My Italy Trip - Day 4 - March 6 - Venice

Monday morning arrives. No work today and I’ve been released, at least temporarily, from my duties. To tell the truth I released myself by simply telling the office that I won’t be in for a few days. It’s good to be the queen.

The first thing I see when I wake up is Vanya lying on her back, arms above her head, in perfect peaceful sleep. Her nipples are pointing at the ceiling and they’re erect. She must be having a lovely dream. It is cold too though. Either way I can’t resist and I straddle her, holding her arms where they are, then I take a nipple between my teeth and flick it with my tongue. Her breathing gets faster and a little sound escapes her lips. She’s not awake but she’s digging what I’m doing. I realise she is awake though when her pusy begins rubbing against my thigh. Her slow grazing is rewarded by a nip on the nip. She just rubs harder, the dirty bitch.

Breakfast is simplicity. Vanya, naked, sipping grapefruit juice and munching on, almost burnt to a crisp, toast. Me, also naked, sipping tea that I found hidden deep, deep in V’s kitchen cupboard, and devouring, not quite so blackened, toast.

We tease and laugh and play until it’s almost time to hit the road for Venice. Showered and dressed, finally, the shower took a while, we swing by my hotel and grab my stuff, let Rodney know where I’m off to, and split.

There’s not much space in V’s car for my things. Italian sports cars are cute but they’re not built for luggage. Anyway, it got us to Venice real quick, in time for lunch. She wants to take me to a café she loves then she wants to introduce me to her dad. She says he loves English chicks and we can go out on his boat. He’s some kinda Baltic guy, Slovenian or something, with some business that lets him live in Venice. She reckons she told me all about it last night and I even put something on the blog about it, but who knows? I was kinda drunk.

We arrive in Venice, or rather Mestre that’s like the mainland bit of Venice, ditch the car and take the train across. No drama. It only takes a little while and when we get over the bridge, we leave the train and grab a water taxi to V’s place.
By the time we drop our bags off at her place and she finishes ordering the staff about, bossy bitch, it’s time to grab some lunch.

Lunch is just perfect, outside, a little chill but it’s right on the Grand Canal so we can relax and watch the water taxis and ferries going past. Vanya tells me a little more about her father. He’s got some kinda business she can’t exactly explain and, although it’s mostly in Eastern Europe, he spends most of his time here. He must have a pretty good organisation if he can run it remotely. V. ain’t telling and I ain’t asking. Some things you just don’t push. Anyway, what she wants to talk about is his boat. It’s some kind of big thing that he likes to take out into the Med. and have parties with friends and friends of friends. Well, yknow what’s what.

Something refreshing about V. is that she is so down-to-earth. She tells me that she’s not always invited to parties on the boat coz her father likes to take chicks out and fuck ‘em, usually in groups. I don’t want to tell her but he sounds like a sleaze. I’ve met so many guys like that. Old guys with bags of dosh who think they can fuck anyone they want coz they’re rich. Those arseholes aren’t exactly thin on the ground. London’s full of em. Well, if that’s what he thinks I’m about then he can think again. Sure, I’ll go on his boat but he better watch himself. Lucy doesn’t take any shit. If I want to fuck, I’ll fuck, otherwise, hands off.

Lunch takes longer than we expect but what a lovely way to spend an afternoon. I find I’m starting to really feel something for Vanya. Maybe it’s the fact that she’s strong. I like strong women and she’s around thirty, so older than me too. Something else I like. There’s a part of me that wants to be taken care of by someone who’ll take charge. It’s not always there but when it is, it consumes me. I touch her hand and she first looks down at it, then into my eyes. Her eyes give me the answer better than words could have. She’s into me too, maybe more than she expected. A chance meeting in a club doesn’t usually leave you with much afterwards.

So, lunch finished, we head on down to where V’s father’s boat is berthed. Christ, she wasn’t lying. This boat is big. I’ve been on a few boats in my time but this is bigger than those. It’s gotta be at least sixty feet. Well, I guess it’s not so huge but standing on the jetty beside it, it seems enormous. No wonder the chippies are impressed. To some chicks the sniff of dollars is more than enough to open their legs. Takes a bit more than a big wallet to move me though.

I’m still admiring this great piece of marine architecture and teasing V., who’s doing her best to look cool and urbane, the perfect Euro ice-queen, when a guy comes out of the boat’s rear doors. He’s tall, about fifty or so, maybe a little more, dressed in a light, casual linen suit, no tie, wearing sunglasses, and talking into a mobile phone. He finishes his conversation and walks over to V. They hug and do the Euro three peck thing, and then he turns to me. He removes his sunglasses and looks directly into my eyes. He turns to V. and asks, in a brusque fatherly manner, if she is going to introduce her friend. Introductions are made. He is, as I suspected, V.’s father. This man is gracious and sophisticated, not the sleazy, womanizing egotist I was expecting at all. His name is Oscar.

Oscar is disappointed that we’ve already eaten and offers us drinks instead. I comment on how impressed I am with his boat and he takes me for a tour. Below decks it sure is palatial. There’s like a full kitchen, big bathroom, some little bedrooms and a really big main bedroom, with its own bathroom attached. Nice. The cook doubles, he tells me, as his cook for home and the boat. The reason why he’s disappointed is that the cook had prepared lunch for all of us. Oscar hates waste and gets the cook to bundle up all the food and asks him to take it down to one of the churches. They’ll be able to use it. Cool guy.

As the afternoon gives way to evening, V. informs me that she has some business to see to, for her father, over in Mestre; and she must leave. Oscar mentions that he’s taking the boat out for a little party tonight and I’d be welcome to join him and his guests. I look at V. and try to read her eyes. Was this a setup? As she stands to leave I follow her to the gangway and challenge her. She assures me that it was not planned. She really does have business to do and it may take quite a few hours. I don’t have to stay for the party if I don’t want to. There are plenty of things to do in Venice at night and her father wouldn’t be offended if I left she tells me. I guess it could be fun and I’m not normally one to miss a party. Why not? Take it as it goes and just enjoy the cool evening air and the company of strangers.

Vanya and I kiss and she walks down the gangway and into the night. I turn back to Oscar who is holding his glass aloft and smiling.

We sit and talk for a while until I realise I’m dressed for a party. It’s now seven o’clock and the party begins at nine-thirty so I have time to do a little shopping. Many of the stores are closed but, with a few phone-calls, Oscar manages to have a few stay open longer for me. So I go off in search of a party dress and some nice shoes, and a little bling.

At the first store I’m met by one of Oscar’s house staff who, I am told, will take my things back to the house so I don’t need to carry them back to the boat when I change into the party things. I could get used to this. Back home I don’t have a staff. I prefer my little flat and my independence. All that hassle looking after a big house and a staff. Not my thing really. Besides, I’m on the go so much that the flat is all I need.

The first store is the cutest little boutique. Some of the things are a bit over-styled, and some are WAY over-styled, but I find a little dress with pretty flowers in a light, washed, floral pattern. It’s like a cross between Laura Ashley and a Japanese minimal kinda print. It comes to halfway up my thighs, tight in at the waist and spaghetti straps above a curving neckline that shows enough of my cleavage to be interesting.

Shoes are next and I immediately find a pair of pale green Prada pumps, one of my faves that go perfectly with the dress. Then, on to the jewelers for the topping. The have a lovely little watch with a teensy leather strap and long, narrow plain face. Ideal. I scan the display cases and see a necklace, fine white gold with a little half-carat diamond in a tiny setting. Minimal seems to be the theme for this evening. I’m ready to change then realise I’ve not gotten a bag. Another phone-call and, like magic, a bag place is suddenly opened right nearby. Fortunately for me, the owners live above the shop and not way over in Mestre. I quickly locate a little clutch that matches my shoes and I’m finished. I need to change clothes though, and I love this about Italians, they offer their place upstairs for me to get changed. Much kissing and thank-you’s later I’m on my way back to the boat and Nina, the housekeeper, is headed back, with my things, to Oscar’s, and Vanya’s, house.

When I arrive back at the boat there are a few people visible at the rear. They are holding drinks and chatting. I don’t see Oscar immediately but then he comes out of the salon with a bottle in his hand. As I totter up the gangway in my heels Oscar comes over and, taking my arm, he leads me over and introduces me to his guests. I’m assured that we’ll be under way shortly, as soon as one more couple arrives, which they do even as he says it. In all, there are three couples, Oscar and myself. Two couples are Italian, Ernesto and Maria, and Paolo and Myra. The other couple is Indian. I can only remember their short names, Vee and Sally. A signal from Oscar to the boat’s captain and we’re off, into the Meditteranean.

Dinner is a noisy and congenial affair. Wine flows and pasta and salads are trooped out of the kitchen. I feel a little out of place in some of the conversations because I am twenty-five and the others range, I would guess, from early forties up to late fifties. They mostly talk about business but I’m able to chat about fashions, business is for work, with Maria and Myra. Sally seems more interested in listening intently to every word her husband is saying, only commenting when she is asked for her opinion, which is very rarely. As dessert arrives, and more wine is consumed, things are more relaxed and talk turns to less serious topics. Vee mentions Sally’s imminent breast enlargement surgery. He insists that they need to be bigger and to poor Sally’s obvious embarrassment, he unhooks her halter-top and drops it to reveal his wife’s body, naked to the waist. He takes a hold of her breast and squeezes it. “You see,” he says “She has hardly a good handful.” Then Sally laughs and says to Vee, “It’s not my breasts you’re most interested in anyway, is it?” The others join in the laughter and the mood lightens a little. Oscar suggests we move into the salon, a chilly wind having whipped up, so we pick up our drinks and go inside.

Sally hasn’t bothered to lift her top back up and the men, livened up by the sight of Sally’s breasts and not an inconsiderable amount of alcohol, suggest all the women drop their tops. Myra, Maria and I exchange uncertain glances but then shrug, why not? It’s becoming obvious that we women are showpieces at this evening’s party and I’m curious to see how these older people enjoy themselves in this setting.

Maria is roundly admired for her very large breasts. Vee can’t take his eyes off them. Myra is similar to me, although her nipples are much bigger than mine. Well, of course I pipe up and suggest that we girls have had to drop our tops, then why not the men? They confer and then say no, they are men and want the women to be the ones who strip. “Sexist bastards!” I think. The wives show no sign of being upset and just smile at their respective spouses. Now I get the picture fully for he first time. We are more than showpieces, we are regarded as women in the old-fashioned sense.

I go over to Oscar and tell him quietly that I am not impressed with this behaviour. He chuckles a little and says, in a whisper, “Oh, I am so sorry. The theme of this party is the whore wife. I didn’t tell you?”
“No…” I say “…but it might have been nice to be told and besides, I’m not your wife.”
“You can be for the evening if you’d like” he says with a small smile.

I look around at the others and think that it might be fun after all. It’s just that I hate people making assumptions about me.

Oscar briefly explains what happened and the others all apologise and offer to leave. Just their being concerned and offering to go is enough for me and I tell them that everything is fine and I’ll be happy to be a part of their game.

The other women, having pulled up their tops, now drop them again. We are all now asked to stand and remove the rest of our dresses. Sally is first on her feet and her dress falls to the floor, revealing red, satin knickers. Myra and Maria follow suit, and stand in their respective cobalt blue thong and pink lace knickers. I stand last and drop my dress to reveal no knickers at all. My bald pussy startles the seated men, although they certainly don’t seem displeased. Oscar, especially, gives me an appreciative glance. I’m warming to him. Restrained and respectful, he’s not the sleaze I’d thought he would be.

My fellow wives are told to remove their knickers. Sally’s pussy is as bald as mine while Myra’s thatch of hair is heroic in its bushiness. Maria’s is trimmed into a neat triangle and is quite pretty. She can’t be less than fifty.

Things heat up more when the men take out their cocks and we’re told to suck them. As I take Oscar in my mouth for the first time I find him already quite hard and long, at least eight inches. Half a minute of so passes and we’re told that we’re not taking them deep enough and we’re to take them all the way. It’s ok for Myra and Sally, their husbands are quite small, but poor Maria and I. Eduardo, from what I can tell, is close to Oscar’s length. Maria has obviously done this before. She opens her mouth wider and after two or three attempts, takes Eduardo’s cock down her throat, all the way to the root. Not to be outdone I clear my thoughts, concentrate in opening my throat as much as possible and in one movement, I slide Oscar’s dick all the way down. We all suck for a few seconds longer then the order comes to swap. “Huh?” I think “I didn’t think this was gonna happen.”

Oscar explains so all can hear. We are to go to the cock to our right and suck it, then at the order, change to the next one to the right. It’s predictable I guess that, these being businessmen, they’ll do things in an ordered way. I like a little more chaos in an orgy but some part of me really digs being told what to do, especially by older men. One of my little fetishes I guess.

So there we are sucking and the men aren’t cumming. Pretty good for any guy really. Not blowing my own horn, so to speak, but I am very good at sucking cock. A guy usually doesn’t last long with me unless I want him to. Well, we’re sucking and I’m doing Paolo, last in the line when the call comes.

Each woman has to take the lube, one each, on the table and lube our arse, then go to our husband and sit on his cock. We have to fuck him hard until we hear “Change!” and move onto the next husband. I like this bit. You probably know from before that I love having my arse fucked so I’m fucking Oscar’s cock so hard that I can hear him grunting behind me from the effort and when the order comes, I get right onto Eduardo’ cock and fuck him just as hard as I had Oscar. Vee has a short cock but really, really thick. I don’t get the penetration I love with him but OMG, I get stretched a lot. By the time I get to Paolo, my arse is so loose that I just slide right down onto his short, thin cock and it’s not much fun for either of us, I’m sure, although he seems to be liking it.

Next is our pussies. Same thing again and this time I make Eduardo cum. He tries to hold back but I fuck him so good that he can’t control himself. His face turns red and he grabs my arse so hard when he cums that he leaves nail marks in my skin. I bleed a little but it takes me over the edge and I cum as well, bathing his cock in a flood of juice.

When all the men have cum and we’ve been ordered to clean them up with our mouths, we’re told to get down on the floor and perform for them. I go right for Sally and pull her legs apart. I’ve not been with an Indian woman before so this will be fun. Of course all of our cunts are still full of cum from the men but we’re ordered to lick and suck it out, then bring the woman we’re with to an orgasm before moving to the next one, to the right as always.

Sally was with Oscar last in our little musical cocks game so I get to taste Oscar’s cum. He’s a cigar smoker and I can taste a little bitterness in his cum. Still it’s quite thick for a man his age and creamy. I’ve heard that a guy’s cum gets really thin with age. Still, I guess fifty, or whatever he is, isn’t that old. Myra makes me cum the hardest. She is too skilful with that tongue to be an amateur. She’s done this before and more than once or twice. It’s like a dream and the air is filled with the sound of women cumming, some loudly, some, like Sally, a little whimper followed by a long sigh. While we’re doing this, I notice that the men are in a circle around us and they’re wanking. So, while us girls are licking each other’s cunts, we are being showered with cum from the men.

At the end we’re kissed individually by each of the men and sent off to clean up. They then shower and, as couples, we all go to our separate bedrooms. Oscar makes this slightly awkward moment easier by taking my hand and leading me to the master bedroom. “You can come with me.” He says.

I don’t know if he’d been taking Viagra but we made love all the rest of the night, falling asleep at what I think was around four o’clock. I felt his tongue on my pussy for the first time and he was so good. I’ve now widened my net. He told me, when I asked, that he was fifty-five years old. I learned something tonight. Never make assumptions. He was one of the best fucks I’ve ever had.