That was when Maurice stood up and looked at me with his hands on his hips. His jeans were low-cut and I could see the big lump inside, below his flat stomach. His hair was falling over his shoulders. As he took off his t-shirt, you could see his long, lean back and when he pulled down his zipper it popped out, standing up at a sharp angle. He was pretty big, but not too big, and it was thick, and his cock head was swollen and red. It looked wet, like it had been leaking cum inside his pants. He pulled down his jeans and his legs were long and his ass was shapely and round. I wanted Antonio to see him fuck me now, I knew that. I wanted him to see that wet cock slip inside my pussy and see my eyes roll up in ecstasy.
He dropped on his knees in front of me and went back to massaging my pussy with his fingers. Then he’d suck my juice off his fingers. When I realized what was happening, I stopped sucking Jacques cock for a minute and stared at Maurice’s beautiful shaft. I tried to reach out for it, but Jacques grabbed my hair and pulled my lips back onto his penis. I gave up, but my legs were spread wide and I was raising my hips, and my voice, muffled by Jacques cock, was saying, “Oh fuck me now, I don’t care, fuck me, make me come, please fuck me!”
Antonio must have gotten some feeling back into his legs, as he started flexing them back and forth, then leaning to one side where he could see Maurice’s cock as he bent it down to just the right angle and started sliding it over my clitoris and nosing it into my pussy an inch or so, then out again and making little circles all around the outside of my pussy lips. “Please, please,” I was moaning, “I need it now, please!” And then he slid all of it slowly into my wet pussy. I wondered if Antonio could see my juices dripping out as he started rhythmically pounding the thick shaft in and out, and the wet spot under my ass where the pussy juice had dripped onto the cushion. Then I reached around to grab his ass, my hands roamed over his ass, feeling its shape, squeezing it tight, my fingernails digging in as he fucked me harder. He didn’t have to work too hard, because I came right away, I remember sobbing, “Oh God, oh God, it feels so good, I’m coming, please don’t stop.” But he stopped then and groaned and pulled out and stroked himself as Jacques pulled me up to receive Maurice’s ejaculation. He shot a big wad of white cum onto my cheek, then another into my open mouth, then more cum spurted onto my forehead. I held on to it and stroked more cum out and licked that big cock and pulled it into my mouth and sucked more cum out.
Maurice stayed hard, though. That was strange. Even stranger, he turned and helped me to my feet and led me over to lie next to Antonio. He looked into my eyes and said, “Suck on your husband now. He loves you. This is just a Parisian dream world. Soon we will be gone.”
I could barely look at him, but still I reached hungrily for his cock and began kissing it tenderly, stroking it up and down. But meanwhile, Jacques had removed his shirt and pants and eased me onto my stomach and raised my ass up in the air. His erection felt so full and hard as he slid it slowly into my pussy.
“Your pussy is a little dry now, Cherie, but not for long.”
I was moaning onto Antonio's cock now, as we lay perpendicular to each other. This gave Maurice room to do something even beyond all that had happened up to then. He sneaked his head under my stomach, where he began to lick my pussy from beneath and soon juice was pouring out of it as Jacques fucked me. “He must be bi-sexual!” I thought. He was furiously licking and sucking on my clitoris. I was going crazy with pleasure, one man’s cock fucking my pussy, another man’s mouth glued to my clitoris, flicking it and teasing it and kissing it, and my husband’s cock in my mouth, growing, swelling, pulsing and then the biggest surprise of all, Antonio’s cum spurting up and into my mouth and spilling down his shaft, so much creamy white cum everywhere, and then I dropped my head and moaned “Oh, I’m coming again, I’m coming!” and Jacques cried out too and pulled his big cock out and his cum shot out onto my back.
I thought it was over. But there were two problems: Maurice had stood up and was gazing down at me. I had rolled over on one side and my ass was exposed and round and cute and I knew he wanted me a second time. The other problem was clear: when Antonio realized he wanted to fuck me, his cock jumped up too. He wanted to fuck my pussy first….
How, I thought, would our relationship survive this? Was our marriage over? My head was spinning, but the desire pulsing in my pussy was still overpowering. Antonio began stroking his slick cock and slowly walked toward me. He looked down at me and smiled. There was a sadness in the smile, but also something that said we would be all right afterward. I knew he would be the one to hurt afterward, his ego, his pride, but that we would get over it. But in the smile I returned, I tried to show my pride in him, especially when I looked up at his dick standing up, still glistening, with a big drop of semen oozing out the little hole. His eyes were glazed – it must have been the drug they gave him, and when I touched his dick it was as if it was already close to ejaculating the way it jumped and the tightness I saw in his balls.
Maurice, who had not been inside me yet, was obviously frustrated. Antonio saw a chair in one corner of the room and pulled me up and over to it. He sat down in the chair and pulled me down and began kissing me, holding my face and plunging his tongue in my mouth. Maurice came from behind and began slipping his swollen cock head up and down my wet crack, wanting to push himself inside me from behind. Then Antonio looked up at him and told him to stop. He seemed back in control again. “Here’s my rule,” he ordered. “Twenty strokes each.” Maurice smiled and pushed his big thing slowly into me. He held me by the waist as I kissed Antonio and he played with my nipples and I stroked his cock up and down. Maurice was moving slowly, trying to enjoy every stroke. I bent my head down and spit on Antonio’s dick to make it wet. It was so slippery and warm as I massaged its head in little circles.
When Maurice got to twenty, he slipped his cock out and then I sank my pussy down onto Antonio with a cry of pleasure. I was using my thighs to lift myself up and down on him, kissing him passionately and caressing his chest. He was getting hotter and hotter. Then it was Maurice’s turn again and he rammed his hot cock back inside me and pumped faster this time, then I was back on my husband, moaning and sighing and pumping my pussy up and down, and then Maurice grabbed me again by the waist and bent me over and Antonio’s cock slipped into my mouth as he rammed harder and faster and then I was grinding on Antonio again and then Maurice took me back and broke the rule and kept fucking as I held on to Antonio’s cock, and cried out with every stroke, “Ooh, Ooh, Ooh, oh God, don’t stop!” – harder and harder he fucked me, squeezing my ass and moaning and then he came for the second time, spurting all his cum over my back and growling with pleasure.
At which point Antonio stood up and pulled me down onto the cushions under him and my legs came open and he rammed himself deep inside me and our arms were wrapped around each other so tight, and our kiss was made of pure love and I could feel his orgasm coming closer and closer and he plunged deep into me and shot his cum deep inside and my loins turned to fire as my final orgasm swept me away. We all lay there finally, exhausted, for an immeasurable time. But when I opened my eyes again, there was only the two of us. A French love game, huh? I thought. Then Antonio raised his head and looked at me and shrugged. The words came to us at the same time, magically, and we spoke them together. “Vive la France!”
Chapter 2
By The River of Passion
We were both confused the next morning, not sure what had happened the night before. It was as if we had been given a forgetfulness drug. So that morning, feeling strangely tired, we canceled our second visit to the Louvre and spent the day sleeping in our hotel room, as the autumn rain poured down on Paris and faint sounds of automobiles filtered in past our curtains.
The next day, we were off to Rome. We arrived by train late that night and went right out to see the sights. It was a warm night, in contrast to the blustery rain of Paris, and the movements of the Italians were more languorous and physical than those of the French. Af
ter a great meal of bruschetta, a Tuscany salad and grilled halibut in orange sauce, we wandered through the great 17th century English di Madrano, finally returning to our hotel to sleep. I took Antonio to the Pantheon as well, that magnificent structure dedicated to all the Roman gods, re-built by the emperor Hadrian in 126 A.D.
“In those days, they were all lovers!” Antonio said, gazing upwards at the huge circular dome over our heads.”
“Lovers?”
“Yes! Everyone is loving everyone in those days, am I not right?”
“You mean…
“Man-to-man, man-to-woman and man-to-boy, everything OK!”
“Well, not always, but yes, for instance, Hadrian had a legendary love affair with Antinous, a young boy who eventually committed suicide. Hadrian made him into a god and his face is on hundreds of old gold coins. In those days, all kinds of love were permitted – if you could afford it.”
“Then Christian church came and shut us all down. Now we feel guilty. Now we are afraid of love.”
I wondered what Antonio was thinking. I was having flashbacks to our wild night in Paris, but it felt like we had an unspoken agreement to avoid the topic. My new husband was skirting the edges of it. It made me uncomfortable. And yet another part of me felt strangely excited by images of another time when passions were given their due, when sexuality was even seen as a form of spirituality. Hadrian’s final poem, written just before he died, popped into my head:
Roving amiable little soul,
Body's companion and guest,
Now descending for parts
Colorless, unbending, and bare
Your usual distractions no more shall be there...
Hadrian was famous for his sensuality and love of the physical “distractions.” He was saying here that this would all be forgotten when he descended into the underworld.
We seemed unaccountably drowsy all that week, and when we went by bus to tour the vineyards of Montessori, we felt so tired we lagged behind the other tourists looking for a place to rest. A way off, we spotted a line of plum trees that seemed to call out to us to enjoy their shade. From the crest of the little hill on which they stood, a path led down past a vineyard to a small river where a little dock stood. We wandered down to the pier and looked across to a lovely little meadow. Looking at the scene I felt so sleepy and barely noticed a rowboat approaching from downriver. A grizzled paisano was rowing steadily toward us, a smile on his face and a glint in his eyes.
“Buongiorno!” he cried out. “Non si vuole attraversare il fiume? Antonio could easily figure out his meaning. “He wants to take us to crossing the river. We can relax there, maybe take a little nap!”
“But how can we get back again?”
“Oh, let’s cross that bridge when it comes! Let’s go with the flowing!”
I gave in. The old man laughed as we stumbled in. To be polite, I asked his name and what he did, in my primitive Italian. He said his name was Caronte and that he was mainly retired, but he sometimes helped people go from place to place along the river. “È un po 'un mio hobby,” he added. How convenient when English words get adopted, I thought. And he was true to his word, paddling against the current to skillfully take us across.
As soon as we set foot on the other side, off he went. We never saw him again. The stream was quiet and cool, and just past the meadow stood overhanging olive trees that could shade us from the hot sun. There was a smooth area behind one of the trees and we lay down with our arms around each other
That day, I had worn only a light blouse and skirt in the style of an Italian country maiden. We must have dozed off for a while, when suddenly I was awakened by the sound of laughter. There in the meadow, I saw a dark-skinned vineyard worker being chased by two girls. They all flung themselves onto the ground by the river just opposite us, but did not notice us, as we were in deep shade and they were in the sun. I tapped Antonio to wake him up, putting my fingers to his lips.
As we watched, the two girls pounced on the man, one grabbing his legs, the other holding his spread out arms to the ground as she sat on her knees above his head. The girl at his feet looked to be in her twenties. She was wearing white shorts and a yellow-green halter top that barely contained her breasts. Her black hair was roughly done up in a bun, but a few careless strands falling onto her shoulders revealed its real length. The other girl looked younger, maybe in her teens, and more slender than the first. Her hair was a strawberry color, a classic 50’s-style Italian redhead, I thought. But it was cut short, like a boy, falling in straight lines just past her face, Audrey Hepburn-style. She had on a flimsy plum-colored skirt that rode up above her knees as she struggled with the man, revealing her narrow, beautifully formed white thighs. Above the skirt she wore a simple white blouse buttoned just halfway up, which she could do, since she seemed to have the breasts only of a very young girl.
The spring sunshine was pouring down on the trio, lending an impressionistic glow to the scene. We saw the girl at his feet (call her Rosalina) begin rubbing one leg inside his loose workman’s pants, saying teasing things to him in Italian. The fellow struggled to get away, though he was obviously enjoying the game. Fighting with the thinner girl (was her name Anastasia?) he managed to raise his arms into the air over his head – you could see he was well-built and strong – but in doing this he simply pulled the girl forward until her legs were over his head. Now her loose skirt was covering up his face, and I realized he must be able to look up at her panties.
“Non di panzetta!” he cried suddenly.
Could that mean what I thought it meant? The girl screamed playfully and now she struggled to escape him, but he had reversed the grip and now held her forearms tightly.
“Non è consentito, non è consentito!” She cried, as his powerful arms pulled her firmly lower toward his hidden face. She squirmed this way and that, but in that position, on her knees, there was no escape.
“Ah, que bella perfuma!” we heard him shout. Slowly but surely the helpless screams of the thin redheaded girl were changing into moans. “Oh, non è consentito, oh, il mio Dio, …”
It had happened so quickly, but the black-haired girl, it seemed, was in on the plan, for she had crawled higher to sit on the young man’s legs and was rubbing inside his upper thighs, talking reassuringly to the other girl, running her fingers through her hair and laughing at her. By now the man had obviously buried his face deeply between Anastasia legs and she had relaxed into the experience, moaning and cooing. “Ah, ah, ritiene buon, Basilio, ah, io sto fondendosi,” we heard her cry. So he was Basilio. From across the river, there came even the muffled sounds of the man, as if he had found the most delicious meal and was eating with relish.
Antonio and I were astonished of course. We lay low to the ground. I could feel my breath speed up, and lying behind me, he reached around as if to reassure me, rubbing my stomach gently. This only made my breathing come faster.
Rosalina had begun to unbutton the slender girl’s blouse now, and it fell off of her suddenly, completely exposing her delicate shoulders and young teenager sized breasts. The black-haired woman reached up to caress them, then running her hands up over her shoulders and down along her slender waist. In response, young Anastasia boldly placed her hands on top of her head, emphasizing her delicate shape, and we saw her begin to undulate her hips under her skirt. Meanwhile Rosalina had moved still higher and, straddling the young man, began grinding her hips as well, reaching down to squeeze the surely growing object of desire inside the man’s pants.
It was then that Anastasia leaned forward to kiss her friend, first a gentle, tender little kiss, then another, then their mouths opened to each other, their heads tilting and bending to follow the inspirations of their lips. We could see their soft, wet tongues loving each other. Rosalina’s mouth enfolded Anastasia’s delicate lips, hiding them as she reached behind her friend’s neck and pulled her head closer, plunging her tongue deeply into her sweet mouth (just as Basilio surely was probing her wet puss
y with his) and the girl moaned with joy and desire.
As Anastasia hands strayed to Rosalina’s swelling breasts, Antonio's hands crept up to enclose mine, slowly squeezing their fullness and grazing his fingers across my nipples. I cried softly – and he quickly whispered, “Shhh!” to remind me that we could be discovered at any moment. His cock was swelling against me as a result of the scene before us, by the pressure of my rounded ass against it, and with the heat of the day. He carefully unbuttoned my blouse and pulled my flimsy bra down and began squeezing my tender flesh, then dropped his mouth to my neck as we watched the lovers across the river, sucking on my neck and running his tongue up to engulf my ear, all the while gently pinching my erect, tender nipples.
As we watched, entranced, the two girls broke their kiss, and each one raised themselves up higher on their knees. This allowed Basilio to escape the oven of Anastasia’s skirt, and he managed to unbutton her wrap-around skirt, which conveniently fell away, revealing her nakedness in its entirety. Indeed, there were no panties, only her delightful ass and lightly-haired pink pussy. Rosalina, from her upraised position, reached down with one hand and with amazing quickness released Basilio’s swelling member from his loose pants. It stood pointing up at her and she began stroking it gently. Little Anastasia had by now pulled down Rosalina’s halter top and was squeezing her full, tanned breasts as Rosalina tenderly caressed Anastasia’s face with her free hand, moaning and again plunging her tongue into her mouth. Basilio had spread Anastasia’s ass cheeks wide and was licking her furiously from front to back, until the girl finally turned her head away from the Rosalina’s kisses and cried out, “Oh, il mio Dio! Avendo un orgasm!”
Ancient Passions (Ancient Passions Series # 1) Page 2
