A ROOM IN PERUGIA

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


Catherine Macleod arrives in Perugia without a hotel
reservation. She's been driving from Venice to Rome along the
Apennine Road, and finding herself fatigued in the afternoon, she
decides to stop in Perugia for the night. This is the height of
the travelling season, and the man at the tourist office shakes
his head doubtfully when Catherine tells him she needs a room for
the night. But he does find her a room in a small hotel near the
cathedral, explaining to her how pleased he is the Italian she
speaks is almost perfect. "Remarkable," he says. "Quite
remarkable, signorina. Americans who speak Italian are usually
burdened with a horrible accent. Enjoy your stay in Perugia." Of
course he's exaggerating. Her Italian is good, but not quite good
enough to be outstanding. She lived and went to school in Rome
for several years as a young girl, and reviving her knowledge of
the language hasn't been difficult.

Before long, exhausted, Catherine is finally alone in a
small room whose only charm is that its single window provides a
pleasant view of some nearby rooftops. Catherine throws the
shutters wide open and strips off her clothes. It's mid-afternoon
and the heat is oppressive. There is no bath, only a shower
stall, and she makes immediate use of this to refresh herself
after the long drive from Venice. When she comes out of the
shower, she dries her body with a towel, and then she stands
naked before the mirror to blow dry her short blonde hair. She's
pleased with herself. She has a good tan produced by hours of
hard tennis in Venice with some of her colleagues at the U.S.
Consulate. Catherine loves Italy, loves being back as a grown
woman, but after four months she's had only a single romantic
adventure, and that one an affair of only one evening with a
British stewardess who seemed embarrassed the next morning. One
evening in four months, Catherine thinks. Surely, there's more in
Italy for her than that!

She finally switches off the hair dryer and replaces it in
its case. After that she stands before the mirror again, and she
dabs a bit of mentholated lotion on each of her breasts. A trick
taught to her by an old lover. She slowly rubs the lotion into
the skin of her breasts, especially around the nipples, and soon
the pleasant warmth causes her nipples to erect like firm pink
turrets. She thinks her breasts are too small, but her nipples
have an aggressive attitude that more than one woman has found
exciting. A compensation. Each breast is hardly a handful, but
the nipples are a compensation. Catherine imagines a woman
nibbling at them. She envies women who can lift their breasts
high enough suck them.

Catherine is aroused now, and she thinks about masturbating.
But she decides to put it off until later. She is still standing
in front of the mirror with her fingertips gently twisting her
elongated nipples, when a key turns in the door lock and a
chambermaid walks in with a pile of towels in her arms.

When she sees Catherine, the girl stumbles and drops the
towels.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, signorina! I thought the room was empty!"
The girl scrambles on the floor after the fallen towels.

Unwilling to further embarrass the poor girl, Catherine
hides her amusement and instead hurries to close the door to
prevent anyone passing in the hall from seeing her own nakedness.

She then crouches beside the chambermaid to help her
retrieve her towels.

When all the towels are gathered, they both rise, and the
girl blushes as she seems to realize for the first time that
Catherine is totally naked. She glances at Catherine's breasts,
and then at her neatly trimmed blonde bush, and then she quickly
looks away.

"I was very clumsy," the girl says.

"It doesn't matter, really. I do need the towels."

"Shall I come back later?"

"No, of course not. Just do what you came to do."

"I should change the sheets on the bed."

"Then do that also. Please."

Catherine wonders if she ought to cover herself with a robe.
But the sun is still high and it's much too warm in the room.
They are both sweating from the heat, the chambermaid with a
visible film of moisture on her upper lip. She's quite pretty,
maybe twenty, with a stocky body and bright dark eyes.

Since nakedness in Europe is not what it is at home, at
least not between people of the same sex, Catherine compromises:
she finds a clean pair of white jockeys and she slips them on.

Meanwhile, the chambermaid is in the bathroom arranging the
towels. Catherine stands at the dresser mirror brushing her hair,
and when the girl comes out of the bathroom and begins changing
the sheets on the bed, Catherine says:

"Are you from Perugia?"

The girl glances at her. "No, I'm from Assisi."

"And I'm from New York."

"I have an uncle in Brooklyn."

"Everyone in Italy has an uncle in Brooklyn."

The girl laughs. "How amusing."

Catherine has avoided looking at the girl directly, glancing
at her only in the mirror. She can see the girl's eyes on her, on
her naked back, on her buttocks in the white jockeys. She watches
the girl as she bends over the bed. She mentally undresses the
girl, and the images excite her. You're nasty, she thinks. She
can feel the wetness in her pussy, and she imagines she can smell
her own arousal. Maybe the girl can smell it also.

"You're pretty," Catherine says. "What's your name?"

The girl blushes. "Elena."

Catherine turns, facing the girl, their eyes meeting
directly. "Do you mind that I'm naked?"

The chambermaid gives her a sidelong glance. "No, you're
nice to look at."

"I'm too thin. Too small in the bosom."

"No, signorina. Not at all."

The girl looks openly at Catherine now, a bold look, her
dark eyes taking in the naked breasts, the erected nipples, the
white cotton jockeys that are thoroughly soaked with Catherine's
excitement.

A look of interest. Catherine can read it. The girl's eyes
reveal everything. As if without thinking, Catherine casually
rubs her fingertips across one of her elongated nipples. "It's
very warm in here."

"Yes, signorina." The girl's eyes are fixed on the nipple,
on Catherine's fingertips. Then her eyes move upward, and when
they meet Catherine's, her gaze does not waver.

Catherine says: "Oh, how pretty you are. Come here."

And when the girl comes forward, Catherine kisses her, a
warm kiss on Elena's lips. Elena's mouth immediately opens, and
for an instant the kiss blazes between them as Catherine gently
passes her hand over one of Elena's full breasts. No bra. Nothing
but a firm globe under the cloth.

Then Catherine pulls away.

"Stay with me," Catherine says.

"In an hour."

"Do you promise?"

"Yes, I'll come back in an hour."

The girl hurries out, her arms filled with the old sheets.

After the girl leaves, Catherine trembles at her own
audacity. She has never in her life attempted anything like this.
Italy has made her daring. And the girl. That film of sweat on
her upper lip. Those heavy breasts shaking as she bent over the
bed. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Catherine thinks. She
hasn't taken the post in Italy to be celibate. She hates
celibacy. She thinks celibacy was invented by the devil.

Catherine passes an hour in sexual heat. The lips of her
cunt are swollen, the dew dripping so much she finally removes
her pants and remains naked rather than put on another pair. She
perfumes herself, prepares herself for a lover, trembling with
desire as she waits in the small hot room.

Elena finally slips into the room with a bottle of chilled
wine.

"I had to bribe the porter."

"I'll return the money to you."

"I paid him with a kiss."

"Then kiss me too. Quickly."

The kiss is as hot as the first time, Catherine's eager
hands fondling Elena's breasts through her cotton dress.

"Let me see them."

Coyness in Elena's eyes as she turns her back to have
Catherine unzip her dress. Then she faces Catherine again, the
dress and white chemise she wears under it slipping off her
shoulders to reveal her glorious breasts to Catherine's eyes.

With a soft smile, Elena lifts her breasts in her hands and
comes forward to rub her nipples against Catherine's.

"You're so beautiful," Elena says.

Catherine gazes down to watch their nipples rubbing against
each other. "I want to make love to you."

"I can only stay a short while."

"Then hurry and get undressed. I'll put the wine in the
bathroom to keep it cool."

In the bathroom, Catherine plugs the basin and then fills it
with cold water. She puts the wine bottle in the water and she
returns to Elena and starts trembling when she sees her.

Elena is on the bed, kneeling on all fours, wearing nothing
but her black stockings that are held in place by pink garters
above her knees. She kneels with her shoulders down and her rump
in the air, the sunlight gleaming on her white hips, the furrow
between her buttocks and the sex below it covered with a wild
growth of dark hair.

The word luxuriant comes to Catherine's mind. The girl's
cunt is luxuriant, tropical, the fat labia almost completely
hidden by the dark jungle.

Elena looks at Catherine over her right shoulder, a coy
look, a look that says she knows what she has back there, she
knows the power of it.

Catherine is vanquished. She climbs onto the bed behind
Elena and she buries her face in the tropical forest. A rain
forest now. Damp. Fecund. So much hair everywhere. She manages to
get her tongue inside to taste the girl's juices. She sucks at
the opening, drinks the foaming essence. Her nose is against the
girl's anus. Catherine adores it. She rubs her face into the
crack as she works her tongue. Then she pulls away and
she urges Elena on her back. "Please."

Elena turns over and lifts her knees.

Legs in black stockings in the air. Pink garters. Full
thighs with that marvelous forest between them. As Catherine
bends to the wetness, she smiles and reminds herself how pleased
she is to be back in Italy again.

End
