International Cowgirl - Sex Stories

International Cowgirl

... the bench, listening to the scores, it was her apparent lack of genuine enthusiasm and sexual excitement that most told against her. She was technically proficient, he had to admit, but she was losing that unfeigned zest for sex that distinguished the very best cowgirls. Her anal had been almost mechanical and the final facial was very nearly perfunctory. The top sexual athletes don’t just have the ability to demonstrate their skill, they have to show that they enjoy it as well. Lulu knew what he meant. Ghatoni was a world-class squirter and that tiny Japanese woman who did surprisingly well for her country orgasmed, yelled and screamed more than most other contestants put together. Who ever said that oriental women hid their emotions? She sat naked with her coach for what seemed like forever: first trembling with anticipation at what her score might be and then shivering with shame and disappointment after the announcement had boomed across the stadium. She didn’t know where she should look, although her eyes were invariably drawn to that section of the terraces where the African, and most specifically the Kenyan, fans were sitting. Those huge banners with her name on them had all been in vain. Lulu had indeed fucked for Nairobi, taken pearls of semen on her face for the Swahili nation and pumped Chilemba as dry as she could. But, after all the exertion, screened live over all Africa and the world, she had failed. At first she couldn’t be certain. The score-cards shimmered ...

... and blurred in front of her sweat-strewn eyes. The scores were first announced in German as befitted the host nation of the Sex Olympics, a language Lulu didn’t speak. It was only when the announcement was then made in English that Lulu could be sure. And then, with the eyes of the world on her, and her face collapsing in misery, the scores were repeated in French, Spanish, Arabic and Chinese. She was a failure. All that time, ten minutes in all, where she’d been fucking for the pride of her nation and more than that, the months, even years, of practise for this day, all had come to nothing. In living rooms and bars and offices throughout Nairobi and Kenya, all eyes had been on her, watching her akimbo on Chilemba’s chest and knees, his penis thrusting inside, and her shaved crotch close-up and magnified as she reciprocated her partner’s thrusts with her own sexual rhythm. That was to have been her moment of glory. Now it was over. And people would not now remember the skill by which she transferred the penis from vagina to anus, the way she balanced so precariously on her partner, the talent of taking all the semen into her mouth and swallowing it, and her history of winning competitions in Kenya and Africa that had culminated in these ten minutes of international exposure. No. What they would remember was that solid, unremarkable score and Lulu’s crumpled expression of despair and defeat that filled the massive screens of the stadium. And what future lay ahead of her? Would ...