11. Il pene della savana
11
Il pene della savana
The Bush Dick
Bridget
O kay. That feels quite nice. Giovanni’s lips are sliding over my neck. He keeps poking his tongue out though and I'm not quite sure about that. Feels quite… stabby… weird.
As predicted, once Omar left the restaurant Giovanni came over and joined me at the table. He made a big fuss about me being from England, how much he loves England, and how he loves London even more. I tried to explain to him that I'm not from London, but he wasn't listening.
He was funny though. We had a few drinks, we laughed. Well, I giggled and he was mainly telling me how beautiful I am. And how desirable. I know it was all bollocks but I lapped it up all the same. It’s just difficult to resist the charming Italian way.
He moved closer and closer to me until his chair was no longer opposite but next to me. And I didn't stop him when he kissed me. I didn't really want to stop him.
He tasted like wine and something else I couldn't identify. It was a good kiss. And my hormones were like, “Yay, let the sexy time begin!” And so I threw caution to the wind and after I paid, we went for a stroll. But there wasn't really much to see in this part of Milan. So, somehow, we ended up back at my room.
“Are you into kinky stuff?” Giovanni groans against my lips. It sounds much sexier with an Italian accent than if a guy back home said it. Can you imagine a Scouser saying “D'ya like kinky secks, love”? I have to hold back a giggle at the thought. But the Italian accent, well, it just gives women worldwide a metaphorical boner.
Giovanni gives me a wink that doesn’t quite have the same impact that Omar’s winks have—
Woah let’s get him out of my head, right away. I wanted this, didn't I?
I shrug at Giovanni’s question and apparently that means yes here in Italy. He takes my hand and puts it on his back pocket.
“Pull it out,” he whispers in my ear. At first I thought he wanted me to grab his arse, but then I realised he has something hard and metal in his back pocket. Like some metal hoops. What is this?
Giovanni nibbles on my neck again before moaning, “If you like kinky stuff, you're gonna like this.”
Oh jeez is he a pleasure dom as well, like Ben? My friend Amelia met her boyfriend on a BDSM dating app and he turned out to be a pleasure dom. Something I had to google when she told us about it because I’d never heard of it.
“Come on, bellissima ,” he groans in my ear. I’m a little bit concerned about what he has planned but also intrigued, so I reach into Giovanni's back pocket and pull out the metal loops. Handcuffs.
“You like?” he asks and wiggles his eyebrows.
“To be honest, I'm not quite sure how I feel about being handcuffed by a complete stranger,” I mumble. Who the fuck walks around with handcuffs?
“No, no, no, darling. These are for me,” he purrs. I stare at him.
“You want me to tie you up?”
“Yes. I like it. When I'm tied to a bed and the woman… what do you call it? Sucks me off?”
Apparently we are done whispering sweet nothings in my ear and instead we are onto hardcore dirty talk. Is that what one-night-stands are like these days? Maybe I should ask Omar.
I'm still not one hundred percent sure that handcuffs are a normal thing to bring to a hook up but each to their own. There are some niggly doubts in my tummy but my very excited pussy is telling them to bugger off because she wants to have some fun.
Giovanni nibbles my earlobe and my girly bits take notice and definitely want to get into the action. Surely if I give him a blowie I’ll get something in return?
He guides me to the bed before starting to undress himself. I just stand there and gawk at him. I mean, he’s shaped like a Greek god, Roman god—well, some deity. Defined muscles, sprinkled with dark hair, leading down to—oh, a moderately sized, hard cock sticking out from a bushy nest of hair. That's all I can call it. This god is one hairy beast down there. I have to bite my lip to not giggle because it does look funny. Like a giraffe lifting his head out of the bushes on the Savannah.
Giovanni takes my hesitation as shyness. He reaches for my hand and slides it over his dick. “Like this darling,” he whispers in my ear.
Ohh thanks, you twerp. I'm only 44 years old. I think I do know how to touch a man. I want to tell him that but then he nibbles on my neck again. And I love that so much that I moan loudly.
Eventually he crawls onto the bed and lies down on his back. He lifts his arms above his head close to the headboard and whispers seductively, “Tie me up, darling.”
Right. Let's get this over with. I feel a bit weird when, fully dressed, I restrain a naked god to the bedframe, but here we are. The handcuffs are simple ones without a lock, you just press a button to undo them. Friends of mine gave me similar ones as a as a joke for my birthday one year. I tried to get my ex to use them on me but he wasn’t interested.
“Right, darling? Suck me off!” Giovanni demands after the handcuffs click shut.
Alright, let’s do this. Maybe I should have asked him first what I’ll get in return. But when in Rome… or when in Milan—
I start to kiss my way slowly downwards but he just urges me on to go straight for the target. As I slide my lips over his cock, he groans. I mean, I guess the good thing with him being tied up is he can't push me down, right? Although I’m not sure there would be much of a risk of gagging on the bush-dick.
Apparently a fully dressed English woman licking his cock really does it for the Italian god because it doesn’t take very long for him to cry out and spew—without warning I would like to point out—his funky tasting spunk into my mouth. It tastes odd and for a second I keep it there, curious to find out what the taste reminds me off, until I realise what the fuck I’m doing and swallow hard to get rid of it.
“That was wonderful, darling,” he sighs. I don't think I can say the same with that taste still lingering in my mouth. I wonder if there is a way I can get some water without him feeling offended.
I unclick his handcuffs and drop onto the bed next to him hoping to get something in return. “Thank you, darling.” Giovanni gives me a quick peck on the lips before sliding off the bed and pulling his trousers back on.
“Are you leaving?”
“It's late.”
“What about me?” I blurt out. My pussy is joining into the protest.
“Ohh. Umm. I'm tired now.”
“So you mean you got what you wanted and you don't need to return anything?”
“Ah, darling, next time,” he says before waving one last time and sneaking out of my room.
Well, thanks for nothing you twat. We both know there isn’t going to be a next time. He and his bush-dick can go and fuck themselves as far as I'm concerned.
For a second I wonder if I should just take things into my own hand, so to speak. But I’m not really in the mood anymore. I stare at the handcuffs that he left behind in his hasty retreat.
So much for having some fun in Italy. I just hope the next bush-dick will find his way inside me.