Dressing Phase 1 A Holiday in Venice
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I had been to Venice several times and was never disappointed by its magic. Yes, there are hordes of tourists throughout the year, but what can you expect if you seek out such a preposterously over-the-top, baroque city-on-an-island? A man-made fairytale confection, doomed to eventually sink into the lagoon that surrounds it, like a latter day Atlantis.
I had met Alicea on a European dating site. We 'clicked' from the word go and when I suggested a long weekend in Venice, she didn't need asking twice. "Well, as you've been there three times before and obviously know your way around, why don't you make all the travel arrangements?" I happily agreed. "But do tell me what to bring, darling?"
I very nearly replied: "As little as possible," but managed to come up with something slightly more alluring. "I'd love it if you could, maybe 'dress down' a little - say to an imaginary age of seventeen? Would you mind?"
There was an alarmingly long pause and I wondered if I'd over-stepped the bounds of propriety with this feisty twenty-six-year-old. "Hey, I love that sort of young / old set-up! Me in ultra-short pleated skirts and revealing blouses? You in a crumpled old lightweight suit? That sort of thing?"
"Exactly!" My worries about our thirty-year age difference evaporated.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
A week later we rendezvoused in one of the terminal buildings at London's Heathrow Airport. We'd never met face-to-face and I nervously scanned the travelers in the bar I had nominated. Then, tucked away in a far corner all alone, I spotted my 'date'. She was wearing a jaunty pink-ribboned straw hat, a pink silk blouse, faded blue jeans shorts, white ankle socks, and pink suede pumps. In front of her on the table was a half-empty Pina Colada cocktail. She looked good enough to eat.
She smiled coquettishly as I sauntered up. "Hi, Nick. Hope you didn't mind me starting? Thought I'd get into the holiday spirit as soon as possible!"
"Good girl! Let me get you another - we've still got almost an hour before our flight is called. I'll be right back."
I returned with our drinks and took a seat opposite her. Without looking up from her second pineapple cocktail, Alicea gently ran one of her shoes up my calf. She made a slurping noise with the straw to attract my attention, gazed up demurely and asked, "Young enough?"
I had a job to stop spluttering with laughter and managed, instead, to whisper, "Perfect!"
She continued her adorable charade on the flight and soon had the young steward who served us our supper swooning with admiration. Making sure our two meal trays neatly abutted on their drop-down shelves, Alicea deftly slid her napkin over my legs. Just as I was about to place a forkful of spaghetti Bolognese in my mouth, I felt an inquisitive hand gently stroking my crotch. Without even glancing sideways - and as if enquiring about the food I was consuming - she whispered, "You like?"
I choked on my spaghetti so violently that our steward had to bring me a glass of water. "Anything for Madam?" he enquired courteously.
"I wouldn't say no to another Pina Colada."
"Certainly, madam."
My very own Lolita quietly returned to her ministrations.
_
The high-speed launch transer from Marco Polo Airport to the start of the Grand Canal is always an electrifying experience, with the approaches made doubly exciting as dusk falls on the city. The dome of St Mark's Basilica was bathed in crimson light.
Neither did our canal-side apartment atop a faded seventeenth century palazzo disappoint, although one could hardly have described its amenities as twenty-first century. The carpets were threadbare, the curtains were moth-eaten and even the cooking utensils looked as if they should have been in a museum. But Alicea, bless her, was wholly un-phased, pronouncing it all 'simply delightful'. Standing on tip-toes she gave me a slow, lingering 'thank you' kiss.
I uncorked the bottle of Prosecco we had purchased at the airpot and handed her a huge cut-glass goblet. "Now I'm going to do something exceptionally naughty for you," she purred, slipping out of her shorts and unbuttoning her blouse.
She sauntered over to the balcony which overlooked the Grand Canal, still busy with traffic and two huge cruise ships. I was reasonably certain that perched up on our top floor, no one would be able to spot the naked figure of my nubile lover. "Come and stand behind me, Nick" she instructed, unbuttoning my trousers and sliding my jockey shorts to the floor. "Nice and close!" She leaned over the stone balcony rail and poked her posterior out provocatively.
"Want to take me from behind?"
"What? Here? Now?"
"Why not? Slide into my bumhole, why don't you? You're always messaging how you love the view of my puckered sphincter. Well now's you chance to try it for size!"
Not only had this outrageously sexy set-up got me stiff as a flagpole, but I was already starting to leak copiously. She reached behind her and smeared some of my pre-cum across the top of my glans. "There you are, big boy - Nature's own special lube!" She moved her other hand back and parted the cheeks of her bottom as I eased myself slowly into her.
Once I was snugly inside her, she moved her two arms forward to better grip the ledge of the balcony. Her head dropped forward as I thrust, and she moaned: "Oh you fucker! You dirty fucker!" An exaltation that was enough to tip me over the edge. I gripped her hips tightly as I emptied my seed deep inside her.
Half-an-hour (and three goblets of Prosecco) later, Alicea was sitting cross-legged and naked on a threadbare old chaise lounge. She gave me a wicked grin. "Well, who'd have thought it?"
"Thought what?"
"Who'd have thought that within an hour of arriving in Venice for the first time, I'd be fucked up the arse!" She roared with laughter as she downed her wine.
_
For the first night of our vacation we slept soundly, wrapped in each other's arms. I woke at first light and went into the tiny kitchen to find coffee-making items. The chipped old blue enamel jug had seen better days, but the Italian coffee beans the owners had left us were top quality. As were the sugared almond amoretti biscuits.
Alicea had dragged the chaise lounge out onto the balcony and was sunbathing topless. With her eyes closed behind huge pink sunglasses I was able to admire her small perfectly-formed breasts and pert little nipples. I recalled her telling me in one of her early emails that she had never had to wear a bra. I stood before her in my jeans and T-shirt, slowly stroking myself. She peeped over the top of her shades. "Good moring, sir. And how are we feeling today? Perky already by the looks of it!"
"Fine, thanks. You?"
"Good, thanks, though I need to get some sun."
"Well, we also need to get some food supplies pronto, if we're not going to starve to death in this garret. I'm going to take the vaporetto to the Rialto Market. It's always a good idea to get there early for the best fruit and veg."
The shades went back down. "I'll leave that side of things to you, honey."
"Any special requests?"
She pondered the question for a moment, then murmured, "Asparagus, because it makes my pee-pee smell strong, a ripe mago (I know something terribly naughty you can do with a ripe mango) and as much Prosecco as you can carry. And hurry back!" She blew me an air kiss.
The market was teeming; not with tourists but Venetians. This was where they bought the best (and the cheapest) fresh produce, often taking all day to cook it before bringing it to the family table.
I staggered up six flights of stone stairs to our apartment. By the silence on the dusty landings that I crossed on my way up, we were probably the only people living in this crumbling old mansion. Alicea was still fast asleep on the sofa. "What kept you?"
Local trade union dispute. No return varorettas. I had to walk."
"Well, let little Alicea fix you a drink." Jumping up (she was completely naked), she snatched a bottle of fizzy wine from my basket and popped it open, adding some crushed ice from the bag I had bought in the market. She went and sat on the sofa, facing me with her legs opened invitingly. "And did you get a mango?"
"Yup. It's at the bottom of the bag."
"Ripe?"
"I'd say it'll be finished if we don't have it for lunch."
She rummaged in the bag and pulled out the fruit to admire it. "Darling, we're going to be using this little beauty before lunchtime!"
"We are?"
"Well, strictly speaking, I'll be using it and you'll be eating it!" She turned and gave me a mischievous grin as she began peeling it on the kitchen table with a knife, first quartering it and then cubing it."
I looked on with puzzlement. "What happens next?"
"What happens next, my angel, is that your little girl lies on her back on her chaise lounge, while you stuff pieces of ripe mago into her cunnie. Then you go slowly down on me and eat it. By which time it should have a liberal covering of my love honey over it!"
This decadent mid-morning snack was washed down with yet more Prosecco. Fishing the final pieces of fruit from her vagina. Alicea observed: "I bet those filthy Borgias used to get up to this sort of thing morning, noon, and night!" She moved across to kiss me on the forehead. "Now I must go and have a shower and get cleaned up."
_
Half-an-hour later she reappeared, naked and towelling herself dry. She walked out onto the balcony without even covering herself. I so admired this young woman's brazen manner. It was already starting to warm up. "I could murder an ice cream!" she called back. "Hey: what say we go down to the piazza in front of the building and find a cafe?"
Ten minutes later we were seated in a small, air-conditioned cafe-cum-ice cream parlour overlooking the fountain in the centre of the square. Alicea had on her signature shorts, ankle socks and pink trainers. She had unbuttoned at least three of the fastenings of her white cotton shirt, giving a lovely view of her decolletage. Her breasts were already beautifully tanned. We ordered two espressos and two 'house special' ice cream confections. As the young waiter returned with our order, he lingered behind Alicea in order to admire her beautiful breasts.
I nodded as he moved away. "I think you've got a fan." She wiggled her titties appreciatively and stroked one of her nipples.
The long, pale blue tablecloth concealed our seated bodies from view within the gelateria and I noticed that Alicea was eating her ice cream sundae with one hand, with the other tucked beneath the table. She gave me an impish smile and ran her tongue around her ice cream-covered lips. "You'll never guess what I'm doing."
"Eating your mango and chocolate sundae?"
"Yeah. That's my right hand. So what d'you think my left hand is doing?"
I didn't need three guesses. "Want me to take over?"
"I thought you'd never ask!"
Beneath the tablecloth, I first touched her knee, then ran my hand up the inside of her leg, to be guided to her very moist slit. I began fingering her. Taking another spoonful of ice cream, she closed her eyes. "Mmmm that is so good!" She gave a grin. "Almost there!" Then she suddenly made an involuntary lunge forward, banging her spoon on the tanle. "Oh my God!"
Giving her time to recover, I whispred: "And did you cum?"
"Fuck yes!"
_
The next two days were spent in blissful sexual harmony, with Alicea forever coming up with original and inventive ways for two over-sexed individials to amuse themselves in a decaying Venetian apartment.
"Well, you haven't suggested a gondola ride yet!" she announced with mock grumpiness over breakfact on out last day.
"That's for tourists."
"Well, we're tourists, for fuck sake! Come on, Nick, you crusty old curmudgeon: let's do it this evening. I want to go under The Bridge of Sighs." It was pointless to put up any resistance.
As dusk was falling, we crossed our piazza to a corner where we knew gondoliers plied for trade. Alicea chose a particularly ornate gondola, its seats furnished with lovely thick crimson cushions and with a vase of pink geraniums perched on the prow. The old man saluted us with his hat, then helped Alicea to settle inside the narrow craft, her slender legs stretched along three cushions. I took my place opposite as our boatman cast off, calling back to his comrades something about a bella regazza.
He deftly navigated us off the Grand Canal, passing beneath the Bridge of Sighs as instructed. Then he slowed our pace as we entered a dark lagoon, lit only by gas lamps. Although it was overlooked by apartments and hotels, there were no other gondolas on this quiet stretch of water.
Our boatman steered us gently to the lock-side, in the shadow of a footbridge. As he began to sing us a traditional Italian love song, which echoed off the buildings, Alicea slipped down from her cushions and, unbuttoning her silk blouse, came and knelt beside me. Both the old man and I knew what the next move would be. She deftly unzipped me and took me deep into her mouth. The gondolier smiled and rubbed his crotch with encouragement. I had long since lost all cares about us being observed in our Venetian sex play. My adorable lover, I was soon to discover, was an accomplished exponent of the noble art of fellatio.
Before long, the ineviatble climax occured. Silently I ejaculated into my lover's mouth, before she pulled back slightly, so that I could 'annoint' her face and neck. "Thank you, kind sir" she gurgled.
Alicea turned towards the old gondolier, who was leaning on his pole smiling, and proudly displayed her new pearl necklace, which glistened in the lamp light.
Cathalina
- 10.06.2022
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