This is a Will & Terri story, the third installment. It can be read without reading the previous stories, in fact the stories will not even be published chronologically.
In order, the stories will be
1) Full Caribbean Moon and it’s sequel, Part II
2) Lube Job
3) Il Valentino Italiano
5) The Week Away
6) Requited Lust
7) The Author
As of this writing, some are completed, others are yet to be finished. How often I publish a story in this series depends upon reader interest. If you’d like to read more about this couple, let me know by leaving a comment.
The winter sun blazed through the restaurant window as Terri admired the Valentines Day gift from her lover. According to their tradition of more than two decades, the offering was a reminder of Italy, her cherished destination in both fantasy and fact. This year he’d brought a rare book, an ancient traveler’s tome of life in the Italian lake district inscribed late in the nineteenth century. It was magnificent, brimming with wood cuts of scenes Terri had visited in the old country.
Will, toying with the last bite of his entree, teased, “Are you ever sorry you married me instead of someone from Italy?”
“Don’t be silly, dear.”
“No, really, don’t you ever have regrets you’ve never had an Italian lover? I hear they’re great.”
It was his game, attempting to get her to take another man into her bed, her body. Twice now she’d given into his whim, the first experience a quirk in Jamaica, followed by a six-month affair with a lover from before her marriage. She wasn’t adverse to starting another affair, but she had her fantasies, her desires. Will kept talking about her picking a guy up at a bar, or perhaps meeting someone over the Internet, but she had resisted such liasions, except as bedroom play. Oh, she’d given Will permission to sign up on a swinger’s site, and she’d even let him post four pictures of her in lingerie, her face disguised. On three occasions she’d met men for drinks; each time she’d decided he wasn’t her type. If she was to have another affair, she thought, she wanted it to be romantic, with a man who was attractive to her. And if she never found that man she wouldn’t be unhappy, she had concluded.
In spite of the fact that she’d made her husband’s fantasy a reality in the past, most of the time they spoke of future potential conquests it was simple flirtation meant to keep their own lust alive, a prelude to foreplay. Terri assumed this Valentines Day taunting was meant to begin the mutual seduction they’d partake of later that evening, after he returned from his work. And when he spoke of a Roman lover she elected to frolic with his vivid imagination.
“Oh, you’re talking about an affair now? Yes, I think I’d enjoy an Italian stud who whispered naughty Italian words into my ear as he screwed me. That would be great!” As they shared a chocolate dessert, sipped on fragrant coffee, he urged her to fill in details of her tryst with the illusory lover. For both of their amusement, she complied and described details of his skin tone, hair coloration and fashion. She would have gone further, detailing how this phantom would strip her of her clothes, what his skin would feel like, how he would completely satisfy her body, but the openness of the public house and the possibility their sensual pillow talk would be overheard dampened the more salient minutia.
But the merriment soon had to be placed on hold – Will needed to be at work in forty-five minutes. The waitress was summoned, and while they were waiting for the credit card to be run, Will shifted the conversation. “I have one other gift for you, but I didn’t get a chance to pick it up. It’s the new Bocelli album.” Andrea Bocelli was the opera star who was now producing fashionable, romantic music, one of Terri’s favorite artists. “Would you mind going over to Barnes and Noble and picking it up this afternoon?”
Terri smiled at his sweetness. She’d been looking forward to hearing the new music, half expected her gift would be the CD. “No, not at all dear. Should I play it while my Italian lover takes me this afternoon?”
“Certainly.” And Will seemed delighted with the result of the game.
The book and music store was comfortably crowded on the Saturday afternoon as Terri made her way to the shelves of CDs. Munchkins caroused in the children’s section, Terri smiled as she remembered the times she’d brought her own son and daughter to similar play stations. Men, many in sweatshirts and ball caps, circled the stacks, searching for that perfect last minute gift, not having a clue what would satisfy the romantic itch in their wive’s craw. One rakish man in particular drew her attention. Carrying a single rose of deep ivory tipped with blood, he wore a softly checked shirt, charcoal sweater, beige chinos in the slightly disheveled fashion that implies not carelessness but chic. His chestnut hair was not messy, the cut calculated to imply an informal air. A precise mustache and goatee adorned the lip and chin, thick black eyebrows crested above eyes embellished with laugh lines. His smile seemed infectious, and as Terri passed him he stared directly into her eyes, as if he was daring her to approach him and declare, ‘I’m available.’
But when Terri caught his look, she ducked her head in chagrin and continued her jaunt toward the music, leaving him abaft. She flicked through the shelves, browsing, and found a couple of albums she thought she might purchase. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spied the womanizer a few rows over and suspected he might be following her. But she rejected the notion; after all, he seemed at least a decade younger, and didn’t seem to be seriously flirting with her. She chuckled at the possibility, wrote it off as just another bout of erotic fancy.
Moments later she made her way to the counter and asked them for the Bocelli album they’d stashed. On her way toward the exit she paused in the travel section, making certain no fresh books about Italy escaped her attention.
It was then the man approached her, apologizing, “Excuse me, signora, but I would like it if you would accept this flower.” The words dripped with Lombardian inflection, the man was obviously not American. The rose was proffered so cordially that Terri saw no reason to reject the offering.
“Thank you so much.”
“You are very welcome. I wish not to offend you, I only wish to celebrate your beauty.”
Terri blushed at the audacious cajolery. For a single moment she wondered if she should be offended, as many women would have felt he was being much too forward, but then she made a decision to accept the compliment with aplomb. “You’re from Italy, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” he admitted, “from a small town in the north.”
“Dove in quale luogo?” she queried in Italian. In what location? For the rest of their time together that afternoon, they spoke the romantic language to each other.
“Laverno, on Lago Maggiore.”
“I know it,” she admitted, “your region is very beautiful.”
“How do you know it?” he asked, seemingly amazed that any person in this suburb of Pittsburgh would recognize his birthplace.
“I have traveled to the lakes three times now, and cannot wait until I return.”
“Scuzi. I have poor manners. I must introduce myself. My name is Antonio Crestani.” With this, he bowed, to any American woman a most romantic gesture.
“I am Terri Newman,” she responded, offering her hand. Instead of simply shaking it, Antonio proceeded to warmly take it in his hand, brought it to his face and brushed his lips against it.
“It is so very good to meet you, Teresa, for that is what I would call you in my tongue. Tell me more of your love of my country.”
For ten minutes or more they chatted about Italy, where she had visited, the sights she’d enjoyed. Often she would take a guidebook from the nearby rack to illustrate a site she had visited, a piece of art she’d studied. "It is so good for you to think kindly of my country," Antonio avowed. "Perhaps you would enjoy joining me for a caffé?"
"Very much.” Taking the bag from her hand, she allowed him to lead her to the attached coffee shop. The drinks were purchased, a cappuccino for her, double espresso for him, and they sat facing each other.
"Why are you in America, here in Pittsburgh?"
"Ah, a long story, but one I can make short. I am on the faculty of the University of Como, my specialty is the organic nature of computer networks." He could see that she, like most non-scientists, had little knowledge and less interest in his field. "It is of no mind," he admitted, politely dismissing her confusion. "Your university has invited me to participate in a project of research that is being undertaken. I arrived here five weeks ago, just after the Anno Nuovo, I plan to stay for two years."
"My goodness, that sounds important," she complimented. "And you are staying on campus?"
"No, the corporation that is funding the research has rented for me an apartment not far, leased an automobile for my use. They are being very generous. They are making me to feel like a star athlete, a famous musician." While they chatted, their eyes met frequently, deep gazes that spoke of a desire to know each other more fully, coquetry by one that was returned by the other. Terry held the stem of the rose, and he stroked the stalk until his fingers came quite close to hers. The first time this transpired, she quickly moved her hand away, but a few moments later she allowed the touch.
“You are alone here?”
“You must be lonely.”
“Occasionalmente.” Sometimes. “I have met few amici, I am very busy with my work.”
Teresa asked about his home town, and he told stories of his Laverno on the lake, the beauties of his home. As he discoursed, she recollected the area, how the changing light illuminated the alpine peaks covered with snow, the gardens cultivating intense blooms and palm trees, the beauty of the palaces adorning islands in the lake. Eventually the coffees grew cold. They continued to touch fingers, not actually holding hands, and now and then a foot might graze another foot. It was clear to both of them that attraction was potent and mutual. Terri remembered her husband, the conversation they'd had at lunch, marveled at the coincidence. Suddenly, she recognized she was sexually aware of this man, even infatuated with him. But being inexperienced at the art of seduction, she was ignorant of how to broach the subject, make her craving known to him. The best she could do was to gently stroke the back of one of his fingers with the tip of hers, lick her lips in anticipation of a possible relazione amorosa.
Fortunately, Antonio had traversed this territory often. He recognized her short sharp breaths, noticed the increasing heartbeat in her carotid. He chose, correctly, to be bold. Trapping her eye within his own he confessed, “I tell you that you are more than beautiful, and desirable beyond words. I know here, in America, you may not be used to such bluntness, but I want to tell you I wish to make love with you. Will you allow me this bounty, will you be mine, Teresa?” During his speech, his dark eyes peered into hers, not allowing her to miss even a tittle of his proposition.
She briefly bowed her head as the flush of blood permeated her cheeks, breaking the stare, but then she hurriedly regained their joint stare, and said simply, “I would enjoy that. Shall we go to your apartment?”
Together they rose, retrieved their packages, donned winter coats. Placing her arm within the recess of his elbow, he led her out of the store. “Let us take my automobile,” he suggested, “I will return you here, if that is acceptable.”
“Lead me, then,” she agreed. His late model sedan was reached, and he strode to the right side, opened the door for her and frankly examined the exposed calves as she sat. Then he was behind the wheel and they were departing the parking lot and driving along the main road paralleling the Allegheny. Wordlessly, he placed his hand on her knee, raising the dress above it and stroked the interior of her thigh through the silky pantyhose, a most impertinent gesture, but one that escalated, if possible, the hunger that engulfed them.
Following a brief drive he turned into a condominium complex and parked. Again he paced to her side of the automobile, and she waited until he had opened the door for her. “I find myself excited,” he announced.
“And I am, as well,” she agreed. Together they entered an elevator, and he pushed the button for an upper floor. As the carriage rose, he turned her until her back was to him, and she felt first the touch of his fingers on her mane, then the heat of his lips on her neck. Although they continued to be separated by the thick winter garments, she pressed her rump into his abdomen, further inciting their shared expectations.
The elevator opened, and he hastily led her through corridors until the door of his apartment was attained. After the portal was opened and quickly shut behind them, the couple clinched against the wall, their mouths together in the first sustained kiss, the torsos meeting in the formation of ecstasy. Her cloak was joined by his cashmere overcoat on the floor, buttons and zippers were hurriedly disposed of. A breast was fondled through blouse and bra, her exploratory hand was thrust through his waistline and she suddenly became aware not only that was this man was handsome and well spoken, the tool that would be utilized was much more than adequate for the purpose. Most of the remainders of the clothing were chucked, uncaringly tossed to the floor or nearby furniture, and it was only when they were both down to panties and briefs – the bra remained snapped, but it no longer served it’s purpose of supporting her breasts and he was nibbling at a nipple – that she begged, “take me to the bedroom.”
As they cantered to the boudoir, the last remaining scraps of clothing were resigned to their resting place, and they reached the coverlet clothed only as their ancestors Eve and Adam had been. He drew the bedclothes down revealing creamy Egyptian cotton sheets. On this silken work surface she reclined, and he was soon half beside her, half on top of her. Once again a breast was within his mouth, the sensitive nipple being gnawed upon, and her hand encircled his rod. One of his hands descended first to her slightly rotund belly, then further through the thick thatch of her pubic hair and, finally, the gem for which he searched was attained. Briefly dipping his middle finger into the crevice for lubrication, he discovered the button at the head of her labia and started his massage of her tenderest area. At this level of excitement, it took no time for the kneading to accomplish the desired result and, with grunts and groans she reached her first orgasm of the skirmish. Antonio was quite proficient in the art, and by various changes in his strokes he kept her at the peak of passion. Suddenly his finger dipped into the dripping fissure and stimulated the supple walls of her tube. Still she bucked, but he was able to stay with her until he found the sensitive area at the roof, and then he drove her frenzy to even more elevated heights. Realizing there was yet more to this woman’s enjoyment, he lowered himself between her legs, tonguing her labia, tasting the sweetness of her exudation, sucking, licking and biting at her clit. Teresa accepted the attention, reveled in it, came again and again, hard.
In sustained lovemaking, there comes a point at which a woman’s orgasm approaches a point too intense for continuation. Did it take Antonio five minutes, fifteen minutes or even an hour to drive Teresa to this precipice? Neither could tell you, the small fact seemed unimportant. But, eventually, that juncture was arrived at, and the lovers shifted. Now it was Antonio who was on his back, leaning against the cherry wood headboard. Above him fluttered Teresa, anxious to please this man who’d bestowed upon her such rapture. She began by gentle kisses of his mouth, cheeks and ears. She then traveled to his neck, nuzzling it. He lay there, his eyes closed, relaxed and enjoying her courtesies. With her lips she traveled downward along his torso, and her hands and arms massaged his limbs. Eventually she reached a point where her breasts lay to either side of his penis, and with her breastbone she rubbed it until she observed a subtle change in his facial expression. It was only then that she felt free to move to the next phase.
Further she crept down, until her face was level with his penis, and she took it in her hands, supporting it as she licked first his testicles and then the length of his rod. She was ecstatic to realize her first impression of its hugeness was corroborated. It was easily an inch and a half longer than her husband’s (and he was at least average sized,) and the girth was a full inch thicker. With great pleasure she anticipated this monster penetrating her nether region; but first, she desired to pleasure this new lover of hers.
She allowed the tip of his penis to penetrate her lips, then came to the realization this man had never been circumcised. A bit of the skin adhered to the glans, but Teresa simply slid it down the shaft. When she did, she noticed a smile come to Antonio’s face. It was then that she took as much of his staff into her mouth as possible and utilizing a slightly oblique, rolling motion, she bobbed up and down on this instrument of delight, always rubbing the testicles with one or both hands.
During this delectable exercise, she tasted the sweet syrup that is a prelude to full explosion. She was ready to torment this fresh courtier. Placing the tip of her finger at the rear of the testicles, she pushed hard, ensuring that no matter how much he needed to, he could not possibly convulse. And then she tortured him, stroking and sucking on the sensitive areas of his cock until he caromed nearly off the bed.
Now she decided the time was ripe for culmination. “You have preservativo?” - a condom. Like the gentleman he seemed, he had one at the ready.
“But it is not necessary,” he begged, “for I have been tested by a physician before I came to Stati Uniti, I have not been with a woman since.”
Suddenly, she thought of the mostruosità that was to make love to her, she knew her body and that she was in her infertile period, she accepted his word. “Tutto bene!” Don’t worry about it, then. Laying once again on her back, she placed two pillows under her rump, elevating the entrance to her sex and begged, “Fai l'amore con me.”
Quickly kneeling between her spread legs, Antonio pointed his extent toward the awaiting canyon, placed a hand on each side of the woman, and lowered himself unto her. Fully appreciating how his largess was sometimes too much for some women, he gradually impaled her, a bit at a time, seeking any sign of displeasure from her. But he received no such indication; she urged him on until he was fully immersed, their pubic bones merged. For her part, Teresa relished the feeling of having her womb completely filled, and when the enormity of his mace began to move in and out of her, the pleasant massage again instigated detonation.
Now he played with her, permitting her climax to build and subside, at which point he stilled his own movements, allowing her to cool slightly. When her respiration revealed she was off the crest of her apogee, he began to pulse again, sending her once more into orbit. Again he stilled, and once again commenced his thrusts. By now, she’d fulfilled her requirements of passion, at least for the moment, and wanted him to peak. “Piu velocemente,” she beseeched, and, giving into her encouragement, he speeded his movements, bringing himself closer and closer to the edge until, with a huge gasp, he poured his essence into her. A pause in his motion, then additional penetration, an intermediate gasp and deceleration, then once more, with all the gusto he could manage, spending his final drops into her with one last snort. He collapsed onto her, their driblets of sweat intermingling, her legs completely surrounding his thighs, her breasts compressed by his chest, both of them attempting to catch their breath.
In this pose the new lovers relaxed, until Teresa thought she might doze, this man still above her, the remnants of his hardness still buried within her passage. And then the miracle occurred – although his tool was no longer completely stiff there was enough rigidity to control, and once again he commenced in and out pulsating. Now, with the penis slightly deflated, she felt for the first time the pleasure of an uncut tool. The folds of skin pleasantly irritated the tender areas within her; later she would compare it to a ribbed vibrator she'd once had. As they entwined, he rose on his elbows for leverage, and the couple kissed deeply, their tongues intermingling and mimicking the actions of their copulation. Within moments the stroking had it’s desired effect, and Teresa wailed her passion once, twice, thrice more as the magnificent truncheon abundantly pervaded her fleshy core.
Alas, all good things must eventually pass, and Antonio no longer retained the inflexibility required to continue the gleeful sport. He rolled to the side, and the two lovers rested for a moment, enjoying the peace. “The bathroom is there?” Teresa asked, pointing to a closed doorway.
Antonio nodded, and Teresa rose from the playing field and pranced to the toilet. In the powder room she relieved herself and with tissue removed secretions left over from the feverish toil. She also primped – her hair had been greatly abused, and her makeup was besmirched – before returning to the bedroom, where she found herself alone.
She took the time to peruse the room; even though she’d been a resident for well over an hour this was the first opportunity she’d had to examine it. The walls were an off-white, the furniture run of the mill, probably, she surmised, because he looked at the apartment as no more than a stopping of place in his life, not a home. The decorations, however, were more interesting. A photo frame displayed a large family gathered for a meal, Antonio was standing behind an elder couple, probably his parents. A mahogany tray was filled with cufflinks, two rings and an extravagant pen. An oil on the wall, obviously original, depicted a balcony looking out onto a lake surrounded by alpine mountains, tropical trees in the foreground.
The main feature of the room was the picture window through which the icy river was displayed. The wooded hills were ivory with the recent snow fall, the trees, even from this distance, were glistening with ice in the light of the late afternoon.
It was in this pose Antonio found her, her back to him, naked for all the world to see and yet unashamed of either her nudity or the transgression she and he were committing. “Amore dio, sei bellissima!” Antonio exclaimed.
He displayed the tray for her inspection. It contained sustenance for the two of them, three cheeses of varying fawn coloration, fuchsia proscutto, huge crimson strawberries with their tops of jade, two champagne flutes and a bottle of Santa Margherita proseco, which he uncorked with a flourish. After pouring the wine, he gave a goblet to Teresa and toasted, “Dio li fa, poi li accoppia!” God makes them, then mates them.
“Si,” Teresa agreed, “It does seem like fate that we met each other.” Naked together on the bed, they fed each other, not only the food, but also their eyes. They continued their chat of Italy, reviewed highlights such as the capital city of Roma, the tawny hills of Tuscany, the effulgence of the Amalfi coast.
After sufficient delicacies were consumed, a refill of wine – and then another – were poured, the couple relaxed sitting on the bed, she between his legs, her back to his chest. This allowed him to play with her body, gently stroke a nipple, nibble at an ear. Curiosity was in the air, the question for both of them, ‘Is this a once-in-a-lifetime occurence, or shall we continue the dalliance?’
“Your husband,” Antonio asked, “what kind of a man is he?”
“It is humorous you should ask. I was just thinking of how excited he would be if he knew I was here with you. Many times he has attempted to arrange an intrigue for me.”
“So you have had other affairs?” An impertinent question, yet she was not offended.
“Simple bouts of passion. And you, do you have a wife you’ve left behind in Italy?”
“A woman who would attempt to live with me would run screaming away,” Antonio confessed. “I left a girl, quite young and formerly a student, in tears when I accepted this assignment, but a permanent relationship would have failed; given three more months she would have realized that, to her sorrow. Since I have come here you are the first woman I have been with. And the first American, as well. Based on you, all women in this country are superb lovers, much better than the French.”
This pleased Teresa, to know she had provided him with a new experience. “You must develop a social life, discover the delights of Pittsburgh, the remainder of the country, while you are here.”
“Of course you are correct, but I find I am in need of a guide. Everything here is so confusing. Would you be my companion?” From the tone of voice, the tenderness with which he held a breast, and, of course, from the intensity of the love-making they’d just shared, it was clear what he was asking of her. He wished her to become his mistress.
Teresa paused, just long enough to ensure in her own mind that this, indeed, was what she yearned, truly desired. Although she’d been in bed with other men since her marriage to Will so many years ago, she’d not honestly taken a lover, one who would provide a continuing erotic and yet cerebral relationship, and this was certainly what Antonio was asking for. And then in her mind she heard Will encouraging, ‘It’s all right; do what you wish.’
“I would be happy to escort you from time to time.”
“And your husband, he will not object?”
“I feel sure he will be delighted.”
They sealed their pact with a kiss, and then another kiss, which led to additional stroking of bodies, which in tranquil time led to coitus. For the next forty minutes, while the sun set over the river and the world went dark, the concubine coupled with her Lothario. A full repertoire was utilized, butterfly to perfumed garden to spooning. Teresa roared in nearly continual apogee, Antonio luxuriated in the atmosphere of aphrodisia until, at long last the woman beside him once again drew the hallowed elixir from his loins.
While gathering their breath, only the tips of their fingers touching, the lovers realized their time together was drawing short. Trips were made to the toilet, clothes gathered and donned, cell phone numbers exchanged, the drive was made to her automobile, still parked in the mall lot. Through it all, the couple continued to smile, in remembrance of the afternoon past, and in anticipation of trysts yet to come.
“Con te partirò,” she lamented. Time to say goodbye. Both desired a final embrace, a passionate kiss, but the exposed locale denied them this final feat of flirtation. “Ciao!”
“Fino alla prossima volta,” he added. Till the next time. And she was driving from him.
The remainder of her evening was frittered in indulgences, a long bath surrounded by candles, attention to her finger and toe nails. It would have been impossible not to review the erotic adventure of the afternoon and, to her surprise, she hungered for further amorous attentions from her other lover. With twenty minutes remaining until he returned home, she lit candles, donned a particularly enticing sheer garment and poised herself on the bedroom loveseat with a bottle of wine and a tome of erotica, written, of course, in Italian. The Bocelli album, which she would always link with Antonio, provided a romantic accent.
When Will arrived he was pleasured by the tableau, and within moments the couple were entwined in passion. As marriage feasts are wont to do, the deed took less than twenty minutes, yet both were satisfied by the encounter.
As they rested afterward, her brow encapsulated deep within the hallow of his shoulder, she wondered when, if not now, would be a good time to tell him of her new paramour and her desire to take another man into her life.
But, before she could frame the words she wished to use, he asked, “So, did you get the rose?”
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