The Erotic Life Of Princess Karen Sue Cantrell Of The Republic Of Aquitaine (A Night Of Don Giovanni)
Chapter One
What happened that night I am not aware of exactly what it was, as it was like a dream where everything is blurry and all we see are the outlines of the place where we are or the people who surround us. Sometimes recognizing some of the people we already know while those we do not; we can tell little about apart from their gender, for their faces are never clear enough that we might distinguish them again as they in fact could be anybody and yet nobody.
The night was a Friday and I was getting ready to go the opera with my husband whose age exceeds mine by two decades, and as I dressed I felt as I put on my clothes that something would happen that evening that made the choosing not only the clothes I wore outside but the ones I wore inside perhaps even more important than usual. It would be almost impossible to ascertain with any reason what made me feel this way, was summer influence in the air or the lack of sexual activity in my life. This given many a reason, one of which being my husband’s age along with the fact that he and I do spend many nights apart given that we do not even live in the same city and do travel quite extensively.
As for my husband what I will say about him is that he apart from being very much my senior, is a man not deprived of either good looks or wealth, even if his is not the kind which Forbes would place any where near the top of its list; however it was enough to lend a very practical angle to our marriage. It being that I obtained the title of Princess and funds sufficient to start my own company while my family profited from his connections in his native France. My husband however profited no less from our marital union as he did obtain that coveted American green card along with the use of my family’s connections in the States.
For my part what I will say about myself is that I am an American Princess; if such could be a title given, as it was through marriage that I did obtain it. Regarding my physical appearance, most men would say I am attractive as I do fit the type of Anglo Saxon female considered by many as beautiful. This given that my hair is blonde and straight; which I, since passing the age of fifty (me now being fifty-five) never allowed past my shoulders. As for the rest of me, my eyes are blue and mounted on a face which in reality I at times find plain given its lack of features which are distinguishable yet I am constantly being flattered by both men and women.
As for the rest of me, it perhaps is my physique which I take the most pride in, as I am relatively short standing at 160 and weighing in at what I would refer to as a lean 50 kilos; as I in fact have very little in the way of body fat, which does give me a figure even I at times catch myself admiring in the mirror. This not saying anything of some less discrete males whom I often catch staring, in a way that does not even attempt to hide their desires for more than a glance. This being how my body despite coming in a small package is what I have heard as one that comes packed with sexuality; though this would be hard for me to judge for myself even if I do notice how my breast are larger than those of most women while my legs more shapely.
One in fact without much room for doubt could say I am what is commonly known as “fine looking lady”, specially given my age and it was with this in mind that I chose my clothes that evening for the closing of the opera season which I would be attending in the society; not only of my husband but another couple whom we rarely if ever did see outside of the opera. The clothes I chose for the evening did not require much thought on my part or at least not my out garments as I wore the standard black nightgown I tended to wear to such functions which was a black dress with straps which for the most part did not allow me to wear a bra given the back strap would have been in plain sight of all. This was a dress which my husband liked seeing me in; perhaps given how short it was, though not overly going down as low as to fall 15 centimeters below where my stockings went up to. This being the case if I decided to wear stockings which on that day I argued with myself weather or not I would till finally it prevailed that those around me would be treated to my legs being wrapped in regular tan colored nylons.
While not much planning went in to my outer garments, it was in my under ones that I did take time to consider the options, as for some reason I felt that on that day this did matter, though why I knew not; though perhaps it was my female instinct that told me it did. I looked over several pairs of panties I had and after careful consideration; I opted for a pair of red silk panties. The kind that in fact cover very little of what my husband used to refer to as my well shaped behind, given there is but a very thin strap to hold the front part which barely gives cover to the golden hairs of my highest intimacy. This being what my favorite author “Gianni Truvianni” often repeats as being the rose of womanhood.
As for the rest of my wears which included my black high heel shoes, which allow my legs to take on that perfect or at least in opinion form which I do admire in myself almost above all the rest of me, along with a purse to match; which in fact was the one I bought new for this occasion. All was as any other night on which the opera season was bound to come to an end or at least till the next season in the fall was due to start, as summer was in the air in full heat. This being why I opted not to take a coat of any kind or even as much a s a light jacket which undoubtedly would have made even my arm perspire had I carried it.
In all honesty such was the heat that evening as I stepped out of our house that I even regretted the pantyhose I had put on instead of the stockings I normally wore but with us being in a hurry to get to the opera on time and our friends waiting I decided it would seem ridiculous if I were to say that I had suddenly opted for stockings instead of what I was wearing. The heat I must say was also sexually arousing me, as I walked over to the car that would take us to the opera. How I could feel my body, as sweat poured out of me, to the point where it was almost visible yet I did keep my composure despite all that was about, from my thoughts of the erotic to the temperature. We all got in the car as if getting out of the rain when in fact we were escaping the heat in what would be an air conditioned vehicle, which in fact it was. It was once inside however that the cool air would strike upon my areoles stiffening them to the point of being seen by my friend Betty, whose etiquette prevented from commenting on but not her stare which did cause a blush in me; also not unnoticed by her.
The conversation in the car, as on every trip to the opera my husband and I took centered on how noble he was to go to the opera despite hating it as much as he did so his wife could enjoy being near the thing which she had once studied for at one of the most prestigious music schools in America. It being what in fact I would go on to give it up so easily when things or the parts I wanted would not come my way as soon as I wanted them to. Perhaps I should have tried harder or simply stuck to what I studied but the life of practice and rehearsals was not what I desired any longer at that point in my life, therefore I opted for the job my father offered me in his company, which though not artistically rewarding did ensure me of an adequate salary plus several chances for promotion. How many years had gone by since that day when I turned down the opera in favor of my father’s offer which even he told me I could refuse with no resentfulness on his part as the post would be there for me if I ever chose to take it.
I must admit it was with some regret that I remember that moment in which I accepted but then again would I have been a great diva like Renee Fleming, whom we would be hearing that evening; along with Rolando Villazon in Mozart’s “Don Giovanni”? This I doubt and if there was one thing which my ego would not allow me to be was one of many as I perhaps rightly or wrongly always felt the need to stand out above the crowd, so to speak. This perhaps being the reason I always add my title H.R.H. in front of my name Karen Sue Cantrell (which is even extended further by “of the Republic of Aquitaine) regardless of weather it be when presenting myself to someone new or making hotel reservations or anything that may require me to give my name.
The drive to the opera was quick as traffic was light, this given the evening hour; all of which leading to us not arriving late but rather with five minutes to spare so we might take our seats without having to run; something which in this heat did not come unwelcome. I for my part never enjoyed arriving too early, given all the people my husband and I were forced; by rules of decorum to chat with before the start of the opera, this being something I preferred to do after.
The opera began on time and by the time it did my husband and I along with the couple who accompanied us were seated ready for the first notes of the overture to the opera Don Giovanni. How I love this opera, is something I will never be able to describe and yet in all sincerity it is not so much that I am such a Mozart fan as much as I am one of this opera. It might be its subject; the infamous seducer “Don Juan”. Who in fact is based on the character from “El Burlador De Sevilla, who cared not for anything that was not seduction of women, weather it be by enchantment or trick, as is the start of this opera; in which he makes love to Dona Anna. She believing it is her beloved. This only to find out once the dark had left that the one causing her groans was not her fiancée but the daring Don Juan.
Naturally this is not in the libretto of Don Giovanni and even if it were I doubt it would have been shown on stage, however it is understood to be going on while Leporello is signing the opening aria in which he complains of how he wishes he had any other master than his present boss, who is the cause of his almost never eating or sleeping well. I however can imagine this as it has been used in so many works of both literature and film where we see one person making love with another, while one of the participants in under the impression he or she though more often than not it is the woman who in fact is with another man. I could even picture Donna Anna (who like me has a title) mystified as she comes upon one orgasm after the other; why all of a sudden her lover had gone up so many notches? Of course it would be with fury that she would receive the news that Don Octtavio; who she had believed to be her fiancée, was in fact Don Giovanni.
Naturally it being Don Giovanni to attempt to take flight once the truth had been revealed, while Don Anna prevented him from doing so with her screams, which would lure her father who would discover his daughter and Don Giovanni involved in a struggle. The commendatore being Donna Anna’s father feeling propelled to protect his daughter takes out a sword and challenges Don Giovanni, who without much difficulty delivers a death blow with his sword to not only his life but his gallant intentions as well. In all this I have always felt it so arrogant for a man, to both in a way trick a woman in to surrendering her sexual pleasures after which he slays her father, so much so that contrary to being repelled by it I am even turned on. The boldness of the act, not to even consider weather a woman might not want it but simply impose it upon her with all the trust of his male dagger. As if saying he knew best what her desires longed for; which was enough to get me excited yet this was followed by his slaying of the man who had come to champion her cause only to find out that a will does not always suffice to find a way.
Chapter Two
I during the course of the opera, noticed out of the corner of my eye a man who in all honesty caught my gawk for the total opposite of what Don Giovanni was; where this famous seducer was swab and diviner this man was ugly in ever way from his face, mannerisms and cloths to the point of being amusing. Him being a man of red hair and freckles, who had in fact an unattractive face, while being short and plump. He sat in the booth next to ours and for the life of me I did not recall where I had seen him but there seemed something about him most familiar but this left my mind as soon as I felt the famous aria “Laci de la mano” was about to begin. This in my opinion if that of nobody else being arguably the ultimate song of seduction where Don Giovanni convinces the peasant girl Zerlina that her romantic interests are best served by him and not Masetto, the one she has promised to marry.
It was a wonderful aria that set my imagination a stir as Don Giovanni makes every attempt at seduction while Zerlina fights him of till she is no longer able to resist the charm of the one very few women ever would be able to keep at bay. Naturally as is the case with many things in life, they are disturbed by another which in the case of Zerlina and Don Giovanni is the sudden appearance of Donna Elvira, to inform Zerlina that she is one of many whose favors have and will be taken by this ever gallant gentleman.
I am not aware of what it was that evening, I after all had heard this aria sung thousands of times but there was something about it on that particular occasion that turned me, the same way as it did Zerlina and like hers and Don Juan’s, my longing also was not going to be calmed. It was at this point of the opera that I also noticed that I had been holding back my urge to go to the toilet to take what is commonly known as “a leak”, given how caught up I had been in the performance. I also felt my legs sweating as if I had just gone through one of my almost daily work outs at the gym, which under the circumstance of wearing nylons, felt anything but comfortable. I definitely needed to go to the ladies room and take care of a few issues, which is precisely what my intensions were as I slipped undetected by my husband who had already fallen asleep and our friends who as always seemed to be so taken in by the opera that they did not notice me at all as I tip toed out of our both.
The reality was that by then I was desperate not only to use the toilet but take off those itchy pantyhose, so much so that I looked around till I instantly went in to what I saw was the ladies restroom. How good it felt to sit down at the toilet where first lowered my pantyhose just enough that I might urinate. It was an incredible relieve and as I sat there with my pantyhose and panties past my dress, all I could think of was that half of what I had come in there to do was over with. The second half would be to just remove my pantyhose; which I had not made up my mind weather I should throw away or simply keep in my purse, not that this was even possible given how in my rush I had left at my chair.
Without really knowing what do with my pantyhose, I started to peel them off and just as they were around my knees I received one of the biggest shocks my life had known up till that point. A man was standing in front of my holding his root in his hand as if he wanted to urinate, yet what shocked me was why had he come in to the ladies room to do this? Had he not seen the sign and yet regardless of reason he came toward me who tried to stand up so he might take care of his needs. He however at that moment grabbed me by my shoulder, not allowing me to stand up, and by virtue of which let me know what his real needs were. I was afraid at first but then I noticed that it was that most vulgar man, sitting next to me; who though rough did resemble Don Giovanni in perhaps the most important of all ways and it being; his lust to posses a woman by what ever means were available to him and it was this that now made him most desirable to me.
I almost stopped breathing at that moment as he got closer, with his root in hand clear aimed for my mouth which was open more in shock than any longing to taking in what was being offered in the form of his short but fat member, which now was making its stiffness all too clear to my eyes. I for my part perhaps moved by what could be called part sexual arousal part fear of saying “no” was paralyzed as I froze, both unable to get away or even close my mouth, which might not have prevented this intruder from entering in the same way it would have done in the case of a mosquito.
It might have been that in all truth, I had never performed this act or that I needed it but the fact is that I took his root in my mouth, as automatically as he delivered it, making for something as natural as man or perhaps even a woman handing a coat check girl a ticket, the significance which she knows all to well. It even seemed strange to me that I instantly knew what do as his salty root entered my mouth, which strangely enough was not as unpleasant as I had always thought it would be. At first perhaps it did seem a tad disgusting but once the taste became friendly I actually took a liking to it and started working my tongue and sucking on the head of this member, which in my mouth had taken on an identity of its own. It was strange his was not so big but despite or perhaps because of this it was incredibly hard, even to the point of bouncing back as my mouth sucked on it.
How this was different from my husband, as he had not only never made me to perform such an act but quite the contrary had almost struck me once when I suggested we could try it if it made him happy. He of course saying that this was an act reserved for prostitutes or woman of such character and never for a Princess, which is what I had become because of him. This apart from a childless woman given, his creed that told him such tinny beings would interrupt his jet set lifestyle.
I continued to work the knobby end of his tool, though at times it went deep enough in me as to make me gag, yet this he sensed and managed to take it out just far enough that my efforts might be concentrated on the shinny tip, which another part of my anatomy, judging for the moisture I was feeling from it was growing very anxious to welcome much in the same way. His hands held my head as I did this simple action which had grown so lovely in my esteem, yet I had reached the point where my rose could no longer take the envy of not having what my mouth cherished so joyfully, so it was at this point that he tried to remove his root so it might introduce itself to another part of my anatomy. Yet, it was I who by grabbing on to his buttocks was able to surprise him perhaps more than he had me earlier, when I with all the force from my weight lifting and kickboxing lessons pressed him against me with all my strength; leaving him with little choice but to finish what he had commenced in my mouth.
Hot it tasted in my mouth, as his salty white liquid came out in a way that even split out on to my chin, perhaps given the appearance that I had been drinking milk. For my part I had felt this before though never in this part of me yet the sensation was one I will never forget, of sensing it even more intimately than I had when it had been injected in me where nature had truly meant it to be.
Many may consider this a lack of respect for a man to do what he had done but in a way it was me who had caused it more than he, yet as he stood there not knowing what do say, with me not even knowing if he could speak English as many foreigners attended the opera. I looked up at him and for the first time saw his face and eyes, which in an odd way were not as plain as I had first considered them to be.
I even took a sense of pride as his eye looked at me that made me want to smile as I had forced this on him in a way but I was not going to have my rose cheated out of what my mouth had savored and as he stood in front of me. I suddenly stood up and turned my back to him, to the point where the image I presented him with was one of myself bent over on the toilet seat with my dress raised up and my pantyhose and panties between my legs, while the real entrance to my feminine world was not only exposed but available. It being such to the onslaught of the one which had already caused rain in my mouth. We in all that had become our dealings; not a word had we said as we would be speaking through our actions. As if we were in a time and space where talk would not only get in the way but cheapen the nobility of our acts.
I from this position of wait, could feel the wetness pouring out of me as it was a combination of several factors, one of them being the place where we were and the circumstances that surrounded; one of which included how we had no idea of who the other was created great excitement. It even seemed funny to me that all my life I had been told that great sex depended on love of the same kind yet here it was about to be my grandest orgasm, with a man whom I barely could stand let alone loved yet it mattered not for the impetuous nature of our acts made it that he could have been the least desirable man on earth and it would not have made any difference. I looked back at him and I saw his eyes and a rage in him, as if I had presented him with a challenge of being able to do it one more time, which he took with full rancor or so it appeared when he reached down and ripped of my pantyhose and panties; which in reality made me come within a hair of having my first orgasm without any penetration what so ever.
His root had become stiff once again, in his desire to show me that he like the opera singer who comes out for the third act was not finished for the night which is precisely what I felt when he entered me. It was if putting my womanly urges out of their misery with what would be several stabs of his sexually driven sword. It was like nothing I had ever experienced and it was no longer a factor of the place where I was or the fact that this was a stranger but what he was actually doing. This was a nice position for me, as my husband in all his sexual shyness, if such it could be described had never allowed us to venture outside the missionary position or the one where I got on top; which we also did in a limited number of places. That only included beds, not even once having escaped either the routine in any way, with reference to either positions or places. This going to the extreme that he once called me a “whore” just for wanting to try it on the kitchen floor.
Chapter Three
How this man, was different than my husband was plain, from sight as he neither had the good looks, manners and aristocratic ways but he was one who truly knew how to turn a Princess or a lady in to woman and perhaps even what in some corners is called a “slut”. Yes, one could say as I had observed that he was fat, short and going slightly bald, perhaps even being slightly older than my husband with looks that as some say “only a mother could ever love” but in this body of his was a man, of pure lust who moved his root in me as I lay on that toilet with strokes as majestic as any ballet dancer could ever make whilst his hands did likewise to my breast.
Again this was so much what I was not used to for my husband; the only man I had ever known sexually was one who practically had to ask my permission ten times before he would even dare think of making love to me. This being completely different from this man, who took such formalities completely for granted; as if he had not a clue to what personal space meant or even cared to learn. I even for my part desired nothing less than to teach him as I could feel his balls banging against my behind as I let out moans which had more than likely grown in to screams of ecstasy as he took me like my husband never would or could have given how he respected me almost to the point of believing me too good for such actions which I have no doubt he would not have heisted to perform with those who get paid to do so.
At first this position like many things that evening were difficult for me but as I got in to my stride I found myself more from unconscious reaction than wanting to please either him or myself, reaching back and grabbing his large balls which would not stop slapping my behind. It coming much like a punishment though his entrances were anything but. It was then that he perhaps feeling he could not deliver on to my rose what he had already done upon my mouth; took me and placed me on the floor for what I could see would be the return of the missionary position in my life. This time however it would be performed on the floor of the ladies restroom in the opera as opposed to some bed.
The first touch of the floor felt hard against my back as he placed me down, where he ripped off what remained of both my pantyhose and panties, going to where I would have to throw them away as how could I explain to my husband them ending up like they were. This however was the last thing on my mind along with weather or not we would be discovered by somebody who might accidentally come in. As all I wanted was his “dick” inside me as I had come to think of it with all its force not only to continue what it had started but to finish it with the full glob I had swallowed what seemed to be an hour before.
Such had I lost all prudence that I never stopped to think of things as diseases or weather or not I would become impregnated by him as all I cared about was having him take me on that floor or perhaps it would be me doing this on to him. It did not take him long as he moved much faster than I would have ever given him credit for; to get in to the position where he could enter me at will, which in fact would have been mine. His penetration however this time came so smoothly as to give me the sensation he had never left, even for that perhaps half a minute or less it took to change positions.
I can only imagin how it would have looked liked to another woman or any person who entered the restroom, just there and then as he was on top of me; though in reality he was so light given he held his own weight, unlike my husband who had always been heavy on me. It must have been an erotic scene galore as my pantyhose and panties were torn on the floor while he was taking me in this most common position to all lovers. All going on whilst my legs and arms were wrapped around him, almost in despair of not falling from him which is exactly what it seemed would happen if I had let go; for it did in all reality feel as if I were soaring through the air.
All this being the case since this man whose name I was not even aware of nor had I ever heard his voice was not really making love to be but in fact was in plain and even vulgar language “taking” me! How his root battered me, with such force that every trust seemed to bring me nearer to orgasm, similar to tidal waves hitting against a dam, where every one seems to be strong enough to burst through, was something I will never forget. This being contrary to what I had done with time at that moment, and as I grasped him with all my power he continued his work which included grabbing me by my shoulders as he much like a pile driver continued his work uninterrupted as my moans grew even loader. All making it a great thing this was the opera where the music was loud.
His rhythm increased as I could sense his second arrival was close which motivated me to do what I had once done with my husband which made him awfully upset which was to contract the muscles leading the ring of my rose to squeeze his root. I at first thought I had done this harder than I ought to given the way he looked at me with some anxiety, only to smile with his brown eyes as I did back with my own as he continued in the frantic way a plane does when it is about to take off. This causing his eyes to glue themselves to mine and I too started moving faster to match his moves, which we managed to coordinate to perfection, as if we had been doing it for as many years as my husband and me had stopped doing it. I had done plenty of experiencing, which in a way was odd how a man who was so forceful with me gave me so much license; where my husband never would have let me do most of what I already had to this man. I then as I felt his climatic moment approach as did my own and much to his apparent joy; grabbed his balls as I felt them squirt their energy deep in to me in what become our grand finale to our act.
It was as he finished that he got up from me and I realized that I best get up and run away. Fast before somebody came in and discovered what had taken place or before the intermission brought several of my friends in to see me in this most compromising of positions. I was tired and slightly lost but I straightened out my dress, to look more or less like nothing had happened while he still without saying a word lifted up his pants. It had been a naughty night for me which I was not about to give up on and as I looked at his root I before getting up and leaving managed to stroke it with the soul of my foot, as if petting an animal that had done a great deed which in fact this small being had.
It was with a smile that my slightly comic gesture was received which I returned as I got up and took my panties and pantyhose which I placed in the trash can near the door, while he remained on his knees visibly exhausted. I was about to leave when I suddenly in distinct foreign accent heard “Come back after intermission, I give you more”. I laughed as I left because if truth be told I could have stood a second helping which in fact we did enjoy during the next intermission that followed though perhaps with less intensity and more talking. It being in this conversation that led me to find out that he was a small Russian business man; who in fact had a spirit that in so many ways contrasted his looks; as to make one believe he perhaps was born in the wrong body.
I left the bathroom, and as I did my walk was light as if a big load had been lifted from me which felt much like my workouts though this one had created in me (even if it was unknown at the time) something no workout ever could and that being the child, whose birth would go on to seal my marriage in divorce as what else but infidelity could account for it? Specially given the fact that my husband and I had been foreign to this activity for so long. All of which leading me to where I am today; happy with my Russian husband who though not rich or aristocratic or even handsome showed me that perhaps some things are not really all that valuable when compared to passion and above all our child which came from it.
As an after thought I found it hilarious how when I left the restroom I saw many men going in, and as I looked back I wondered why this was the case but then I saw that in fact it had been me to enter the men’s room, not my now Vladimir to enter the ladies room. A friend of mine who recognized me even said in a cheery tone “What’s the matter, you went in to the wrong place?” to which I replied laughingly “No, I think for the first time in a long time I went in to the right place”.
About the Author
My name is Gianni Truvianni, I am an author who writes with the simple aim of sharing his ideas, thoughts and so much more of what I am with those who are interested in perhaps reading something new. I also am the author of the book entitled “New York’s Opera Society” which is now available on Amazon.
1986 TBS Tammy Tell Me True commercial break#4
