Gain Access to Member Area


Signup for the free Bronze membership (it takes 20 seconds), which gives you access to not only the full 15,000+ story library, but also the exclusive member area with lots of cool features like: Voting on stories, Bookmarking stories, searching for stories, reccommended stories, member forums, profiles and much more!.

 
Click here to create your free account

 

 

Story Info

Posting Date 2010-08-03 22:10:27
Author Lynridskinrid
Title Monza weekend
Category fell in love
Where it happend Monza
Age then 26
Age now 26
Gender FEMALE
Viewed 116
Story Length 2352
Status
Rating

(4 votes / 33 points)

Rate this story

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

Bookmark this story! View Authors Profile!
Send comments to Author. View Authors BookMarks
Report this story to the admin!

Back to latest search results

Monza weekend

Share

So we all get bright ideas and I thought the one I relate here was a good one. I have been busy for the last few weeks and my Fiancé has been sent to spend four weeks looking at concrete, a really enthralling job. He loves it and as it is a Railway bridge he is working on not enough cement is equal to a lot of dead people.

The contractor has three people from Peter’s employer there watching the workforce and making sure that there is cement in the concrete mix. This arose after they had to destroy a pillar due to the amount of sand in the mix.

The Italian workforce is supplemented with a large contingent of Albanians and some guys who he thinks are Serbs or Croats, they have both, and they seem to hate each other, although Peter has not found a way to tell one from the other.

He is stuck in a room at a Hotel 20 km from the City and 25 km from the Airport. Weekends he reported bouts of terminal boredom, and blames himself. When their manager asked, “Who can speak Italian? “, Peter the silly fool said, “I can, fluently, why? “. I am at a company in Manchester , and Marka set me thinking , Instead of coming back to London for the weekend , I , obviously starved of affection and longing for a conversation with younger people , should travel to surprise my special guy .

Three of my work colleagues and my eldest sister, counselled me against it lest I should discover something that I would be hurt by. I know my man, and he wouldn’t be doing anything untoward. Mother shook her head in disapproval and caution, but hey, the Flybe Manchester to Milan beckoned.
Thursday’s train journey found my overnight bag heavier than usual, and the work clothes were in a suit carrier that I left in Tim’s Room. IT Guys don’t seem to worry about their surroundings as long as the broadband is free and connects. We have also made some of our most interesting discoveries over a cup of coffee with the security guard at six AM on a Sunday morning, and Tim was determined to spend the weekend looking at databases.

I neglected to think ahead and found the Flybe flight lands at the second Milan Airport, so I added to the expense of the weekend and walked to the Hertz desk. My Italian is poor to say the least, but “signora we have no group A, or B cars “started to sound like a confidence trick. Armed with a Fiat Marea, I left the desk, and fiddled with the controls, which seemed to make the mediocre even less interesting.
Luckily Bergamo airport is on the Monza side of Milan so I had an easy journey to the hotel along the E64 Autostrada. I missed the turn off but managed to get to the Hotel via the Monza Park, I was tempted to turn into the park, but thought that Hertz may not like a Fiat Marea hired to me flying around the Monza circuit.
According to Peter, they didn’t get back to the Hotel until after six PM, so I had hours. My Italian is awful as I stated previously but the receptionist had a great command of English. I explained who I was, and she let me put my bag into Peter’s room.” Signora “she shouted as she illicitly let me into the room. She held up my photograph turned to face the bed, as it sat framed on the bedside cabinet. There were smudges on the glass, the receptionist giggled, as she mocked the obvious kissing that had gone between my image and my lover. “Signora, he is so romantic, maybe he has Italian blood,”
I sat in the bar and was sipping a soda water when she came across and kneeled beside me with a plot. She loaned me a headscarf and some huge sunglasses, the Bulgari Swarovski that I was wearing would, according to my fellow conspirator be a giveaway. I changed the soda to a Bombay Sapphire gin, being surprised to see it here, and poured the Schweppes slim line tonic into the glass

I heard the doleful tones of my betrothed about six fifteen, and I heard the receptionist; in her native language tell him that the contractor had arranged a young lady to be company for him for the weekend. She directed him to me and he was somewhat irritated.
He kept chanting “ Ho Una fidanzata “ , and in a mixture of annoyance and anger basically told me to leg it . I was still engrossed in the magazine , of which I had resorted to looking at pictures , due to the intelligibility of the written word . He was getting angry , but suddenly stopped , and grabbed my leg . He was staring at it , dirty bastard is looking up my skirt , I thought .“ So did the signora get her knee scarred after fighting with a horse as well “ he asked in English .
I was revealed by the crescent mark on my knee caused by a stupid horse ejecting me at an early age into a barbed wire fence . The wire removed the skin from my kneecap and left the cap exposed , It was flapped back over and tidied up in two operations , well before my teens , and a passing stranger would not notice the pale pink line where the skin rejoined. I have had a distaste for Horse ever since , and would export the whole genre to Belgium where it is still regarded as a low fat substitute for beef . I only drive the Horsebox out of loyalty to my mother , who at seventy is not really a great heavy truck driver .

I dropped the book , and he pulled me from the chair , then locked himself against my face in a kiss that required oxygen to sustain .
“ What are you doing here ? “ he asked . Well I could have said the sex website where I write stories had this nice guy from New York telling me I needed male company , but I decided that there is too much fantasy in the world , and told him that I actually fancied a pizza , so thought I would fly to Italy to get one . That is a far more believable story . Nice Guy ? New York ? No ! Too much , stick to the imagination .

He held me close , and I could feel a hidden bone in his trousers stiffening as he squashed against me , dirty bastard , If I don’t drag him to the room there will be a moment of lobby embarrassment . He showered and changed , and led me to a small local restaurant , where his work group were already gathered . We made the introductions and the owner found us a table for two away from the madding raucous crowd , rejoicing in two days rest from relentless twelve hour day shifts .

In my rush for the plane I had arrived in a short black dress with stockings and shoes that my grandmother would wear , but had found time to slip in to Monza town , shortly after my arrival . there were dozens of fashionable shops studding the town centre , and I found a short cotton dress in an unbleached cotton , which soon was accessorised , with belt and light slip on shoes . This was fresh and light ready for my man .

We sat opposite each other and my shoeless foot started a circle massage of his crotch , he responded instantly , and started to frown , apparently the long hours and the heat had not given him the chance to exercise the prostate like most men do . He was at a high state of readiness , and thought the fact that I wanted an ice cream after the delightful veal in a cream and white wine sauce , caused him to scowl . I felt that I was being dragged back to the hotel; at a high speed , and he stripped faster than $2 whore , not that I know what a $2 whore strips like , but the analogy seemed good .
Having totally divested himself he was helping the dress back onto the bedroom chair , and before I could protest I was naked as the day I was born . Hey , I protested , but his cock had taken on a life of its own and was bouncing off his belly under its own control . I grabbed it and before I had given the shiny head more than a friendly nibble , I felt the pressure rising and the pumps working , I pulled my face back and a stream hit him so hard it splashed onto his chin . There was loads of it , buckets full , like the thing was connected to a reservoir .

He looked quite shocked and quite deflated . he was barely touching me , and after all I flew out because I wanted to feel his warmth on me too . I grabbed toilet paper from the bathroom and sponged away that exploded mass . He looked quite sheepish , and laid me back on the bed , it must have been randy season . last weekend , because , it did not take me long to join the moist heavy breathing brigade , and I pulled his head away from my body as he was growing more intense at a time when my body was quivering under its own passion , and had reached the upper limits of depravity , where you clamp your legs tightly together and resist becoming even more of a spineless erotic jelly ( That is jello not Jelly to the population to the far west of the Irish Coast ) .

I don’t really know what happened next because the songbirds were tweeting and the sunlight streaming through the blinds . I showered and mid shower I was joined by a naked man wanting me to sponge his dried seed from his chest . Still it seemed almost romantic , so I obliged , and proceeded to make sure that all the inside of his foreskin was spotless too . He must have liked that because it really stood to attention whilst I washed it . So much so that , it was too much for it to bear and after ten minutes of my light delicate touch , lost another load . I had to clean that up to . We dried and dressed , to be almost the last in for breakfast , the display of fruit and fresh breads served with a deliciously fresh sweet tasting butter . , complementing air dried ham and a boiled egg . The coffee was fresh and strong .

It was good to walk around the town of Monza , drinking coffee in the small street side cafés that dotted themselves around the Piazza , I relaxed the last few weeks of work away drinking strong coffee and nibbling almond biscuits . We stayed from the Hotel all day and found a small restaurant for our evening meal . I was starving and had a huge plate of Spaghetti with a sparse but full flavoured ragu spread over it . The local wine was robust , if a little tart , the tannin was biting my tongue with a taste of old leather , and over ripe blackberries .
We walked hand in hand through the warm streets and by the time we were back in our room we fell into each other’s arms on the bed , the night of sex in my fantasy was blanketed by a deep sleep . I fell into that stupor like sleep that refreshes the whole body , and woke just after sunrise to the clamour of a Church bell inharmoniously clattering the faithful citizens to their early morning devotions . I elbowed the groaning heap , lying next to me so he could enjoy the cacophony too.

I was soaked with sweat where he had laid arms and legs across me and was still fully clothed in the cotton dress . I extracted myself from under his limbs and shook the numb feelings in the compressed areas from me . I slid around the bed , but he woke fully and grabbed me about the waist . I saw the smiling face as he kissed , and I fell back as we held each other in a close embrace . I was tempted to forget the wait till the wedding night rule that I had thought up a year ago , but his tongue deftly exploded my body in what seemed like seconds . I was now coated in my own sweat and my body was slippery with the perspiration . I turned to him to reciprocate , but he jumped from the bed and stood in the lukewarm flow from the shower . I joined him and we towelled each other dry .

I slipped on another cotton dress over silk underwear , and we skipped out onto the early morning empty pavements . A café owner was putting the tables out onto the pavement and we sat . Peter managed to explain that whilst I wanted a latté , I wanted one that tasted of coffee not warm milk .It was perfect , and the sky turned from a pale grey to an azure blue , cloudless , a plane five miles over our heads leaving no trails , sped across the sky .

We found a huge buffet lunch as we missed breakfast seafood anti-pasta that seemed to contain a trawler’s whole catch . The evening bought a breeze as we walked through the vast central park . We strolled together , silently taking the hand hold as our communication . The blissful weekend flowed as we ordered a nightcap at the bar , still only nine o’clock as we sat and sipped the Di Serrano , It was a sweet concoction with egg white whipped into it . Why choose an Amaretto sour he asked , I didn’t know , but it sort of seemed Italian .

We cuddled ourselves to sleep , and he was up dressed and out as I packed my bag and flew to yet another meeting in Manchester . My three days of planned sexual fun was condensed into one , but the other days were replaced with bliss , contact , human warmth , had we moved into a stage of our relationship where sex was fun but just being with each other was fantastic .


Share

Gain Access to Member Area


Signup for the free Bronze membership (it takes 20 seconds), which gives you access to not only the full 15,000+ story library, but also the exclusive member area with lots of cool features like: Voting on stories, Bookmarking stories, searching for stories, reccommended stories, member forums, profiles and much more!.

 
Click here to create your free account