Vintage Keliana (with story)

[Fantasex 76]

I used to subscribe to Chic a Larry Flynt Publication back in the 80's the US version of course not the French version.

[linguslingus]

omg, I don't know if I could read that all. I'd like to see a pro photoset of her.

[smc]

Originally Posted by linguslingus

omg, I don't know if I could read that all. I'd like to see a pro photoset of her.

This is how Keliana herself has chosen to present these photos. Her work is as "pro" as "pro."

[mcginlay]

some of those mag cover mock-ups are great, particularly Baby Dolls and LWAD

[smc]

The story, continued ...

In a second, the footsteps become a rumble. As the door to the men’s lavatory is thrown open, I furiously try to stuff my hard cock away. It is not an easy task. Keliana has me so aroused that I can barely fit my cock back into my pants, and the continual dripping is making it so lubricated that I am having a tough time getting a good enough grip. Before I can hide what Keliana has done, the door to the stall flings open. The man from the front desk glares at me. There are a dozen or so hostel guests behind him, all trying to get a look.

“What is going on in here?” the desk clerk asks, yelling at me in heavily accented English.

Just as I begin to compose an answer, I hear the loud voice of a woman shouting above the din of all the onlookers. She is speaking French. Whatever she’s saying, the entire room becomes quiet. Suddenly, there she is, pushing the desk clerk aside and staring in at me sitting on the closed toilet seat. It is a policewoman. She beings to ask me what I can tell are questions, from her tone, but I don’t understand a word she is saying.

One of the other guests, a young woman, steps forward. She says something quietly to the policewoman, and then turns to me and says, “She wants to know what happened that made you scream.”

“Who called the police?” I reply.

“I think you should answer her,” the young woman says.

The policewoman turns to the young woman and speaks. From the little French I understand, I assume that she’s asking for translation.

“You should answer,” the young woman says, again. The policewoman glares at me, with a stern look.

“I don’t know what to say.” I can’t think of any response.

The policewoman steps into the stall and grabs my arm to lift me from my sitting position. My cock, which has softened, dangles from the top of my pants, which I haven’t finished pulling up. She grabs my cock and stuffs it into my pants with one hand, and then gestures to me to close the zipper and buckle my belt. I do as I am told. Then she bends down and picks up the “Chic” magazine with Keliana on the cover. It’s open to the photo spread, and there is cum on one of the pages. In fact, I’m beginning to notice the cum I’ve sprayed everywhere.

She says something to the young woman, who turns to me and says, ““She was on her patrol, walking by the building, and heard you. She wants to know if this is why you screamed.”

I look right into the policewoman’s eyes. Beyond her stern look, I sense a tiny bit of a smile. I nod my head “yes.”

The policewoman again turns to the young woman, who then says to me, “You must go with her.” The policewoman then grabs my arm and pulls me out of the stall, through the crowd of guests, down the hall, down the stairs, and into the lobby of the hostel. She says something to the young woman, who shakes her head “no” and begins to go up the stairs. The policewoman shouts at her, and she stops dead in her tracks, then turns around and comes back down the stairs. They converse for a moment, the young woman runs up the stairs, and comes back dressed instead of in her pajamas. The three of us leave the hostel amidst a din or murmuring among the other guests.

Once out on the street, we walk for a few blocks and arrive at a police car. The young woman does all the speaking after being told what to say. “I have been commandeered to translate, I suppose until we get to the police station. She says to get in the front next to her.” I do. The young woman gets in the back.

“What’s your name,” I ask the young woman. As she answers, “Monique,” the policewoman turns to me and puts her finger over my lips.

“Shhhhhh,” she says.

We drive a short distance until I see the light of a police station ahead. But as we approach, the policewoman speeds up and goes right past. Monique begins to speak, hurriedly and with a tone of concern. I can tell she doesn’t like what the policewoman is saying back to her

“What’s going on?” I ask.

The policewoman says, “Shhhhhh.” And then she slaps my face lightly.

* *

After a bit more driving, we arrive at a small house. It seems to me as if we are no longer in the city. Perhaps it is a suburb. We pull into a small driveway, and the policewoman and Monique get out. The policewoman comes to my side of the car, opens the door, and grabs my arm, dragging me to the front door. She unlocks it, drags me in, and throws me down into an easy chair in front of a small coffee table. She says something to Monique, and heads down the hallway.

“She says that we had better stay still, if we are smart,” says Monique, who then sits down.

Waiting for whatever is going to come next, my eyes begin to wander around the small room. I guess it’s the living room. The table has some magazines on it, and I begin to look through the pile. Underneath two issues of “Paris Match,” I come across two more “Chic” magazines. On the cover of one, I see a shapely woman with long, dark hair from behind. She is walking onto the deck of a house or apartment, and there is a body of water in the background. On the cover of the other, what appears to be the same woman appears, with her succulent behind exposed under a red dress that has been lifted to the waist. Then I see the text on the cover of the second magazine: “Keliana in that Red Hot Dress.” They are both Keliana.

Monique is sitting quietly, clearly nervous. The policewoman is still somewhere down the hall. Fearful of what is coming next, I take a chance at escaping. As quickly as I can, I rush to the front door and open it. Just as I am about to run out into the darkness, my way is blocked by yet another policewoman. She grabs me and drags me back into the room, throwing me down into the chair. Then, in what seems to be a single motion, she pulls off her policewoman’s uniform. A massive cock sticks straight out into my face. It is even larger than Teodora’s.

She shouts something in French, and turns to Monique.

“She says to suck her,” says Monique, “or else.”

to be continued ...

[smc]

the story, continued ?

Before I can say a word of protest, the second policewoman rams her gigantic cock between my lips, into my mouth, and what feels like halfway down my throat. I gag and feel as if I will pass out. But before that happens, after only five deep thrusts of her massive tool, she begins to shoot cum into me. I feel it welling in my stomach. Then she grabs hold of her dick, pulls it out, and shoots more jizz all over my face. Then she grabs my arm, drags me over to Monique, and shouts something. I don?t know what she?s saying, but Monique begins to lick the cum from my face.

The second policewoman laughs and says, in rough English, ?Welcome to Paris.?

Then, the first policewoman reappears, dressed in a powder blue babydoll, her tits and cock visible through the sheer material. Her cock isn?t as big as her friend?s, but is fully erect and delicious looking. She wears her policewoman cap and holds a big dildo and some handcuffs. She says something in French, and Monique begins to undress me.

Meanwhile, the second policewoman makes a space on the table, takes the dildo, and -- using the suction cup I now notice near the balls -- attaches it firmly, sticking straight up. When I am fully naked, she grabs me and bends me over, rubbing her cock right against my ass and dripping some of the remnants of her enormous cumload right on my hole. Using her tongue, she then swirls around around a combination of cum and saliva and pushes into me. Satisfied that I am ready, she drags me to the table and, with one swift motion, pushes me down on the dildo, which goes deep into my ass so quickly that I yelp. She gently slaps my sticky face.

The dildo feels much deeper than the one I used at home, perhaps because I?m sitting on it. The first policewoman comes over and pulls my arms behind my back, handcuffing my wrists together. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Monique stealthily making her way to the door and running away. I am left alone with the two policewomen.

My hands now firmly shackled behind my back, the first policewoman stands on the table and dangles her cock in front of my face. Her friend kneels in front of the table and takes my cock in her surprisingly soft hand and strokes. I am nearly instantly rock hard. She then lowers her mouth onto my cock and, grabbing my waist, at the same time as she sucks me she lifts my entire body off part of the dildo in my ass. I can?t believe her strength. She?s literally lifting me up and down to fuck me with the dildo. I moan in absolute pleasure at being fucked and sucked simultaneously.

That seems to be signal. The first policewoman, her cock now as hard as mine, is positioned perfectly, and as her friend lifts me up and down on the dildo, my mouth hits the tip of her erection. She doesn?t have to tell me to open my mouth. This feels incredible, and I want more.

I feel like part of a perfectly constructed perpetual motion sex machine. One woman keeps her mouth on my cock, sucking me up and down as she lifts me off the dildo, which is fucking my ass better than it?s ever been fucked, and manages to use my mouth so that the other woman is face-fucking me. The rhythm is ideal, like the best music I?ve ever heard.

I hungrily suck, hardly even cognizant of the fact that I am a prisoner and, in essence, being raped. I don?t care. I take that cock with great enthusiasm. I look up at the first policewoman, and she is smiling at me. If my mouth wasn?t full of her cock, which now seems to be growing even larger, I would smile back.

The first policewoman rips off the top of her babydoll and begins to play with her tits. I want to suck them, but I?m busy. Meanwhile. my ass is being plundered by the dildo, and my dick is filling with cum. I wonder how long I can keep from spewing it into the second policewoman?s mouth. Almost as if on cue, she takes one hand from my waist -- miraculously managing to continue working my entire body up and down, with superhuman strength -- and tightly grasps the bottom of my shaft to keep me from cumming.

As the cock keeps growing in my mouth, I begin to feel the first policewoman?s balls bumping against my chin. They are so smooth and warm, and I really want to lick them. But these women definitely have a plan. Suddenly, the first policewoman moans deeply and begins to wave her left hand. It?s obviously a signal, because at the precise moment that the cock in my mouth begins to shoot a huge load directly down my throat, the second policewoman release her hand from the base of my shaft and I begin to shoot a huge load directly into her mouth. I look down and she looks up, as cum drips from her lips, which are still firmly around my hard dick. The first policewoman and I keep cumming and cumming, until I nearly pass out.

Both of us who have just cum are exhausted from our orgasms, but the second policewoman doesn?t care. The first policewoman climbs down from the table, rearranges her babydoll, and sits on the couch, stroking her softening cock beneath the sheer material. The second policewoman lifts me off the dildo, yanks it off the table -- it makes a funny sound as the suction releases -- and rams it straight into my mouth.

?Suck!? she yells. I taste my ass for a minute or so, and she pulls the dildo from my mouth and throws it in a corner of the room. ?Good!? she says, smiling broadly.

I notice that she is rock hard, just like when she forced me to suck her, and I am again overwhelmed by the size of her dick. The more I stare at it, the larger it becomes. I estimate that it is easily half-again as large as Teodora?s, previously the biggest I?d ever seen in real life or a magazine.

The second policewoman comes around behind me and undoes the handcuffs. She drags me to the chair and sits me down. She then goes to the couch and kisses her friend in the babydoll. Positioning her on all fours, she gets behind her and thrusts her humongous dick right into her ass in one motion. The first policewoman screams in utter ecstasy, and begins to moan loudly as she is fucked harder and harder. The second policewoman, just before she is lost to her own ecstasy, turns to me and says, again in barely understandable English, ?You are next.?

?No!? I think to myself. ?No! I am saving that for Keliana.?

The pounding continues, and within minutes the second policewoman is lost in her own utter ecstasy. Even though she occasionally turns my way, I notice that her eyes seem to have gone back in her head. I sense my chance. Grabbing my shirt and pants from the floor where Monique dumped them, I make my way to the door and leave. I am at the end of the short driveway when I remember I?ve forgotten two things.

Quietly, I make my way back into the house. The two policewoman are lost to their lust, one screaming and the other grunting like a wild animal. I grab the first thing: my shoes. I quickly scan the floor for the other thing: the two ?Chic? magazines I found earlier, with Keliana on the cover. They are in a pile from when the table was cleared for my ass-plundering. I grab them and head back out the door.

* *

I am very lucky. I wander around this suburb most of the rest of the night, but eventually find a Metro station and take the train back to Paris. I find my way back to the hostel and wonder whether I need to sneak in. Deciding to confront the situation head on, I go right to the front desk and tell the clerk that I was released by the police. It is not the same person as the night before, but he is familiar with the situation -- and he speaks perfect English. He admonishes me to have no more disturbances. I nod in assent, and head upstairs, wondering if Monique returned. I suspect she would high-tail it as far away from here as possible.

When I am halfway up the stairs, I hear him call my name. I stop, and he brings me a small package.

?This came for you earlier this morning,? he says.

I hold in my hand a small package, wrapped in brown paper and with a string tied around it. The sender is is a familiar name, but I can?t quite place it. The address is somewhere in London. I wonder how anyone other than my mother, sister, and aunts and uncles know when I will be where in Europe. When I get to the room, there are a few people just getting ready to leave. I wait for them, and collapse on the bed, exhausted by the thorough fucking I have just experienced. But I want to know what is in the package.

Ripping open the paper, I pull out a small envelope. The rest of whatever is in the package is wrapped again. In the envelope is a handwritten note that reads as follows:

?My young friend -- I have returned home for a visit and, by chance -- the only way -- seen someone special. I told her about you, and she hopes that you, too, will chance upon her. Remember my suggestions, and enjoy this gift from her.?

I unwrap the remainder, and find three brand-new magazines with Keliana on the cover. They are ?CUMM International,? a magazine I have never seen. She looks stunning in a bathing suit on two of them, and in a sexy, red dress on the other. As I open the first magazine, another note slips out onto the floor. As I bend to pick it up, I smell perfume. It reads:

?I am the cover girl for a new magazine. These have not yet arrived in Europe. You are the first to see them here, other than me. I hope you enjoy them as much as I hear you are enjoying my other photographs. Find me in London.?

The note is signed ?Your Keliana.?

I am in shock. I bring the note to my nose to take in the full fragrance of the perfume. Perhaps my mind is playing ticks on me, but I swear there is also a faint smell of sex. Or maybe that?s all over me.

Suddenly, I realize where I know the name from the outer wrapper. It?s the old gentleman from the adult bookstore, back home.

to be continued ...

[smc]

the story, continued …

A note from Keliana! “Find me in London,” she wrote. The old gentleman from the bookstore back home is clearly on my side.

My mind is racing. I don’t know what to do next. Should I leave Paris immediately and head for London? Should I stay here in case some clues might arrive. As the thoughts course through my head, and the scent of Keliana’s perfume lingers, I find myself rushing downstairs to the hostel lobby, where there is a public telephone.

So far, my only communication with home has been through postcards, but now I get instructions from the desk clerk, purchase the necessary phone card, and make my call. The phone at home rings five times before my mother answers. “How’s this?!” she shouts.

I realize it is just before dawn at home. “Sorry, Mom,” I say. “I forgot how early it is back there.”

I hear her take a deep breath. Then she says, more calmly, “I thought you would only call in an emergency. Is everything okay? Are you in Paris now?”

“Yes,” I reply. “I was just surprised today to receive a package here in Paris, and I was wondering how it happened.”

“A package? From whom?” Before I can answer, I hear my sister’s voice in the background, demanding the phone.

“You got a package?” It’s my sister. I tell her it came from someone I know from town.

“He came by the house when Mom wasn’t home,” she explains. “I recognized him from the time I went to that adult bookstore to buy you your going-away present. He was working that day, but wasn’t the one who helped me. But he seemed to know all about your trip, and said he was going home to England and wondered if I knew when you would be there. I said I had your itinerary and gave him the information so he could contact you.”

“Did he say anything else?” I ask.

“No, little bro. Why?” she replies.

“I’m just trying to figure out what it all means,” I say.

“Don’t be so fucking mysterious,” says my sister. I hear my mother’s voice in the background, telling her to watch her language.

“Mom’s listening?” I ask.

“Don’t worry, bro,” she says. “She’s back in her room. I said that really loud, I guess.”

“Good. So, did he say anything else?”

“Nope.” There’s a long pause, and then my sister asks, “It’s about that cock-girl, isn’t it?”

“She’s a real girl,” I say, somewhat petulantly. “As much a girl as you.”

“Whatever you say, bro. Listen, did you like my little gift?”

I tell her yes and that I have a great story to tell her when I get home. I ask her if Mom wants to talk to me before I go, and she tells me my mother is already back asleep.

“I hope you find her,” says my sister. “You’re a little perv, but you’re my brother, so I want you to be happy.”

And she hangs up.

* *

I decide that I must get to London, right away. My flight isn’t until late tomorrow, but I head out of the hostel, with directions from the desk clerk to the nearest Air France office. I will change my ticket.

The agent at the office speaks the best English I’ve heard in Paris. Unfortunately, his facility with my language only helps explain as clearly as possible that my ticket cannot be changed without paying a very large fee, far in excess of what I have to spend. Disgruntled, I head out, quite exhausted from marathon fucking and sucking of the night before, and roam the streets of Paris. I find something to eat, and drink a couple of espressos to elevate my energy level. In mid-afternoon, I stop at a magazine kiosk outside one of the Metro stations, where they have newspapers in English.

As I flip through the International Herald Tribune, I notice two kids at the other end of the rack of magazines. They appear to be about 12 or 13 years old. They have a magazine in their hands, and are whispering in French and chuckling as they turn the pages. Suddenly, the surly man running the kiosk comes out from behind his small counter, and grabs the magazine from their hands. Holding it up, he shouts something in French that sounds angry and profane at the same time.

The boys run off. An older man, reading Le Monde, says to me in English, “Funny. He wonders why that magazine was delivered to him.” I guess he speaks English to me because of the newspaper I’m reading.

Just as I get ready to continue my walk around the city, I see the kiosk proprietor throw the magazine down on his counter, shaking his head. My eyes light up.

“Is that for sale?” I ask.

He looks at me and grunts. “Huh?”

I do remember one thing in French. “C’est combien?” I ask. “How much does it cost?”

He hands me the magazine and gestures for me to leave.

“C’est combien?” I ask again.

The older man says, “He’s telling you to take it and go.”

I do, and return to the hostel as quickly as possible. If I can’t go to London immediately, I can at least have some quiet time with my beloved Keliana late this afternoon, while the hostel is mostly abandoned by the other guests.

You see, the magazine kiosk somehow received an issue of “CUMM International” other than those sent to me by the man from the bookstore back home. I thought they were brand new, but here it is, now mine. This one features Keliana -- the beautiful, the sexy, the delicious Keliana -- with white panties and her beautiful girl cock bulging. Mine is now bulging, too. The cover text is about Keliana as a secretary, and I suddenly imagine myself as her boss, calling her in to my office for whatever my heart desires.

“How did I ever happen upon this magazine?” I wonder, as I find my way back to the bathroom where last night’s adventure began, close the door of the stall, open the magazine, and begin to pleasure myself to the pictures inside of Keliana.

It doesn’t take long before I cum, but this time I muffle my scream. I clean up and head back to my room, nearly colliding with Monique in the hallway.

“Come with me,” she says, grabbing my hand.

to be continued ...