One of the most deliciously extravagant weekends of my life had to be the time I flew business class to participate in a specialty foods weekend convention being held in the European capital of the world: Vienna. I was very happy to discover that this city is so much more than operettas, psychoanalysis and apfelstrudel. Besides being the music center of the world, boasting such former residents as Brahms, Beethoven, Mozart and Schubert, it is also home to some of the most imposing symphony orchestras around. While there, I was kept fully informed of the many concerts by the music schedules posted on billboards all over the city. Even when walking along one of the tree-lined boulevards, it seemed that I could always hear an orchestra rehearsing, musical church bells chiming or a soprano rehearsing her scales. It felt like being constantly invited to an impromptu concert.
I was glad that I had decided to arrive one day early on my cushy Air Lauda flight, where I was served salmon with a delicious salad vinaigrette on the side, and cold white wine with, most impressively, real silverware. The hotel was in the better part of town, and very comfortable, with a white fluffy duvet and hand-embroidered curtains. This was actually my first solo business trip, and it felt both weird and strangely liberating to be flying on my own, doing away with the mind-bending decision-making-by-committee process which had characterized most of my trips until now.
Since I had an entire day on my own before the convention was scheduled to start, I was able to peruse Vienna at a leisurely pace. I had heard about the tinselly and slightly chintzy Christkindlmarkt on the Rathausplatz in front of the City Hall, but was pleased to find out that there were market stalls there selling handmade crafts even when it wasn’t Christmas. Nearby was the popular Naschmarkt, where it the customer was expected to haggle over the prices of ceramics, porcelain, glassware and crystal. The more expensive crystals like Reidel could also be found in the ritzier shops in the neighboring pedestrian Karntnerstrasse.
The May weather was truly glorious, coming as it did before the summer, when the city was packed with tourists, and after the winter, which drew the Christmas and New Year’s crowds, when many of the Viennese themselves escape to the powder-perfect ski slopes. A gentle breeze was blowing, which I later found out to be the famed Fohn wind, a breeze that creates picture-perfect blue skies but finally brings on clouds and rain. The interesting fact about this wind is that it is thought to make the Viennese people go a little crazy which gives them an excuse for blaming any naughty behavior on the weather.
People here are truly fanatic about the weather, mainly because it dictates so much of their way of life. Considering how prevalent outdoor sports are in the area, a perfect weekend can mean anything from marathon downhill skiing the national sport to a pleasant experience on a rural working farm, which offers an idyllic base for hiking in the mountains and the lake areas.
Along the wide, tree-lined boulevards, with their imposing buildings that house the City Hall, the University, the Burg theater and the Borse Stock Exchange , I shook off the drops of rain caused by the light Fohn passing. Exploring St. Stephen’s church, where the mass is sung in Latin, I was amazed to discover that Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart had been assistant Kapellmeister at this very church at the very end of his life. This famous son of Vienna, born in 1756, died at the tragically young age of 35, and though celebrated now as one of the greatest composers of all time by the Austrians, as well as the rest of the world, was mistreated and not taken seriously as an artist when he was alive. At six years of age, pushed by an overly ambitious father, Mozart was presented to the royal courts of Europe as a sensation, only to end up being buried in an unmarked grave.
The city is dotted with baroque palaces, mostly built in the 18th century, and the leisurely pace of the strolling people makes it clear that Vienna does not hurry, but is still very much under the magical influence of Old World-style charm and courtly grace. So after all this sightseeing, what could be more natural than to spend the afternoon hidden away in one of the snug Kaffeehouses, which is precisely what I ended up doing.
Intending to head for the Film Museum to see a retrospective on the director Orson Welles, I gave in to temptation and stopped at Demel, one of the oldest of the Viennese caf s reputed to be the best in the world to have a slice of Brueghel torte marzipan pastry with some excellent coffee. Beneath the crystal chandeliers, surrounded by opulent red velvet seats, I listened to the sound of the Vienna Boys’ Choir coming over the speakers, and, along with the Viennese who were probably dreaming of better, faraway, imperial days, I mused about my own past and what was to happen in the near future.
Having absorbed the architectural marvels and the churches full of golden statues, and being spoiled by the rich, delicious whipped cream the Schlagobers that garnished the pastries I was devouring in the warmth of the caf , I really felt on vacation for the first time in months.
I knew that this delicious feeling of being free from the slavery of the clock would be over by tomorrow, but first I planned to enjoy a night on the town. So I headed back to my hotel, which was part of the Romantik chain of hotels, not super-expensive but definitely cozy and charming, with a great location and a reputation for serving a great breakfast of eggs and cold cuts. There I got out of the traveling attire in which I had arrived at Schwechat Airport five hours before. After a hot soak in a porcelain bath, surrounded by flickering aromatic candles, and a nap in the nude on the white duvet, I felt completely transported to another age and time one where women danced at midnight balls in very tight low-cut bodices.
Suddenly I was fast asleep and having a deliciously wicked dream, in which I was reliving a scene from the film Dangerous Liaisons. Sprawled in the nude across a richly ornate canopied bed, I was acting as a desk for an old count, who was writing a letter to his wife with a feather pen, using my creamy white ass as his writing surface. He was a very precise writer, and every punctuation mark he made resulted in a deep thrust with the pen in the crack of my derriere. The fact that he was completely dressed, with laced boots and a velvet jacket, while I was completely naked, was a real turn-on. I was excited by the thought of being just another object decorating his study, like an inkwell or an antique book the difference being that I was an object with the ability to reach multiple orgasms. This was a potential I was hoping the count would help me realize. Finally he reached the end of the letter, which brought on a final deep thrusting period.
The count then put the parchment away, turned me around so that my wet and very horny cunt was facing him and proceeded to indulge in a long, highly satisfying bout of cunnilingus. His tongue lapped at my frontal lips and circled my mound in quick, whipping motions. His ministrations soon extended all the way to my ass, just where the feather pen had been making its thrusting punctuation. I woke up in a moaning heap, dripping wet and with lovely Viennese cream oozing out of me.
After a quick shower to wash off the smell of come, I put on a low-cut black cashmere sweater over velvet shorts. Sheer stockings and black knee-length high-heeled boots completed the sexy look I was hoping to achieve. I kept my blonde hair, which was still a little curly and damp from the shower, hanging loose over my shoulders, and added a little mascara as I headed out to have what I hoped would be a delicious dinner in the hotel dining room.
The vaulted wooden ceilings and the pink linen tablecloths seemed like a very good sign. The waiter immediately brought me a glass of cold Sekt Austrian sparkling wine as I calmly perused the menu. I decided to have the classic wiener schnitzel breaded veal scallop with a side dish of rot kraut red cabbage . Not particularly romantic perhaps, but definitely delicious. I also couldn’t pass up a serving of Palatschinken Hungarian pancakes stuffed with chocolate and marmalade but decided to forgo the Kasespatzle pasta dumplings in favor of a heavenly Bohemian dessert.
I had almost finished my bottle of dry white wine when the waiter brought over a bottle of Gruner Veltliner more dry white wine , compliments of the gentleman sitting on his own in a far corner. With a smile, I accepted the wine, and then motioned for the fellow to come over. After all the wine I had drunk, and in the dim light afforded by the pewter candlesticks, he looked smashingly handsome so much so, in fact, that it was hard to imagine why he was alone in the first place.
He introduced himself as Klaus, an investment banker. He was a native of Vienna, he told me, and had spent his entire life there. He was a charming talker and an attentive listener, but the fact is that I wasn’t all that interested in conversation. I was still a little horny from the dream back in my room, and I wanted to take back from this imperial city a souvenir worth remembering and I didn’t just mean the Swarowski crystal heart I had bought earlier that day. Perhaps, I thought, we could dance the night away at the famous New Year’s Eve ball in spite of the fact that it was May while the Vienna Philharmonic played, or boat down the Danube river to watch the sun set behind the blooming cherry trees, which made the surrounding villages seem to radiate. This was the kind of romantic vision that swarmed through my mind, while at the same time my body was yearning for a quick erotic tryst up in my room. I kept both these ideas to myself, however.
Klaus insisted on paying the bill for my dinner, and then taking me on a slightly tipsy tour of the city he loved. He pointed out the monuments which would be covered in snow during the wintertime, and the various landmarks pertaining to the old Hapsburg rulers of the Austro-Hungarian empire. Vienna had been the home of great artists at the end of the 19th century artistic revolution, who had set the stage for experimental and radical art, and Klaus, as it turned out, was both an artist and a bohemian at heart.
Although the city was famous for its classical composers, Klaus informed me proudly that there were more jazz joints here than in any other European city, including Paris. It was getting pretty late when we headed towards a jazz session that was just starting in a small, cozy caf down a dark lane, a place not frequented by tourists, but catering only to those in the know, like Klaus, who was obviously acquainted with the bartender. He ordered two single-malt whiskeys, and I definitely felt the effect of the liquor throughout my body as it mixed with the wine I had drunk earlier.
When we left the caf I invited Klaus back to my hotel for a nightcap, hoping that he would spend the night. From the obvious bulge in his pants, I didn’t think I had to worry. I definitely had the feeling that the comfy bed in the Romantik Hotel was going to be put to good use.
When we got there, he first offered to sponge me in the bath, and even though I didn’t feel all that dirty, you could never accuse me of refusing to be sponged down in the nude by a complete stranger, and a devastatingly handsome one at that. I quickly slipped out of my clothes and walked stark naked in front of Klaus, who playfully grabbed at my buttocks. He then expressed the desire to get inside me as soon as possible, without too many preliminaries. Smiling at him, I let him know that I was the type of girl who liked preliminaries after I had climaxed.
So, before even entering the hot bubbly bath, I bent over the porcelain tub and, to quote a famous line from The Godfather, let my ass make him an offer he couldn’t refuse. I was hot and ready as his large Viennese cock waltzed straight into me, and the ensuing rhythmic dance was definitely worthy of being televised and broadcast all over the world but there I was, confusing a good old Austrian fuck with the New Year’s Eve Ball again. In any case, this was one waltz I wouldn’t be forgetting soon. His hands gripped my haunches and his hairy chest tickled my back as we swayed back and forth over the bath, literally falling into the water during our mutual climax.
It wasn’t a bad place to fall into, especially since in doing so I landed with my mouth very close to his huge dick. It didn’t take my lips very long to bring it back to life and get it to pulse and throb. But since I didn’t want to drown, I soon replaced my facial lips with my vaginal lips, mounting him face to face so that my mouth could concentrate on his taut nipples. I then began to slide up and down his pole in slow motion. He appeared to enjoy this at first, but soon I could see by the expression on his face that this pleasure was also a form of torture, as he was dying to orgasm, and my leisurely pace wasn’t allowing him to reach that plateau of ecstasy yet. Well, I was in no hurry. He needed to pay the piper first, and I wanted that payment in the form of some attention to my hard pink nipples, which were in fact feeling slighted and ignored. I now dangled them directly in front of Klaus’s face, as a sign that the tit issue needed to be addressed immediately.
Klaus, in fact, seemed eager to comply, and his mouth enveloped my sumptuous pink grapefruits one at a time. His tongue circled the tips, and his teeth gently nipped them until they were standing tautly to attention.
I soon felt myself getting close to climax as well, but I forced myself to wait for Klaus, so that we could reach the peak of the mountain together. It seemed like the correct and polite thing to do. After all, one’s cunt should always be polite and respectful in a foreign country. That’s just common courtesy. Otherwise your host may not invite you to come again.
Klaus, however, seemed perfectly happy to keep me coming all night long, as a matter of fact. I couldn’t help being impressed by the sheer stamina of this beautiful man as we spent the next several hours frolicking from the tub to the carpeted floor and finally to the bed.
After a while Klaus asked me if I was willing to get a little more adventuresome and play around a bit, and by that time I was feeling so good that I told him I was game for anything. He then undid the velvet rope that held back the window curtains and used it to tied my hands behind my back in a loose knot, attaching the other end to one of the legs of the bed. This erotic scenario turned me on even more, and I spread my legs wide open, so that there could be no mistaking what part of me I wanted him to focus on. He then asked me if I would mind being blindfolded, and I agreed immediately, figuring that that way I would be better able to concentrate on the exciting tactical sensations that my body felt at his every touch: a finger on my nipple, a tongue along the inside of my thigh, a toe feeling its way up my ass.
For a few moments after he blindfolded me I didn’t feel anything, and I was almost going crazy with anticipation. But I soon felt something being slowly poured into my open and panting mouth. It was a delicious sweet wine which he had gotten from the fridge, and which I eagerly swallowed as I felt him mounting me. So while his large dick made itself cozily at home inside my already well-fucked pussy, his buttocks pressing up against my mound with each rhythmic stroke, I continued to sip the delicious nectar from the bottle he held to my lips.
Then suddenly the taste of the nectar changed, though it was still just as sweet, and instead of flowing gently into my mouth it was shooting quickly and strongly down my throat. Blindfolded as I was, I now realized that the bottle had been replaced by his cock, and that the hot froth rushing down my throat was no longer the wine, but his come. It was almost impossible to swallow the large quantity of sperm that was flooding my mouth, although I tried my damnedest to take in as much as I could, because this was the next best thing to Austrian wine that I had come across.
When the light of dawn finally began pouring in through the curtains, I realized that I hadn’t really slept at all, and that it was only a few hours before I must attend the start of my boring business convention. On the upside, I figured there would be plenty of time to sleep on my Air Lauda flight home on Sunday night. I wouldn’t even have to eat anything, as all my appetites would have been completely satisfied during my lovely Viennese weekend.
