Il Valentino Italiano - Sex Stories

Il Valentino Italiano

... bedroom, where she found herself alone. She took the time to peruse the room; even though she’d been a resident for well over an hour, this was the first opportunity she’d had to examine it. The walls were an off-white, the furniture run of the mill, probably, she surmised, because he looked at the apartment as no more than a pausing of place in his life, not a home. The decorations, however, were more interesting. A photo frame displayed a large family gathered for a meal, Antonio stood behind an older couple, probably his parents. A mahogany tray was filled with cufflinks, two rings and an extravagant pen. An oil on the wall, obviously original, depicted a balcony looking out onto a lake surrounded by alpine mountains, tropical trees in the foreground. The main feature of the room was the picture window opposite the door through which the icy river was displayed. The wooded hills on the opposite side were ivory with the recent snow fall, the trees, even from this distance, were glistening with ice in the light of the late afternoon. It was in this pose Antonio found her, her back to him, naked for all the world to see and yet unashamed of either her nudity or the transgression she and he were committing. “Amore dio, you are beautiful!” Antonio exclaimed. He displayed the tray for her inspection. It contained sustenance for the two of them, three cheeses of varying fawn coloration, fuchsia proscutto, huge crimson strawberries with their tops of jade, two champagne flutes ...

... and a bottle of Santa Margherita proseco, which he uncorked with a flourish. After pouring the wine, he gave a goblet to Teresa and toasted, “Dio la fa, poi li accoppia!” God makes them, then mates them. “Yes,” Teresa agreed, “It does seem that fate conspired today.” Naked together on the bed, they fed each other, not only the food, but also their eyes. They continued their chat about Italy, reviewed highlights such as the capital city of Roma, the tawny hills of Tuscany, the effulgence of the Amalfi coast. After sufficient delicacies were consumed, a refill of wine – and then another – were poured, the couple relaxed sitting on the bed, she between his legs, her back to his chest. This allowed him to play with her body, gently stroke a nipple, nibble at an ear. Curiosity was in the air, the question for both of them, ‘Is this a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence, or shall we continue the dalliance?’ “Your husband,” Antonio asked, “what kind of a man is he?” “It is humorous you should ask. I was just thinking of how excited he would be if he knew I was here with you. Many times he has attempted to arrange an intrigue for me.” “So you have had other affairs?” An impertinent question, yet she was not offended. “Just three, simple bouts of passion. And you, do you have a wife you’ve left behind in Italy?” “A woman who would attempt to live with me would run screaming away,” Antonio confessed. “I left a girl, quite young and formerly a student, in tears when I accepted this assignment, ...