Britslut’s

Slutty Stories

 

  A Room with a View

(unfinished)

© Copyright britslut 2007. No re-use allowed without permission.

 

In homage to E.M. Forster, based on one of my favourite books (and films)

 

‘No, Lucy, you must have my room, I insist. My room has a View.’

My aunt was not easily swayed. True, her room did have a wonderful view across the River Arno. But I had already unpacked my suitcase and made myself at home.

‘I’m quite happy with my room, Aunt. It’s cooler and there’s no traffic noise. I’d rather stay where I am. Honest.’

In fact I had no intention of swapping rooms. You see, my room had a View too, of a different sort.

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Some background. My name is Lucy and I’m 16 - a rather shy and naïve 16, I’m afraid. I’m slim and small and have long straight brown hair. A few boys have told me I’m pretty and one or two have tried to kiss me, but something in me always backs away. I’m taking History and Art A-levels, which is why my maiden aunt, Charlotte, of undisclosed middle age, had suggested that she take me to Italy for a month in the summer. My aunt believed that the Italian Renaissance was the pinnacle of human achievement, and had spent several summers taking in the art and architecture and the odd glass of grappa. She was a large woman with a formidable handbag and generally got her own way. I liked her, on the whole, and the prospect of a free holiday in Italy was too good to resist. My parents knew that, under her wing, there was no chance of anything Bad happening to me.

So we had just arrived in Florence (‘Firenze, my dear, always use the Italian name’) by way of Turin and Milan (‘too much Mussolini’), and had checked in to the Pension Bertolini, where Aunt Charlotte had stayed a few years ago and was Known to the Signora. It was a old family hotel with high ceilings, an air of faded grandeur, and dubious plumbing. One could imagine the English aristocracy staying there on their Grand Tour - which is probably how my aunt saw herself. The building was in a U-shape with a cool central courtyard. My aunt’s room was at the front, overlooking the river and the centre of Florence with Brunelleschi’s striped dome dominating the middle distance. Mine was in one of the wings, facing the courtyard and the opposite wing.

Which explains my View. While putting my things away I had glanced out of the big window and noticed activity in the room directly opposite mine. The net curtains were drawn back and a man was standing with his back to the light. He was naked. His athletic, muscular body looked like a Leonardo drawing. I felt myself blushing hotly and ducked behind the net. Of course I knew what men’s bodies looked like - I had even sketched a few (from books) for my art course. But I had never seen a real live man nude before.

As I watched, fascinated, a woman entered my field of view. She was strikingly beautiful with long thick black hair and tanned skin. She was wearing a white dressing gown tied at the waist, emphasising her perfect, not to say voluptuous figure. I saw her grin at the sight of him, and she said something. Then to my surprise she went down on her knees in front of him. I had brought some little binoculars on holiday, for inspecting details of frescos and the like, but didn’t want to break off to get them. Anyway, that would be blatant voyeurism - I was feeling ashamed just watching this far.

The woman was now invisible except for her hands which cupped the man’s buttocks. They were swaying back and forth gently. I wondered what they were doing and then realised, with another hot flush of shame. She was fellating him! I had had sex education lessons, of course, and other girls had discussed such things, mostly in hushed, allusive tones, but I didn’t really believe that ordinary people did it. Even sex in the missionary position seemed a bit unlikely.

I couldn’t tear myself away, although it was annoying that I couldn’t actually see anything interesting. The man planted his feet apart and arched his back and I could see his hips thrusting forwards. I couldn’t imagine what the woman would be experiencing. Having his erection (how big was it?) pumping in her mouth, finally ejaculating wetly. Did she swallow it or let it spill out? What did it taste like? I realised with a start that my nipples were hard and my pussy was tingling. I knew I would have to masturbate that night, working over what I had witnessed, and feeling guilty afterwards.

Presumably things came to a climax, because the woman got up and they kissed tenderly (did she still have his sperm on her lips, I wondered?). Then they both moved away, out of sight. I dashed some water on my face and tried to compose myself. My next action was to locate my binoculars from the depths of my suitcase and place them ready on the windowsill ...

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I knocked on the door of my aunt’s room, as we had arranged, in order to go down to dinner together. That was when she had tried to persuade me to swap rooms, but I dug my heels in and eventually she gave up, saying I was as stubborn as my mother - her sister. She swept down the curving staircase in her long flowery dress, me following meekly. The Signora greeted us and Aunt conversed in her loud and primitive Italian. I don’t speak the language, but I could tell that her accent was pure Home Counties.

The dining room was full and we were shown to a corner table for four. The menu (a limited choice) was discussed and decisions made. I was allowed a small glass of Chianti. The Signora hurried over to us, wringing her hands theatrically. I gathered that she was asking if we would mind sharing with another couple, as the hotel was fully booked and everyone was wanting to eat at once. Aunt Charlotte was a bit sniffy but eventually agreed.

‘I hope we don’t get some Americans,’ she observed, loudly. ‘The way they use their forks ...’

The Signora showed a couple over to our corner, thanking us profusely. I looked at the woman and blushed hotly. It was she whom I had watched giving oral sex! There was no doubt about it. That rich dark hair and sensuous, almost gypsy features. In a total fluster, I said hello as they introduced themselves. He was Ivan (‘Eeván’) and she was called Sasha, they were from Croatia .

Ivan bowed to me and kissed my aunt’s hand gallantly, and she was smitten. He was unbelievably handsome, with tanned skin, a mane of black hair and a thick moustache, perfect white teeth. He was over six foot tall, perfectly proportioned, dressed in black trousers and white shirt which hugged his figure and left little to the imagination. I guessed he would be in his thirties. He looked like a Cossack prince. I imagined him riding down on me and sweeping me into his arms, to carry me off and have his wicked but oh so exciting way. Probably Aunt Charlotte was thinking much the same - she devoured romantic novels.

Sasha (was she his wife? probably - they both wore simple gold rings) was a head shorter than him but also magnificently formed. Her smile would have seduced a monk; her dark eyes flashed lascivious thoughts. Her black pants and red top, both thin and stretchy, looked like they had been painted directly onto her skin. Her breasts and hips were full but there was not an ounce of spare fat on her. The outline of her bra was as visible as if she was wearing it on the outside. Her nipples showed plainly as fat nubs. I had never seen a woman look so naked with clothes on.

Ivan’s English was limited but Sasha’s was fluent. Her low husky voice dripped with sensuality, even while we made small talk about our travels and what we hoped to see while we were in Florence . It was their first time in the city and Aunt Charlotte held forth about the delights of lesser-known churches and galleries. She was pressed to take another glass of wine, and I managed to get one as well.

I hoped that they would assume I was just a tongue-tied teenager, because I sat there blushing, hardly saying a word, unable to take my eyes off the couple. In fact I didn’t know which one to look at - both of them gave me a strange, warm and exciting sensation in my abdomen. When either of them spoke to me I felt a moistness grow deep in my insides. I found that the image of her hands clutching his naked buttocks while she fellated him kept swimming before my eyes. Suddenly sex, which had never interested me overmuch to date, was a new world that I hungered to explore.

By the time we had finished dessert, we (that is, the three of them) were exchanging more personal information. I learnt that they had been married for three years, he was an engineer and she was a teacher, they were planning to start a family soon. I also learnt that my aunt had been engaged to a Italian man back in the 70s - something she had never told me. Over coffee and grappa it was half agreed that they might accompany us on a walk around the city centre tomorrow, when Aunt could demonstrate her local knowledge and command of the language. (But I suspected that both Ivan and Sasha would be embarrassingly fluent in Italian.)

They made their excuses and got up. I could tell (or was it just my febrile imagination?) that both were eager to resume their sexual activities. Certainly Sasha’s nipples were sticking out like doorstops ... As she stood, my eyes were drawn to the clear lines of a thong under the skin-tight pants. Her pubic mound was prominently defined. And the bulge in his trousers, which I had noted when they arrived, was now much larger. They walked across the dining room and his hand caressed her buttock affectionately. Yes, sexual lust was radiating from them like heat from a bonfire.

I yawned obviously. ‘I think I’ll turn in too, aunt. I’m tired after all the travelling today.’

‘Yes, OK, night-night, dear. Make sure you put the chain on your door. You never know these days.’

I hurried casually upstairs to my room and went inside without switching the light on. The evening breeze wafted the net curtains. I knelt by the window. Yes, the light was on in the room opposite, the big window was open, and they had not bothered to draw the curtains. Sasha was standing at the window looking into the night. I decided that she would not be able to see my head peeping out. Quietly I unfolded the binoculars and put them to my eyes. Ivan came into view and put his arms around her from behind, and she tilted her head back and rested it on his shoulder. They looked utterly content.

His big hands moved up to cup his wife’s beautiful breasts. I could see him massaging them gently. She put her hands over his and arched her back slightly. I found that I was touching my own, much smaller breast. Ivan peeled off her red top and she shook her mane of hair free. With a practised movement he undid the front of her black bra and it fell away, exposing her bare breasts in all their glory. Despite their size they didn’t seem to sag at all. Her nipples were huge and dark. He cupped her breasts again and rolled the solid teats, as big as thimbles, in his fingers, while Sasha leaned back against him, obviously in a state of some bliss, her hands gripping his hips.

I heard the murmur of her voice, carried across the still air of the courtyard. He removed his hands from her bosom, which continued to jut forward proudly, and peeled off her pants and underwear in one quick movement. She stepped out of them and bent forward to plant her hands on the windowsill, her head and hair hanging, her bottom jutting backwards. Her husband did something to his trousers and then gripped her hips and pulled her backwards.

Sasha raised her head and gave a long ‘aaahhh!’ as he obviously penetrated deep into her. Her eyes were closed in ecstasy. He held her firmly and thrust back and forth. I was surprised at the violence of his actions – I had imagined love-making to be a much more gentle business. Sasha did not seem to mind, though - her breasts and hair swung back and forward and her face contorted with pleasure. I could hear her little grunts each time he plunged into her.

What must she be feeling, I wondered? To be taken from behind so roughly, by such a rutting specimen of manhood? Did it hurt – was she very tight? Or after three years of wedded bliss did he slide into her like putting on a well-used glove? I wanted to find out …

The speed and vigour of his pumping, and of her cries of passion, increased until he seemed to go rigid, his back arched, his face contorted and he pulled her onto him convulsively. I assumed that he had achieved his orgasm deep inside her. At the same time Sasha gave a long loud moan of fulfilment, her back hollowing and trembling, I hoped – very much – that she too had achieved her climax.

I found that my hands were aching from gripping the binoculars and perspiration was running down my neck. But I couldn’t look away. Slowly he lifted her upright, one arm around her stomach and the other across her breasts. With another shock I saw that her pubes were completely bare, her pussy lips swollen and dark. His hand slid down and cupped her pubic mound, fingers exploring her slit. She leaned back against him and gave herself up to another orgasm …

When she could stand unaided she twisted round and they clung together, kissing passionately, and then moved off out of my view of vision. I waited for another ten minutes until the light went off and then put the binoculars down and started to breathe again. Was that what married life was all about? Somehow the thought of my own parents behaving like that was almost laughable. But I wanted it for myself.

Trembling, I undressed and inspected myself in the mirror. My body was pale and slim, not very feminine at all. My breasts were small and the nipples pink and inconspicuous. My pussy was covered with a thin layer of brown hair. My hips were a bit bony, not like Sasha’s full curvy body. No handsome man was going to get carried away over me. I sighed, washed, cleaned my teeth and put on my demure cotton nightdress. But it was hot in bed and I soon threw the sheets off and lay there perspiring. Soon my hand strayed downwards and began to touch my tingling pussy. My little clitoris grew comfortingly under my fingers. In my mind’s eye I replayed the astonishing spectacle I had witnessed. More quickly than usual, I climaxed and then fell into sleep, the nightdress bunched around my waist.

In the night, half-asleep, I thought I heard the sounds of a couple making passionate and uninhibited love, achieving at least two simultaneous orgasms, the man grunting like a bull, the woman sobbing with ecstasy. But perhaps it was just a dream …

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Morning brought a welcome breeze of cool air into the room. I awoke and pulled my nightdress down, refusing to feel guilty for once. I showered and dressed, trying to analyse why I felt so happy. It wasn’t the prospect of another day’s sightseeing with Aunt Charlotte, sweet though she was. No, if I was honest, it was the thought of seeing Ivan and Sasha again, perhaps being with them, watching as they celebrated their love and lust for each other.

I knocked on my aunt’s bedroom door and heard a faint voice. She was still in bed, the room stuffy and dim.

‘Oh, Lucy, I don’t feel at all well. Are you OK?’

‘Yes, I’m fine. What’s the matter?’

‘It must have been something I ate. My head aches and my stomach is turning somersaults. This foreign food ...’

‘I had the same as you.’ Privately I thought that the two glasses of wine and three of grappa might be involved. ‘Do you think you could manage some breakfast?’

‘No, the very thought … there’s some Beecham’s Powders in my medicine bag. Be a darling would you? If it doesn’t clear up I shall have to get them to call a doctor.’

I rummaged in Aunt’s medicine bag – more like a complete home pharmacopoeia – and ministered to her. I offered to fetch tea or coffee but no, plain water was all she could stomach. She insisted I go down to breakfast.

‘You won’t be on your own. Sasha and Ivan will be there. They’re such a lovely couple, aren’t they? They’ll look after you.’

I didn’t demur too much, but left Aunt to her hangover or whatever it was and skipped down to the dining room. The Croatian couple were already at our table, eating muesli and yoghurt and drinking coffee. Ivan stood up – so gallant! – and they both beamed their welcome. I blushed, unable to stop thinking about what I had seen the previous night, and explained that my aunt was unwell. They were very concerned and suggested all manner of diseases and remedies, but I said I thought she would be OK soon.

‘So, now we have lost our guide,’ he said with a twinkle in his eye. ‘What will we do?’

‘I have a guidebook,’ I ventured. ‘It’s got street maps and things. I’m sure we can find our way around.’

‘That is good. Not so entertaining as Miss Carlotta, but quieter.’ He winked at me. Oh god, he was so handsome, I wanted to curl up and moan.

Sasha punched him lightly. ‘You are a naughty man! You should apologise to Lucy.’ He hung his head in shame, while I giggled.

‘So, we meet in lobby, at ten o’clock ? You will be ready?’

We got up. I said I would check on my aunt first. I watched them go up the stairs, hands linked. He was wearing the tight black pants again, with a fawn short-sleeved T shirt which showed off his magnificent physique. Sasha had a short peach-coloured top, very skin-tight, cut low on her breasts and high on her stomach, and an equally tight red skirt that left most of her thighs bare. Again I could plainly trace the outlines of her bra and thong. High-heeled sandals emphasised her calf muscles, Me, I had on a sensibly cool loose cotton skirt, knee length, and a plain white blouse. Flat sandals. Very unsexy.

It was half past nine . I wondered if they would have sex – all it would take would be for him to sweep his hands up her skirt, rip off her thong and plunge his rigid cock into her hot, waiting, wanting pussy … goodness, I was starting to think like a racy novel. I checked that my aunt was OK – ‘yes, a little better, my dear. You go and enjoy yourself’- cleaned my teeth, applied suncream and scent, put purse, camera, guidebook, hankies, sunglasses etc. into a bag and glanced out of the window. I heard laughter coming from Sasha and Ivan’s room – sensuous, throaty laughter. What were they doing?

I met them in the lobby – they were slightly late, both had big smiles on their faces and Sasha looked flushed and excited. Her normally full red lips were swollen and moist, her nipples were sticking out like thumbs again. She caught me staring at them and grinned, two girls sharing a secret. Except that one girl was a 16-year-old virgin and the other an experienced married woman in her 30s. Suddenly she leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. I caught a whiff of her perfume - something subtle yet warm. Her closeness made my neck tingle.

‘So, where shall we go?’ Ivan said, beaming. ‘First we must cross the river, yes?’

‘Let’s just wander and see where we get to,’ suggested Sasha. ‘Maybe we will find a shop or two!’ She linked her arm with mine. I felt the side of her breast pressing against me. ‘He doesn’t like shopping. But we are two against one, are we not?’

The only shopping my aunt liked was for antiques, although she almost never bought anything. The thought of exploring Italian boutiques with Sasha, who obviously knew what women should wear, was very appealing. I might even pick up some fashion tips.

We strolled along to the Ponte Vecchio, chatting happily. The bridge with its multitude of little shops was crowded and fascinating. Sasha kept hold of me throughout, just as well otherwise we might have got separated in the crush. I was conscious of her firm, feminine body next to mine; it gave me a strange feeling.

Eventually we emerged and found Ivan waiting for us. ‘Poor Wanka, I hope you are not bored?’ What did she call him?

‘Not at all! What man could be bored when he has two beautiful ladies to look at?’

I blushed again. No-one had called me a beautiful lady before. I caught his piercing gaze and melted inside. I felt like pressing myself against him and telling him to do whatever he wanted to me. But of course I didn’t. I drifted into a fantasy where I was his wife, not Sasha. I would be waiting by the window for his return, pantie-less under my short skirt, and he would gather me in his arms and possess me in one firm thrust … I gave a little shudder.

‘Are you OK?’ Sasha said. She stroked my forehead and I melted at the touch of her warm fingers. ‘Perhaps you are not used to the sun.’

‘No, I’m OK, honest.’ For some reason she kissed me on the cheek again, and I swooned inwardly. It was no good, I recognised the symptoms. I was developing a Crush – the trouble was, I didn’t know which one of them I adored most.

We drifted through the narrow alleys, dropping into shops and galleries as the mood took us. It was very different from Aunt Charlotte’s no-nonsense cultural marches. Sasha spied some flimsy tops in a boutique and pulled me in.

‘Oh, I must get one of those. Here, you try one on too, Lucy, It will suit you perfectly!’

The tops had spaghetti straps and not a lot of substance. Sasha picked a few and pulled me into the changing room, where she unceremoniously stripped off her top to reveal her magnificent bosom nestling in a semi-transparent bra. Her big dark nipples showed plainly. I couldn’t help staring at them.

‘Come on, you must try one on.’ She undid my blouse before I could resist – to be honest I couldn’t have pushed her away. She touched the side of my plain white bra.

‘Oh, Lucy, you are lovely! Such perfect breasts! You would not need a bra under this. I wish I didn’t have to wear one. But I bounce too much!’

She demonstrated, laughing, and didn’t seem that unhappy about bouncing. She pulled on one of the strappy tops.

‘You see, my straps show. Maybe I should not wear a bra for this. But then Ivan would be completely uncontrollable!’ She grinned at me, two girls sharing secrets. She took the top off, unhooked her bra and let it fall, then slipped the top back on. Her breasts, although large, were firm and hardly sagged. The nipples drilled holes in the thin material.

‘What do you think, Lucy? I can’t resist. Maybe I will keep it for when we are in private. Now, try yours on.’ She reached behind me and expertly undid my bra before I had a chance to protest. I felt the heat of her body close against mine. I blushed as I felt my nipples erecting as they were released. I slipped a top on, at the same time reluctant and yet eager to let her see my naked breasts.

‘Oh, that’s beautiful. You’re a beautiful girl, Lucy. You will have all the men round you!’ She gave me another soft kiss on the cheek.

The top did look good on me, I admitted, although I wasn’t used to wearing anything so revealing. A pity that my hard nipples were so visible.

‘I will buy this one,’ Sasha announced, taking it off and putting her bra back on. ‘And I will buy that one for you. No, it’s a little gift,’ as I started to protest. ‘You want to keep it on? You will be much cooler.’

I was persuaded, and Sasha paid. We went out into the street again where Ivan was pretending not to be bored. When he saw me, his eyes widened and his nostrils flared. I felt pleased to have aroused him.

‘Isn’t she lovely?’ Sasha said, putting her arm around my bare shoulders – warm skin against warm skin.

Ivan put his hands on my upper arms and looked at me admiringly. ‘Oh yes. Permit me to kiss the beautiful lady.’ He bent forward and touched his lips to my cheek – first right, then left. His moustache tickled me. I could smell his maleness. My heart started to thump. All this touching! I was not used to being touched – my parents, although they loved me, were not very physical and we hardly ever hugged or kissed. I tended to shy away from boys, as I have said, and my girl friends were all a rather undemonstrative bunch. But Ivan and Sasha were so tactile, always touching, caressing, holding each other and, increasingly, me too. We  walked on with her arm around my waist; after a time I put mine round hers too. It felt natural.

We came out on the Piazza della Signoria, the main square, full of tourists and pigeons. It was just like in the photographs. We made for Michelangelo’s David, pushing into the crowd. Ivan stood behind us, his hands on our shoulders, while I consulted the guidebook.

‘This is a replica,’ I announced,’ the real one is in the Accademia Gallery, to protect it from the weather. It took Michelangelo three years to carve. And – oh.’

‘Oh?’

‘Um, it says there is controversy because he’s uncircumcised and the biblical David would have been circumcised.’

Sasha’s English was not quite fluent. ‘What is circumcised?’

‘It means … oh dear … cutting off the foreskin. Like Jews do.’

‘Oh, I see!’ She was happy. ‘Ivan is circumcised.’

‘Yes, I know,’ I nearly said.

‘Of course, the main thing is, David’s cock is too small.’ She said something to Ivan in their own language and he laughed and replied and slapped her gently on the bottom.

‘He says that I think all cocks are too small! But no, look at the proportions. It is tiny! How tall is he?’

‘It says here … 5.17 metres.’

‘Oh, that’s about three times larger than life. So his cock should be three times as big too, say 30 centimetres. But it’s nowhere near that.’ Her facility with maths was impressive – maybe she was a maths teacher. And how did she know the average size of a penis?

‘Maybe 70 centimetres when he is erect. Just think of that, Lucy!’ She squeezed my waist. I did not doubt that she was imagining it vividly – glancing sideways, I saw that her lips were open and her eyes shining. The thought entered my head that Sasha’s full, pouting lips were perfectly designed for fellatio … was that an Italian word? I daydreamed.

‘Let’s have a coffee and then visit the Uffizi,’ Sasha suggested. We found a pavement café and ordered - I was used to Italian prices by now but these were exorbitant. Sasha sat with her heels up on the next chair. I could see Ivan looking down at her and realised that she was deliberately letting him see up her skirt. What a tease! I wondered what he could see ...  was this what being married was all about? Constant flirting to fan the fires of lust? It seemed to work for them, anyway. I could see a long bulge in his trousers, and felt a sudden impulse to reach out and touch it.

We queued for the Uffizi Gallery and they insisted on paying the steep entrance fee for me too. I resolved to ask Aunt to reimburse them later. We strolled around as a threesome, commenting on the pieces and just enjoying each other’s company. Once I found myself almost flirting with Ivan, something I didn’t know I was capable of. It must be infectious, I thought. Walking up the stairs, I discovered that I was holding his hand. Did I see him as a father figure, or as a fantasy husband? Probably the latter, as I was feeling desires that were totally inappropriate for a daughter.

Eventually Sasha sprawled on a bench. ‘Ooof, my feet hurt. And I am hungry. What about you?’

I admitted that I too was hungry and had museum feet. We agreed to leave and find a bistro for lunch. ‘And then, a siesta. It is such a civilised custom, don’t you think?’

Aunt Charlotte liked her siestas, and I must admit that a couple of hours lie down in the hottest part of the day was very refreshing. Following them down the entrance stairs, I saw Ivan’s hand blatantly fondling his wife’s left buttock. I was pretty sure that they would not sleeping all the time.

We found a nice little restaurant down a side street and ordered salads and a jug of red wine. I said that I only wanted water but Sasha poured me a glass of wine anyway and I drank it, feeling a sudden rush of pleasure as the alcohol reached my brain. I was not used to drinking at lunchtime, and especially not on an empty stomach. I felt light-headed and daring. I asked them how they had met.

‘We were students together, in Zagreb ,’ Sasha explained. ‘We were lovers for a while, then we went our separate ways. I think we both wanted to - play the field? Is that the expression? But we kept in touch all the time and decided that we hadn’t found anyone else who was as good. So we decided to get married anyway.’

It seemed a rather back-handed arrangement, considering they seemed to be so much in love. I wondered if there was something she had missed out.

‘And how about you, Lucy? You’re such a pretty girl. You must have lots of boyfriends.’

I blushed. ‘No, I haven’t. I suppose I’m a bit shy ...’

‘Well, what about girls, then? Maybe you have a wonderful girlfriend who makes you very happy.’

I presumed she was talking about lesbianism. I had Crushes - didn’t we all - but that was it.

‘No ... I’m afraid not.’

‘Well, there is plenty of time. Soon you will be fighting them off! Boys and girls.’ I wanted to ask her if she had ever had a girlfriend who made her very happy. Somehow I knew the answer would be yes. The thought didn’t upset me - in fact I half wished that I had been that girlfriend. Although of course Ivan was an absolute hunk too. I was getting confused, and the wine didn’t help.

Fortunately the conversation veered off onto Art while we finished our salads. Sasha yawned. ‘Time for our siesta, I think,’ she said, rubbing her husband’s thigh meaningfully. He grinned at her. I had a pang of jealousy.

We walked back to the hotel, me between them with our arms around each other. Just as well because I was feeling a little light-headed. The two warm firm bodies pressing against my sides didn’t help either. I felt a hand caressing my bum and wondered which one of them it was - I didn’t really mind. I let my hands drop slightly to rest on the upper curves of their buttocks, both firm and lithe.

‘Poor Lucy,’ said Sasha. ‘No-one to share your siesta with! Maybe we should find you a nice Italian boy. Or a girl. Which would you prefer?’

I didn’t answer, lost in an erotic haze. We arrived at the hotel.

‘Your room is OK, Lucy?’

‘Yes, I’m at the back. It’s nice and cool.’

‘Yes, so are we. It’s a pity we don’t have a view, though, isn’t it?’ She grinned at me.

‘Oh, I don’t mind.’ I realised that I was grinning at her too. Did she know that my room overlooked theirs?

We arranged to meet in the foyer at 4 pm , when it would be cooling off a little outside. Ivan went to the hotel desk to ask something and I skipped upstairs in order to get in position by the time they got to their room. I was certain that I would be treated to a sexual spectacle and I was so excited by the prospect that I completely forgot to go and check on my aunt. I sat on the floor by the low windowsill, binoculars trained on Sasha and Ivan’s window opposite, trembling with excitement.

I was not disappointed. I heard their door close and Sasha’s throaty, sexy laugh. Sound carried very well across the courtyard. They came into view, Ivan swept her tight little skirt up to her waist and lifted her onto the edge of the desk. Sasha spread her thighs wide and leaned back on her arms. I could see her bare pussy with its fat, dark lips, and then Ivan knelt before her and buried his face in her crotch. I heard her gasp of delight as, presumably, he penetrated her hot tunnel with his long, strong tongue. Whatever must she be feeling? My hand strayed down into my panties ...

It occurred to me that she had not been wearing anything under the skirt. And yet I had clearly seen the outline of her thong earlier in the day. When had she removed it? Had she been naked when she had sat in the café and invited him to look up her skirt? What a little tease!

Ivan’s head was bobbing up and down between her thighs and she rested her feet on his shoulders; her head fell back and her magnificent breasts jutted skywards. She spread her legs even further and his head seemed to push another inch or two into her. Quite soon her noises of bliss rose to a peak and I saw her body jerk again and again as she celebrated her orgasm. A smaller version of it rippled through me in sympathy, coating my fingers in slick wetness.

Ivan stood up while his wife remained on the desk, spread-eagled for his enjoyment. I wanted to expose myself to him just as shamelessly, my flushed swollen pussy beckoning him in ... He stripped off his clothes and his superb erection bounced up against his stomach. Sasha said something and he fed it into her gaping orifice, clutching her hips to impale her on its full length. I would have given anything to feel what she was feeling at that moment. She locked her ankles around his waist and her arms around his neck; he stood up, lifting her easily, and pushed her against the wall, and proceeded to fuck her vigorously.

I hesitated to use the word ‘fuck’, even to myself, being a well-brought up girl, but there was no other word for it. I even murmured it aloud to myself, one hand continuing to rub my aching clitoris, the other trying to steady the binoculars, ‘Fuck her, yes, fuck her, oh god, fuck me, fuck me ...’

Sasha’s head was tossing around with the violence of his assault, but I swear that at one point she opened her eyes wide and looked straight at me. Her lips were swollen and wet and her face flushed. Another climax swept through her, and me. It was almost as if I was there, sharing in their passion.

After ten minutes or more of non-stop pounding, Sasha seemed to whisper in her husband’s ear. He lifted her off and rested his bum against the edge of the desk. The woman dropped to her knees. Holding his eyes with hers, she gripped his huge, reddened, dripping cock in her fist and closed her mouth around its purple head. The head which was slimy with her own juice! I wanted to have it in my own mouth, to taste his male secretions mixed with her tangy syrup ...

She sucked his cock deeply and lovingly and from the expression on his face Ivan was in heaven. I could see his stomach and thigh muscles bulging with tension. Suddenly Sasha lifted her head off his cock and grasped it in both fists. I heard him groan loudly, and a big jet of white shot out of his cock and splashed against her face. Her mouth was wide open, and she managed to direct two further spurts right into it. Then she bent forward again and closed her lips around the bursting glans and presumably sucked the rest of his emission from his straining cock.

I realised I was sweating. My panties were hot and wet, my hand soaked. And my knees hurt from the hard floor. But the show wasn’t over yet. Sasha released her husband’s cock, still large but now drooping slightly. She looked up at him and swallowed blatantly. I could see a long white string of semen from her chin to her forehead. Ivan knelt in from of her and gently licked it off her face, and then they kissed tenderly. I moaned to myself.

He helped her stand, and lovingly undressed her while she gazed out of the window, directly towards me. Naked now, he picked her up and carried her off in the direction of the bed, where unfortunately my view did not extend. I wondered if their love-making was going to continue ...

In a daze, I got up stiffly, undressed in front of the window (was I hoping that someone might be watching?), then lay on the bed and grabbed my hot aching pussy with both hands. My orgasm came quickly and strongly, and I didn’t try to stifle the cries of ecstasy. In fact, was I deliberately making them louder, hoping the sound would carry across the courtyard?

I dozed for a while, and awoke feeling drained and guilty. I had a quick shower, put on fresh panties, and went to check on my aunt. Charlotte was dressed and sitting by her window reading a book.

‘Hello, aunt, are you feeling better?’

‘A little, thanks.’ She liked to make the most of illness. ‘My tummy’s still unstable, but I think I’ll live.’

‘Do you want me to get you something to eat?’

‘No, thank you. I’ve got some crackers, that’s all I can manage. And mineral water. Did you have a good time today? Have Sasha and Ivan been looking after you?’

I gave her a potted version of the day, leaving out the growing sexual element.

‘And where did you get that top? It’s a bit revealing. In fact it’s positively indecent. You ought to wear a bra, Lucy.’

‘I bought it. I don’t need a bra - it’s much cooler without.’

Aunt Charlotte sniffed. ‘I hope you’re not going to walk around town like that. Men will get the wrong idea.’

Yes, I hope so, I thought. Suddenly the idea of teasing a man to the point where he lost control of himself and had his way with me was very exciting - previously it had scared me, helped of course by my parents’ and aunt’s warnings. I decided that I would copy Sasha and dispense with panties next time we went out.

‘I said, you ought to be careful. These Mediterranean types are so hot-blooded. Believe me. And do stop day-dreaming, Lucy.’

I looked at my watch. It was after four. ‘Oh dear, I said I’d meet Sasha and Ivan. We’re going to do some more sight-seeing. Will you be down for dinner, Aunt?’

‘No, I don’t think I can face it,’ she said, wanly. ‘A day of starvation is what I need. You go and enjoy yourself.’

OK, I will, I thought, refusing to feel guilty for once. I skipped back to my room, shed my panties and put on a shorter skirt, the shortest I had, in fact, although it was only a few inches above the knee. Feeling greatly daring, I went down to the foyer, but my companions weren’t there. I sat in one of the big leather armchairs, feeling the coolness through my thin skirt, remembering to keep my thighs firmly together. Being pantieless gave me a thrill of forbidden pleasure.

Soon I saw my couple coming down the stairs. Ivan was still in white shirt and black pants, but Sasha had changed into a bright red clingy dress with a plunging neckline and a slant hem that left most of one thigh bare. Her breasts almost spilled out, firm and succulent. I could see her hard nipples - they seemed to be almost permanently erect. Both man and woman looked relaxed and well-fucked.

We kissed - I managed to get Ivan full on the mouth, and Sasha did that anyway. I hoped to detect a trace of semen and pussy juice on them, but both must have washed thoroughly.

‘Hi, did you enjoy your siesta?’ I said brightly, and then realised that it might seem a strange question. They glanced at each other and grinned.

‘Oh yes,’ Sasha said, ‘very much so. How about you, Lucy? Did you enjoy yourself?’ There was the ghost of a wink - did she know that I had been masturbating, or even watching them while I did so? I saw her glance at my nipples, which were hard and prominent under the thin silk. I felt myself blushing.

We decided to get a taxi into the city centre, as it was still very hot. There was a gusty wind, which threatened to lift my thin skirt and expose my naked pussy to all and sundry. It made Sasha’s dress cling even closer to her body, too, outlining her bra and thong plainly. In the cab we all three sat on the back seat, me in the middle, sandwiched between them. Ivan’s firm thigh and Sasha’s equally firm and also bare thigh pressed against mine. I felt my pussy begin to seep. Waves of arousal were sweeping over my body, such as I had never felt before in my short life. I wondered where it would all end.

We followed the guide book into a few churches, admiring the frescos and the glorious architecture. Both my companions surprised me by genuflecting each time they entered a church - I had not imagined that they were Catholic, or even religious. I wondered how it fitted with their life of sexual pleasure. Perhaps the Church smiled upon rampant bonking within marriage.

Sasha linked her arm in mine most of the time, her breast pressing against my own and making my nipples tingle. Ivan too was always touching us, stroking our arms, caressing our shoulders and bottoms tenderly. By the time we stopped for an ice-cream - also exorbitantly priced - I was a state of sexual nirvana.

The woman’s hand rested on my hip. ‘It’s so nice to go without panties in this hot weather, isn’t it?’ she said casually. So she had noticed, I thought with a tremor.

‘Um, yes.’

‘I would, but I’m leaking too much at the moment. Ivan comes so much! I’m just full of his stuff - spunk, is that the English word? I don’t want it all running down my legs.’ She squeezed my arm. ‘You know what I mean?’

‘Um, well ...’

‘Are you a virgin, Lucy?’ she said gently. I nodded.

‘No, I cannot believe that! You are such a sexy girl! Isn’t she, Ivan? You must have to fight the boys off. Such a shame ...’

Ivan agreed that I was indeed a very sexy girl. Almost as sexy as Sasha, in fact. Despite my embarrassment I felt very flattered.

‘You are sixteen, yes? I was fifteen ... it was wonderful. I never regretted it. Ivan was fourteen when he had his first girl. They were queuing up for him - so he says!’

I could well imagine it. I would have been in the queue ...

‘Still, maybe you will be lucky before you get back to England , yes?’ She kissed me on the cheek, and I almost grabbed her head and mashed my mouth against hers. I wanted ... something, anything ... so much that it hurt. How would I ever sleep?

We wandered along the bank of the Arno , making our way slowly back to the Pension. I was in the middle, our arms around each others’ waists. I could see that Ivan had a big bulge in his trousers again, and daringly I caressed his waist and hip, hoping that I was responsible for at least some of his erection. His hand roamed freely over my buttock, vainly seeking the outline of panties. Hot moisture gathered between my legs ...

I explained that my aunt wasn’t feeling up to eating a meal yet, so we went into the restaurant and found a corner table. Again, I was between Sasha and Ivan. They ordered wine and water and I downed a glass of the former quite quickly, feeling the alcohol go straight to my head. I realised that I had a permanent big smile on my face.

‘What are you going to eat, Wanka?’ she said as we perused the menus. I giggled, and then was forced to explain.

‘When you call him Wanka ...’

‘Why? That’s a - what do you call it - a diminutive form for Ivan.’

The wine had loosened my tongue. ‘In English, wanker ... oh dear ... it’s slang for someone who masturbates ...’ Would they be offended?

Sasha burst out in a peal of laughter which turned heads nearby. It was a while before she could calm down enough to translate for Ivan, who hadn’t understood. Then he too burst out laughing. I laughed too, mostly with relief.

‘Oh, that is so funny! I will call you that all the time now!’

The jollity was interrupted by the waitress, and we applied ourselves to the serious task of ordering and then of drinking more of the decent wine. I knew I was going too fast but I didn’t care. I felt a hand on my knee - whose was it? It was on Ivan’s side, but both had their hands in their laps. Then another hand rested on my other knee. I trembled. The hands slowly and gently slid up to mid-thigh, and I trembled more. A drop of hot fluid seeped out of my pussy lips. I stared at the bottle of water, wanting the hands to continue. They did, reaching to within an inch of my pussy. I was sure they would be able to feel the heat radiating from it ...

Our pasta arrived, and the hands were withdrawn. Sasha caught my eye and gave me a knowing grin. I took another hefty gulp of wine, feeling my inhibitions dissolving in the rich liquid. I wanted us to scoff the food down so that the hands could resume their exploration of my body.

They did so, once the pasta had been finished and we waited for the main course. I opened my thighs to give them better access to my hot core. Fingers swept ever so softly across the fine hairs on my mons, and then down over my oh-so-sensitive labia. I was almost swooning with delight. Here I was, in a crowded restaurant, pantieless, skirt up to my hips, being caressed by a man and a woman simultaneously. What would Charlotte say?

Sasha took her hand away and lifted mine and put it on her own leg. I was completely limp and couldn’t have resisted even if I wanted to. Her dress was cut very high on my side and I touched the satiny warm flesh of her thigh. It felt delicious and I automatically began to stroke her. Then as if controlled by an outside force I put my other hand on Ivan’s thigh. Now we were all fondling while we tired to make inconsequential conversation. My labia were being massaged softly with fingertips, spreading my growing wetness along their puffy cushions. Unable to prevent myself, I slid my hands up Sasha’s and Ivan’s thighs until I encountered, on the one side, the thin band of her thong, and on the other the firm cylinder of his erection! It was so hard, and she was so soft! I moaned involuntarily.

The main course arrived and we had to apply our minds, and our arms, to the business of eating. My hands were trembling so much I could hardly hold the knife and fork. I couldn’t look at either of them, and started chatting aimlessly about school, pets, anything, to distract myself.

We agreed that none of us could manage a dessert, and settled for coffee. Sasha leaned back and put her hands behind her head, showing me her smoothly shaven armpit. I swear I could taste the pheromones radiating from her.

‘Well, I am very relaxed,’ she said. ‘How about you, Lucy? Would you like more wine?’

‘Oh, no thanks. I think I’ve had too much already. I feel a bit tipsy.’

‘Red wine is good for you. And you are on holiday! A chance to let your hair down, is that the expression, yes?’

‘Yes ... I don’t get much chance at home,’ I said, slurring a little. ‘Mum and Dad keep a close eye on me. If they could see me now ...’

‘Why should they be cross? You are just enjoying yourself with friends, no? What is wrong with that?’

If they could look under the table, they would see that Ivan’s fingers are stroking the slit between my wet pussy lips and that my hand is gripping his big hard cock through his pants, I thought, hazily. I sipped the coffee, hoping it might restore me to my senses.

‘Now, Lucy,’ Sasha said when we had finished. ‘You must come back to our room and view the photographs we took today. Wanka has his laptop with him.’ She burst out in giggles. ‘Maybe we will find out if his name is right, yes?’

I should have pleaded tiredness, duty to my aunt, anything, and gone back to my own room. But I didn’t. I didn’t even think of it. I nodded and let them enfold me in their arms and lead me along a different corridor and through the door into their room, which was a mirror image of mine. I noticed that the double bed was rumpled, presumably from the afternoon’s activities. I seemed to enter a cocoon of silence and stillness, utterly separate from the rest of my life up to that moment.

Ivan put his arms around me from behind and I relaxed against him. I felt his hardness lying up my spine. Sasha stood in front of me and kissed me softly and lingeringly on the mouth.

‘Now, Lucy,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t be frightened. Any time you want to stop, just say so. We’re not going to do anything that you don’t want us to do. We promise.’

I just closed my eyes and held my open mouth up, like a fledgling, wanting to be kissed again.

 

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  last modified 3 July 2007