Italy
Today was not the day for calm reflection, but the rather hazy and yet
intense day
that leaves you breathless before you start. I had found myself
waking to a
slight breeze chilling me as I lay naked on top of the covers. The
night had been
clammy, and unsatisfying.
I stretched, and Tom sprawled quietly back over the other site of the bed.
His arms were
thrown back as if shot, but there was a peace in his breathing
and face that
belied that impression. I smiled to myself, and ran my flattened
hand down his
chest, and washerboard stomach to his flaccid penis. I loved
this time, when
he was soft, and unconscious. I softly rolled his balls
between my fingers,
and felt a slight shift and firming against the back of my
hand.
I smiled, rolled away, and rose to shower.
Over breakfast Tom was eager. We had been together for almost a year,
and
almost all of
it had been good. He had been very tender, and passionate when
we met, but
had the roughness in men that I love. He was always slightly
stubbly, rumpled,
and raw. I had come to love the harshness of this older man
as he kissed
my neck, and kneaded my breasts or arse as we made love. He
wanted to be
good to me, but not too good. After some initial shyness, we had
come to share
the play time, and fantasies of our lives.
As we looked over the roofs of the town, Tom stood behind me and rested
his
hands on my
shoulders. He asked me if I had slept well, and we made light
conversation.
I could feel his cock pressed indifferently between my shoulder
blades, but
had no desire so early in the day. I was clean, and wanted to make
a start on our
day. There was still much of the centre of town that we had not
seen, and I
wanted to meander.
It was the start of rush hour as we left the front door of our small hotel.
Tom had really
made an effort, and was looking fit, relaxed, and very preppy.
It was a look
that never ceased to turn me on. I loved a white shirt on older
men, and his
linen pants were a classic for me. Myself ? Tom had still not
managed to dress
me as I thought he would probably want, so I was comfortable
in a short,
split, light, skirt, and loose cotton blouse. Tom thought I was a
bit of a tart,
I suppose. I was cool though, and loved the freedom of being
hot and young.
To get to town we had been taking the bus. It was all uphill, and
the walk
took the gloss
off the morning when we had done it earlier in the week. It was
perhaps 10 km
as the crow flies, and forty minutes by public transport. The
one down side
of this trip was the swaying sweaty bus filled to the gunwales by
men already
seeming as if they had worked for days without washing. I think
this was worse
for him than for me.
We swung onto the bus, and I slipped ahead of Tom along the central aisle.
As we pushed
past standing men I could see some of them looking at me in open
appreciation.
This itself was OK, but I always felt a slightLY nervous knot in
the pit of my
stomach when this happened. I was careful not to push into these
men, though
most were perhaps more appreciative than threatening. Tom shrugged
as I turned.
It looked like standing room only this morning, and I reached up
grab the leather
loop, and encircled my hands in them. Tom typically grabbed
the two metal
bars and faced forward. The bus bumped on.
For perhaps five minutes nothing happened. It was clammy, and I was
glad
that I had dressed
so lightly. It was going to be searing later in the day.
As we went round
a street corner I felt a light hand on my arse. I spun my
head round,
but all the men were talking, and seemed oblivious to my presence.
I was too reserved
to single one out, and felt uncomfortable not knowing the
language.
I tried to glare, but couldn't see any mileage in it and turned away
again.
So this was Italy.
As I turned back, the hand was back...It gently stroked one buttock.
Again
I spun my head
round, and again could see nothing to help me see who this was.
I half turned in the crush of people, and took a more solid stance in the
corridor.
With my feet firmly planted against the side to side sway of the
bus, I hoped
I wouldn't get pushed again into the feeler. Not so. After
a
lull of just
a few moments, the hand was back behind my knee, stroking then
feathering against
me. Despite my uneasiness at this, there was a slight
tingle in my
leg, and my knee just broke a fraction. I tensed up again, and
the hand moved
slowly up to my inner middle thigh. This was too much, and I
tried to spin
around again, but was wedged tightly, and could barely breath.
The bus topped
to let some more people on, and the hand flicked back and away.
I tried to pull
my legs together, but felt dangerously unstable, even at rest.
The bus pulled
away, even more packed than before.
Immediately the hand was back, gently stroking my inner thighs. I
was
outraged, but
strangely hot, as my eyes fixed onto the back of Tom's shirt. I
wanted to call
to him, but was too embarrassed, or hot......I didn't know which
now. The
hand moved up, and under my skirt, and towards my knickers. The
fingers made
little circles on the back of my legs, and then slowly flattened
to move over
the roundness of my arse. So slowly did the hand move that at
times I wasn't
sure if it had stopped...I was fixed on its movements like a
rabbit before
a mongoose.
The hand moved down again, and the whole process seemed to be over.
As I
relaxed, the
fingers came up between my legs, and one of them started to trace
the thin line
at the edge of one leg of my knickers. It moved quickly from my
arse to the
back of my pussy. I started, and tried to clasp my legs together.
All I succeeded
in doing was grabbing the hand with my legs, and swinging
slightly off
balance. I craned my head around, and again could see only
apparently conversing
old men on their way to work.
The finger had worked its way further forward, and was pressing firmly
into
the now soft
petals of my pussy. Totally against my will I could feel myself
shudder, and
loose some muscle control. A slight tremble went through my body.
The finger moved
to the side, and started to hook itself into the side of the
gusset.
As it arched under, it moved back and in, and I could feel my pussy
exposed.
The hand continued to pull, and this was the first real force that
had been used.
Another hand moved between my now parted legs, and suddenly my
knickers were
split. They must have been cut, because afterwards I could see a
clean break
in them.
I was stunned. I couldn't move, and was so turned on, and frightened,
I
could sense
the slightly sweet mustiness of my arousal. The single hand was
back now, but
didn't push straight into me as I had expected. Again it
flattened and
stroked my arse, bunched, and started to scratch a gentle path
forward and
downwards. The tips of a few fingers started to split my inner
lips from the
outer lips on one side. As it split my labia one from the other,
fingers gently
tugged the hairs on my outer lips and pulled them apart. An
unbearable tension
was building as the fingers inched forwards, and I waited
the rough thrust
into me. As the fingers reached the front, they moved to the
back on the
other side. With almost clinical care they slowly tweaked my inner
lips.
I thought how like the pulling of Tom's lower lip this was, as he
thoughtfully
read this morning's paper. I was wet now, and ambivalent about
what was happening.
I had not asked for this, but was too aroused to call it
to an end.
I was ashamed as I stood there, but stood there still.
Two fingers walked over my inner lips to the front, and placed themselves
on either side
of my clitoris. They moved slightly, and the release was
extraordinary.
A spasm went through me, and I could feel my pelvis, and then
my whole body
warming, and pulsing. I fell forward into Tom's back, and a low
animal sound
escaped my lips. As I straightened, the bus stopped. I turned,
and saw a group
of surprised and anxious faces behind me. None seemed other
than concerned
for a young girl who had "fainted".
One stood to let me sit, and I slumped down. Tom stood concernedly
over
me, and I had
a flash of taking his cock in my mouth there and then. I smiled
grimly, and
shivered. Today was going to be a day of lust, and distraction.
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