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Going to Florence has been a life-long dream. Even before I got on the plane, I knew everything about it: the foods, the landmarks, the history, and yes, even the men! I was on my way to savour all the flavours, the aromas, the sights, and a few, top-quality gentleman. I had my mind set on three just to compare, like one would with better restaurants, but I wasn’t opposed to a few more if the opportunity came up. I had three whole weeks to indulge all my senses – and my fem desires – and planned on making every day count.
When I arrived, I got through customs and all the hassle of baggage claim as quickly as possible, and hopped into a taxi to my hotel. Needless to say, my face was pressed against the taxi’s windows the entire ride.
I was very pleased with the hotel; a small, upscale inn with all the old-world comfort one only dreams of. The building itself was quite old, but the modern conveniences –and a king-sized bed - made it the perfect home away from home.
First on my to-do list was to pamper myself before my first foray into the streets of Florence. After a long soak in a tub, a few tastes of wine from the in-room bar, and a wicked and delicious masturbation, I and my pussy were ready for the hunt: good foods, good wines, and a few good cocks, in whatever order I found them.
I hit the streets in a slinky black dress, just sexy enough to be noticed, but not so over the top as to scream come fuck me. I could feel a few eyes appreciate my charms as I made my around the plaza, and did what I could to offer some memorable moments.
When hunger got the best of me, I found a cute outdoor café and took a table where I could watch the men go by. A lot of C and B-listers, of course, with the occasional A-lister invariably already attached to someone’s arm. As I watched with waning patience, a handsome and well-dressed man was sat a few tables over from me. I did my quick data check, and saw he didn’t have a ring, didn’t look like his clothes had been fussed over by a woman, and wasn’t eye-slurping every woman who walked by. He had potential.
My meal came, and it was absolutely perfect. By now, my gentleman neighbour was aware of my presence, and did the occasional sneak-peek over his paper. I in turn gave the occasional panty flash as I adjusted and readjusted my legs. Since I had put on my sexiest white panties, I’m sure he was aware of the eye-candy.
When I finished my meal, I made sure to give – I’ll call him Mr. Available – a full and unabashed, up-the-skirt shot when I left my table. I also made sure he saw I left a brochure from my hotel, a gesture I’m sure he recognized as an invitation to come sniffing around. And sniff around he did.
That evening I dined in the hotel’s restaurant. The food was perfect, and a small quartet kept the mood romantic and relaxing. I was just starting on my dessert when low and behold, Mr. Available was there at the door, watching me. I gestured for him to join me.
He was a smooth talker and gentleman, obvious very comfortable in the company of women he’s just met. That can be a good thing, and a bad thing. I have had my share of suave men who think jamming their dicks into me for two whole minutes is somehow supposed to be a life-changing experience. Then there are those who understand a pussy and all its idiosyncrasies, and know how to milk them to the last delicious drop. I have had the occasional lady lover, and know full well the delicate flavours and scents a pussy can have when being toyed with. Bless the men who get that.
I got the feeling Mr. Available did indeed get it, and made up my mind to turn my pussy over to his care. I invited him up to my room for a glass of wine.
Once in my room, I slipped my shoes off and poured two glasses of wine. After a good thirty minutes of chatting on a small sofa, I was really feeling hungry for this man. To move this to the next phase, and my first official Florence screw, I lay back and let my dress fall up to my hips and expose my panties, now a snug robins-egg blue. And by snug, I mean I have one of those pussies that can really fill the silk, with puffy flesh and lots of pink in the wings. And, like any good pussy will, mine was already pumping pheromones into the air, like a spritz of expensive perfume.
Mr. Available wasn’t shy about sizing up what was in store for him.
Feeling completely relaxed, I was hoping for a laid-back tongue lap, but Mr. Available had other ideas. He pulled me up, and positioned me so I was standing over him, and my pussy just about where he could kiss it. He nudged me a little forward, and I rested my knees on the sofa’s back, thus planting myself squarely on his handsome face.
Turns out he’s one of those guys that likes the combined scent of silk and pussy, and he kept his nose pressed firmly against my gusset, sucking in deep breaths of me. Once satisfied, he pulled the gusset aside, and proceeded to give me one hell of a licking. I had to hold on to his head tight to keep my balance, and that of course just pushed Mr. Available harder against my sex.
I have never been shy about my pussy, so when my orgasm was ready to release, I pulled away from my lover, opened my pussy wide, and let him watch me come. I could feel the cream dribble out, and Mr. Available kept his eyes glued to the weeping pink in front of him. When done, I put the rich offering back on that handsome face and let him savour all my girl nectar.
Mr. Available then carried me to the king bed, and made sweet, sweet love to me all night long. My second day in Florence was spent sleeping a blissful and dreamy satiated sleep, something I have not felt in years.
May second evening in Florence, however, is a whole new story! Bless the inventor of the king-sized bed...
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A.W.
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