Karya (eBook)

Titanium root

Poppelsdorfer Allee lay as if deserted in the light of the few stars that sent their fleeting glimmer into the Main night. The dense foliage of the chestnut trees offered good protection from prying eyes. An old lady peered out of the window of her founder's house into the darkness because, as usual, she couldn't sleep, all in keeping with her age. No one was to be seen. It was a dead zone in this part of the former capital, where the old people, the pensioners, the widows were in charge. Those who tolerated absolutely no noise.

The event in the Bonn Botanical Garden attracted a lot of attention. Three flowers sprouted from a tuber in May 2006. This titanium root flower was simply sensational. The tuber, which weighed over a hundredweight, had already sprouted a record-breaking flower in 2003 and 2005, but this time the spectacle was truly magnificent. That's why everyone who felt important was there.

"You're about to feel it, my arum, the Amorphophallus titanum," she heard him whisper hoarsely against the shell of her left ear. Behind the mighty chestnut tree, he had her bent over in the shade in front of him, her pert miniskirt flipped up. The turquoise thong panties would no longer prevent anything. His paw had clawed into her slender neck, wordlessly threatening to break her neck in a fraction of a second if necessary.

Her whole body shivered despite the warm summer night. Horrified, she felt her sex getting wet, no, soaking wet, deceiving her and her fear. She signaled her willing readiness to the guy behind her as if he were an aroused male. With the musky smell of her sex, she stank like a bitch in heat, she thought. The tall man fascinated her and had quickened her pulse ever since she had first laid eyes on him that evening. In the botanical garden, by the Titan's Root, the phallic symbol that had aroused her despite the cadaverous smell that this stinking flower exuded. What had prompted her to follow him, to accept his suggestion to take a stroll on the night of the Main?

He had charmingly wooed her, mistaking her name for Chiara, which means the shining one, the famous one. It hadn't mattered to her, because she was just passing through. Season in Europe, the vacation trip through the old continent before she finished her studies. There would be no more time after that, she knew from her sister.

She had raved about the gentlemen in Old Europe, experienced gentlemen who did not adhere to the prudish petting rules of US boys, but gave the naive college girl a practical education in exploring her own reactions to erotic advances. As well as getting rid of the obstructive hymen, which none of her US dates had ever really dared to jeopardize. Inexperienced boys, in every sense of the word.

"He rode me in and out so that I didn't know whether to neigh or moan," she had told her. The prudish sister who had been considered untouchable in Texas. Was that what she had instinctively been looking for and hoping to find in this guy? Her body confirmed this, receptive in every way.

His other paw obviously set the course for the planned ride and nimbly slipped under her sweater and blouse, unhooked her bra, peeled her breasts out of the cup and unerringly grabbed the front between her thighs. Two of his fingers gripped her labia, pressing them together firmly. The middle finger between them conquered her cleft, measured the moisture, delicately lowered itself into the opening and felt the still intact skin of her virginity.

Her bottom pushed against his erection due to the forced position, which she could already feel between her buttocks. He gripped her tighter and at the same time bent her further forward. His hard-on protruded between her ass cheeks and felt plump and ready. A slight twist of his body brought him between her thighs and throbbed against her labia. A soft moan escaped her as he dug himself steadily into her wetness, making her suddenly feel as if she was rubbing herself on a man's bicycle pole, while a heat rose inside her like she had never felt before.

She greedily pushed herself onto the shaft and wanted it, now, to deflower herself, to feel this guy inside her, to willingly offer her sheath to his sword, to take him, to ride him, to submit to him, now! The first thrust almost knocked her over, had he not fixed her in front, her pussy in a firm grip, completing the conquest. Obviously it wasn't the first time he had cracked a maiden. What maiden could claim that was a memorable event. Her friends had warned her not to even assume that she would enjoy it.

The guy was now riding her with all his might, having let go of her everywhere as she braced herself against the tree trunk with both hands and rhythmically thrust her buttocks against him. Her suppressed sounds had become more violent, which is why she felt his hand on her lips to prevent the scream of pleasure that seemed foreseeable. At the same time, he took her even more firmly, raging inside her and conquering the territory that had kept her safe from the horny boys for years. She thrust against him like a cat in heat, taking what she could get, feeling the lust building up inside her and driving her to the peak, which only sounded like a muted scream through the hand in front of her lips.

In her lust, she was barely aware that he pulled back a little, slipped out suddenly and unexpectedly and took her rosette in a flash, taking it again before she could even waste a thought on it. Again he penetrated her up to the hilt, again she felt the rough fabric, metal parts on her jeans, wiry pubic hair on her cheeks, pushing herself towards him, regardless of the fact that she realized how she was now being deflowered again, a second time.

The heated melee continued unabated, her lust increased and once again she surrendered to her feelings, this time only moaning throatily. They gasped for minutes, wedged into each other, before he slipped out of her. He caught most of her mess with a paper handkerchief, slipped the thong back over her cleft and the miniskirt over her thighs.

With a quick grip, he forced her to her knees, grabbed her hair, turned her so that the back of her curly head brushed against the tree trunk and pushed his hard-on between her lips. He had anticipated her involuntary reaction. At the same time, his paws grabbed her breasts and held them irresistibly tight. That strange heat rose up in her again, overcoming her instinctive revulsion and paralyzing her will to resist. She wanted it now too, to return the favor for the first real orgasm of her life from before. The lack of freedom of movement also prevented her from escaping this gentle conquest and so she began to do her nutcracker's bidding.

She was no longer quite so inexperienced at this. Although she had protected her little plum from all attacks by lustful boys in Texas, she had no choice but to give her partner a petting climax that made him stay willing. After all, every curious girl has to kiss many princes to find out which one won't turn into a frog. This one didn't seem to turn into one, because he took her like she had never imagined. Energetically, but only inches wide, he pushed himself into her mouth, conquered it, let her tongue work and enjoyed her sucking, which became more and more intense, more rhythmic, the shaft more and more plump, until it filled her up, flowing out in bursts.

Instinctive swallowing as an involuntary reaction was the only way to control the outpouring and not drown from it. Now she was completely in heat, sucking him dry, robbing him of his last drops of semen before him suddenly withdrew. He tucked his member into his jeans, Levis 501, where he had only undone the rivets. He was built big enough, she now realized with satisfaction. That's why she hadn't felt a thigh or a muscle on her buttocks before, only the rough denim fabric with these metal parts. Taken on the open street. Like a cheap whore who had to earn her food on her knees with her treasures.

She was taken completely by surprise again. His hand went into his trouser pocket, pulled out a banknote, stuffed it into her brassiere with the words "Call me", turned around and went on his way. Stunned, she remained silent and stared at the banknote in her hand. 50 euros. The going rate for a quick fuck in the park, as the mostly colored asylum seekers call their clients. He walked steadily as she watched him, then turned right around the corner and was gone. She still held the bill in her hand and looked after the disappearing man.

Suddenly a strap wrapped around her neck, choking her and robbing her of air. At the same time, she felt a hard cock in her rosette, which mercilessly forced its way in and made her cry out. Or rather, it initiated her futile attempt to do so. She grabbed her neck and felt plastic, the cable tie that was strangling her. She knew instinctively that she had no chance of surviving this attack. The killer enjoyed her random convulsions and continued to take her with all his might. While she was already beginning to lose consciousness, she felt him explode inside her, once, several times. Then it went black around her eyes.

The old lady had gazed intently into the night, following a moving shadow under the chestnut trees. There had been two figures, one of which appeared to be female, suggesting a pair of lovers. There was not much to see behind the mighty trunk under the low-hanging leaves, except that these figures were moving in time. Lenz had probably unleashed its power, she thought silently, remembering her youth. A good fifteen minutes later, the dance of shadows followed another choreography. She could dimly make out that one was kneeling in front of the other. Were gays at work? Here? That was really cheeky. But...