by Lexi Hots
When she could take no more, she tore away from me in a frantic effort not to lose her mind.
“Are you fucking going to take me!” She screamed. I got mad. The audacity. In one swift move, I grabbed her waist and spun her over, I came down on her hard, pressing her body into the bed. Her body stiffened in shock but before she could recover, I grabbed her neck from behind and pressed her face down into the pillow.
“Jas—“, my name caught in her throat when I bludgeoned into her from behind. A quick hard thrust that went all the way in and jolted her still. I withdrew slightly and slammed back in. Her cry was shrill and primal, like a war cry tinged with pleasure. I picked the pace, feeling myself drift from me as her folds rippled and tensed all around me, sheathing and squeezing me as I moved. I doubled over her, thinking of nothing else but punishing this woman, enjoying the way she cracked and arched into me upon each thrust.
We thumped and bumped hard against each other, mindless sex craved animals, until the lights flashed behind my eyes and my body went limp. I crashed onto her and she buckled under my weight.
It was almost a full minute later before we both came to. I rolled off her and collapsed beside her.I looked down at my dick and almost didn’t recognize my organ.It had been sticky down there. I didn’t even know when I came. I turned in the bed and frowned at her. She was staring back at me.
We were both still breathing hard and unmoving. Maybe an hour went by before she finally dragged herself upright in bed.
“I have to go now.”
Outside, a car pulled into our driveway and I knew it was either Finn or Dad, but most likely Finn.
“You’re right.” I gulped.
Story 60
Chapter One
The Sat-Nav barked at me to take the next left onto a wide dirt road that led through rolling Italian hills on which huge groves of lemon trees had been planted. The whole trip had taken me three days of driving, stopping at hostels along the way in Paris and then Milan. But I was finally almost there.
Once I’d got through the traffic and border controls on the Channel Tunnel, the driving had been through beautiful country. Even passing through the dirt and smog of Naples had been offset by the magnificent heights of Vesuvius towering overhead.
The Sat-Nav hadn’t accepted the address my Dad had given me at first. But once I had worked out the right spelling of the villa’s name it had been a straightforward journey down the winding, cliffside roads of the Amalfi coast.
Bruce Hatchem, was a friend of my father’s, and when I had asked around about people I might be able to crash on the couch of Bruce was my dad’s first thought.
‘Great guy,’ my dad had said. ‘We go way back.’ All the usual cliches of middle aged man friendships. They used to be very close until Bruce had retired at thirty-five a couple of years ago to go live as a tax exile in Italy.
I could hardly blame him. The area was gorgeous. As I wound along the coast, the sun shone through cloudless skies and glinted off the smooth surface of the Mediterranean.
Then when the round wound inland, up through the lemon groves, the coastal views had given way to a kind of rustic ideal. I had wanted to get away from Uni for a bit. Spread my wings, learn a little Italian, maybe meet a swarthy goat herd for a holiday fling.
This place was perfect.
Then I saw Bruce’s place. The road doubled back a little ways and as the ridge fell away once more to the ocean the trees opened up and I was on a gravel driveway leading to an idyllic villa with three convertible sports cars out front, Italian. Naturally.
My car was gonna look ridiculous parked alongside those bullet shaped sharks of steel and glass. Still I parked, very carefully, so as not to put a thousand Euro dent in the blood red Maserati, and I hopped out the car.
Bruce was waiting at the door with a big smile on his face.
‘Hiya, Ruth. Perfect timing, I was just firing up the barbecue.’
I had been expecting someone my Dad’s age, but Bruce looked in his late thirties at the very oldest. There was a slight frosting of grey on the temples of his expensive haircut. He wore cotton suit trousers and a shirt, both of which looked custom tailored. He was tall and muscular, with just the beginning of a middle-age softness in the belly.
‘Hey,’ I said, surprised at how shy I sounded. ‘My car alright there.’
‘Yeah, wherever is fine. Let me give you a hand with your bags.’
He hefted my bags with ease. Strong too, was my thought. But I dismissed that immediately.
‘Barbecue sounds great, but don’t go to any trouble for me.’
‘No trouble at all. I don’t often have guests over, but I love to host. It’ll be my pleasure to look after you for a few days.’
We went into the house and I gasped audibly. It was huge. The atrium opened up into a living room with floor to ceiling French windows out the back which looked over a large patio area with swimming pool in it. Beyond that the garden fell away to the cliffs which plunged down into the sea.
‘Your room is over here,’ he said. Taking my stuff over to one of the doors which went off from this main room. ‘Settle in, take your time, I’ll get the food on the go. I got white wine on ice outside. You want anything else, kitchen’s down the hall. Feel free to raid the fridge.’
Then he left me to unpack. The room was huge, with net curtains looking out over the lemon groves. It was dominated by a double bed with a hard wood fourposter canopy overhead. There was even an en suite bath-room with a shower and bath.
This is how you holiday, I thought to myself and began to unpack.
I had a shower to get the smell of the road off of me. The hot water was luxurious and the soaps he had laid out were a wonderful scent. As the water splashed over me, I found myself thinking about Bruce. Me and him alone in this building, anything could happen.
My soapy hands idly played a little with my breasts, teasing my own nipples with slippery fingers. It felt good to imagine they were his hands, but dinner was out there cooking so I rinsed the suds off and made a mental note to finish off what I had started later that evening.
I took longer than usual to dress. I tried a couple of tops but just wasn’t quite happy with any of them. I had brought a few dresses in case I went clubbing but I didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard.
Then I remembered the pool, and with a wicked grin pulled on the bright red one-piece. It was one of those that was more fashionable than practical with a high cut on the hips and a bit more neckline than was strictly safe if one wanted to dive head first into the water and not give the fish an eyeful when the straps pulled off the shoulder.
I grabbed a towel and headed out to join Bruce.
‘Thought you’d make use of the pool while I slave away over the hot coals?’ he asked jokingly.
‘You did say you enjoyed being the perfect host,’ I shot back smiling broadly at him.
I pulled my hair up into a bun so it wouldn’t get too to wet and slipped into the water. I was all made up and so was careful not let me face go below the surface but I did a little breast stroke and some backstroke which shows off my legs beautifully, then swam up to the side and trod wa-ter in the sun for a bit.
‘How’s the water?’ Bruce asked, flipping two massive steaks with tongs. They smelled great.
‘Lovely,’ I called back.
‘You can get down to the beach from here. There’s a slightly terrify-ing set of steps cut into the cliff. But its nicer than going to the public beaches in Sorrento. I swam past some fish nibbling a used condom the first time I went to one. So I stick to the kind of beach that is a little harder for people to get to and trash. Dinner’s up.’
I hopped out of the water and sidled up to the table. He poured me a glass of wine and served up some fresh salad to go with the perfect steak.
Over dinner we chatted a bit, he told me about his life settling into the Amalfi Coast, and asked about my uni course, plans, the usual small talk stuff.
He was fun
ny too, made me almost spit up my wine a couple of times when he landed a punchline right. It was nearly midnight, when he suggested we call it a day.
‘Remind me to take you out on the boat sometime before you go.’
And off I went to sleep, thinking: He has a boat!
Chapter Two
The next day, Bruce drove me down to Amalfi, dropped me off to see the sights and then headed off up the coast to meet his accountant for drinks.
‘Who needs an accountant for their retirement?’ I asked.
He grinned. ‘If you have to ask, you can’t afford it.’
‘That much.’ I raised an eyebrow.
He waved a hand self-deprecatingly. ‘I’ve done alright by myself. Got lucky in a few business ventures. I try to make sure what I’ve got goes to-wards helping people out, the accountant runs a charitable foundation for me.’
‘That’s really sweet of you.’
He looked over at me from behind the wheel of his Aston Martin, tapped the steering wheel, and said, ‘I’m not that generous, it is hardly like I am lacking for anything.’
‘Except a girl, maybe?’ I asked.
He laughed. ‘Sure. For now, except a girl. But money won’t buy you love.’
‘But it’ll rent it by the hour.’ He laughed politely at my very old joke. I took the compliment and left it at that.
After he’d dropped me in town I wandered about for a bit. Looked up St. Andrew’s church and wandered around. I took in the paper market and enjoyed a gelato. Then went down to the harbour and watched the boats of the rich drift in and out on the tide.
I wondered if one of them was Bruce’s. The weather was nice and I drank a cocktail with my salad Caprese. Then I had another. An old man in a nice suit sat down with me and bought me a third and I was able to prac-tice my Italian. He was clearly an old goat, in spite of the wedding ring, but when I politely declined to join him on his boat he was a perfect gentleman and I was able to relax. So many men are assholes once they’ve bought you a drink. I hate to be rude and say no, but I also hate having to keep one eye out for who best to ask for help if he steps over the line.
Perhaps this one was just lonely.
Bruce picked me up in his car shortly afterwards. I was a little tipsy and over chatty as we wound our way back up the coast.
He looked very disapproving of my drinking but said nothing.
I wanted to go for a swim when I got back but he insisted I go to bed with some orange juice and a paracetamol. I was pretty bushed after a full day, so I took his advice in the end and hit the sack, thinking what a perfect gentleman Bruce was compared to all those married arseholes with their free drinks and their sleaze.
In the morning he came in with bacon and scrambled eggs and some more orange juice and paracetamol.
‘Perfect hangover food,’ I said smiling.
‘About that,’ he looked stern, an expression on his face that I’d seen on my own dad’s more than once. The kind of look that says: You are in trouble young lady.
He took a deep breath, perhaps a little awkward because, not having any children of his own he was probably unused to telling a youngster off.
‘I’d rather you didn’t drink anymore while you’re here.’
‘Oh,’ that seemed an oddly puritanical request, after all, he was the one who’d offered me wine on the first day.
‘I’d hate for something to happen while you’re here,’ he continued. ‘The local men can be very… aggressive is probably the word, I guess. I have no idea how I’d explain it to your father if something did go wrong while you were here under my care.’
‘I really don’t think anything is likely to go wrong, just cus I have a couple of cocktails while I’m out.’
‘That’s as maybe. But I am going to have to put my foot down, this is my house. So while you’re here, no drinking.’
‘Noted,’ I said. I raised my right hand to make a Brownie’s salute and placed the other over my heart. ‘I solemnly swear, I will not get drunk again while I am under your roof.’
He laughed. ’Excellent. I have to go into Sorrento for some supplies this morning, but I can take you out on the boat in the afternoon if you like.’ Then he mirrored my salute and added, ‘Promise.’
Damn, I thought. He’s pretty sexy when he smiles.
A few minutes later I heard him pull out of the gravel drive and on the the road, the sports car’s engine roaring through the gears as he pulled out onto the main road.
I luxuriated in bed a little longer until the orange juice and parace-tamol had done their work on my mild hangover. Then I hopped out of bed and grabbed my bikini out of the bag. The weather was good, and I didn’t fancy driving today, so grabbing a bit of sun by the pool seemed an ideal plan.
The black of my swimsuit really showed up how pale I was. I figured that I could probably get away with a half hour or so without sunscreen, just to get the tan started and headed out for the pool.
After swimming a few lengths to clear my head I threw a towel over a lounger and lay back in the sun. The pool was freezing and my skin was covered in goose-pimples, but the sun soon dried me off as I lay there. I checked my watch and read a little of my book, an old Mills & Boon about a rakish older Doctor who seduced a young nurse.
I always imaging myself as the protagonist in stories like that, but was a little surprised to find that I was imagining Bruce as the Doctor. The sun was warm and although my bikini was drying in the heat I could feel it still clinging to me in one place as I read about Doctor Svenson’s muscular body, his throbbing member, and the gentle heat of his kisses as he kissed the nurses naked body.
I was alone in the house and looking around I could see that the pool area was well hidden from the surrounding area. With tentative fingers I pulled the cup of my bikini away from my breast, allowing the warm Mediterranean air to caress it for a moment before I started to caress it myself. I wet my fingers in my mouth and made small circles around my nipple savouring the sensations as a little shimmer of pleasure seemed to emanate from the nerves in my areola and run down my belly.
The muscles of my stomach clenched a little in anticipation.
I read on, imagining Bruce as the Doctor, his white coat open trous-ers down as he kissed me longingly on the examination table. A seagull fluttered over the hedge and landed nearby making me jump and I quickly put the book down and took my hands away from my breasts.
Stop being silly, what if someone came up from the beach or was walking along the cliffs!
Still this was Europe. The brief moment of playing with myself had empboldened me so I took my bikini top off and allowed the sun to warm my breasts. It would be nice, I thought, to avoid tan lines. I pulled the waist of the bikini bottoms up a bit, enjoying the tight way they rubbed against my still excited sex and let them fall in a new way it would at least avoid too sharp a line across my belly.
I lay back and let the sun shine down on my body.
After half an hour or so, I went in to the fridge to find something to cool me down. There was half a bottle of white wine, and not thinking that a single glass could hurt at all I poured a generous portion and topped it up with ice from the freezer.
I drank thirstily, sucking a couple of ice cubes to help cool me down and plunging into the pool a few times to help. This was particularly enjoy-able. Feeling the warm prickle of sweat disappear and the sharp cold water envelope me. I would emerge, nipples hard and sensitive then read a little more not particularly pleasuring myself, but being generous with the con-tact of my hands.
After a while I turned over to ensure an even tan and in that position fell asleep with the sun shining down on me, and the top half of my bikini tossed over the back of the lounger next to me I fell asleep.
The next thing I knew I was awake and a voice was telling me, ‘You’re gonna catch the sun if you’re not careful.’
I nearly jump out of my skin. Lucky I was on my front, I thought. Or he’d have got an eyeful. It is incredible, when you a
re a girl how quickly you can be made to feel vulnerable. Here I was with one of my father’s friends (one who I kind of fancy) standing over me and I couldn’t turn to face him without flashing my breasts at him.
From his voice I could tell he was standing right over me, and that he was smiling at me a little. Probably having a good laugh at the embarrassment I was feeling and which I was sure he could see.
‘Oh, God,’ I said. ‘I’m so embarrassed.’
‘Don’t be.’ He laughed a reassuring laugh that suggested if there was a joke we were both in on it, he wasn’t mocking me. ‘I brought some suntan lotion out. You want me to do you?’
It took me a second to realise he was offering to put sun block on my back, and I laughed a little in relief, surprised that I also felt a little disappointment.
I still couldn’t turn to look at him but I felt his weight on the lounger by my legs and heard the squirt of cream into his hands. He started at my feet. His hands were strong and displayed no hesitation of lack of confidence. Most people worried about touching other people, especially in such a state of undress, worried about implications. Not him. There was no silliness with him only using his fingers. Instead he had a grip on my leg as he slid his hands up rubbing top and bottom with rough strong palms.
I tried not to shiver with pleasure when his hands slipped to the in-side of my thighs and slick with the sun cream massaged my skin and mus-cles. His hands came right up to my bikini line, cupping the very edge of my buttocks and brushing against the seam which guarded my cunt. I hoped he couldn’t feel that I was getting wet again.
Then his hands, thoroughly greased were rubbing oil into my back, pressing down on my muscles and easing tension out. It felt more like a massage.
‘You have great hands. You train as a masseuse,’ I said, expressing my surprised.
‘No, but thank your for the compliment.’ Clearly encouraged by my compliment he took some extra-time to massage my shoulders. Because of where he was sitting, he had to lean forwards, and I could feel his hip press against mine side-to-side. I wished it was face-to-face.