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Italian Stories

Love on a Train -- John's Story

They sat at the opposite end of the compartment, chattering in Italian, laughing constantly. The dark one glanced at me occasionally. Once she turned to me and licked her lips rather provocatively while her partner went on and on. I wondered whether it was some kind of sign. I couldn't follow the Italian, so I settled back and did the next best thing: I stared at the dark one's legs.

Every once in a while she glanced at me, grabbing the hem of her skirt and jiggling it so it rode higher on her thighs, her eyebrow raising at the same time. It was a sign. Then she tilted her head toward me, interrupting her partner. They both stared at the lump in my pants and giggled.

"We are painting each other, all over the place in Italy" the tall one said in a thick accent, still giggling just a little.

"Naked," the dark one added.

They turned and looked at each other for a second as if looking for an answer to a question unasked. Then they broke into a laugh and the tall one turned to me. "We like to be naked in the woods. See? We are not wearing anything underneath." she said, reaching over and lifting the dark one's skirt as if it were the most natural thing in the world to do. A very dark, bushy mound covered the pink slit that she revealed to me by slowly opening her legs. Her skin was the color of a crayon I remember from my youth. Was it Burnt Umber? Or perhaps Sienna? It glowed with that waxy glow that crayon's give when you press hard and are left with a smear of deep, lush color.

She ran a hand through the forest of kinky hair, teasing evidently both of us, while lifting a leg and slithered a foot between the long, slender thighs of the tall one, who guided it into herself with an artist's firm hand. "She never forgets me, even when she is pleasuring herself," said the tall one, turning to steal a glance at the lump tenting my pants. "She does this all the time, even in restaurants. Her feet are soft, and I like the cool feeling of her toes when they wiggle against me."

I couldn't help it. I reached down and stroked myself.

"Come," said the tall one, patting the seat beside her. I hesitated before I slid over. "Luciana has two feet, you know. One for me...and one for you."

I felt the heat from the tall one's body as I slowly slid next to her. Immediately Luciana raised her leg and settled her foot into my lap, slowly tracing the outline of my cock with her big toe. Then she put her foot flat against it and let the slow rumble of the train tantalize my nerve endings.

It must have been quite a site to the people who slid by the door. Both women were covered by their dresses, of course, although I could see up Luciana's. And my cock, although threatening to break the zipper, was secured by my Levis. Alas, nobody bothered us.

I watched the tall one massage the foot that was in turn massaging her clit. After a while she changed her grip slightly and began to hold the foot like a pestle, wrapping her long fingers around the top of it and ramming it slowly but firmly between her legs, her eyes closed, the tip of her tongue just touching her upper lip, head thrown back. Little moans would escape her lips every once in a while. Watching her, I was close to making a stain the size of a basketball in the front of my pants. I pushed Luciana's foot aside for a moment, and felt a strong hand grasp my thigh as the tall one stiffened, her legs angled lewdly apart, her big feet anchored to the seat opposite and a firm hand grasping Luciana's calf, pushing the erotic foot hard into her sex. She rocked for a long while in the seat, panting with exertion then fell limp.

We watched her recover, a smile of bliss etched to her face. Then suddenly Luciana flopped into the seat in front of me and shoved her wet foot toward my nose. "It's Valentina," she announced playfully, and the essence of Valentina did indeed smell sweet. I had to come.

Beside me Valentina shuffled through a box of painting supplies. She brought out a soft brush, the diameter of a thumb, then commenced unzipping me. Luciana jumped forward to be the first to wrestle my erection out of my pants and gave it a lick with the tip of her surprisingly long tongue. Then she grabbed the brush from Valentina, announcing, "special artists technique!" while Valentina, rejected, slouched in her seat.

There was a sharp exchange in Italian before Luciana crouched between my legs and began slowly drawing the brush along the sensitive underside of my penis. "Valentina says it is good to do on a woman, but she's never tried it on a man's thing. Perhaps the brush is too small? Or not rough enough?"

"It's just dandy."

"What is dandy?" she asked as she settled down, her face between my legs, big eyes peeking up from behind my erection, inquiring while still carefully running the silky bristles of brush along the sensitive underside of my cock. While she was waiting for my answer she began taking little licks at my balls while brushing. All I could see was my straining desire bobbing to meet the brush tip and those big dark eyes staring at me over it. Soon she was drawing a testicle inside her warm mouth, gently prodding it with her tongue.

I was on the edge. I couldn't reply. You're dandy, I though, both of you. My cock was about to launch a load that would hit the top of the car but I didn't need to have worried, Valentina reached over and cupped her hand on my belly before the spurting started in earnest.

And it was filled. In fact, her cup runneth over.

Rome
Ah, Roma!

Venice
Love in a Gondola
Anna's Story

Vincenzo's Story

Umbria, the "Green Heartland of Italy."
Love on a Train -- John's Story
Naked in the Woods
Special Artist's Technique

Calabria
Jason's Story
A Jug of Wine and Thou -- Angie's Story