Dykescapes IV

by Katherine-T
katherine-t@earthlink.net
http://www.asstr.org/files/Authors/Katherine_T/www/


Sarah had her epiphany in a place called Ventimiglia, an
ancient sea town a few kilometers from Genoa. She had left her
husband in Rome after an argument, and she had driven the small
rented Fiat up the coastal highway, up the left side of the boot,
the car radio blasting rock music to help her forget her
miseries. She had a vague notion of driving as far as Nice, but
when darkness approached she found herself exhausted. A sign said
Ventimiglia and had an arrow pointing over the cliff. Was there
actually a town down there?

Another sign, one corner bent and its red paint peeling, said
HOTEL SOPHIA. It was the name of the hotel that did it. Sarah had
known a girl in college named Sophia. Sarah's first and only
lesbian experience. Sultry Sophia, the girl with broad hips and a
tropical liquid cunt. The affair had been brief, intense,
completely divine, and had ended only because Sarah had been
convinced she wanted a man as a mate and not a woman. So the
affair with Sophia ended, and a week later Sarah met David. He
was good-looking, had a job waiting for him in Wall Street, and
he seemed to enjoy going down on her. They were married a month
after they graduated.

That was three years ago. Now David was snorting coke in
Rome with his British friends and Sarah had left him for good.
Tough shit, Sarah thought. She started crying as she turned into
the narrow road that led down the cliffs to Ventimiglia.


                     *     *     *


The hotel had three stories, ten rooms, and a lovely slanted
red tile roof splattered with bird droppings. All the rooms had
balconies and faced the sea. The view from the rooms showed no
beach, only a line of large yellow boulders and fishing boats and
the waves coming in to crash against the rocks and die. The sound
of the waves, relentless, the unending heartbeat of the sea, was
everywhere, in every room, in your ears, in your belly, and in
your head. No need for blasting rock music in Ventimiglia, no
need for blasting rock music to forget your life. Sarah thought
she had arrived in heaven, and after the ancient porter dropped
her bags in the room and limped away with his tip, she went to
the window and looked out at the sea and told herself she wanted
to live here forever. I'll marry a count, she thought. She would
marry an Italian count and he would build her a castle in
Ventimiglia. But no count, no castle, and no marriage. She was
finished with that. She would settle for the waves.


                     *     *     *


The woman who ran the hotel was called Signora Maldi. She
was in her forties, with pale skin, black hair, dark flashing
eyes, and heavy breasts that threatened to burst through her
dress. She spoke broken English and she apologized for the
absence of airconditioning.

"Always broken," she said. "Stupid machine."

She made a gesture with her hand. Sarah said she didn't
mind, the room was cool enough. Could she have a lemonade
outside? She walked through the tiny lobby and into the garden
behind the hotel. She chose one of the white tables, and she sat
down to wait for her lemonade.

When Signora Maldi arrived with the lemonade on a tray, she
found Sarah crying.

Signora Maldi put the lemonade on the table, then put the
tray down and placed her hands on her hips.

"What's the matter with you?"

Sarah dried her eyes and looked up at her. "I'm all right."

"Why are you crying? You are too beautiful to cry."

"I left my husband. He's in Rome."

And she told Signora Maldi everything. Signora Maldi sat
down and held Sarah's hand as she listened. The older woman kept
nodding her head, her dark eyes fixed on Sarah's face. When Sarah
finished by calling David a bastard, Signora Maldi laughed and
said:

"That's good. It's better to hate him. Then you don't feel
too much pain, eh?"

"Where did you learn to speak English?"

"In school, where else? I have a cousin in Brooklyn and he
speaks to me on the telephone. He says Anna, you should come to
America. The hell with him, I'm staying here."

"I like your name."

"Anna? You like the name Anna?"

"Anna Maldi."

"Yes, I'm Anna Maldi. Everyone says I look like Anna
Magnani, but I'm not Anna Magnani, I'm Anna Maldi. Men are
bastards, eh?"

"Some of them anyway," Sarah said, and she suddenly started
crying again.

This time Signora Maldi put her arms around Sarah and drew
her close and rocked her. Sarah found her face pressed into the
globe of a large breast, the flesh like a pillow beneath her
cheek. She could feel the warmth of the breast under Signora
Maldi's dress. She could smell Signora Maldi's perfume. She
thought she could feel a large nipple against her chin. Yes, the
nipple was there, she could feel it. Not a small nipple, but a
big one.

My God, I'd love to, Sarah thought. The idea was crazy.
Signora Maldi would scream and smack her head. She would be
thrown out of the hotel. Maybe Signora Maldi would call the
police and they would deport her. You're crazy, Sarah thought.
The ending of her marriage had made her crazy. She lowered her
face an inch and closed her teeth around the bulge of Signora
Maldi's fat nipple.

Signora Maldi muttered something in Italian and she suddenly
stopped rocking Sarah. As the older woman held the younger woman
against her breast, the two women seemed frozen in time. Then
Sarah heard the word "bella". She knew that word. Bella, bella, I
love you dear Bella. Bellisimo. She bit down on the nipple again.

Signora Maldi groaned. Her hands gripped Sarah's head and
gently pushed Sarah's face away. "Not here," Signora Maldi said.
"Come to my room."


                     *     *     *


The sound of the sea, the waves, filled the inside of
Sarah's head. The window was open, a cool breeze wafting into the
room, the noise of the squawking seagulls playing counterpoint to
the sound of the waves. They lay on the wide bed, Signora Maldi
on her back, Sarah lying beside her. Signora Maldi had her dress
unbuttoned, one large breast uncovered, its dark nipple in
Sarah's active mouth.

Sarah sucked the enormous tit. She was no longer crying. She
no longer thought of David. Screw David, he could never give her
this. She liked sucking his cock, but this was a woman's breast
and she liked it better. She sucked hard, she sucked gently, she
licked and tugged at the nipple with her lips. Meanwhile her
hands roamed over Signora Maldi's belly and thighs. Sarah wanted
more. She slid her hand beneath Signora Maldi's dress and found
the soft skin between her thighs. Slowly, she inched her hand
upward until the edge of her hand touched the warmth of Signora
Maldi's sex where it bulged through the crotch of her panties.
Signora Maldi's cunt. Anna Maldi's cunt.

Anna Maldi chuckled softly. "You want the pussy, eh? Is that
what you want? Okay, I'll give it to you." She pulled at the hem
of her dress until she had it up to her belly. Then she urged
Sarah off her chest and said: "Go on, take my panties off and you
can have my pussy. You're so beautiful, I can't resist you. Go
on, do it."

Sitting upright, Sarah now looked at the exposed breast with
its saliva-coated nipple, the parted thighs, the white panties
whose crotch showed the shadow of Anna Maldi's sex. Sarah was
lost. She leaned forward, found the waistband of the panties and
tugged them down over Anna Maldi's hips and thighs and legs and
feet, all without looking at the place where she wanted to look
most.

Would Medusa turn her into stone?

When Sarah finally looked, Anna had her knees up and wide
apart, her cunt open and waiting for Sarah, her fingers rubbing
the bush of dark hair above the flower of her sex.

"Go on," Anna said. "Suck me. Suck my juices. Look how wet I
am for you."

Sarah moaned as she bent to the offering, the musk of the
woman's sex overwhelming her senses. She started licking gently
along the meaty labia. This was not Sophia, this was not a
college girl. This was the cunt of a mature woman, a cunt in full
ripeness, the clitoris long and thick, its tip a pink bean
nestled in the hood. Sarah licked lightly up one side, down the
other side, her nose tickled by the wild jungle of dark hair.

Anna evidently did not want gentleness; she pulled Sarah's
face into her cunt, so that Sarah felt as though her face had
been mashed into a split mango.

"Suck me hard," Anna said.

And Sarah started sucking, pulling in the warm juices,
scouring the vaginal opening, sucking north, south, east, and
west, down to the edge of the anus and then up to the clitoris
again. She fixed on the fat clitoris, tongued it and chewed it as
Anna groaned and rocked her knees back and forth. "Suck me," Anna
said. "Suck my pussy. Oh, what a good sucker you are. Do it
there. And there too. Oh, I adore it!"

Anna finally came, jerking upward, trembling, her hands
holding Sarah's head in place as she pumped upward again and
again. Sarah held on. She could hear the sea. She had her nose
mashed against Anna's clitoris as she sucked the juices out of
the running hole.


                     *     *     *


After that Sarah belonged to Anna Maldi. Each day at noon,
Anna ran Sarah's credit card through the machine to charge Sarah
for the room. After that Sarah had lunch, usually a light salad
and a glass of wine, and afterward, in the quiet of the afternoon
siesta, Sarah would go to Anna's room to bury her face between
Anna's open thighs.

Anna was not easy to please. Sarah learned that Anna needed
three, four, five orgasms before she ordered Sarah to stop. Then
Sarah would get one of the breasts, get a nipple to suck, while
Anna's strong fingers pumped in and out of Sarah's cunt until
Sarah had an orgasm. One orgasm, never two orgasms. And after
that Anna would roll over and tell Sarah to do the other place,
Anna's hairy little anus that drove Sarah wild with lust. She
loved servicing Anna, she adored it. She knew Anna did not care
about her, no real affection at all. Anna had taken to patting
Sarah's cheek and calling Sarah her little lesbian, her little
pussy-eater. "You suck my cunt so well," Anna said, "maybe I'll
keep you and never be with a man again. Come on, do it to me once
more. In my ass this time."

Every day. Every afternoon. In a small hotel in a place
called Ventimiglia. What am I? Sarah thought. Was she a lesbian?
Or was it merely that she had a hunger to please? Or maybe it was
both. On the day before she would leave Anna and drive to Genoa
to board a plane to Milano and then to New York, Sarah lay behind
Anna's raised ass, sucking Anna from behind, her nose pushing at
Anna's anus, her tongue swirling in Anna's cunt, her fingers
rubbing her own clitoris to make herself come.

I'm praying, Sarah thought. This is an altar and I'm
praying. And then she heard the sea again, the crash of a wave on
the rocks, the music of Ventimiglia.

I am what I am, Sarah thought. My name is Sarah and this is
what I am. For the first time in her life, she understood a few
things. Thank you, Ventimiglia.

End