Marie Curie Mixed Science and Sex

Marie Curie Mixed Science and Sex Madame Curie, the discoverer of radium and of polonium, was a woman of passion. The popular view of her life is a tale of almost elemental force of character. Having arrived in France as a penniless Polish student, she went on to dominate French science at the beginning of this century. She was awarded two Nobel prizes, discovered two chemical elements, essentially invented the concept of radioactivity and founded a scientific dynasty: her daughter Irene and son-in-law Frederic Joliot-Curie they shared a Nobel Prize in the Thirties. (Marie was the first - and Irene only the second - woman to win the Nobel Prize.)Yet Madame Curie's passions were not confined to her professional and scientific life. In 1910, about four years after her husband, Pierre, had died in a road accident, the 43-year-old widow embarked on a highly charged love affair with Paul Langevin, a scientist five years her junior. The lovers even rented a flat near the Sorbonne where they could meet in secret. There was a drawback. Paul Langevin was a married man and the father of four children. The relationship scandalised France but till she was alive, the relationship do exist for at least 10 years .Marie Curie had an enthusiastically earthy side when it came to men. Is there a connection between the energy and drive these people brought to their scientific practice and the power of their emotional lives? - May be so She stated "The prize (2nd time Nobel Prize) has been awarded for the discovery of radium and polonium. I believe that there is no connection between my scientific work and the facts of private life. I cannot accept ... that the appreciation of the value of scientific work should be influenced by libel and slander concerning private life." It is a true fact that as being a scientist, she understand very well, personality has always been an inseparable part of their styles of inquiry, a potent if unacknowledged factor in their results. No art or popular entertainment is so carefully built as is science upon the individual talents, preferences and wants and needs in particular of its leaders. The penniless Polish girl Maria Sklodowska was an outsider simply by virtue of her sex: she had to go to the Sorbonne because Warsaw University did not admit women. Marie was a foreigner in France and from not quite the right social class in Poland. Her husband, too, was for most of his life a non-establishment figure. When they began their research, it was in a laboratory at the Ecole municipale de physique et chemie - an establishment definitely lacking in social cachet. It is difficult to believe that this aspect of their biographies is not relevant to understanding how they came to do such creative scientific work. Science has always been a craft-based activity and the best scientists tend quite literally to be "hands on" and "Horny" Science is not done by cold, logically correct, calculating machines. It is an intensely human activity, just as the arts are. Science requires inspiration and imagination, which means that personality, passion, and style are important. And while Marie Curie seems to be right that scientists' sex lives do not matter, it appears that her need was based on S/M relationship with their own student who was 5 years younger and a family holder . She was a born rebel and her need of punishment lasted through out her personal life and Paul Langevin used to meet her wants of Pleasure from pain. Even, Marie and Einstein met in 1909 and remained colleagues and friends for nearly 25 years. They attended many scientific conferences together and even took their families hiking together in the Swiss Alps at the year of 1910. It is a fact that Einstein, that icon of the ethereal scientist, had an enthusiastically earthy side when it came to women. She is a very independent person, therefore she not only shows little respect, but also refuses to listen . She cares about Men's authority as much as she would care about a torn shoe apparently and that need Attitude adjustment regularly. In early student life her Brother in law (She lived with her sister and brother-in-law) used to take her in hand. She married her lab partner chemist Pierre Curie but he did not have the Dominance toward her . After his death She found a silver lining in widowhood since 1906 at her age of 43 ( Born on 1867,).Her success, in the physics department to become the first female professor at the Sorbonne. as a result of romantic relationship based od her role as Sex slave to her own student Paul Langevin was a result of regular physical disciplining and fucking what she used to miss a long . Marie was set to receive her second Nobel, as a result within 8 years from her 1st Nobel prize .Paul used to say about Marie Curie ,"I was impressed with her work ethic. I hadn't expected that from an aristocrat. “Paul somewhere described that as in a winter evening was falling—it got dark so early that time of year—and the air was turning chilly- it was late . There was a little pile of firewood left. Marie lit the fireplace. Then she disappeared into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a bottle of wine in her hand and a sheepish expression on her face. When she had packed up the kitchen, she failed to leave any wine glasses, or any other kind of glasses, or a corkscrew. He said her not to worry, and showed her how to jigger the cork out of the bottle with a house key and some slaps on the bottom. Marie Curie disclosed him she’d celebrated her forty-first birthday only a few days earlier, which made her 5 years older than Paul. His guess was that this was simply the lady feeling depressed due to untimely demise of Pierre Curie Paul confessed, “Still, if the lady had something more than drinking on her mind, I was up for that, too. Despite our age difference, I found her attractive." She was a blue-eyed dirty-blonde with a tall, imposing figure. Literal statue: the Statue of Liberty, particularly in her face. Her nose was straight, her brow stern. Her mouth, though, did not much resemble Lady Liberty's. It was heart-shaped, plump-lipped, with impish tips, and very kissable. She'd kept her figure fit, but not obsessively so. She was obviously well-fed, with soft breasts and nice wide motherly hips. But time and gravity had been kind, and her dress were entirely suitable.Lately with effect of Wine the very evening she exhaled, loudly, a smile crossing her face. She took another slug of wine and fell back onto her pillows, letting her body go slack. A flip of her chin and a wiggle of her ass was, as best as a signal that about what she miss .She made it clear with her facial expressions that she wanted more back-rubbing. As a experienced man it did not take time for Paul thinking it would lead to other kinds of rubbing. “The first place my eyes go isn't her feet. As far as female anatomy goes, I'm more a fan of faces, asses, boobs, bellies, thighs, etcetera." he told somewhere. The scientist for the world turns to be proved as Slut as well by a little show with her hips, sauntering with a slow, exaggerated sway. Paul found the lady spread-eagled, wearing nothing but her panties—a simple pair of red cotton briefs, not the sexiest, but probably the most practical for those days being Physics departmental Head " professor at the Sorbonne ".One of her forearms was crossed modestly over her breasts. She said she hoped Paul didn't mind that she'd made herself comfortable. Paul found the lady now covered by her towel. She was holding her panties out in her hand, as if for Paul to take. Paul took them and pressed them to his face, inhaling her musky scent. Paul took another deep draft from her panties and told her how he loved her aroma. The space between her legs was shrouded in shadow, but Paul could see she was sporting a bush. This surprised Paul, as Paul had taken her for a shaver, a waxer, or at least a close-trimmer. But maybe Paul shouldn't have been surprised, given her unmodified face and seemingly natural breasts. In any event, Paul was pleased to see it. While a smooth-shaven kitty would never be a deal-breaker, Paul much preferred a warm furry cunt like her wife. It spoke to him on the most primal level. It spoke of sex, of fertility. Pressing down a little harder here and there, trying to engage pressure points, Madam Marie Curie feel good and to make her believe she was in the hands of an expert. It seemed to be working. She let out a contented sigh. She told me her late husband had a phobia about body. He wouldn't touch her there. Paul said he was crazy. Her body were beautiful and extremely touchable. he lifted up her foot to his mouth and kissed the underside of her big toe. That triggered a low growl, like a cougar's, from deep in her throat. She wiggled the tip of her toe into my mouth for me to lick and nibble. The flexing of her leg made her towel ride up. Now, Paul didn't need to duck to see her pussy. It was on full display, her light brown curls glinting in the firelight, lush and magnificent. Her bush, however, wasn't completely untamed. Albeit full in volume, it was trimmed around the edges to form a tidy triangular muff. Feeling the fresh air on her newly exposed sex, the lady's eyes popped open. With a drunken hand, she tugged at the towel in an effort to recover her pussy, but succeeded only in uncovering her breasts. These were nicer even than I'd expected, and more voluminous. The vest she'd been wearing all day had concealed their full extent. They weren't extroverted, outward-thrusting breasts, but relaxed low-hangers, wide-spreading, portending milk and motherly hugs. Paul stared at her sprawling bosom. Then he looked up to meet her gaze. Their eyes locked in a silent scrimmage. Paul couldn't read her expression. But after a long moment, she blinked slowly three times and yielded. Her hand ceased its struggle with her towel. Again, Paul lowered his eyes to her breasts, admiring the rosy flush of her nipples. He let them roam down to her pussy, drinking in the outline of meaty lips lurking beneath the foliage like a hidden kiss. "I tried again for eye contact, but she looked coyly away. A blush came to her cheeks. Her tongue dabbed at her upper lip. She didn't speak. I didn't, either, because I still had her toe in my mouth. She pushed it in deeper, wanting me to suck it. I sucked it. Simultaneously, I gripped her foot with both hands like a sandwich. Starting at her heel, I drew my thumbs in long, soothing lines along her sole all the way to the base of her toes, making several passes through the valley in the ball of her foot and moving outward to her arches. My thumb bumped a tender spot on her arch, making her whole body go tense. I could feel the knot in her muscle. Switching from thumbs to knuckles, I zeroed in on her sore spot, kneading it gently in half-moons, gradually ramping up the pressure, and carefully watching her reactions. When her exhalations grew long and her thigh slackened, I switched to the tips of two fingers, working her knot around in tight, firm circles until I felt it melt away. The lady moaned with relief. She asked if she could adopt me. I took two more of her toes into my mouth and slurped on them noisily. One of her hands twitched, like it wanted to reach for her crotch. I tried to emulate, on her sole, the motion of two fingers swirling on a clit. In case the message wasn't clear enough, I did the same thing with my tongue on the underside of her big toe, circling in the opposite direction (showing off my bimanual coordination—although I don't know if she appreciated the degree of difficulty). Her hand got the message. It twitched again and began to make circles on the sleeping bag by her side. She closed her eyes, rolled her head back, and muttered something I couldn't understand. Her hand leapt to her belly, and she flipped her towel off onto the floor. And now she was nude. Her fingers circled her belly button a few times before they slipped down between her legs and dived into her bush. She called me a bad boy, said to look what I was making her do. I started to think maybe reflexology wasn't such a pseudoscience, after all. Plunging her middle finger straight into her cunt, she fluttered her hand side to side, slapping and popping at her clit with her Mount of Saturn. Meanwhile, she pumped her foot in and out, fucking my face with her toes. Her other foot slithered up under my shirt, groping my belly and chest. Suddenly, she yanked her leg back, trying to rip the shirt off me. It didn't work; it was a sturdy shirt, made in Canada. But she did rip a seam in the armpit. I let go of her foot to take off my shirt. While I was at it, I took off my pants and my socks and, after a slight hesitation, my boxers. The reason I hesitated was because the lady was watching me intently. Her finger withdrew from her vag. She was still palming her clit side-to-side, but slowly—very slowly. It seemed that something was amiss. She told me she was a faithful wife and never cheated on her husband during he was alive. But she was staring straight at my cock, her eyes wide, her tongue circling her lips. I couldn't believe she was still playing this game. And I didn't believe for one minute that she was a faithful wife. So, we stood there awkwardly, my cock pointing at the ceiling, her hand slowly mashing her clit, her other hand reaching to tweak a nipple. She said we couldn't fuck, but I deserved a release. She beckoned me nearer. When I came to the table's edge, she reached out and touched me with her foot, running her toes up and down the underside of my shaft. She told me I was hung like a porn star—unlike her husband, she also noted. I told her she was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen—and, in that moment, I meant it—and that I wanted to ravage her beautiful cunt with my tongue. I'd give her the best head she'd ever had. She smiled, clearly pleased to have stirred up my lust, but shook her head no. She made a cock-stroking motion with her fist. At that juncture, masturbation was not my heart's desire, but I was willing to roll with it, if that was my only option. An orgasm in the company of a beautiful woman was nothing to sneeze at, even if I had to do the work myself. And, thanks to her husband's squeamishness, at least I was allowed to make love to her feet. Gripping her by her ankles, I hoisted one of her feet onto my shoulder, while I buried my face in the other one—the one I'd thus far neglected. I licked all up and down her soft sole and in between her dainty toes. One by one, I took her toes into my mouth and sucked them, imagining they were five wriggling clits. All the while, I watched with great thirst as she finger-fucked her cunt. Her ring finger joined her middle finger, pumping in and out of her furry chasm, provoking a small shower of feminine dew. Droplets clung to her bush like glimmery ornaments, drizzled down her thighs, oozed onto the sleeping bag, forming an appetizing wet spot under the cleft of her ass. Before I'd even begun, the lady was already approaching her climax. Her fingers burrowed in deeply. Her palm buffed and bumped her clit. Her breathing grew ragged. Hips writhed. Her anus fluttered. A mottled blush erupted on her pale chest. The buildup was prolonged and melodramatic. She whimpered as if in pain, her face straining, tears streaming. Her free hand clutched at the pool table, shredding the green felt with her nails. Her legs trembled violently. She damn near kicked me in the teeth. It was like waiting for a birth. At last, she shouted "No! No!" in an alarming tone of voice, and the pressure broke. A series of spasms wracked her body from head to toe. I backed away to avoid her flailing feet. She was a squirter. Her hand took most of the blast, but a few stray droplets escaped through her fingers, dotting the sleeping bag and spattering her thighs. I couldn't control myself. I needed to taste her. I leapt up onto the pool table and grasped her fapping hand, pressing her fingers into my mouth. She lay limply, just breathing, and let me savor her juices. But I wanted more. I wanted to taste her source. On hands and knees, I kissed her thigh, lapped up her driblets of squirt. I inched closer and closer, till my cheek was grazing her sodden muff. She squirmed and mumbled, but spread her legs to accommodate me. I buried my face in her cunt, rolling my cheeks in her wetness. I opened my mouth to drink her in. For a moment, she encouraged me, affectionately stroking my hair. But when I began to explore her bush with my tongue, in search of her clit, she pushed me gently away. I was heartbroken. I'm sure the disappointment was written all over my face, much like her glistening cum. I felt used. The aristocrat lady was using me as her peasant sex toy, nothing more—her furniture-lugging, toe-sucking serf, someone to feed her narcissism. Right then, she was literally looking down her nose at me. Her face wore the haughtiest of expressions. But then she gave me the slow come-hither finger. She said there was something else her husband wouldn't do—something he thought was degrading and misogynist. But she didn't find it degrading, she said. To the contrary, she found it highly arousing. She wanted me to cum on her face, like a porn star. I had to ponder it. On this matter, I was actually sympathetic to her husband. Whether cum facials were degrading or misogynist, I could not say. But they were a huge pet peeve of mine when it came to porn. I detested them. I mean, they mightn't be so horrible if they weren't so ubiquitous—some things are OK as the exception, but annoying as the rule. But approximately 99.9% of all the porn I'd ever seen had ended with a cum facial, and it got a little monotonous. Inevitably, just when things were reaching a crescendo, the fucking would screech to a maddening halt. The dude would pull out of a hot, accommodating twat only to jerk his own cock, sometimes for several awkward minutes, while his co-star waited, mouth agape, like a hungry baby birdy. It was all so anticlimactic. Anti-erotic, too—I didn't watch porn to see some dude jerking off. I wasn't that fond of male bodily fluids, either. So, all around, I didn't get the appeal. When I had sex with a woman, I wanted to plant my seed in her, not squander it on her externals. On the other hand, fucking appeared to be not on the table that evening. Mutual masturbation was the game. And if I was going to flap, there were going to be sperm, and those sperm had to go somewhere. So, why not on the lady's pretty face? It would be better than sperming the floor or the pool table. Anyway, doing it in person would probably be more fun than watching some other dude do it, kind of like golf. So, I told the lady I was game. She kept on her back, and I moved to the head of the table and knelt above her. She urged me closer and closer, till I could feel her breath tickling the hairs on my balls. She oohed and ahhed over my phallus as if it were made of precious metal. Women were always gushing over my cock. "It's so big!" they'd say. (I do have an above average-length cock—not a boast; just a fact.) But usually, I assumed women were not being entirely sincere in their penile adulations. I usually assumed they were trying to flatter me because they wanted something else: wanted me to like them, or something like that. But this lady—she seemed to genuinely adore cock. Cock for its own sake. I sensed no ulterior motive. I wasn't sure whether she even liked me as a person. But she sure seemed to love my cock—and my balls dangling in her face. I got the feeling she was nearly as enthusiastic about cock as I was about pussy. I don't think I'd ever met such a woman. Her hands fidgeted like she wanted to reach out and touch it. She busied one of them rubbing her pussy, but the other one roamed around looking for something to do. It drew curlicues down her belly, down her thigh. It jumped up and tweaked her nipple. It tugged at her hair. It wavered, cupping the air around my balls, stroking the air around my cock, coming agonizingly close, but never quite touching, like she was trying to masturbate my aura. It seemed the lady genuinely meant to stay true to her marital vows. However, I felt that her particular interpretation of fidelity, with all its toe-sucking and sperm-facializing loopholes, was perhaps a tad lawyerly. I'd never met her husband, but I imagined if he could see us just then—naked and drunk, and me teabagging his wife's forehead—he might possibly take issue. But I didn't feel too guilty about it, because, like I said, he sounded like a schmuck. The lady made a mouth like to whistle, but instead she blew a puff of hot air up and down the length of my shaft—a literal blow job. It made me shiver. By that point, I was brimming with lust, and I thought she might make me cum like that—with nothing but air. But she encouraged me to commence stroking. I told her I could use some lubrication and asked if I could borrow some of her saliva. She chortled at my obvious ploy. I'd been hoping, of course, that I could get her to lick me. Instead, she tried to spit. But through drunkenness or merely through lack of practice, she was not an effectual spitter. She'd gather up a quantity of frothy, wine-scented saliva between her lips and huff at it like she was trying to blow a fly from her nose. Most of her spit ended up on her cheeks or rolling down her chin. Only a light drizzle bespattered my cock, not enough to fap with. I tried to help out. I squatted as low as I could go, placing my cock as close to her mouth as possible without touching. Except, in the process, I accidentally batted her nose with my balls. She didn't recoil. She didn't react negatively at all. So, I let my balls rest against her drooly cheek, while she continued to spit at my shaft. Once I got low enough, she couldn't miss, and my cock became sloppy wet. I'm not sure whether it was my fault or hers, but my cock bumped against her mouth. Again, she didn't recoil. So, I left it. Gliding my cock back and forth like a violin bow, I gathered up her wetness. She parted her lips, made a gully for my cock, her tongue slithering along the belly of my shaft, gurgling alcoholic spit bubbles. Her fingers agitated faster against her clit. Deep in her throat, a growl erupted. Her second orgasm came quickly and with much less difficulty than her first. It slipped out of her, easy as baked goods. A third tremblor followed a moment later. She muttered something not fully comprehensible, something about the relative size of my penis versus her husband's, I gathered—as if that gave her all the permission she needed. I couldn't understand her thinking, why she'd needed to go through all that pretense of fidelity, but I wasn't about to call her out. The lady wanted to suck cock. She wanted to take control. She had us switch positions. I lay on my back in her wet spot. She knelt between my legs and bowed her head. She didn't so much suck cock as ingurgitation it. She gobbled it like it was the Last Supper, drooling, growling, smacking her lips, humming a sort of monophonic hum, all with complete abandon. She took it down her throat, took it out, and rubbed her face on it. She rubbed her face on my balls, licked my balls, licked behind my balls. I think she forgot about me entirely. She was all-consumed with cock as an elemental phenomenon. She was sucking not to satisfy me, but to satiate herself, like she'd been starving for decades. The sound of her slurping and smacking was making me hungry. I wanted to engage in some worship, myself. So, I got her attention (with difficulty) and told her to flip around. I needed her cunt in my face. But she misunderstood, or chose to disobey. Instead, she crawled on top of me, wobbling drunkenly, plunked down heavily, and somehow managed to hit a hole-in-one. My cock plunged directly into her sopping cunt. If she'd missed, it could've been painful. She whispered wetly into my ear to look what I was making her do. She called me a motherfucker. I told her she wasn't my mother. She stuck her tongue into my ear. The sound of her slurping roared through my brain like a tsunami. Then she bit me. I wanted to be back on top. So, I wrapped her up and flipped her. She squealed, clasped her limbs about me, dug into me with her nails and heels. We kissed and fucked. Her needy tongue flickered into my mouth. I thrust into her loins with determination. Her vaginal muscles contracted in rhythm, massaging my throbbing cock. Her body shuddered over and over. She was one continuous orgasm. I gasped as my own climax became imminent. The lady cried, "Make me a mommy!" Was that panic I felt? Or deep arousal? Either way, it was too late to hold back. With one final thrust, deep inside of her, I relinquished my genetic code. She held me tight till her spasms subsided. And then she let me go. We lay catching our breaths in silence, the lady's hand lightly stroking my chest. I managed to convince myself that she hadn't actually said what she'd said, that I'd misunderstood, or that it was only some weird, drunken, meaningless sex-blurt. In any event, she was forty-one years old, so not that likely to conceive. After a while, she broke the silence. "I felt it!" she said, her voice hushed and reverent. I asked her what she'd felt.” Paul had told when he disclosed in privet circle She told me about her husband, how he believed the human population had exceeded the Earth's carrying capacity, how it was headed for a crash—war, famine, pestilence, the usual—and how he hadn't wanted to contribute to the problem. She and he had had one daughter, she said. I didn't know how to respond to that. Once again, I found myself not totally unsympathetic to the husband. (He was my Professor) Maybe he wasn't entirely a schmuck. The lady had always wanted another child, she said. She didn't know the future, and even if her husband was right, people still needed to make babies—especially the right kind of people. I asked her “who the right kind of people were.'' She didn't say. But I was on the hook. After eating, they showered. Since there were no drinking glasses, they took turns gulping directly from the shower head. The water would help ease our hangovers. Paul let her pee on her hand as he was playing with her clit and labia. After he soaped and scrubbed her back, he bent her over and fucked her from behind. He spanked this time and it was hard spanking and it was inseparable feeling that she cum from pain or pleasure As their relationship grow, He present a wooden Cook, pushing it into her hands, Paul demanding, "Pleasure yourself for me."He pushes her legs into a butterfly and then starts preparing something, but looks up and says, "Don't you dare cum unless I tell you that you can!" Marie was so hot, and she was trying so hard not to cum, but she were not allowed to stop with the wooden dildo . She start pleading, " Please, Sir, I need to cum. Oh, God. Oh God. Please, Sir. Please!" He simply smiles and pulls out the wrist cuffs. He lets Marie squirm and struggle for a few minutes more and then pulls the dildo out of her hands. She mew her displeasure and frustration. He crawls up her body and pulls her arms over her head. "Stay," is all he says, giving Marie a look.While this happens, the world famous scientist have put her legs together and squirm while rubbing them together, trying to hold onto her orgasm but also not let it wash over her. He looks over his shoulder and tsks at her, "Did I say you could put your legs together?" "No, Sir. I'm sorry, Sir." "That has earned you the paddle, but not yet..." He jumps off her and grabs her ankles. Cuffing them, he spreads her wide and pulls the leads tight. After admiring his work, he proclaims, "Now, I'm ready to begin." He is moving slowly, deliberately building her anticipation of what is about to happen. He has things lined up beside the bed where Maria can't see. He taps on his lips and smiles while reaching down. Something jingles and he pulls up a set of nipple clamps linked with a chain. He swings them back and forth, and I recognize that it's the cloverleaf set Maria presented once to Paul . He sees her eyes get wide. He delights in pulling the chain and letting them tighten even more on her sensitive nipples. These used to terrify Maria, and they still frighten her. They hurt so bad, but he has shown me that he pinches much harder. Her breathing accelerates, and her heart pounds in her ears as she anticipate the bite. He pulls her nipple up with one hand and clips it down. Maria hiss at the sting, while her eyes dilate,mind shifts, all she can think about is the pain, but then his hand is on her clit circling and dipping a finger into that 43 years old Scientist. Her pent off orgasm instantly stokes back up. Her world is focused down. Her brain zeroes in on just the one sensation of pleasure and blocks everything else out. Her eyes are hooded, and she whimper to her once Student , "Please, Sir," while panting with need. "Not yet love," and his hand stops. The pain in Maria's nipple is a dull ache. He reaches over and pulls up her other nipple, clipping on the other side. "Unh," is all She can get out while her mind has gone completely blank. The bite isn't as bad the second time. Maria had already drifted down in her headspace, knowing the pleasure and pain will be slowly doled out. He gives the chain a little tug causing her to arch as much as she can to lessen the pull while crying out. He continues to pull with one hand and goes back to his ministrations on Maria's clit. The cry slowly slips into a moan of pleasure. "That's my girl. I love to make you sing." Maria mumble out, "Please, Sir. Please, may I cum, Sir?" His hand stops, "Not yet, my Professor," punctuated with an authoritative hard swat. He reaches down off the bed and pulls out a new anal plug. It's much bigger than the one they usually play with. "It's too big!" Maria cry out. He smirks at her, "It's as big as me, and you can take my cock up that tight hole." He kneels at the base of the bed and smiles. He makes a show of lubing his fingers and goes to work, opening her up. Maria was always loved anal. For a long time, she couldn't get off unless she had something up her ass and she moan while her eyes roll back in her head as he slowly pushes the first finger in. He lets her relax and then starts with the next digit — Maria's back arches. "Oh, God. Oh, God," Maria whimper her typical mantra and moan as waves of pleasure wash over her. She was rocking into him as much as she can in her bound state. He starts in with the third finger and works her hole open while circling his thumb on her clit. She can't seem to keep her eyes from rolling back, even though she know he likes to see her eyes. He enjoys gazing into his Professor's soul with her glass face showing him every emotion. Maria was panting with need as he says, "That should do," and starts pushing on the plug. Exactly like when he takes her ass, She was not sure she can accommodate the size. This plug is just so big! she try to relax as much as possible. Her body turns to mush, but MAria was still a bit apprehensive. She let out a whimper, he smiles and reassures me, "Relax. You got this." Maria will herself to breath and relax and take it in. She feel stretched to the max as he slowly works it further in. She feel so full, even fulfilled . "There. See, I told you, you could do it!" Maria smile in her haze of sexual bliss. He picks up a cane and hit her 12 cuts . She moan and go limp with the overload of sensation. He just keeps taking her higher and higher. Every time she think they have reached the peak, he shows her there is another ridge to climb. "Good girl," he says with a smug smile. She cry out then feel his fingers on her clit circling. She moan with pleasure. He continues circling her clit as he doles out her punishment, her mind reels between the interplay of pleasure and pain. She was dripping down her thighs, reveling in each slap and cuts. It finishes much too quickly. His ministrations stop, and he asks, "Is that enough?" Maria shake her head no and mumble out, "Please, Sir," "Very well. Ten more," he gleefully exclaims. His fingers are back, and Maria was dripping and on fire with her need. "I'm going to count these out since you seem to have lost your concentration. One," he says and adds more power to the hit. He intentionally pauses between each hit and intensifies his attention to her clit just to the point that she was shuddering and can't hold back the release. Maria's eyes go wide, and she know the words now, "Oh, God! Oh, God! PLEASE, may I cum, Sir?" "Not until my word, " and he starts pounding into Maria. Maria don't know how much more she can take. She was so full as he relentlessly slams into her with his balls slapping her clit. She was losing her grasp. Finally, he is as ready as she was and demands, "Say the words!" Those simple words give Maria the signal that he is going to explode, and Maria scream out in pleasure, "Please use me for your pleasure, Sir!" He roars, and Maria feel his cock jump with her words, and he starts filling Maria with his seed and then commands, "Cum for me. NOW!" Maria screaming with pleasure. Her toes are curled up, and her hands are clawing at the wedge. Over and over, the orgasm crashes over her. He keeps driving it on. It's becoming all-consuming, along with the overwhelming release. Her sensitive nub aches with pleasure, but she can't stop until he releases her and it take them to be separated ultimate 10 years . Finally, he says, "You are allowed to say when." "Please, Sir. Thank you, Sir. Oh, God. Enough, please, Sir." Maria begin to shake, and he speaks to her softly, "That was amazing! You are amazing! I love you so much," while continuing to pet her. I think this true incidence tell a lot about the women in general .Since then older woman-younger man relationship may be among the world's most visible, it's not that unusual anymore.Braving "robbing the cradle" jokes, almost one-third of women between ages 40 and 69 are dating younger men in modern world . It's not what you think -- the stamina or "re-boot" ability of the younger male. The women like the flexibility and sense of adventure of their more spontaneous, younger companions and for their part, younger men often find older women more interesting, experienced , experimental, fun to talk to, and more adept sexually. The Fact says "The woman was the seducer” In all 90 out of 100 cases. In care of Madam Maria Curie her private lives of scientists reveal much about the way they work and the discoveries they make her passions among the pipettes