A Musical Sexperience by UK Snowy


Grace was at an all time low and her period wasn't helping, although she
could rejoice in a way that she still had menstruation. However, inspiration
had dried up and she felt drained and useless. The chain of hits she had
enjoyed over twenty years seemed distant and even coming to her favourite
retreat, the quiet remote 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 bougainvillaea 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 to 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 late 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 chat shows like Carson, Garry Shandling and
Letterman in the States and Wogan, Skinner and Ross in the UK had kept her
image to the fore.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 tawny gold 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. Glad to be lighter haired
than many of her family of mixed, Greek, Slovakian, Irish and Swedish
descent, she would have hated the thick black straggle that plagued several
of her cousins.
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 were 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 Oakely 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 swallowed a drink of fresh orange
juice, 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 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
Madame 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 into the area as it wasn't a particularly attractive
village. Even 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, full sensual lips,
her head shorn of her tawny curls were the give away normally, but generally
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 knowing much about the
plants. She sunbathed and caught up her reading, including a novel titled
Memoirs of a Geisha. Several international phone calls in the afternoon
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 8 pm 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 an itch on 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 he 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
a 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 clitoris, 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. Itšs bulbous garishly pink coloured tip excited her
and she stroked his sheath tenderly, enticing more of his formidable, purple
veined shaft into the summer air. It was sticky as expected and she decided
she would swab it with some warm water before proceeding further.
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 fresh 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 finally drift, tainted with her bodily odours, 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 in itself, 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. Naughtily, 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. Happy with her upturn in spirits, hence her cheeky little escapade, she
teased him again with some chat and flounced into the street.
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 earrings. The sandals fitted
the jeans ensemble and finally Grace could leave the villa in Boris's care
and at 9.30 am 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 small Citroen hatchback 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,
they had a big Lexus saloon. 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 occupied 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 floor level, 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 into 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 carpeted
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 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 thudding bare 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
familiar garlic breath wafted at Grace. 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, I know the people here. I am a friend of
theirs," answered Grace in the language, still trapped by the man's hand.
She glanced back at him. He was studying her closely.
"Pah! Youšre one of that sophisticated 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 Grace Everley 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 six pack 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 asked, 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. Not five feet tall, 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 knowledgeable 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 bare feet
were very large and he glanced 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 first edit 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. John had befriended Ernestine who was on the
run from a violent boyfriend she had lived with for two years who worked as
commis chef for John. The girl having turned up at John's apartment door
with three pieces of luggage ie 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 in the typically Gallic manner. 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 and now that twat in the restaurant. 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. "Shit! She was twelve when she with the twat as you call him.
And youšre how old?"
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.
"Twenty nine. 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 on 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 piano and beckoned to Ernestine.
"I'm going to make you both a proposition," she breathed.

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, trance like 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. How
she could have climaxed herself at this point. Then her partner stopped
playing.
"No no more," cried Ernestine, carelessly 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 fantasise of doing with his idol and whose tits were
suddenly 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 a capacity Madison Square Gardens audience 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 minuscule
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.
Then there was 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 Everley 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 flatulent 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.
She scampered to the toilet down a hallway, thankfully aware of the villa
layout. She pissed furiously and swiped a tissue through but not totally.
She joined the other two to see John munching on Ernestinešs tormented cunt
as she rocked on him, driving her clitty into his lips. Grace joined them on
the sofa and levelled her face with his shaft to delicately pick 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 concocted with her sex. Her cunt was luckily clean and free
of the bloody mess she had endured until yesterday, yet she recalled the
Indian record company 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 brown cock had grown stiff
and Grace could indulge herself riding it, for hours as his staying power at
least, 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 if 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 been.
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 wondered about Ernestine's feelings. Grace's response was not
verbal. As they 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 keenness 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 against 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 of 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


  
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