Before proceeding further, he bent down to kiss Sophia, whose head was at the foot of the bed. This time there was more feeling in the kiss. Sophia was just getting lost in the wondrous sensations that were sweeping through her body when he broke the kiss and asked her to take off his one remaining item of clothing. Raising herself so that she was sitting on the edge of the bed, she ran her fingers from his chest over his six-pack down to his belly button. As she proceeded further south, she saw his penis twitch in its cage. Running her fingers over the elastic waistband, she continued down until she found his ball sac. She rubbed it gently before starting the journey along his shaft, which jerked periodically as she made her way to journey’s end. Considering that he was sufficiently aroused for the time being, she eased the fabric over his tumescence, watching in delight as the flesh coloured, circumcised weapon was revealed for the first time.
‘I don’t think I’ll be able to get enough of Thor’s hammer,’ thought Sophia, as she imagined it smashing to smithereens any inhibitions she might still have, strange as that may sound to the reader of her story. (‘O, wad some Power the giftie gie us, to see oursels as others see us!’ and all that…)
‘Would you like me to lick it?’ asked Sophia a little redundantly.
‘If it isn’t too much trouble,’ replied the enigmatic Swede.
‘Little Ulf looks like big trouble,’ laughed Sophia.
There was no moaning or other noises from the self-contained Swede as Sophia got to work on his phallus. This was a little disconcerting at first – a bit like listening to a sitcom with no canned laughter. Something felt like it was missing. Sophia plugged away just the same, feeling a lot better when Ulf employed the time-honoured hand-around-the-base-of-the-head trick to encourage her to go deeper.
‘Houston, we have lift-off!’ she thought.
But even after this encouraging sign it wasn’t all plain sailing. She might have been churning away as if her very life depended on it, but Ulf was so motionless (and of course quiet) that she thought he must have fallen asleep on his feet – like a horse. She was about to pop up to check on the state of play when she felt that old familiar feeling via the various receptors that obviously measure these things in her mouth and throat.
‘It takes all sorts to make a world,’ she reflected, as wads of his jism shot down her oesophagus.
Sophia had never seen Ulf as animated as when he thanked her for her ‘expert fellatio’. Apparently, very few women had ever managed to make him come orally, including Petsi. Sophia ticked him off for telling secrets out of school and was going to offer him a bit of advice in respect of showing a bit of enthusiasm, but decided against it when she realised that this might jeopardise her chances of getting a good fuck. She knew how melancholic these Swedes could get. She once had a boyfriend who was an Ingmar Bergman fan and had taken her to see one of his films. It was easily the most depressing experience of her life. No, any advice she might dispense would have to wait until after the main event.
So, instead of a little lecture, Sophia told Ulf that his sperm was the tastiest she had ever swallowed, and that she was looking forward to receiving another load in her pussy, which was ‘aching for his hammer’. If you want a man to perform in bed, the sure-fire way to achieve this is by acting like a brain-dead bimbo – especially if you are already blonde. It is a sad fact, but a fact, nonetheless.
To her enquiry as to whether he wished to rest before proceeding, he answered with the most animation he had yet shown that he was ready to give Sophia ‘the fuck of her life’, if she was ready to receive it. Demurely – she actually fluttered her eyelashes – Sophia replied that she thought she was, but now that she realised how big he was, she wasn’t sure any more. Since that was the case, Ulf insisted on giving Sophia choice of positions.
Her mind suddenly flooded with images of Luca doing his wife ‘like a sheep’ at that incredibly acute angle, she asked Ulf how you said doggy-style in Swedish. When he told her that they used a word meaning ‘from behind’, she was distinctly underwhelmed, but understood that this was what you must expect from a country that had produced Greta Garbo and Ingmar Bergman. Putting her disappointment to one side, she asked him if he could do her ‘from behind’ but from a sharp angle.
At first, Ulf didn’t understand. It had got to the point that Sophia was thinking about drawing a picture, even though her art skills weren’t very strong, when, with the help of a bit of sign language, she got the message across. A broad smile lit his face. It was one of the positions which gave the most pleasure to women, he told her, beaming. Sophia beamed back, wondering how many women comprised the sample he was basing his research results on. They said you needed at least 30 participants to make a sample valid. Surely he hadn’t had that many women in his relatively short life, And, if he had, had he really gone to the trouble of asking them to rank-order their favourite positions? Perhaps he passed out a questionnaire to save time, she thought.
So the bakifrån position (as she later learnt it was called) it was to be. Ulf prepped himself with a few stretches, evidently believing that ensuring his other muscles were in proper working order would help his love muscle function at its optimal level. Ulf clearly wasn’t one for oral sex, or, if he was, he was content to dispense with preliminaries on this occasion. Lining up his schlong at such an extreme angle that he grazed Sophia’s asshole on the way down, he slowly eased himself into her tight passage.
‘God, that feels good,’ Sophia thought, channelling her inner Swede by refraining from making any declaration.
Ulf seemed to derive energy from their mime, moving his manhood inch by inch (or rather, in his terms, centimetre by centimetre) into the Englishwoman. In fact, he was the first party to break their mutual code of silence, commenting in favourable terms on the tightness of her pussy. This encouraged Sophia in the hope that he would compare her favourably to Petsi. She knew it was reprehensible, but, when her competitive juices started flowing, she just couldn’t help herself.
Speaking of juices, as Ulf journeyed further into Sophia’s tunnel, he perceived a change in the, so to speak, road surface conditions. They were slick with what appeared to be a mixture of oil and water. He would have to proceed with great caution; otherwise, he knew that he risked going into a spin. As a child, he used to watch motor rallying in the winter with his father from the side of a country road, and had looked on with awe as cars would fail to take the corner and go somersaulting into the distance through hedges and across fields. He realised that this was a very real possibility for him now if he allowed himself to lose control.
He wasn’t helped in his commitment to health and safety by his co-driver, who at this most critical of points chose to forget her role of helpmate and map-reader, and started acting in a manner guaranteed to put life and limb in danger. She’d even unbuckled her safety belt and jettisoned her crash helmet.
Despite this, Ulf thought he had reached his destination in one piece and was on the point of congratulating himself on a job well done, when the wheels came off. The road he was travelling along at high speed suddenly started to break up. As fast as he managed to avoid the potholes, new ones appeared – wider and deeper than those he had circumvented before. There was only one thing for it: he had to bale out before the car entered into a deadly spin. But he was too late. The landscape appeared to be unfolding around him and he couldn’t find the door handle, or even the door. Ragnarök was upon him: the twilight of the gods, the end of the world! There was only one thing for a Norse warrior to do: die with glory. Ulf did not disappoint his ancestors. Neither, he found, once he had awoken from his reverie, had he disappointed Sophia, who lay exhausted but sated before him.
As they lay on the bed in the Nordic version of coital bliss – saying nothing to each other – Sophia had two things on her mind. First, she mustn’t let Ulf go before he’d applied the varnish, or whatever it was, and, second, she wanted to draw him out a bit on Petsi. What was the deal with her? Had she dated a lot of men before Ulf? Did they have an open relationship? Was she into women? As always, she knew it was best to start by oiling the wheels with a bit of flattery.
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