Konrad Max’s Month of Love

erotic stories, romantic sex stories, porn stories, erotic literature, love

A Brief Preamble

I was born in the little town of Bünde in Germany in 1989 and I was just two when my family emigrated to Canada. After I graduated from high school in Toronto my father thought that I might go to university and become an engineer like him but he thought wrong. My interest was in books, in fact, I spent all my spare time and all my money frequenting second-hand book shops all around the city.

On the day of my graduation ceremony, I told my parents that I’d like to work for a year before thinking about a degree. They reluctantly went along with my plan, thinking that once I’d been in the workplace for a while I would come to my senses. However, I happened to find a job with a bookbinder, who, amongst other things restored antique books. I loved the work and I became very good at it.

I’m not sure if you believe in fate but when the company I was working for closed down and I had to move back in with my parents temporarily, my whole life changed. This was due, in no small part to Angela. She was the daughter of a friend of my mother’s from Germany; she was in Toronto on business and had taken over my old room. Consequently, I was relegated to the basement.

She was about thirty-five years old, fashionable; sophisticated and was very sexy. For the next couple weeks, she took the family out including my girlfriend Zoe and treated us to meals and even bought us all gifts.

Angela had an important job with a German government agency based in Strasbourg in France where the European Union has its parliament. She said if I’d had a better command of German and French she could probably have gotten me a job there. We talked a lot about my future and then without warning, she suggested that I should fly to Strasbourg and stay with her for a while.

“It would be a great experience and I could drive you to Bünde to visit your grandparents once in a while.”

My mother’s jaw dropped a mile. I could see that the idea of her son staying with an attractive divorcee was not something she could swallow. However, to me, it sounded like a dream come true, and I was soon totting up my assets to see whether I could afford it. I had no need to worry, when my mother was out of earshot Angela whispered that she would take care of my airfare.

The following week, after several grueling arguments with my parents, my younger sister and my girlfriend, I was off to Strasbourg and what I hoped would be an exciting new life.


Angela and I arrived in Paris this morning. It was pretty early and so I thought we might look around a bit but she was anxious to get back to Strasbourg. After we’d cleared customs and immigration we located her car in the long term parking and off we drove. We arrived in Strasbourg around 2.30pm, having stopped for a brunch on the way. Angela’s apartment is on the Quai Saint-Bataliers overlooking a tree-shaded canal. It’s an old building but very well preserved. I am most impressed with the layout of her place – it would be no exaggeration to say it’s luxurious.

Unfortunately, the stairway is rather steep and because I had brought an excessive amount of luggage I had to make two trips. When I entered the apartment puffing and blowing for the second time Angela already had some coffee sitting on the table.

“Sit down and have a rest,” she teased, “When you’re as old as me you will learn to travel light.”

While I sat and drank my coffee she tended her flower boxes that had been forced to fend for themselves for a few weeks. She had those glass things that let the water in a bit at a time but they were all dry. As she leaned out of the window I couldn’t help but notice what great legs she had and she was probably aware of that because she wore quite short skirts. At one point she leaned so far forward I could see her white panties and I almost spilled my coffee down my shirt as I lost all concentration. After she’d finished her chores she washed her hands and sat down with me.
“I only have one bedroom,” she announced, “So you’ll have to sleep on the sofa.”

I was a bit surprised that someone would invite you to travel thousands of miles to stay with them when they don’t really have room for you. However, her next statement was even more astounding.

“If you’re not comfortable,” she smiled, “I have a very large bed.” She said it in all seriousness and then went back to sipping on her coffee. I was too taken aback to comment and there was no further conversation until she got up and suggested that I should get a shower.

“And perhaps you could dig out something nice to wear, she added, “I’m going to take you out for dinner later.”

She’s given me some space in the bedroom closet which doesn’t seem too convenient but I’m living rent free (I think?), so I can’t complain. When I’d showered and finished unpacking, Angela, feeling a little jet lag, went for a nap and I decided to do the same. I lay on the sofa and within minutes I was asleep.

I was awakened by Angela poking me in the shoulder. “Put something on decent and we’ll go out to dinner,” she said. Looking up I almost gasped as she was wearing a gold top with a plunging neckline and the shortest black skirt I’d ever seen.

She poked me a second time, “Come on – get a move on I’m starving.”

In the bedroom I put on the blazer and pants I sorted out earlier, they were creased up a little but I figured my body heat would straighten then out. However, when I stepped into the living room and she turned around to look at me, I could tell by the expression on her face that I’d barely passed muster.

We got into the car and headed up for the Restaurant au Crocodile on the Rue de l’Outre. It turned out to be a great place – very romantic in fact. As soon as we sat at the table she ordered a bottle of Dom Perignon and as my French is not very good she said she’d select from the menu for me.

We started with chestnut veloute, followed by lobster, frog legs, scallops, and truffles. I have never eaten frogs legs before and I approached them with a certain amount of trepidation but they actually tasted quite good. Although I was feeling quite full we moved on to beef tenderloin and this was followed by cheese and a chocolate desert – all accompanied by a bottle of Chateauneuf-du-pape.

I only drank one glass as I have a relatively low tolerance to alcohol. Angela, however, chased her champagne, and the rest of the red wine with three glasses of liqueur. When we got up from the table she was feeling no pain and I didn’t want her to drive me back. After a short argument, she handed me the keys and then, not having a clue where I was going I attempted to make my way back home. She helped me to navigate a little but her slurred speech made her somewhat difficult to understand.

When we did arrive at the apartment I had to literally carry her up the stairs. Once inside I headed for the bedroom and with some difficulty, I got her onto the bed. At that moment she raised herself up and asked, “Would you like to fuck me Konrad?” and promptly fell back and went to sleep.

I wrapped the bed cover around her the best I could and then I looked round to see what I cover I could find for myself. In the end, I just took my winter coat out of the closet and managed with that for the night.

I woke up around 8.30 this morning and searched the kitchen in an effort to find something for breakfast. There was coffee and I managed to find a can of evaporated milk as I hate to drink it black. There was some bread and some butter in the kitchen so I was able to make toast.

When Angela got up at 9 o’clock she looked like shit. I offered her some toast but all she wanted was coffee. She then asked me if I would go shopping for some groceries, with her eyes looking like piss holes in the snow she managed to scrawl out a list partly in English and partly in French. She then directed me to her purse and when I handed it to her she threw a bunch of bills at me and told me to get a taxi to Marche U on Rue des Bouchers. She then made her way back to the bedroom and, still wearing all of her finery, flopped back into bed.

I made my way to the supermarket and instead of struggling with French I used German as this border city, that was once part of Germany, seems to a large extent to be bilingual. When I got back to the apartment it was nearly eleven. Angela was still sleeping with the bedroom door open.

Taking out my laptop I looked for an easy recipe so that I could prepare lunch and surprise my host. I came across and interesting one for a stew that seemed to be simple to follow and by noon it was simmering on the stove. At 12.30 Angela staggered from the bedroom once again, and just as quickly went back in, saying she was going to shower.

Around one o’clock she reappeared not only looking like her old self but wrapped in an ultra short robe that didn’t leave much to the imagination. She sat down at the table and I proceeded to ladle out the stew and put a plate of fresh rolls on the table along with a jug of orange juice.

Angela took a taste of the soup and raised her eyebrows, “This is quite good – you’ll make somebody a good husband one of these days.”

I told her that one of these years would be a better expression.

“So you still want to keep sowing your wild oats,” she said, then paused for a few spoons of stew and continued, “I don’t suppose Zoe would approve of you sowing them here in Strasbourg would she?”

I explained that this trip had pretty well-finished things for us and that I was now a free agent again. Angela finished her food, wiped her mouth with a napkin and then stood up letting her flimsy robe drop to the floor.

From the first time I saw her I knew there was something good beneath those sexy clothes of hers but I was not prepared for just how beautiful she was. Her breasts were firm and cone shaped like those of a much younger woman and casting my eyes down I saw that her flower was not only shaved but perfectly formed.

“It’s time for dessert,” she smiled, taking my hand and leading me towards the bedroom. When we reached her bed she just flung herself on it.

I was a bit shocked by the abruptness of her approach but I was not going to argue and turn down this gorgeous nubile body that lay before me. Zipping off my shirt was not a problem but I had such a hard-on I had to take more care with my pants.

As soon as I was naked Angela sat up in bed rolled her eyes and said, “My, my – you are a big boy!” then she very quickly slid down the bed onto the floor and took me into her mouth as she dug her sharp nails into my buttocks.

She not only moved to and from on me but her tongue kept made circles at the same time. It wasn’t long before I was feeling the urge to come and so I eased her away from me and drew her up to her feet. For a while, we just embraced and let our tongues entwine but then I repositioned her so I was sitting on the bed with her standing before me. Those two beautifully shaped breasts were just at the right level, mere inches away from my mouth. I slipped my hands around her waist and brought her forward until I was able to reach her hardened nipples with the tip of my tongue. I flicked them gently for a while before taking then between my lips and sucking them.

As Angela started to moan I worked the trick she used on me and slipped from the bed down between her legs. I was soon exploring her pussy, pulling back the lips with my fingers and licking her crevices with my tongue. She began to gyrate her hips as I delved deeper into her moist recess and then crying “Fuck,” at the top of her voice she began to tremble from head to toe.

I quickly laid her on the bed, opened up her legs and penetrated her flower with one powerful thrust. She had worked me up to the point where my balls were aching and I had the strongest possible desire to copulate. Angela was just as anxious as I was and urged me on as I increased my strokes and she moved her ass in time with them.

I had her arms pinned to the pillow and as I looked down at her gorgeous breasts moving from side to side I became more and more excited. It seemed as though my balls were on fire as I made that last desperate push and as she screamed her legs tightened up around me as if she wanted me to stay there forever.

As we both lay there gasping for breath Angela took my hand and snuggled her warm body against mine. “That was incredible,” she said, “I don’t think you should sleep on the sofa tonight.” And I didn’t.


I was the first one up again and I made breakfast, and I made lunch. It seems as though Angela is not the domesticated type. It’s fortunate I had to fend for myself for a number of years and I don’t have a problem rustling up a meal.

Apparently, she had a part-time maid until a few weeks ago but there was a serious disagreement and the woman quit. When I mentioned going out to find a job today she suggested that I could hang around the apartment for a while and she would pay me to keep things clean and tidy. What she’s really saying, of course, is she wants me to take on the maid’s role and that’s not what I came to Europe for. However, I thought I’d play it cool until I found a suitable position.

Angela must have money to burn as we went out to dinner again tonight. After some deliberation, we ended up at a restaurant called Chez Yvonne on Rue Sanglier. It wasn’t quite as elegant as Au Crocodile but we had a great meal. My host ordered for me as though I was an idiot incapable of reading a menu in French but she paid so I guess that’s OK. We both had the duck and we only had one glass of house wine each.

“I have to work in the morning,” she said, “So I don’t want to be hung over.”

Although we slept together and I did make an overture – she was not in the mood for sex and so I had to try and sleep with a big hard-on.


Angela woke me up before she went into the bathroom and ask me to make some coffee and rolls for breakfast. When I told her we didn’t have any rolls she told me to take the car and go to the bakery on the corner of Quai des Bataliers and Rue Munch and get some.

It was just a few blocks and I grumbled to myself all the way. I hate been treated like a fucking errand boy.

The bakery not only turned out to be really nice but I met an attractive American girl who was having difficulty with her French. Even though mine is not that good I did manage to help her out. We talked just for a few minutes outside the shop and I learned that her name was Taylor Woodrow and that she had just arrived to stay with her father who was working with some American company here.

Back at the apartment I dutifully made breakfast after which Angela gave me a quick kiss on the cheek like as if we were an old married couple and told me that she’d be back at 5.30.

“I’ve left you some money on the dressing table,” she smiled, “Buy something nice for supper.”

When I was alone I started to feel a bit of a jerk. Why should I object to doing things for someone who had been so kind to me. I guess it’s the way she treats me like a child sometimes – I’ve never liked being bossed around – I suppose I have a bit of a chip on my shoulders.

Back on track, I cleaned the place up a bit and then went to the Marche U again and bought some supplies including pork chops as I intended to treat Angela to one of my favorite Italian recipes. I also picked up some wine and a selection of cheeses as I fancied that for my lunch.

I bought a paper this afternoon and did my best to read the classifieds in French with little success so I went online but didn’t find anything of interest there either. In the end, I took a nap.

My supper received a good response and Angela even helped to load the dishwasher. When that was done she asked me if I played cards. I said I played poker.

“What about strip poker?” she laughed.

I said I hadn’t actually played that because I normally played with a bunch of guys and had no desire to see them naked.
“OK – let’s play,” she said and quickly produced a pack of cards.

Of course, I’ve seen her naked but I was just as anxious to see her naked again. I also thought there might be a bit of tail involved.

I’m not a bad player and so it wasn’t long before she had to take off her top, followed by her bra, which she insisted I took off for her. Although I had to remove my shirt and socks, she was soon completely naked and I was clearly the winner.

“Well,” she laughed, “You win so name your prize.”

I thought for a moment then I suggested we had sex standing up.

“Wow – you’re quite an adventurous guy – I like that,” she said.

We started by embracing and kissing in the middle of the room and of course, I couldn’t keep my hands off those perfectly formed breasts. However, when it came to inserting my now large throbbing boner it wasn’t so easy. Angela is a good three inches shorter than me and after a couple of attempts at bending my knees and failing to make a connection I took one of the cushions off the sofa and invited her to stand on it.

She started to giggle at my efforts which killed the mood a little but when I did slide it in successfully she just gasped and held on to me. I put my hands on the cheeks of her firm round bum and started to move in and out slowly. She closed her eyes and seemed to be in a state of ecstasy. I gradually increased the pace until our bodies were crashing together and she was breathing heavy and biting her lip.

It began to get fast and furious and although my legs were feeling a bit weak I kept going until I came and we both fell onto the sofa groaning and moaning. We held on to each other as tight as it was humanly possible and she kissed me with great passion, so much so that we both rolled off and onto the floor. Here she went on the attack straddled over me she began to perform fellatio. I hadn’t gone completely limp and quite soon I was back to having a giant hard-on.

As she had her back to me I was able to turn her on to her side and maneuver into the 69 position. From that moment on the intensity grew for both of us. As we consumed each other with unbridled passion I could feel the climax was about to break and when it did I’m sure they could hear our cries as far away as Paris.

We spent the rest of the evening cuddled on the sofa watching a TV show I could barely understand but it didn’t seem to matter.


Angela took off at about 8.30 and I tidied the place up intending to go out job hunting. However, about 9.30 I heard a key turning in the lock and thinking it might be a burglar I armed myself with a poker from the fireplace and stood ready. I was quite nervous as the door slowly opened and a tall gaunt looking man about forty, carrying a suitcase, entered.

When he saw me he just froze. “O – I’m Angela’s ex-husband –Barry Walsh,” he said with a strong English accent, “I didn’t expect to find anyone here.”

I guess I just stood there with my mouth open as he extended his hand, “Angela and I have an arrangement that I can stay here when I’m in Strasbourg – I travel a lot with my job you see.”

After I’d put the poker down to shake his hand I did manage to tell him my name but to some extent, I was still in shock at somebody just walking into the apartment. I was also concerned about the idea of me sleeping with Angela while her husband slept on the sofa.

The prospect didn’t seem to worry Barry as he dumped his suitcase telling me that he had some calls to make and that he would be back about six. “Dinner’s on me tonight,” he said as he closed the door.

After lunch, I went out job hunting. I had noticed in the paper that there was an Employment Agency in the Rue des Hallebardes. The owner, Madam Belanger, was very pleasant and spoke perfect English but didn’t offer me much encouragement as she said there was very little demand for people who didn’t speak fluent French. However, she took Angela’s telephone number and said she would give me a call if anything came up.

When I got back out on the street I bought yet another paper and eventually sat down at a café on the Place de la Cathedrale, drank a great cup of coffee and browsed the classified. Didn’t find a thing.

When I got back to the apartment Angela was already there as she had quit early and when I told her about Barry she was furious, “I’ve got to get my key back from that asshole – he’s too fucking cheap to get a hotel room.”

It was obvious that when he came in at six there was going to be an argument and I just wished that there had been some place to go so as to avoid getting involved. Unfortunately, the apartment was just too small and just didn’t afford me the luxury of a hiding place.

After the two ex’s had vented their anger on each other it all became very civilized and Barry was good at his word and took us both to dinner. We ended up at a very nice restaurant called L’Alsace à Table on Rue Francs Bourgeois.

The only problem was the place had romantic significance for Barry and Angela – apparently, they met there seven years ago. Because of this, for a good part of the evening, I was left out of the conversation as they reminisced about old times.

I began to realize that I had developed an emotional attachment to Angela as some of the intimate details of their relationship made me feel quite uncomfortable – but there was worse to come. When we got back to the apartment she asked me if I would mind sleeping on the sofa as Barry had a bad back and needed to sleep on a bed.

Holy shit – I just about flipped and it didn’t improve matters when he gave me a knowing smile as he entered the bedroom. If he’s got a bad back it didn’t seem to affect him last night. It was agonizing to hear the bed head smashing against the wall and Angela crying out “O fuck – it’s so good.”


Did I get up and get breakfast this morning? Did I fuck! At 7.30 I was out on the street looking for somewhere I could have a pee as I didn’t want to go through the bedroom on the way to the toilet. I ended up in a friendly little café where I had breakfast and took lots of deep breaths to get rid of my anger.

I didn’t return to the apartment until I thought it was all clear. There was a message on the table – “Please don’t be angry with me.”

I was angry – really fucking angry. It was hard to think about anything else all day. I didn’t eat lunch, I didn’t think about a job – I just lay around and occasionally threw things across the room.

Barry suitcase was gone but when I heard the key in the lock I was tempted to pick-up the poker again just in case it was him. I thought the police would accept my explanation that I thought it was a burglar. It turned out to be Angela who ran over to me and started to smother me with kisses to which I did not respond.

“I’m sorry – I’m sorry – I’m sorry,” she babbled. “It was just that the restaurant brought back old memories and we were married for three years. Please forgive me.”

I said there was nothing to forgive – I told her she didn’t owe me anything but I thought we should just keep our relationship on a friendly basis. Gosh – anyone would have thought I’d have told her that she only had three weeks to live. She just plopped into a chair and started crying.

I was determined to not let that influence me and so I told her I was going to get a Pizza from down the street and told her to put the coffee on. Wow – she jumped to it before I got out the door. Makes me think she likes to be bossed around a bit – maybe I’ll give it a try.

I woke up from tossing and turning on the sofa all night. Several times she’d called softly out of the bedroom – “Konrad – Angela’s sad,” but I ignored it and eventually she fell to sleep.


I did prepare the coffee and rolls this morning and we sat silently across from one another with her looking sheepish and fluttering her eyelids occasionally.

“I’m going to take a bath,” she said at length, “Would you wash my back for me.”

I said I didn’t think that would be advisable, which caused her to change her demeanor and she simply said. “Fuck you,” and disappeared into the bedroom.

After Angela had left, slamming the door as she did so, I tried to straighten things up a bit but I couldn’t put my heart in it. For lunch, I heated up the leftover pizza and then flopped onto the sofa.

I must have nodded off because at 1.15 the phone woke me up and it was Madam Belanger from the employment agency. She told me she had a client that was interested in my bookbinding abilities.

“It’s for an American company,” she said, “They’re interested in getting all their newsletters, reports and other materials in leather bindings, and I thought of you. They don’t want to go to an outside bookbinder because they want to closely supervise the process. It should give you at least three months of employment and if you get the job you’ll be working under a Robert Woodrow – he’s an American and so your knowledge of French won’t be a problem.”

I was over the moon and quickly got ready for a 3 pm interview. The office of Selamax Integrated Systems was on Avenue des Vosges. It was a nice old building flanked by trees on a very beautiful street. I had to walk up a flight of stone stairs and in the reception, a rotund jovial looking receptionist greeted me and then escorted me into the boss’s office.

Mr. Woodrow is a really nice guy and when I showed him some pictures and testimonials he stuck out his hand and asked if I could start next Tuesday, “I would say Monday,” he said, “but I’m away that day and I want to be here to show you exactly what I need to be done.”

I didn’t ask him if Taylor Woodrow is his daughter but I think it’s a pretty safe bet.

Before I left he showed me the office where I would be working. It was more of a general area with a microwave, coffee maker, photocopier and lots of filing cabinets. It also served as an office for a lady named Paula Barilli who was responsible for editing the newsletter and sending out promotional mailers.

When Angela came home I was in a much better mood and I prepared a really nice supper with a bottle of wine. I think she took this as if all was forgiven but I didn’t encourage her to take that thought any further. However, she gave me another apology; she said she’d been incredibly stupid and that she valued our relationship and wanted it to continue.

I didn’t know what to say but later that evening when she emerged from the bedroom wearing a short see-through nightie – my resolve took a back seat. Like a lamb to the slaughter, she took me by the hand and led me to the bathroom where she’d prepared a bath for me. She’d also lit about a dozen candles on the vanity; there was the aroma of fresh garden flowers and soft music was playing in the background. After she’d undressed me slowly and sensuously I stepped into the tub, she then dropped her skimpy outfit to the floor and joined me.

We sat facing each other and she rubbed her hands over my chest and I reciprocated, then she raised herself up and lowered herself onto my boner which had been poking out of the water like a periscope. Her breasts were right in my face as she moved up and down with a cheeky smile on her face.

The sensation was so intense I had to grip onto the sides of the tub and I was puffing and blowing as she increased the pace and the water started to slop over the sides and onto the floor. It wasn’t long before I shot my load and it felt as hot as fire. Angela just moaned and kept on grinding her ass as she kissed me passionately and dug those long nails into my back.

When we climbed out of the bath she took one of the white fluffy towels from the rail and insisted on rubbing me down. I tried to do the same for her but she waved me away, “No – this is your treat,” she said, “I owe you.”


I told Angela about my new job this morning. She was not over enthused but said, “If that’s what you want – go ahead.”

When I suggested paying something towards the expenses she simply brushed that aside saying it wasn’t necessary.

“It is OK for me to keep living here isn’t it?” I asked.

Angela paused with her coffee cup at her lips then she put it down and gave me her cheeky look, “I don’t like sleeping alone – do you?”

I told her I loved sleeping with her. That seemed to really please her and she gave me a long mushy kiss before she left for work.

This morning, after I’d tidied the place up a bit, I decided to get to know the town better and so I walked down the Quai to Rue de la Pierre Large and eventually found myself in Place Saint-Etienne. I could see the spire of the Cathedral from there and I made my way towards it. However, when I got into the old town I got lost in the narrow streets and it was some time before I actually arrived outside the towering edifice. Officially it’s known as Cathédrale Notre-Dame-de-Strasbourg, it’s a magnificent building that took over 300 years to complete.

When I walked inside I just gasped as I have never seen anything so beautiful. I sat in one of the pews for a few minutes just to savor the atmosphere. The acoustics are such that you hear every footstep and every whisper.

On the way back to the apartment I bought some nice fish and I cooked it in white wine and cream. I had it ready by 5.30 when Angela was due home but she never came. At 6.30 I decided to eat on my own. The hours went by and she still didn’t come home – I didn’t know her cell phone or work number and so I was unable to track her down. At midnight I went to bed, I was concerned but I didn’t know what the fuck I could do.


I woke up really early this morning. Still being worried as hell – I had little interest in getting breakfast. Sitting on the sofa, looked out of the window and sipped my coffee. As I gazed out across the river I realized how little I know about Angela. I had no idea what government department she works for; I didn’t know what kind of a position she held; I didn’t know any of her friends or business associates – I knew fuck all.

In afternoon there were a couple of phone calls for her but I just had to say I didn’t know when she would be back. I was reluctant to leave the apartment in case she called and so I stayed in all day; had a can of soup for lunch and waited and waited. At 6.30 Angela came breezing into the apartment as if nothing had happened. When I asked her where she was last night she said she had to work late and decided to stay over rather than come home.

“How far is your place of business from here,” I asked, feeling she was serving me a crock.

“What is that to do with anything?” she snapped and disappeared into the bedroom.

I followed her in, “I think you should have phoned me,” I said, “I was worried about you.”

“Oh – that’s nice,” she smiled, patting my cheek as if I was a three-year-old, after which she began to take off her clothes and flung them onto the bed.

“Change into something smart,” she said, “I’m taking you out to dinner.” She then went into the bathroom and started the shower.

I was furious – the last thing I wanted to do was go out to dinner with her – so I just went into the living room and switched on the TV. When she re-appeared she was rubbing her hair and just wearing a towel.

“Come on get a move on – I have reservations for 7.30.”

“You go alone I don’t feel like it.”

“Ooh – you’re still mad at me,” she said in a patronizing tone.

I didn’t answer her and so she sat on my lap, “Do you want to go to bed and have a quickie first?”

The fact that she thought everything could be smoothed over with a little sex made me even angrier.

“What I want from you,” I fumed, “Is the name of the place you work; your telephone number and a promise that you will keep me informed about what you intend to do.”

She quickly got off my lap, “Who the fuck do you think you are – my fucking husband? Look – I don’t answer to anybody since I got rid of the last asshole – and I’m as sure as fuck not going to answer to you.”

She went into the bedroom and I could see her standing there naked. Slowly she began to slip into her flimsy underwear. She did it slowly as she knew I was looking out of the corner of my eye. Holy shit I was tempted to take her up on her offer but I was still seething inside and I certainly didn’t want to be the one to admit defeat.

While I pretended to be interested in some mindless TV show she walked through the living room in her slinky outfit. It looked as if it had been sprayed onto her supple body and it left little to the imagination. She opened the door and paused to give me one last glare – then she left slamming it behind her.

I lay back on the sofa confused about my feelings and wondered why I was so upset about her not coming home last night. As she said I was not her husband – we didn’t have any commitment – she didn’t have to answer to me. She didn’t even have to ask my permission to fuck her ex-husband. I hated to admit it but I realized that I’d been acting a little bit juvenile. It was time to grow up. I spent the rest of the evening soul-searching and trying to figure out how I could do that and also atone for my behavior.

My supper consisted of a cheese sandwich and a mug of tea. I settled down on the sofa at around 11 o’clock and fell asleep – only to be woken up at 11.30 by a phone call from the police. I had a hell of a time trying to decipher what the officer was saying on the other end of the line but I eventually managed to understand that Angela, or Madam Angela Maier, as he put it, had been involved in a car accident and I could pick her up at the gendarmerie on Rue de la Nuée Bleue. Jesus! my heart sank a mile – I was blaming myself for the accident before I even got into the taxi.

When I arrived at the police station, a foreboding looking building if ever I saw one, she was sitting there looking reasonably sober, even though her hair looked like a rat’s nest and she seemed to have lost her shoes. As soon as I came into her line of sight she got up and flung her arms around me. In an attempt to comfort her I held her tight for a while and then I lowered her back into the seat until I had dealt with the duty officer.

It appears that Angela pissed as a newt, had run into the side of a building and totally destroyed the car. Fortunately, she wasn’t hurt and had been found by the police sitting on the steps of another building almost a block away.

She said nothing on the way home, she just sniffled. When we got up to the apartment she sat on the sofa with her head in her hands and started to mumble about how sorry she was. I didn’t say too much but asked if she’d like some strong coffee and she nodded. When I’d brewed the sobering concoction I sat with her. As soon as she raised the mug to her lips she began to tremble and tears started to stream down her face. I took the mug from her and placed it on the side table along with mine and I put my arms around her. She then burst into tears and sobbed for the next five minutes while I struggled to find words to comfort her.

She never did drink that coffee. I eventually helped her onto the bed, covered her up and returned to the sofa for the night.


I found Angela kneeling beside the sofa looking at me when I awoke from a few hours of restless sleep.

“Good morning,” she greeted me, as I rubbed my eyes wondering what time it was.

“Good morning,” I replied, turning over to face her.

“I’m sorry about last night – I was very foolish.”

“I’m sorry that I didn’t go with you to the restaurant.”

“It’s not your fault,” she sniffled, “What you said was correct – we are in a sort of a relationship aren’t we?”

I nodded, although I was not fond of the term relationship. It could have been construed as what they call “A life partner,” and I was not ready for that kind of commitment to anyone.

“I like living with you,” she continued, “You’re good company and a great lover and I should be more forthcoming. However,” she faltered, “I can’t tell you everything about my job because it’s classified but I will give you my cell phone number – but,” she faltered once more, “I don’t always have it turned on.”

I didn’t seem to have gained much ground, but because I was still concerned about the accident, that I felt responsible for, I was not prepared to put further pressure on her. For the time being at least, I had to be satisfied with the minute concession she’d made regarding the cell phone. Of course, the word “classified” conjured up images of spy’s and subterfuge and that was going to give me something to think about – especially if she stayed out all night again.

After some serious tongue wrestling and body groping Angela suggested that we should go out for breakfast. It sounded like a good idea as I’ve been eating pretty light for a couple of days.

Both of us got a hasty shower, dressed and headed out by cab, as we had no car. We ended up at the Regent Hotel in the Petit France and crazy Angela did nothing less than rent a room and then had room service send up a wonderful breakfast. As usual, she ordered for me.

This hotel is absolutely beautiful. It overlooks the river and our room was superbly appointed. It fact it’s a very romantic place and once the waiter had collected the wagon it was back to the shower and onto the king sized bed. Angela just lay there, in her usual inviting manner, with her arms and legs spread out across the covers.

“I think it’s my treat today,” she said. I could hardly argue – I knelt on the bed between her feet and rubbed my fingers up the inside of her legs.

“That tickles,” she giggled and lifting her legs upwards she placed them under my arms and guided me forward until my lips hovered above her breasts. I didn’t waste too much time in taking those inviting nipples into my mouth. One of my knees was still between her legs and I moved it slowly up and down her flower up, and then taking her by the shoulders I turned her over so her breasts were hanging above me. She moved them from side to side across my face until I reached up and cupping one in both hands, held it firmly and sucked it until she started to moan.

Being straddled across my body she rubbed her trimmed crack sensuously against my skin and then repositioned herself so that it was over my face. I reached into it with my tongue as I continued to fondle her breasts, for Angela this was pure ecstasy. She groaned and she moaned and I could feel her pink folds beginning to vibrate and she went into a massive orgasm.

To my surprise, she stayed on top of me and slid down my body pressing my boner deep into her well-lubricated recess. I gasped and held onto her arms as she started to gyrate, belly dancing style, going faster and faster until I began to move my ass in time as I couldn’t wait to blow my load. It felt like a nuclear explosion and she, with her eyes closed and her face contorted, tried to milk every drop out of me.

When it was over I was completely shagged but she got up went back to the shower and then emerged dressed and ready to go. It took me a little longer and when I re-entered the room she was on her cell phone. She quickly ended the call when I entered and then smiling sweetly she announced that she was going to take me to Germany for lunch.

Angela settled our bill and the desk clerk got us a taxi to take us to Kehl just over the border. She told the driver to drop us off at a little pub called the Alte Zunft. This place had a nice atmosphere and the food was really great. She looked very relaxed as she sipped on her stein of beer and every so often, having kicked off her shoes under the table, she’d lift up her foot up and diddle my crotch.

During the hour we spent there I think we both learned more about each other than we’d ever had before. I talked about my past and the fact that I’d never been to college and this led to her opening up about some of the things she’d done. I must admit I never expected someone with her looks and lifestyle to have had such a remarkable resume.

She told me that she did four years at Heidelberg University; two years at the Sorbonne in Paris studying the History of Art and Archeology and then she’d worked for a string of museums in Paris, Berlin, and London. I would have loved to have asked why the work she was engaged in at the present was so secret but as things seem to be going so well between us now I didn’t want to screw them up.

While we were talking I noticed a strange looking man who kept glancing in our direction. He got up to leave at the same time as we did, bumped into Angela, mumbled some kind of an apology and hurriedly made his exit. I didn’t think too much about the encounter until we got out into the street and she led me towards a shiny new Mercedes and told me to jump in.

I’d got so used to all of the secrecy I didn’t even ask, and she offered no explanation. However, I did conclude that the man in the pub had probably delivered the car and when he bumped into her he possibly passed on the keys. If that was indeed what happened it seemed overly dramatic but from what I’ve read covert operators revel in unnecessary subterfuge.

Once back in the apartment, we spent the evening snuggled up on the sofa, had a pizza for supper and made passionate love once more before we both dropped asleep.


I didn’t realize that Angela had the Monday off and so I got up at 7.30 and tried to get her out of bed for breakfast but she just covered her head with a pillow and told me to go away. I sat and drank my coffee alone looking at the many ornaments and vases around the place. With her expertise in antiquities, I knew it was unlikely she bought them at Wal-Mart. I had a new respect for them after learning more about her background and I resolved that when I was tidying up I would be more careful, just in case I was handling some Egyptian relic or Ming vase.

I was excited about starting my new job the following day, I just wasn’t made to sit around doing nothing. Since my arrival in Strasbourg, apart from sexual activities, I’d been somewhat sedentary. Back in Toronto, I’d been a member of a Judo club; did some rock climbing and I was the arm wrestling champion at my local watering hole.

It occurred to me that I might have put on a couple of pounds since moving in with Angela. The strange thing was, she didn’t seem to do anything strenuous, apart from sex, and she was in perfect shape – and I do mean perfect shape!

At 11 am she had not risen from her bed and so I decided I would go for a jog so I put on my tracksuit and headed off down the Quai. You can run beside the river for miles and it’s very pleasant.

Quai des Bataliers gives way to Quai des Pecheaurs and there’s a little restaurant there that’s called Le Rafiot. It’s actually a boat anchored on the side of the river. As I was passing and breathing a little heavy I heard a voice call out “Hey Canadian,” I looked towards the outdoor tables and there was Taylor. She signaled for me to join her.

“I’m sorry I can’t remember your name,” she groaned, as I sat down across from her, “I’m just not good with names.”

“It’s Konrad – Konrad Max,” I said.

“Of course – I’ll remember that in future.”

She then invited me to join her for brunch. “I’m afraid I got up late,” she said, “Daddy forgot to give me a call before he left for work.”

“Is your father Robert Woodrow?” I asked.

“Yes – he is,” she replied looking a little surprised that I might know him.

Over a light lunch, I told her about my new job and she said that she sometimes did some filing for her father so we’d probably see each other there. And then she went on to tell me that she lived on Rue de Zurich, which was quite close to me. However, when she asked me where I lived I felt a bit awkward for some reason.

“I live with a friend on Quai des Bataliers,” I replied, a bit embarrassed to say that I was shacked up with an older woman.

It must have been six coffees later that we eventually parted company. Taylor had such a bubbly personality it wasn’t easy to break away and of course – she was very easy on the eye being tall, very slender and very blond.

When I got back to the apartment Angela was sitting at the table eating a piece of warmed up pizza.

“Where’ve you been,” she asked, eyeing my attire.


“I’m afraid I’ve eaten the leftover pizza – you’ll have to figure something out for your lunch.”

“Oh – I ate at the Le Rafiot – someone actually bought me lunch.”

“You make friends quickly.”

“It was the daughter of the guy I’m going to work for – they live on Rue de Zurich.”

“You never mentioned there was a daughter in the equation – she ‘s pretty I suppose.”

“Hm – she’s quite nice looking.”

“Prettier than me?”

“Oh you’re two completely different types – she’s just a kid actually.”

“So I guess she just bought you lunch out of her pocket money.”

Sensing I was digging a large hole for myself I leaned over her and kissed her gently on the back neck, “Don’t tell me you’re jealous,” I teased, slipping my hands down and cupping her breasts. She leaned back onto my chest.

“Are you trying to seduce me,” she purred?

“Is it working?”

She didn’t say anything, she shot out of her chair yelling “ the last one into the bedroom is the slave,” as she made for the bedroom door. I didn’t attempt to beat her as I didn’t care what role I played – it was always good!

She was lying naked on the bed as I entered and I knew what she wanted. I started by tickling the soles of her feet with my tongue and when she couldn’t stand that anymore I moved up the inside of her leg but stopped before I got to her flower. Knowing that she always wanted her nipples sucking before I fingered her crack, I just gave it a light kiss in passing and proceeded to those voluptuous tits of her.

As I sucked, licked and fondled she kept whispering, “I love it, I love it, keep doing it to me, baby.”

Everything was about timing with Angela, and I was now able to sense when she wanted me to take it to the next level. The moment she began to squirm her ass around, I knew the wanted me to lower my sights and head towards her neatly shaved pussy.

Tracing my tongue down over her tummy, I lingered at her belly button for a second before repositioning myself between her legs and separating her moist folds with my fingers. By this time she was getting very excited and began to call for me to make her cum. To do this I began to flick my tongue like a butterfly’s wing up and down her lips causing her to moan out loud and grab onto my hair as if she was afraid I might break away. When her body started to shake like crazy I lined up my throbbing cock and went straight for the gold.

The bed was crashing against the wall so violently that the pictures were in danger of becoming dislodged. When the big climax came she grabbed hold of my face and kissed me so hard it bruised my lips.

I was so exhausted after our romp I hoped I’d be fit enough to start my job in the following morning….. to be continued

Continued on Page 2

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