun bathed and drank some wine and ate some salad, as they relaxed naked by the pool.

"Now we are on intimate terms, which usually comes a little later after a deal," giggled Grace, smoothing factor 10 over her breasts.

"I think we should discuss our music and how it will develop. I told you earlier I had a proposition. We've had the fuck now about our music."

"You say our music Grace," said John, swatting an insect buzzing nearby and leering at the magnificent motions on her chest. "You mean you want to collaborate with Ernestine straight away?"

"Of course there is not time like the present and I live on inspiration such as the last few hours, though I'm not saying sex is at the root of all my songs, but I feel wonderfully invigorated and the stuff we played earlier started it. What do you say Ernestine? Are we going to be partners?"

"Shit! Oui!" gasped the excited girl.

FIN