“You ain’t shit, you know I thought you meant that I’d get drunk,” I told him, as I walked slowly over to where he was seated. He laughed again as he continued, rubbing his lips. Buddha looked at me as if I was about to be his dessert, but I wanted him to be mine first.
Standing between his open legs, I looked down at my very handsome husband. He sat there looking all fine in the exact robe I wore, compliments of the hotel. His hair was still a little damp from his shower, touching the tops of his shoulders. Placing my palms flat on his upper thigh, I leaned into him and placed a very suggestive kiss on his mouth.
Wasting no time, Buddha immediately went for between my legs, slipping his fingers inside of me, as his tongue plunged into my mouth.
“No, no, no, this is my show,” I slapped his hand away. Reaching for the elastic band around his wrist, I used it to tie my hair up and away from my face.
“Ssss,” He hissed, as I boldly reached inside his robe and began stroking his erection. Up and down, slow at first, and then I picked up the pace. Never breaking eye contact, I got on my knees and then shoved his dick in my mouth.
“Oh, fuckkk, yeah, just like that…suck it just like that,” Buddha encouraged me, holding my face while lifting his hips as he pumped his dick in and out of my mouth. I was gagging, choking, eyes watering, saliva coating my chin and his lap, but I kept going. Buddha’s length and girth took some time to get used to as I deep-throated his dick down the back of my throat.
“The fuck are you doing? You trying to make me cum?”
“Ahhhh,” I cried out in pain as he grabbed a fistful of my hair and dragged me up from the ground. Buddha stood up and roughly opened my robe, taking it off and dropping it to the floor.
“You trying to make me cum before I could bury my dick in this pussy,” as he spoke, he led us over to bed and then with one quick shove threw me on top of the covers. This was about to be animalistic as fuck I could already tell.
“Oh, my God!” I screamed when he lowered himself on top of me and entered me in one smooth motion.
With a fistful of my hair in his grasp. His body pressed into mine so much that no air could pass between us. Buddha pumped in and out of me, his mouth against my ear as I heard him breathing in short gasps.
“Whose pussy is this?” he asked, tightening the grip on my hair. I knew it should hurt, but somehow it felt so fucking good.
“It’s yours,” I answered as he continued slamming into me.
“No, no, no. Say this is my husband’s pussy,” Buddha corrected me. “Whose pussy is this?”
“It’s my husband’s pussy. This is my husband’s pussy,” I said, feeling my stomach tense up as he began hitting a spot. Tears formed in the corners of my eyes as I wrapped my legs around his waist. Making our union closer and more intense.
“Yeahhh, this is myfuckingggpussy,” Buddha said, before sinking his teeth into my shoulder. A single drop of water rolled out of my eye as I orgasmed. Grabbing Buddha’s waist as my body convulsed.
Buddha kissed me deeply as his strokes picked up. I could tell he was about to cum. This man right here was exactly where I wanted to be.
*****
“This cheese tastes like ass,” I wrote the caption as I sent Buddha the picture of a cheese called Puzzone.
“We need to have a talk about whose ass you ate because it sure wasn’t mine.” The text I received from Buddha made me laugh. I placed my phone in my jeans pocket as I listened to the tour guide.
The tour had been so much fun. There were only five of us, other Americans, and we were having the time of our lives with our tour guides named Marcelo and Enzo. Marcelo was older, maybe in his late forties, and Enzo was a younger man, maybe in his early twenties, very handsome, with smooth caramel skin, which made me realize he was biracial. One thing was certain: Italian men sure loved black women.
Enzo’s English was good enough; he did most of the talking, and he spoke with a heavy Italian accent. Marcelo, I could tell his English wasn’t very good, which was why Enzo gave the history lessons. Next up was the vineyard, and then we would go to Florence, where Buddha planned on meeting me. Hesaid he would take me to a famous pizza restaurant. Even though I was looking forward to it, I was very tired from last night. Buddha kept me up late, and I was low-key looking forward to getting back to the hotel so I could sleep.
At the vineyard, we participated in something calledvendemmia, a famous grape harvest where you can crush grapes with your bare feet. Enzo encouraged each of us to climb in barefoot and dance around, making good use of our soles to crush the grapes.
By the time we made it to Florence in a very colorful tour bus, I couldn’t wait to meet up with Buddha. He told me he was already in town waiting for me. His father, Francesco, and Luca had gone back to the hotel. Buddha said he would be waiting at the front of the famous cathedral. Of course, I had no clue where that was, so I asked Enzo to direct me. He alerted everyone in the group that they had to meet where we stood and gave a time, so that everyone except me would be back at this spot. The visit to Florence was the only time everyone was allowed to split up and go in different directions to do their own thing.
“Come, I’ll take you to the cathedral,” Enzo said, with his usual warm, friendly smile. I followed him as he led the way, taking in all the sights as I did. Florence was a beautiful city filled with a shitload of tourists like me.
“Thank you for taking this tour. It was nice meeting you,” Enzo made small conversation as he walked me to the cathedral.
“It was so much fun. You and Marcelo are great tour guides. Have you lived in Italy all your life?”
“Si, but my mamma lived in America once,” Enzo said. I was surprised by this, but I guess that explains his English, even though it wasn’t perfect.
“Oh wow, that’s pretty dope,” I said, keeping an eye out for Buddha as we got closer to the cathedral.
“Dope,” Enzo repeated and then laughed. “My mamma has a small cafe not far from the cathedral, maybe you can go in and have a pastry.”
