permission to Cum
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ASMTD Ch. 08 free porn video
June 23
Our time in Brussels flies by too fast and Zurich is a sleep deprived blur. The only vivid recollection I have is of the Swiss Alps from my bus window. Breathtaking, larger than life snow capped mountains with tiny towns beneath them. I feel like dressing in a wide hoop skirt and singing as I run over the hills.
Leo’s with me through it all, putting up with my crazy, adding some himself. He rarely looks at his phone, only to see if his daughter or ex-wife called, but he’s obsessed with taking pictures. We have a snapshot of almost everything we do, and I’m completely happy and sad about it. I want to remember every second with him, every laugh and touch and new experience. But I also don’t want to remember any of it because I’m so high up that the fall back down to reality is going to hurt. A lot.
‘I’m going to video chat Em while I have wifi,’ I tell Leo, pulling out my laptop and plugging it into the buss’s outlet.
‘Okay.’ He snatches my sweater from my lap and balls it up into a pillow for the back of his head. ‘Wake me up when we get there, kultaseni.’
The computer rings three times before Em answers, her squeal of delight piercing my ears. ‘Rai! Where have you been?’
‘Em! Wait, literally?’
‘Yes, dude. Give me all the details and leave nothing out, not even the color of the freaking sky.’
I relay the last three days, omitting Leo threatening some dude and the wild sex. Her eyes widen when I talk about the waffles, chocolate, and beer. Us foodies have to stick together.
‘Has your Scandinavian hottie left?’
‘Nope.’ I tilt the screen and show her a sleeping Leo. ‘Still here. I have no clue how long it’s going to last but I’m enjoying it while I can.’
‘That’s what you gotta do. But damn, my parents would never let me do that.’
‘Which part? The backpacking or the guy?’
‘Both.’
We laugh even as I confess, ‘Mine either. I sort of fudged my program end date.’
She laughs again, snorting in a wholly unladylike way. ‘Only you can pull this shit, Rai.’
Preening, I switch the conversation to Em, ‘So what’s up with you? How’s the summer job hunt going?’
‘I found one.’
‘You did? Oh my God, congrats, Em! Wait, is it one for your Animal Science or Creative Writing major? Or is it for your psychology minor?’
A wry smile tugs at her lips even as she rolls her eyes. ‘Animal Science. And don’t be too happy for me just yet. The pay is shit—I mean shit shit—but I get to live in the farm house for the summer, and they’ll provide all the meals.’
‘What’s the schedule like?’
‘Hell on Earth.’ She sighs and adjusts the laptop across her thighs, ticking her responsibilities off on her fingers. ‘Have to be up no later than three fucking AM to start milking the goats and cows. Breakfast at six. Feeding the pigs at eight. Helping facilitate tours of the farm, picking fruit and vegetables, or other stuff until three. Riding a few mares around four, wiping them down, cleaning out their hooves—stuff like that until six. Dinner. And God only knows what else.’
‘Where was lunch in there?’
She throws up her hands. ‘I don’t even know. That’s the schedule they sent me, and I think it’s ridiculous.’
‘At least it’s a job.’
‘That’s that I keep telling myself.’
‘How’d you find out about it anyway?’
‘My family used to go apple picking every year until my dad died, you know.’
I nod, remembering the first time we met. Second year of college, and we both got into the elite Ann Arbour, Michigan Writers Collective. Two hours into a conversation about finding our elusive muses and the searing pain that is writers’ block, she got a call. Her father had a stroke while driving and crashed into a tree. I could still remember the fear on her face, the tears that flowed freely even as her voice remained steady and strong. She told her mom she could drive herself, that she would meet her and her little brother at the hospital. But she couldn’t stop shaking. I’d taken over, driven, stayed with her, and been the support she desperately needed. We’ve been best friends ever since.
I blink, refocusing on Em’s words as the memory fades to grey. ‘. . . mom’s really close with the folks who run the farm and she was talking to them about me needing a job and it just sort of spiraled out of control. It’s over where I used to live.’
‘Wait, the ranch style house in bumfuck nowhere?’
‘Yep. Now I’m going to live in the middle of bumfuck nowhere. I think they said the closest mall was like an hour away.’
‘Good luck with that.’
I salute her, and she flips me the bird, laughing, ‘Dude, I’m going to need it.’
***
‘This doesn’t look right, does it?’ I say as Leo and I step off the bus and into a dimly lit parking lot with graffitied walls and loiters galore.
He hikes his backpack higher and stands closer to me, slinging a protective arm around my waist. ‘It does not. Let me see the map again.’
I hand him my cellphone and watch as he looks at the screen. After a minute, he hands it back to me. ‘Think you have the wrong information.’
‘No shit.’
Instead of standing around like the easy targets are, we follow the buss crowd to the parking garage and into a train station. Leo manages to get service and plots us in the direction of the Koala hostel. An hour and a half later we arrive, exhausted from an extra half an hour trip spent walking around looking for the hidden place. It’s inside of a courtyard filled with tiny Italian cars that we weave around.
The clock shows nine above the photo collaged receptionist’s desk. All young, smiling faces of different ethnicities, genders, and age groups all posing around various parts of what I assume is Milan. ‘Bonjourno,’ I greet the receptionist when he lifts his head from the computer and smiles solicitously at me. ‘English?’
Leo snorts and I elbow him in the ribs as the receptionist’s smile strains. ‘A little.’
‘Great,’ I saw slowly, pronouncing the words carefully. ‘I have a reservation. Raiqah Muhammad Hussein.’
His fingers fly across the keyboard before his hand dips under the desk and produces a key. ‘Yes. You will need to pay the remaining balance.’ I dig for my wallet as the receptionist turns to Leo, ‘And him?’
‘Leo Pananan.’
The receptionist pulls up Leo’s information while he tells me the cost. I pull out a few bills as the man next to me does the same. Leo asks about a mixed room for two. There aren’t any and I’m trapped in an all girl’s room with him in a mixed one.
‘It’s only two nights,’ I say as he walks me down the hall to my room. Unlike the hostel in Brussels, this place is filled with color, every door painted some sort of neon shade. The floor is carpeted with something coarse and blue, and hand drawn pictures of Milan hang on the wall between doors. ‘Then Rome.’
‘Where we’re meeting your friend, right?’
‘I wouldn’t call her a friend,’ I dither, tossing the brightly painted key between my palms as I stop in front of a door with the same color. ‘We met in Cork and she was going, so I just decided to plan my trip so we’d meet.’
He nods, obviously too tired to say anything else. Before I can anticipate his next move, his large palm wraps around the back of my neck, drawing me close, tilting my head the way he wants. His lips find mine, soft at first, then firm the next. Hungry.
Lemon. I’m near him and I always taste and smell lemon. The man is obsessed with the citrus. Popping lemon-flavored hard candies, taking a wedge of it in his water, squeezing it over his fish.
He draws back, but the flavor lingers on my tongue. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’
‘Yeah.’ I watch him walk down the hall and unlock his own door before I close mine and whisper softly like a lovesick fool, ‘Goodnight, Leo.’
June 25
Milan passes just as quickly as Brussels and Zurich. We happen across the World’s Fair, take tours of castles and museums, go inside the Duomo, and eat our weight in gelato. The only thing we don’t do is fuck, and 48 hours is apparently Leo’s limit.
We arrive in Rome from Milan by train around noon, and thankfully the walk to the hostel is not nearly as far or complicated. We place our bags in an elevator that doesn’t even look big enough to house a twin bed and climb the three flights of stairs to the top. After snagging our bags, we walk through an apartment door that I’m pretty sure can’t house a hostel, but it does. The narrow door births a wide entrance with a triangular receptionist’s desk set off in one corner. The decor is Ikea chique, though the furniture they’ve chosen is more warm than industrial. Check in breezes by quickly and efficiently with the receptionist speaking perfect English. Leo somehow manages to finagle a private room for the two of us and we climb another set of stairs to the third floor. The electronic key card pings as I turn the knob and enter the room, Leo close on my heels.
A real, honest to God queen-sized bed winks at me from the center of the room set beneath open windows that stream in light. It’s not a big room, but with a bed and a shower all to ourselves, it might as well be a palace.
‘Living in the lap of luxury,’ I sigh, throwing my bags down and flopping back on the mattress. Magic.
‘Get. Undressed.’ The words are guttural as the door bangs shut ominously.
Leaning up on my elbows, I watch as Leo yanks his shirt over his head and tosses it in a corner. His pants and briefs fall next, hitting the floor with an audible thud. He’s rock hard and sweaty, cock flat against his stomach, balls strung up so tight I’m surprised they’re not blue.
‘Ask nicely, Mr. Bossy Pants.’
‘Rai.’ That’s all the warning he gives. Maybe I’m just stupid or the heat melts my brain, but I don’t move. Just eye him as he stalks toward the bed, grabs my ankles, and drags me to edge. Leo flips me over with the care of a chef flipping a pancake and pushes my leggings and panties down mid-thigh.
‘I can’t be gentle,’ he says and I hear the tear of foil and strained grunts as he rolls the condom down. I can’t guess how long he’s had that hidden, but I’d bet it’s since we entered Rome.
‘Am I complaining?’
‘You never do.’ He aligns himself.
‘You never give me anything to complain ab—’h
He slams home, so sudden, it knocks the wind out of me and makes the bed hit the edge of the windows with a squeal of metal against metal. My toes curl in my tennis shoes, thighs spasming in the leggings. He’s completely naked and I’m still dressed. The thought turns me on.
Then I forget—to breathe, to think—as he rears back and thrusts hard, jack-knifing into my pussy. I try to move but he pins me, kicking my legs apart as far as they’ll go, forcing my bent knees into the side of the bed. I’m on my tip toes meeting his thrusts. He curls a fist around my hair and holds it so my back arches and my breasts press into the mattress.
I lose my shit.
The room fills with heavy breathing and the wet slap of flesh against flesh. I want to moan and scream and say the nastiest things, but I’m afraid it’ll break the moment. Leo’s fucking me like all the oxygen he needs is inside my body.
Thrust in. Inhale.
Pull out. Exhale.
The sun and clouds move, patterning shadows against our bodies as his movements become frenzied, breathing erratic.
Moments pass before the shrill sound of his ring tone pierces the air. I jump, startled, and tighten around him. He hisses and tugs my hair in warning. ‘Leo, your—’
‘Ignore it.’
‘It could be your daugh—’
‘Ig. Nore. It.’
His other hand releases my hip and searches for something above my head. Second later, he’s shoving a pillow under my hips, lifting my ass higher, spreading me as open as I’ve ever been.
The man leaves me raw.
The ringing stops, then picks back up. Same tone. But he gets in a rhythm, one hand in my hair, the other kneading and gripping my ass. I can feel his eyes on me, seeing every part of me despite the clothes. ‘You’re so…’ his words immediately switch to Finnish, tumbling out of his mouth in a steady stream. I have no clue what the hell he’s saying, and I don’t give a damn as long as he keeps pumping.
My orgasm hits me from left field, making me scream. He’s with me a second later, jerking his hips into mine, holding himself still. Leo’s hand snakes around my hips to flick my clit as he slowly rocks inside me.
I come harder.
Fuck, I see black.
Close my eyes so tight it hurts—he hurts—this whole trip is hurting me because I’m falling madly, impossibly, deeply—
I don’t let myself finish the thought, just force my own hand down my body and press our combined fingers into my clit, sending me into a second orgasm that leaves me in tears.
***
‘Thank God, you got my message. I called the number you gave me a dozen times,’ Mac says from across the table as she twists spaghetti around her fork with the help of a spoon.
‘We were so exhausted, we collapsed as soon as we got to the hostel,’ I lie easily, devouring my steak like I haven’t seen a piece of meat in months.
‘I did that the first night I got here,’ Joe, Mac’s Canadian hostel friend, comments around a puff of cigarette smoke. I glance between the two and wonder if there’s anything there. Joe’s cute in the nerd-trying-to-be-bad-boy type of way, but the smoking puts me off entirely. I thank my lucky stars Leo is one of those weird Europeans who doesn’t smoke, so our kisses always taste like lemon and the remnants of too much alcohol. A meal just isn’t complete without half a bottle of something.
‘How long have you been here?’ Leo asks, pilfering a slice of my steak and stuffing it into his mouth.
I fork a bite of his salmon and we have a silverware battle as Joe answers, ‘Three days. I leave tomorrow.’
Leo gets one more bite of steak before I concede defeat. ‘Us too.’
‘That’s why we’re doing a bar crawl tonight,’ Mac jumps in. ‘You’re coming right?’
‘How much is it?’
‘We’re coming,’ Leo interrupts, shooting me a look that says wanting to know how much things cost is just rude.
I raise my brow and turn back to Mac. ‘Sorry, I didn’t hear that number. Someone interrupted.’
‘It’s—’
‘Rai,’ Leo warns in that voice he sometimes gets when he wants to coral me.
In response, I slap a hand over his mouth and smile at Mac. Leo covers my hand with his and nips at the fleshy part of my palm. ‘You were saying.’
She smiles, shakes her head at us and gives me the price.
‘You’re kidding.’ My eyes bulge. ‘For what?’
‘Not sure. The flyer’s in Italian.’
Leo nips my palm again, harder this time. I remove my hand.
‘Well, when in Rome.’ I’d been wanting to use the phrase all day.
Mac laughs and throws up her hands. ‘Right! When in Rome. This is like the best time to say it too.’
‘Super appropriate.’
We laugh as Joe finishes off his cigarette and Leo his fish. Twenty minutes later, we pay the bill and walk around the neighborhood. There’s still a few hours until the bar crawl so we hit up a delicatessen and buy things that look too good to pass up. We follow it with coffee, gelato, and a bit of strolling before we all head back to the hostel to change.
‘See you in thirty minutes?’ Mac asks.
I swallow as Leo’s hand curves around my ass. ‘Make it an hour.’
***
The bar crawl turns out not to be a real crawl, but two bars far from each other. We hop off the train to spot a guy who waves us over and begins leading us through winding streets and down the stairs of an Irish pub. The irony isn’t lost on me.
‘Yo
u get free drinks for the first hour,’ the bouncer says, taking our money and letting us pass.
It’s sweltering hot with no room to move, let alone breathe. Mac, Joe, Leo and I grab our drinks and squeeze past people to the back of the bar where a few tables are set up. I spot four chairs at a table with two people and I easily walk up to the pair and ask if we can sit.
‘Of course,’ the woman says in accented English.
We all take seats and introduce ourselves. Signe and Valter tell us they’re from Sweden and I have a moment of panic when Leo says he’s Finnish. There’s a bit of humourus jabbing, but nothing that raises red flags. The conversation inevitably turns to what we all are doing in Italy, especially Leo and me.
‘We met in Ireland,’ he explains, slinging an arm around my shoulders in that possessive way I lo—like. Like a lot.
‘I was going backpacking through Europe,’ I chime in, ‘And he decided to join.’
‘Just like that?’ Signe asks.
‘Pretty much,’ I say around a sip of my gin and tonic. ‘We’ve been together for what? Four weeks now?’
‘Just about.’
‘Wow. That’s so cool. I could never do something that . . . spontaneous.’
What she wants to say is crazy, impulsive, dangerous. My smile pulls tight and I draw deeper on my drink until I’m sucking in air.
Holding up the empty plastic cup, I rattle the ice inside. ‘I’m grabbing another drink before our hour is up. Any takers?’ Mac offers to come and Valter and Leo pass me their cups with a hopeful smile and a drink order.
We shuffle out, two at a time and grab the empty cups. The crush has worsened since we’ve been sitting and I literally have to rub against several inconveniently placed men to get to the bar.
‘Fucking pigs,’ Mac says, flagging down the bartender to order.
I stare at the row of leering Italians who thrust at the next girl squeezing by. They make lewd gestures as she finally makes it away and hits the bar with us. Her lips pull tight and we share a commiserating grimace.
Our drinks arrive, and Mac and I walk back, but not before some asshole grabs my butt. I jump, spilling the drinks. ‘Oh no you did not just touch my ass,’ I seethe, looking behind me at one of two men who could have done it.
The one on the right waves and says something in Italian before switching to English when I don’t respond. ‘Bella, you need a man to make you smile. I make you smile big con il mio cazzo.’
His friends laugh crudely while I stare down my nose at him. ‘How small’s your dick got to be for you to act like this much of an asshole. Baby carrot?’
The laugher cuts out abruptly as I make my way past the men and to my group. But just as I’m approaching the table a hand bands around my arm, yanking me to a halt. It’s the same, stupid, small dicked asshat. ‘You will see how big my dick is, cagna.’
Leo’s between us on my next inhale, shoving the man hard. The Italian stumbles into a pool table while Leo shoots him a death glare. ‘The hell’s wrong with you? You don’t grab a woman.’
The Italian rights himself and takes a step toward Leo, his rubbing buddies moving behind him. He spits something in Italian that Leo apparently understands. If anything he tenses further and takes a menacing step toward the man. ‘Call her that one more time, and I swear I’ll strappare il vostro cazzo di lingua fuori.’
Maybe I’m supposed to melt or blush, but I’m mortified. I will not be that girl. Slamming down the nearly empty drinks, I step between the men and look at Leo. ‘You, go sit. And you,’ I whirl on the Italian, jabbing a finger at his pudgy, sweaty chest. ‘Leave. Now. Or I call my uncle, Barack Obama, and make sure you never set foot in the U.S., watch another American movie, or even look at another American girl.’
He looks down at me, trying to see if I’m bullshitting. When I whip out my phone, he finally moves away. The room’s gone quiet, but picks up with far more noise when I sit down. Mac’s looking at me like I’ve grown another head. ‘Obama? Aren’t you Moroccan?’
I hold up my hand. ‘I’ve been mistaken for Black, Latino, and Native American.’
‘I can’t believe that worked.’
‘How many more times do you think I could do it before getting caught?’
Josephina
- 17.10.2021
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