An American in Italy

As I flitted about the kitchen making my pasta, while my roommates were traveling to various countries in Europe, I heard a weird buzzing sound and froze for a moment analyzing the situation. Oh, that's right... the door. In my shit apartment at home this type of security was unheard of. I pushed open my shutters and looked down into our street where a young Italian man stood. "Ciao!" I shouted, and he gestured to be let up. After taking in his appearance for a moment, and verifying his legitimacy with the clipboard he was holding, I buzzed him up. I quickly drained my pasta and put fresh sauce and Parmesan on top and set my bowl on the table before he had knocked at my door.

I swung the heavy mahogany door open to realize I had definitely been right, he was the Italian kind of beautiful with messy brown hair and sun-kissed skin that complemented his deep brown eyes that instantly bore into my soul. He began speaking in rapid Italian... I panicked. I was only two weeks in to Italian One, and I caught almost none of what he said. He gestured to his clipboard and a realization dawned upon me that this must be regarding the sign posted on our main apartment door that I didn't think would ever really pertain to me... and here it was pertaining. "No parlo Italiano." I offered. His face fell so I retracted my statement, "Allora, un po Italiano." He like this more and tried to speak to me again. Still, I caught nothing. This was going to take a while. "Prego?" I asked, and he seemed relieved by this and crossed the threshold into the apartment.

He was tall and well-built, and as he brushed past me I caught the scent of alluring Italian cologne. I noticed his eyes dart around the room, taking in the most random aspects of our apartment; from my lace panties drying on the rack, to the Italian Playboy poster my roommates and I had found hidden in a cupboard and felt was more appropriate as our central art piece. This gorgeous man was determined however, and he once again gestured to his clipboard and pointed at various aspects of the electrical company paperwork attached to it, hoping I would catch something, anything. He glanced up at me often and I got tired of breaking his heart each time with my statements of "Non lo so." So I opted to just look into his eyes, which pleaded with me to catch even a single word of what he was saying.

His nose was dusted with freckles and his breath was cool and fresh as his intensity to make me understand became that of a physical closing of the gap between his face and mine. When we were mere inches away, he seemed to have given up with his original intent for visiting and now fixated on my eyes and glanced down to my lips and touched them gently. The beautiful thing about Italians is they fall in love daily, and I could see that I was the lucky victim. I stood so still, scared to move and ruin this perfect moment. A smile played across his face and he turned to go. I grabbed his arm to prevent him and pulled him once again closer to me. He seemed to understand my intentions clearly but wanted to toy with me before perhaps giving me what I wanted. "Silly American girls..." He managed in one of the most enticing accents I've ever heard. Silly indeed, I thought. I almost felt guilty; I was asking him to abandon his cultural ways to fulfill my own lust.

But then he kissed me with every fiber of his being and in such a way that it felt like every part of him was kissing me too, as his entire body adjusted to enhance the experience. He leisurely toyed his hands down to my waist where he guided me to the door and pressed me against it, the mix of my feet on the cold Terra Cotta floor and his warm body pressed against mine was intoxicating. He slowly worked his lips down my jawline and on to my neck, winding his fingers in my curly hair and tugging gently. His lips left a path down my neck that burned with desire and might as well have been a direct line to the wetness growing in my panties as he whispered Italian sentiments in my ear with a rolling 'r'. I grew impatient and yearned for more and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pulling him as close to me as I could and working my way down to his zipper. His body was firm and full of musculature under his clothing and this only agitated my need. He sensed my longing and picked me up and placed me on the table, where I was perfectly able to straddle him between my legs. He pulled my panties off and I spread my legs to let him appreciate the new scene he had worked to uncover. He grabbed my waist and pulled me closer to him, a few layers of fabric being the only thing separating us now from immeasurable pleasure. He pulled my sheath dress off as I worked to remove his shirt and simultaneously free what was bound to be one of the most exquisite dicks I had ever had the pleasure of viewing.

As I readjusted my hand, I found that I had perfectly managed to set it on my pasta bowl and fling the contents across the table and on to me. "Oh shit..." I said. He quietly chuckled at my use of a swear word and pushed me down so I was lying flat on the table. He started at my midriff, sucking and licking the sauce off my stomach in the most enchanting way possible and worked down and down until I couldn't bear the pleasure anymore. I wanted to be as near as possible to him, in every way, and only one way remained... He slipped his sizable cock inside me and gently entered my cathedral, looking at my face to guide his actions. I smiled and bit my lip as a slow moan escaped my lips. He thrust in and out, a smile overcoming my face that he couldn't be but proud to have had an effect on. He stood straight up, while I lay back on the table, and took my legs and placed them over his shoulders so he was completely inside of me. It felt amazing and I reached down to rub my clit which seemed to be a new phenomenon for him as he gazed on in interest and arousal. I needed more of him inside me.

I felt a wonderful orgasm building up and uttered the one Italian word I knew would help me... "Veloce." He loved it, and immediately heeded my request, pumping in and out of me with simultaneous intent and gentleness. As I neared my climax, he gently took my hand away from my pleasure center and pinned it to my side in a forceful but caring way that was so unique I almost went over the edge then. I looked at him questioningly, and with his free hand he touched his chest and said, "Me. I do. Show me." In this moment I realized that right before me stood one of the most gorgeous men I had ever seen who was downright committed to making me orgasm. My mind suddenly wandered to places it had never considered options before, and I glanced toward our winding staircase.

I gently pressed him away and positioned myself on the stairs so he could enter me from behind and with that, I said "forte." These Italian adjectives were coming in handy... and he did go fast and strong, my moans echoed throughout the apartment and the sense of being slightly dominated by this sexy stranger was turning me on more than any steady boyfriend ever had. I turned us around so I could properly ride him and my breasts bouncing in his face made him light up with sexual energy. With other partners I had inhibitions but with him I placed his fingers directly by my tightest hole, even just having him play with it would probably be enough to bring me to orgasm. His face clouded with confusion but I encouraged him with rapid head nods and enthused moans. He slipped one finger gently in and I thought I might lose it... him fucking me so properly on our apartment steps was the hottest thing and I wanted more but first it was his turn.

He grabbed my waist with a new intensity and gently bit my shoulder in such a way that covered my body in goosebumps as he came inside of me, with a fulfilling gentle spasm. I eased off of him and got Italy's pride and joy, a bottle of olive oil. I placed some on my fingers and rubbed them around and began lubricating my puckered hole. He looked on in lust and anticipation, and to my great pleasure his shaft instantly sprang back to life ready to pleasure me more. I kneeled on the couch and just like everything Italians do this man proceeded to ravage my asshole slowly and thoroughly. It felt electric. I cried out as he touched every portion of my body and gently tugged my hair... when I thought I couldn't handle it anymore, I placed him on the couch so I could ride his huge cock and he kissed me passionately throughout.

I came so hard that when my body convulsed, I was physically unable to move anymore. He didn't seem to mind and kissed my collarbone, my breasts, anything he could reach. After I collected myself, I looked into the eyes of the Italian man that had made me cum harder than any other person in the world and he looked back with such intensity that I knew we didn't have to speak the same language to understand one another; that was the most passionate and uninhibited sex either of us had ever had.