It all began with words. Written words which led to seduction. Enticement. Rapture. She was eager to read his words at first. Then she became intrigued to hear them. To see his mouth opening and flowing them. She also demanded to see him in the flesh. The desire for him began with words. And now words were overflowing. His charme was worldly. He was quite the man about town, a dapper gentleman with an educated allure. Yet his fascinating manners were not a mere seductive device. He had none of the stereotyped latin-lover bravado. And he listened to her. She loved being listened to. Being asked. Being courted. Better, being “courtyarded”. He taught her to slow down. She also loved being instructed. She allowed the teaching exclusively from like-minded kindred spirits. To bridle her untamable spirit was a daunting task. Hers was a different kind of harness. The shell. A protective garment she wore all the time, only to encounter someone challenging enough to strip it off her. Denuding her soul. Via the body.
Passion mounted. She felt warmth arousing. She was undulating, swayed by uterine waves. Erotic vertigo. Their first encounter happened in a foreign city. Sipped away in a landmark tavern. Flow of words. The seduction of words. He wanted her. She wanted him. It takes two to tango. But this was a slow dance. No immediate gratification. No sudden eruption. And the pervasive sentiment of longing. Felt in the mind. In the cut. The waiting, la espera, of another time stolen from their lives. The regular ones they both lived apart. To dig into escapism, taking in the arousal of the unknown.
He called. Asked her. Titillated her. She responded. Sì. Voluptuously willing. Another encounter. Another city. Same tacit attraction. Unspoken. Yet palpable in the senses. She was a translator. Her art being able to translate emotional innuendos. She relied on her cunt. She let it dictate her sexual orientation. Her insane sexual appetites. Her eager sexual feeds. She needed them to feel whole. In the holes.
She suggested visiting an exhibition. A public space to restrain their urges. The perfect setting for devious designs. She was not going to lift a finger. Yes she did. Incoherence as her only coherence. They sat in the dark watching a sassy flow of images, erotic and sleazy. Precisely how she felt. Erotic and sleazy. His hands, oh he had such strong hands, just laid senseless beside hers. Hers being tiny nervous hands. Inside she felt a turmoil. Outside she pretended. Not to desire him. Right then and there. Letting her mind, if not her body, dig into caves of sexual depravation. She shut her flow of consciousness. She stared intermittently at the images and his hand. Then her hand had to reach out and touch his. It transcended any residual control. The ultimate erotic transgression. He responded to it. To her opening. An interplay of fingers, searching, fondling, wanting. The introduction to ulterior pleasure. The slow dance of lovers-on-the-verge-to-exhale. And the steps, from the rubbing of fingers, conducted them to their mouths. Without uttering another single word, he embraced her wholly. And kissed her. There in the dark. An intensely long kiss. Not just a kiss. The kiss. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else needed. It was whole on those lips, inside those tongues enwrapping with utmost lust. Baise-moi her sex desperately demanded. But her mouth only received his. And kept firmly shut on the words. Words were now inessential. They exited the dark and joined the light of day, moist and idle. An idle mind is the devil’s playground … What about the senses, the body, the sexes? Dangerous weapons of sex distraction. But for them that was just the quiet before the storm. About to break out in the unseasonably mild autumn night. Again in the dark. Again in a public place. Into the courtyard…
He met her later at night. In the almost deserted historic center of the city. It was them, a bunch of tourists and Italian waiters, pouring nocturnal drinks. Another landmark venue. He liked landmarks. Their noble fascination was reflecting his. The image of a good man. About to fall into a frivolous being, possessed by a darkly erotic side and a sensual charge. Now solely focused on him. His hand firm on the glass made her dizzy with expectation. She wanted to touch him. To run through his fit body and feel it under her hands. Words were once again taking the center stage. But the bodies demanded eagerly their share of the plate.
“Do you want to come back to my hotel room?” he finally asked her. It was around midnight and they were strolling along a fancy district. She hesitated. No, thank you, she answered. Magic was in the air. Not in a hotel room. She didn’t want to waste the moment nor did she want to let go of him. And then she saw it. An open door to a historic palazzo. She took his hand, his beautiful hand, and walked past the door. He hesitated. It was a private residence. It was in the open-air. They were too in the open. Two aroused animals stripping off their demureness. He had to follow her. He could not stop himself nor she. He wanted to fall. Free falling. The release was fervent. She unbuttoned her immaculate shirt exposing her black bra to him. He took her breast in his hands and squeezed them, caressing the nipples and putting them into his mouth. Sucking deep. Insane appetite. She had her hands on him, on his thighs, on his torso, on his cock. Feverish and hardened. She unzipped his pants. She had to take it into her hands. She wanted to look at it while being watched. She took off her pants. Now only wearing the black lingerie, a white shirt and red shoes. Those shoes she wore to conquer. She obligingly kneeled down in front of him. In front of it. She began by licking the head of his cock, holding it into her hands. She then proceeded to take it into her mouth, salivating with pleasure. She wanted him to push her head deeper on his cock. To be chocked. In the darkness, in the open, in public. Serving her lover as a devoted courtesan. Willing to please by enchanting the senses of her demanding master. He lifted her to kiss her mouth and put his fingers inside her, standing on two feet, awash and widespread. Awaiting to be penetrated. And oh so struck. He provided all that covetously. He served her too. He was an experienced lover. Someone who knew passion. Someone who knew how to give and receive it. She took it all in. Flowing in her throat. Dripping in her lingerie.
In one city they met. In another they kissed. Where to next time?