{ASS} {Gordie} San Gimignano (MF cons)

[GordonD103]

This story contains sexually explicit material.
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. . . . . . . . . .

San Gimignano
by Gordie

I sat down in the kitchen for a minute, wiggling my toes. My aching feet were
reminding me, next semester, look for a restaurant that allows soft-soled shoes
instead of dress shoes. Taking a swig of Pepsi, I comforted myself with the
fact that the semester would be starting in a week, and I could get back to the
relative peace and quiet of college. Just as I began to relax, Mrs. Antonelli,
the owner, politely but firmly ordered me off my butt and back to work.
The restaurant I had worked at several times before wasn’t hiring over the
summer, but I was able to get a position at a place near the campus, Alla
Milanese. It was a less expensive place than the one I had worked at before,
meaning smaller tips, meaning my snowboard would have to last one more season.
One of the advantages of working there, however, was Mrs. Antonelli herself.
Some women stop worrying about their appearance as they get older, but
others keep themselves fit, dress nicely and spend time with their makeup,
letting the world know they’re still interested in every thing life has to
offer. Mrs. Antonelli was probably in her fifties, and definitely fell into
the latter category. Her most striking feature was her hair. You could pick
her out of a crowd of a hundred. It was extremely thick, a very deep sparkling
black, wavy, cascading down her back, and you could tell she was very proud of
it, carefully styling it and checking it often in the mirror.
Her hair, combined with her dark eyes, black eyebrows and eye shadow gave
her a very exotic look. Why do all women want to look skinny as possible, like
fourteen year old boys? I loved watching Mrs. Antonelli walking away from me,
her rounded hips and butt switching back and forth under her dress. She wasn’t
fat by any means, but just had a nice curvy, plush figure, with full breasts
that I’ll bet would be very soft and jiggly, the kind you could squish together
and get lost inbetween.
I had been admiring her over the time I worked there, and whenever she
spoke with me I had the feeling there was something in the way she looked at
me, letting her gaze linger a moment. But I shrugged it off, figuring I was
flattering myself.

One night, though, she pulled me aside and asked if she could have a word with
me after closing. The waiters took turns staying after the restaurant closed
to help with the clean up, and this night was my turn.
When I had everything pretty much squared away I knocked on the door to
Mrs. Antonelli’s office. She gestured to a chair, and said, “Tim, perhaps you
have noticed me looking at you. I’m sorry if I’ve been bothering you.” I
shrugged and was about to tell her not to worry, when she continued. “It’s
just that you look a great deal like someone I knew a long time ago. The way
you wear your hair, your eyes. There is a remarkable resemblance.”
She stayed silent a moment, with a far away look, and I felt I should say
something. “A friend of yours?”
She opened her mouth, then hesitated. A small smile came across her face
and she looked off in the distance for a second. “You would like to have a
glass of wine with me? If you are not busy?”
I said I’d like that very much, and went to fill a couple glasses. Sitting
at a corner booth in the deserted restaurant, she said, “I hope I’m not keeping
you from anything.”
“No, I didn’t have anything planned. Anyway, I like hearing your voice.
Your accent is really beautiful.” Her English was practically as good as a
native, but her voice still had a lilting Italian tone to it.
She looked at the table and smiled. “I still make mistakes sometimes. I
shouldn’t. I’ve lived here long enough.”
“How long have you lived here? Since you were . . . twenty?” I guessed.
“You are very close. I moved here when I was eighteen.” We both took a
sip of wine. “Ever since you started working here I’ve been thinking of my
hometown, San Gimignano, near Firenze, Florence.
“The young man you remind me of was a boy who lived in town, maybe a year
or two older than I was. His name was Carlo, and he was very piacete- very
good looking.” She gave a glance in my direction. “Always roaring around town
on his motorcycle. His parents were very wealthy. He seemed like a snob,
though, never wanting to associate with the children of farmers like me.
“I saw him most weekends at the farmers market. I would go there with my
mother to sell vegetables, and he would sometimes give me little looks, but he
never seemed to want to talk with me, like wouldn’t want to be seen with a farm
girl. I made up my mind to hate him.” She gave a little laugh, then took
another sip of wine.
“I know that feeling,” I said. “When you like someone who you think
doesn’t like you.”
“Yes, exactly,” she smiled. “Although, I did find out he had, well, maybe
not feelings for me . . . let’s just say he found me somewhat attractive.
“One day I was walking home from school, hurrying so I could get my chores
done on time. I heard Carlo’s motorcycle approaching, and as I turned around I
saw him slow down and pull up next to me. ‘Get on. I’ll give you a ride
home,’ he said. He had a very arrogant manner, as though he was thinking,
well, if you don’t, there are many other girls who would love to. I said no
thank you, but he said look, it’s a long walk. I will have you home in five
minutes.
“As much as I wanted to dislike him, there was still something about him.
On an impulse, I got on and wrapped my arms around him. He put the bike in
gear and revved the engine, and it took off like a rocket. He accelerated
faster and faster, weaving the bike through the streets. It was terrifying. I
held on to him as tightly as I could and closed my eyes. I remember thinking
how strong and muscular his body felt as I wrapped my arms around him, how this
made me feel safer as we went flying along.”

As I listened, I took another sip of wine. Mrs. Antonelli really seemed to be
lost in the story, speaking as though she didn’t realize I was there. She was
looking over at the wall, but her eyes were focused several feet beyond it.
“Finally I felt the motorcycle slow down, and as I opened my eyes I saw we
were pulling up to a stable that was behind a very large house. The house, it
was enormous, built of huge grey stones, like a castle. As he stopped I
climbed off, and I remember how my knees were shaking. Carlo pushed the bike
into a small shed, put the kickstand down then leaned over it, fiddling around
with something on it. I got my courage together and said to him angrily, ‘You
shouldn’t have scared me like that. I have to get home’.
“He shrugged, without even looking up at me. I was so furious I could
hardly speak. Finally he stopped working on the bike and came out of the shed,
closing the door after him. He walked over to me and stood there silently for
a moment, looking at the ground. He said, ‘I’ve seen you around town. You’re
very pretty. I didn’t talk to you before . . . I was afraid my friends would
make fun of me . . . for talking to a farm girl.’ “
Mrs. Antonelli slowly finished the last of her wine, and continued. “
‘Well, if you’re so ashamed to be around me,’ I said, ‘why did you offer me a
ride?’ All of a sudden he seemed very shy and awkward, and I felt my anger
toward him going away. I knew what it was like trying to fit in with a group
of friends We stood there, then I asked again, ‘Why did you offer me a ride?’
After a little hesitation he looked over at the stable, then looked back at me.
I knew right away what he wanted.
She gave a small smile and leaned back in her chair, then looked down at
the table, as though a little self conscious. After a moment of silence I
said, “Uh, would you like another glass of wine, Mrs. Antonelli?”
“Yes, please. And please, call me Beatrace.” It was like music the way
she pronounced her name. Bee-a-tray-chay, rolling the ‘r’ a little bit.
While I poured the wine, I collected my thoughts. I was certainly seeing a
new side of my boss. She was nice enough, but running a restaurant is serious
business and she seldom chatted or joked around with the employees, and could
really get on your case if you were late or screwed anything up. I wondered
about her story- would she go any further with it? Although I wouldn’t mind
hearing how it turned out, I figured it would be a little too personal to talk
about, especially with one of her employees.
I set the glass of wine in front of her and sat down. “The town you grew
up in sounds like a nice place to live, really peaceful,” I said. “I’ve seen
villages like it in old Italian films.”
Mrs. Antonelli nodded. “Yes, it was a nice place to grow up. I find
myself thinking about it often . . . like just now,” she said with a slightly
embarrassed smile. “I suppose I shouldn’t go on with my story.”
She said it in a way that sounded like she wanted encouragement to go on.
On an impulse, I said, “I’d like to hear what happened.”
She looked at me for a moment, then gazed off. After a minute she said
softly, “I was only sixteen. I had never been with a boy before. He took me
by the hand and led me into the stable- I was so confused, I just went along.
I could barely think. He led me into one of the stalls. It was cool in there
and the light was very dim. There was a thick layer of hay on the floor that
looked like it had been freshly put down, and I remember it smelled very nice,
very sweet.
“He pulled me against him and kissed me, very hard, appassionatamente. He
pulled my blouse from out of my skirt, then started to unbutton it. He was so
strong and eager I felt helpless, the way I felt when I was on the back of his
motorcycle. When he got my blouse off he unzipped my skirt and pulled it down.
I stood there in my underwear and watched as he pulled off his shoes and his
shirt and pants. Take off your bra, he ordered. I just stood there. He
reached around and yanked at it till he got it unhooked.
“I’ll never forget his face, the look he had when he saw my breasts, the
way his chest moved up and down. Carlo pulled off his shorts and, my
goodness,” Mrs. Antonelli’s chest began moving up and down slightly as well.
“I had never seen anything like it. It looked enormous . . . hard as a bar of
iron. He gripped both my arms and pushed me down on my back. He kissed me
quickly, all over, my face, my neck, my chest. I could feel his hot breath on
me. I remember how wide his eyes were as he pulled down my panties, and he
didn’t waste any time parting my legs and getting on top of me.
“I don’t know where I found the strength, but right before he put it in, I
pulled away, and held him back with my arm. I had decided I did want to go
through with it, but . . . I didn’t have much experience with these things, but
I felt he should take things more slowly.”
She took another sip of wine. Why was she telling me all this? Maybe I’m
a little slow, but it was just crossing my mind that she might be interested in
me, the way Carlo was interested in her. She was certainly beautiful, but I
guess the thought had never crossed my mind due to the difference in our ages,
and the fact that she was my boss. But the more I thought about it . . .
She continued. “I looked him right in the eye, and took his hand and put
it on my breast. His strong, rough hands felt wonderful, he ran them around,
squeezing. He looked at me, as if waiting for permission to go further. I lay
back in the soft hay and took his hand, and put it gently between my legs. He
rubbed up and down slowly- to have a man do this for the first time, the
feeling was . . .” Her sentence trailed off as she narrowed her eyes and gazed
dreamily off into the distance.
What could I say? I sat there mutely, waiting for her to go on. “After a
short while, I don’t think he could wait any longer. His, you know, penis,
what do you call it when,” she made an up and down motion with her fingertips.
“Oh, uh, his erection?”
“Yes, yes, his erection.” I loved the way she rolled the ‘r’. “It was
dark red, the veins standing out. It looked like it would be painful to have
it that hard. I remember he had a couple of pieces of hay stuck to him. I
brushed them off his chest, feeling his muscles, then his stomach, then I ran
my fingertips along his great erection. Carlo gave an impatient sigh. He
simply couldn’t wait any longer.” She paused in her story. It was getting
kind of obvious by now, even to me, what she had on her mind.
“We were both breathing very deeply, very nervously. He took both my arms
and guided me on my back, and before I knew it he had pushed inside me. He was
very strong, and it seemed like he was using every muscle in his body, pushing
in and out. I closed my eyes and put my arms around him. The feeling was
difficult to describe.”
She thought a moment. “The sounds he was making, groaning- I couldn’t
believe how much pleasure I was bringing to him. It was a little bit painful,
but afterward, I decided that I enjoyed it. It was . . . it was the same
feeling I get when I cook for someone. I enjoy giving pleasure to a person. A
person I really like.”
Beatrace’s gaze had gone slowly from the far wall to the table, settled on
my hands for a while, then worked up to my chest. As she paused in her story
she brought her eyes up to meet mine. She waited, as though expecting me to
say something. I had been a little bit mesmerized by her story and had to
struggle a moment to come up with something to say.
“Italians, people from the Mediterranean, really seem to get a lot of
enjoyment out of life. The food and the opera- they have a real joy of
living.”
“You are part Italian yourself?”
“No, my family’s English. I try to get some enjoyment out of life,
though.” We both laughed a little bit. “You’re really beautiful,” I blurted
out.
She looked down at the table, trying to stifle a smile. “For an old lady,
you mean. It is nice of you to say, though.”
I shook my head. “For anyone. For a woman. For a girl. And you’re
certainly not old. Ever since I started working here I’ve been thinking about
you a lot.” I got a sudden surge of boldness. “And looking at you.”
Looking up from the table we exchanged smiles, then she said, “Yes, I have
noticed you doing that sometimes.” She moved her hands toward the center of
the table, and I didn’t hesitate to lay mine on top of hers. She squeezed my
hands, stroking them slowly, like she was really eager to make a connection
with someone. “I would like to cook something special for you,” she finally
said.

We stayed quiet on the drive to her house, winding along the roads up into the
hills. Walking inside, Beatrace put her car keys in a small dish next to the
front door, then opened her purse and pulled out some business records she had
brought from the restaurant. As she did I came up behind her and put my hands
around her waist, pulling her butt into my groin, and kissing her on the
shoulder.
“Shhh, stop,” she said softly but firmly, taking my hands from around her
waist. “Come.” She took my hand and led me into the kitchen, then indicated
for me to take a seat at the breakfast table. Without saying another word she
took a pot and a couple of saucepans from a rack over the stove. I watched as
she took a pear from a basket at the other end of the kitchen. Absorbed in her
work, but with a slight Mona Lisa smile, she carefully peeled the pear, cut it
in half and scooped out the core. She set both halves in the saucepan, filled
it part way with water and set it on the stove, turning on the heat underneath
it.
She poured some milk into one of the pots and set it on the stove, then
took two eggs from the refrigerator. Over the sink she separated the eggs and
put the yolks into another small pot, adding a spoonful of flour to it and two
spoonfuls of powdered sugar, then grated in a little lemon peel.
Every so often she would peek over at me and we would exchange smiles, but
otherwise we remained quiet. She had a real look of happiness on her face.
Setting the egg yolk mixture on a burner and stirring quickly for a minute, she
took out a bar of chocolate from a cabinet and broke off two squares. Checking
the pears simmering in the water, the warming milk and the sugar and egg
mixture, she put the chocolate in a small saucepan and began melting it.
As she worked, I sat there letting my eyes run over the curves of her body,
completely lost in thought- her rounded hips and butt under her elegant black
dress, her full round breasts securely confined in her bra. What would they
look like set free? My mind wandered over the possibilities. I knew they
would be creamy white, incredibly soft, and I imagined myself sucking them
hard, running my tongue around the very erect nipples, feeling her thick, soft
hair, smelling it, getting on top of her . . .
In an almost hypnotic state, I watched as she checked the melting
chocolate, then began slowly pouring the warm milk into the egg yolk mixture,
whisking it rapidly. She kept stirring till it thickened up, then turned off
the heat. She turned the pan of chocolate around till it was completely melted
and took it off the heat.
“It is smelling good?” she asked. I nodded enthusiastically. She tested
the pears that were still simmering with a fork, turned off the heat, then went
over to a cabinet and took out two colorfully decorated plates. She fished the
pear halves out of the pan and laid one on each plate, poured the sauce she had
made with the egg yolks over and around them, then drizzled the melted
chocolate over each.
Putting a fork on each plate, she brought them over to the table. “Pere
cotte con crema e cioccolato. Please, taste,” she encouraged. With Beatrace
carefully watching, I took a bite, and my mouth was flooded with an incredible
rich, creamy sweetness. Seeing my reaction, she returned my smile, crinkling
her eyes, looking right at me.
After a few bites, I said, “I don’t know the last time I had anything this
good.” We ate the rest quietly, and as we were finishing the last few bites I
said to her, “This is a really beautiful house.”
“Thank you. After my husband died I considered selling it, but I had grown
rather attached to it.”
“I’m sorry about your husband. How long ago did it happen?”
“Almost three years ago. A little while afterward, I opened the
restaurant. I had nobody to cook for,” she said with a little smile. We ate
the rest silently, looking at each other, with pleasure and anticipation in our
eyes.
I scraped up the last little bit with the edge of my fork. “Mmm, that was
absolutely great, Beatrace.” She reached over and stroked my forearm. We
stood up together. She took both my hands and I pulled her against me,
wrapping my arms around her and stroking the curves I had admired for so long.
We look into each others eyes for a minute, then, on an impulse, I bent down
and picked her up, cradling her in my arms. She wasn’t exactly light as a
feather, but I managed to make it look like I did it effortlessly.
“Arresto, stop it ! Put me down !” She tried to sound annoyed, but
couldn’t completely stifle a smile. I carried her carefully through the
kitchen door into the living room, then up the staircase.
“Which way?” I whispered at the top of the stairs.
With her arms around my neck, she gave me a little look, then said, “The
door there, on the left.”

I set her down by the bed and unzipped her dress. Before I could take it off,
she pulled away and went over to a stereo that was on the bookshelf. She put a
CD in it and pressed the play button, and in a moment the slow and sad voice of
an opera singer came over the speakers. She turned the volume down very low.
Without looking at me, and with a trace of apprehension, or something, on her
face, she walked around to the other side of the bed and took her dress off,
folding it and draping it over the back of a chair. She then took off her
shoes and rolled down her stockings. Just wearing her bra and panties she got
on the bed, laying on her side and propping herself on her elbow, and pulling
her legs in.
I began undressing, and as I did, she looked up at me. “It has been a
little while for me. Perhaps we could take things slowly.” When I was down to
my underwear I got on the bed and lay across from her.
After looking at each other for a minute, she said, “You like older women?”
I shrugged and smiled. “I like women. If they’re pretty, that’s even
better.”
“There must be lots of young girls at your school. Why someone like me?”
I thought a moment. My mother had died when I was eight, but I decided not
to tell her, not wanting things to get too melodramatic. “Look, I just think
you’re beautiful. You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about you.” I
reached over and stroked her hand.
“You have made love to an older woman before?”
Thinking back, I said, “Well . . . when I was in High School, there was a
neighbor I did gardening for. She would tell me how her husband was always
away on business, how lonely she was. We ended up sleeping together a few
times.”
“You know it means a lot to a woman to have a young fellow interested in
her. That is very nice.”
“Well . . . I enjoyed it too.”
We looked at each other for a minute longer. My hard-on, from her
beautiful accent as much as her body, was difficult to hide, just wearing my
shorts. She glanced down at it, then looked up at me. “Why is it Americans
say ‘sleep with’? You would like to sleep or make love?”
Returning her gaze, I said softly, “I’d like to fuck you.”
Using the tone of voice she used around the restaurant, she said, “If by
this you mean you will be quick about it, you will not. You will make love.”
She gave a little smile, like it was said in fun, but at the same time she was
serious about it.
I had noticed there was a silver hand mirror on the night stand behind me.
I don’t know why, but I reached back and picked it up, then sat up and gave
Beatrace a smack on her butt with it.
“What did you do this for?” she frowned in surprise. I laughed and gave
her another smack. “You are a crazy young fellow, doing this then laughing at
me. Give me that.” She reached for the mirror but I grabbed her arm and
pulled her on her stomach. I straddled her and sat on her legs, preventing her
from getting up. I gave her another little whack on the butt, then put the
mirror down and undid the clasp on her bra. I sat up a little, allowing her to
turn over on her back, then sat back down on her. I pulled the straps of her
bra out from behind her back then lifted it up, letting her beautiful tits
spill free.
“You are a crazy young fellow,” she said softly. I lay on my side and
quickly pulled my shorts off, then got back on top. Kneeling on top of her, my
very, very erect dick laying across her stomach, I bent down and touched my
lips to hers. We kissed a little tentatively at first, the way you do when you
kiss a person for the first time, but after a few seconds I opened my mouth a
little, Beatrace exhaling, giving in, returning my kiss. I ran my hand over
her tits, circling around and squeezing, my other hand running through her soft
thick hair, pushing her lips into mine.
I worked down, pushing her breasts together, taking a mouthful and sucking,
lifting my head upward, making a slurping as it pulled out of my mouth. I
looked at Beatrace. Her eyes were closed and she was breathing deeply through
her mouth, off in another world. As she sighed under her breath I lay beside
her, stroking her soft curves, leaning down and kissing her mouth, then sucking
on her tits, admiring the light olive color of her skin, against the deep black
of her hair and the red of her lipstick, and the light pink of her nipples.
I had heard about, and read about giving oral sex to a woman, but never
actually done it myself. The girls I had been with didn’t ask for it or seem
to expect it, and I was afraid I might do it wrong and look like a little bit
of a dumbass. But I had a feeling Beatrace would be understanding, and decided
to take a chance. I kissed her down along her stomach, running my tongue
around her belly button, slowly pulling down her panties and then circling my
hand around her patch of pubic hair.
I pushed on the inside of her legs and she slowly parted them, looking down
at me with her hands over her breasts. I explored her a little with my hand,
found the bump of her clit, leaned in and poked it with the tip of my tongue a
few times then began flicking it back and forth, then circling around. I
didn’t hear her react at first and worried that I might be doing something
wrong, but then I heard her take a deep breath and let out a low groan. I kept
it up, Beatrace breathlessly gasping, “Oh, bene, bene, that feels so good . .
.”
I couldn’t tell you how long I tickled away at her, Beatrace moaning all
the time, whispering under her breath, but eventually she let out a long
satisfied breath, then circled her hands around my head. She sat up, stroking
my back and pulled me up against her.
As I lay back she sat up, looking down at me through heavy eyelids. She
ran her hand over my chest for a minute, then moved down to my stomach,
brushing her hand back and forth, like she had done with Carlo so many years
ago, I realized. She was looking at me, but her eyes still had a very far away
look. She took her time stroking me, then moved further down, running her
fingertips along my hard-on which by now was really throbbing, stiff as a
board.
Looking down at me, Beatrace whispered, “You would like me to do a little
something for you?” I nodded, with a little grin. Turning her eyes back down
to my erection, she said, a little coyly, “I do not usually do things like this
. . .”
I guess most girls get their idea of oral sex from porno movies, sucking
and slurping and jerking as fast as possible. Mrs. Antonelli, though, very
carefully took the lower part of my hard-on in her fingertips as she shifted
into position. For a minute all I could feel was her breath on the sensitive
skin, then she took the head inside her mouth, without touching it at all. As
she brought her head back up she just very lightly skimmed along it with her
lips, looking up at me the whole time. I sighed, letting her know how good it
felt, running my fingers through her thick soft hair.
Gradually she took more and more in, never touching it on the way down,
just dragging her lips along the shaft on the way up, then closing around the
head, making a little ‘smack’ as it came out of her mouth.
“This feels good, hmm?”
“Oh, god, yeah,” I managed to gasp out. She kept it up, very slowly and
lovingly. I could tell by the way she looked up at me, smiling with her eyes,
that she was getting almost as much enjoyment out of it as I was. Eventually,
though, I just couldn’t stand it any longer. I sat up and guided her onto her
back, pushing her legs up in the air, leaning down, kissing her, sucking at her
tits.
Beatrace took my erection in her hand, guiding it toward her as I worked
forward.
Kneeling in front of her I pushed it in and both of us sighed
simultaneously, the rush of sensation the same as when I had taken the first
bite of the desert she had fixed for me. Working in and out, I reached down
and grabbed her breasts, massaging them as she stroked my arms.
She wrapped her arms tightly around me as I lay on top of her and really
started thrusting. She was whispering something in Italian in my ear, and
although I couldn’t understand a word of it, it was still the most erotic thing
I had ever heard. I slowed myself down to make it last, gently rocking back
and forth on top of her. Pushing my face into her beautiful hair, I took a
deep breath. The fresh, perfume smell, combined with the soft curves of her
body and with the feeling of her vagina gripping my hard-on, Beatrace working
her hips up to meet me, and with the Italian she was whispering, all conspired
to bring things to a too quick end.
Right on the brink, I gave a couple quick pumps and my orgasm exploded as I
groaned, partly in pleasure, partly in disappointment that I couldn’t make it
last any longer. The cum streamed out of my throbbing erection, eventually
flowing back down as I eased in and out, coating my still rock hard dick in the
warm slippery fluid and making the sensations even more incredible.
I rolled off of her, exhausted, both of us breathing heavily. I couldn’t
think for half a minute, but as soon as I caught my breath and gathered my
senses I made up my mind- it had ended too soon, and I was ready for another go
round. My dick had been slowly softening, but as soon as the decision was
made, I looked over at Beatrace, with her hand over her eyes, and it reversed
its course and began growing, pointing back up toward the ceiling in
anticipation.
I got back on top of Beatrace, straddling her, kneeling over her, kissing
and stroking, squeezing and sucking. She took her hands from in front of her
eyes and ran them up and down my body, then let them wander downward, feeling
my once again stiff member.
With sleepy eyes and tousled hair she said, “You would like to once again?”
She said it in a way that didn’t exactly discourage me.
“I’d like to fuck you again.”
“Be a gentleman, please,” she said teasingly.
I shook my head. “You want me to fuck you, don’t you. Tell me you want me
to.”
“You want me to say terrible things. You work for me, remember.”
“At the restaurant. You’re not in charge here.” I glanced over at the
nightstand. “Do I have to use the hand mirror on you again?”
Forgetting herself, she let out a little giggle. “You are crazy. I cannot
argue with a crazy person.” She licked her lips a little and looked at me
through slightly narrowed eyes. “That would make you happy, saying, yes
please, I would like you to fuck me? There, I said it.” Yes, it did make me
happy, this dignified woman, in her musical Italian accent asking me to fuck
her.
I reached down and pushed my dick downward, the once again long and hard
shaft slipping in against the gentle resistance, pumping slowly at first then
more and more quickly, her tits jumping with each one. I lay on top of her and
really got going, thrusting into her, knowing this time I would last a while.
Completely absorbed in the feeling we fucked, Beatrace running her hands along
my back and butt, then I held her against me and rolled over, letting her
breathlessly pump up and down on top of me. I took both her tits in my hands,
feeling her deep breathing.
After a minute an idea popped into my mind, something I had dreamed of ever
since I had met Mrs. Antonelli. I sat up, clasped her against me and lowered
her onto her back. Pulling out of her, I worked my way forward, squishing her
tits together and squeezing my hard on between them.
Easing in and out, Beatrace said sleepily, smiling with her eyes, “It is
terrible the way you use me. Brutto. You must think I am no lady.” I circled
my hands around, massaging her breasts which brought a groan from her. She
dropped her head back and closed her eyes.
After I had my fun I got back on top of her and pushed myself back inside
her, my dick deep red and pounding from feeling those two incredibly soft, warm
globes encircling it, and began thrusting firmly. After a few more minutes I
felt my orgasm coming, burying my face in her hair and groaning as it washed
over me, pushing my erection deep inside her and holding still as I spurted cum
into her. It felt every bit as incredible as the first one. She had her arms
around me and wouldn’t let me go, so I recovered on top of her, still inside of
her.
Beatrace was absolutely exhausted. “Oh,” she gasped, “I don’t know how
long it has been . . .” As she caught her breath she said, her mouth up to my
ear, “I hope you do not have any further plans for tonight. I am no teenager
anymore.”
“Maybe I do.”
“Well, maybe this will have to wait for another time.” She pushed me off
from on top of her and slipped underneath the covers, turning on her side,
sinking her head into the pillow and giving a little sigh.

I woke up the next morning to the smell of coffee. Gathering my clothes up
from the floor, I got dressed and then found Beatrace at the breakfast table in
the kitchen. We exchanged smiles, and she pointed to the cabinet where I could
find a coffee cup. She had been going over some business records, and I opened
up the newspaper and flipped through it, more from awkwardness than any real
desire to know what was going on in the world.
After she had told me where I could find a coffee cup we really didn’t say
much. The conversation that came so easily last night didn’t seem to be there,
and I got the feeling that she was thinking, as enjoyable as last night was,
maybe the discomfort of the morning after wasn’t worth it. There wasn’t much
of a chance of any kind of relationship developing between us, and I guess that
was what she really wanted.
She had to be at the restaurant early, but my shift didn’t start till four,
so she offered to drop me off near the campus. As we walked silently to the
garage I felt I had to break the ice somehow. I did the only thing I could
think of, giving her a firm but playful smack on the butt. With an annoyed
growl she smacked my hand away, but this didn’t stop me from giving her another
one. She grabbed my sleeve to keep me from doing it again, then managed to
grab my other hand just before it seized one of her breasts.
“Stop, basta! Crazy . . .” We grappled at the door to the garage for a
minute, and as I laughed, Beatrace couldn’t help but break into a little smile,
a smile that stayed on her face as we went into the garage and got into the
car.

The End