It’s way too early at Orly’s departure lounge. I’m slumped in a cold white metal chair, suitcase at my feet. Security line drags. That elegant woman strips down—coat, jacket, boots, belt off. Her sheer blouse hints at a lacy bra hugging perky small tits. Portico beeps again. She stands, arms out, legs spread for the wand. Humiliating. My mind drifts to hidden pat-downs, but nah.
Belly knotted with anticipation. Not nerves—Julie’s surprise in Venice. Haven’t seen her in over a week. She promised a gift. Tortured me with hints. Romantic dinners, edging her orgasms—nothing cracked her. Flying to Cannaregio hotel, room waiting at 3 PM. Door unlocked.
The Layover
Plane lands. Venice sparkles under spring sun. Grab vaporetto, suitcase bumping. Check into boutique hotel near quiet canal. Keycard beeps. Elevator hums up. Corridors echo with distant footsteps. Sip cappuccino at nearby terrace. Canals lap at wooden bridges. Glycines drape walls. Phone buzzes: Julie. ‘City’s pretty, right? Final preps. Room 317, door open.’ Heart races. Wander alleys, lose time.
Elevator dings. Floor silent. Approach 317, door ajar. Peek: dim light, candles flicker, mandolin music, sweet scent. Slip in quiet. She’s there—naked under sheer tulle veil on king bed. Venetian mask hides her face. Breath catches. Pure, graceful silhouette.
Strip fast. Kneel beside her. Pull veil slow. Reveal left nipple hardening. Fingertip graze—soft. She sighs. Trail down over ebony bush to smooth shaved pussy, lips parted. Minutes of light touches: inner thighs, neck, hot breath on sex.
Hand cups her mound—wet heat. Nose to pussy, inhale musk. Tongue tip flicks. Hands guide my head. Dive in. Lap lips, suck clit. Slurp nectar loud. Tongue spears folds. Feet on shoulders. Dare lower—rim anus. She gasps deep. Tongue probes tight ring. Vertigo hits.
The Transit
Back to clit. Hips buck. She pulls me up. Cold slick hands stroke cock, lube it. Knees up. ‘Take me, love. The gift is me.’ Mask on, eyes hidden—feels anonymous, stranger thrill. But it’s Julie.
She’s on back, legs wide. I kneel between. Slow tongue on clit, then anus. ‘Oh yes.’ Cockhead presses ring. Glides in—no resistance. Inch by inch, tight velvet grips. Fully buried. Eyes lock—mask drops. Pure lust.
Hips rock. Slow thrust builds. Watch pussy lips pout, slick, begging. Thumb circles clit. She screams, head thrashes. Climax rips her—convulses. Triggers mine. Pump deep, flood her.
Sweat-slick, entwined. Caress tender. Union lingers. Memory etched.
Morning. Keycard drop at desk. Gondola waits—too-handsome gondolier. Suitcase rolls. Flight soon. Venice fades, but this anal surrender—her gift—burns forever. Stopover paradise.