Shape

Orgy in Lecce, Italy

The sandstone that graced the baroque buildings with cherubs, monsters, flowers, and beasts was a warm, soft pink. The color of sunset. The color of a woman’s skin, Jack thought.

Lecce was off the beaten track for most Italian tourists, perched on the edge southeastern tip of Italy’s boot heel.

It was his friend Dan’s idea to come to Lecce. Jack hadn’t seen his best friend from high school in nearly ten years. Jack was a sailor who, almost two days after leaving ship, still felt that the earth should move, just a little, under his feet. They’d walked the quiet streets of the old city, taking photos, catching up on friends and family, guy talk about girls they’d loved and lost. Tonight, it was already past midnight as they strolled beneath the golden street lamps, admiring the facade of the 17th Century Cathedral, the Bishop’s Palace, and the Seminary.  They’d dined on pizza and pasta and pesce, drunk copious amounts of local vino, and tonight, Jack’s last on shore leave, they were walking down the Via Rubichi, looking for something that could be pleasurable trouble. A woman or two perhaps.

It was already late, and Jack’s attention was devoted to the Search. That’s what he called it, his almost aching desire for someone to fall in love with, if only for just one night.

They passed under a white washed arch and into a small, cobblestone alley. Raucous music spilled from a dark looking pub just below street level. Jack led the way inside the Falconieri.

There was a small dance floor, packed with enthusiastic dancers. Jack made his way to the bar, and ordered Limoncello. He liked the sweet lemony drink. Dan shrugged, tolerant, and leaned with his back against the old cherry wood, watching the dancers strut. There were no single women in the place.

“Maybe we can do better than this,” he remarked.

“Maybe not. It’s almost closing time,” Jack said.

“Damn time change. Feels like afternoon,” Dan said.

Jack wasn’t sure what time it felt like to him. Too late time, maybe. Too late to find a girl, kiss her, watch the stars swirling in the misty Italian sky.

Three young women crowded into the room and moved up to the bar. They were giggling, clad in absurdly short skirts and patterned tights. They were like three delicious flavors of lollipops, Jack thought. All long legged, one red haired, one dark haired, one blonde. Maybe the Search was over.

Dan zeroed in on the blonde. “Can we buy you and your friends a drink?”

“No, no,” she said, and waved her hands expressively. “No English, not much, no.”

Jack looked at the others and there were shrugs, laughs, more lifting of hands.

Jack lifted his own glass to his lips, pantomined drinking to the brunette, pointed to himself and back to her.

“You get for?” the dark haired girl asked, pointing to herself and the others.

Jack nodded vigorously, and then they nodded, too.

Several Limoncello shots later, Dan had his arm around the blonde, whose name was Adriana. The red head was Carlotta. And the brunette, who was snuggling up against Jack’s shoulder, was Jemma.

They spilled out onto the dance floor, the girls pulling them up from the bar stools. They took turns, the three of them, dancing in circles, snapping their fingers in a dance that reminded Jack of something from Greece rather than Italy, but then the region of Lecce had strong Greek influences, and perhaps that explained the style. Nothing could explain the way he felt his body hardening inside his jeans as they circled him, swaying seductively, bending and writhing, laughing, as their hands brushed his shoulders, and Dan’s, moving up close, pressing their firm buttocks against his hips, circling off again.

When the song ended, there was an announcement from the DJ that he didn’t understand, but the girls did, they pulled Jack and Dan off the dance floor and toward the stairs to the street, laughing and chattering in Italian.

“We’re leaving?” Dan asked, puzzled.

“Must go. It close,” Adriana told him, brushing her fingers across his cheek.

Jack’s voice was thick, and he had to clear his throat as Carlotta took one of his arms, and Jemma the other, tugging him up the stairs. “Come to our hotel? Our  – albergo?” he asked, using the Italian word, knowing his accent was horrendous.

The girls laughed, and shook their heads, and pulled them along with them down the alley and out to the main street, down another alley to a doorway where cherubs looked down on them, and Carlotta took out a key, and unlocked a heavy wooden door. They were pulled inside, up another flight of stairs, and into a loft with beamed ceilings and whitewashed walls.

There was a bed in each corner of the room, a sofa with a narrow coffee table, a stereo, and a television against one wall, a kitchen table, refrigerator, and small stove against the other. 

Adriana turned on the stereo, music spilled out; she lit candles in small glass jars, transforming the place.  The three began to dance again, completely unselfconsciously, with each other, as if neither Dan nor Jack were even there.

Dan moved in close to Jack. “They’re something, right?”

“Indeed,” Jack agreed, and they shared a laugh, a short laugh, because, the girls were surrounding them now, touching them, not just shoulders and hips now, but chest, cheek, buttocks, and oh yeah, hands taking turns brushing, caressing, stroking their cocks.

Jack’s mouth was dry with lust, and he pulled Jemma against him, holding her in place. She wriggled, wanting to move. “Music – universe language, no?”

“Universal,” he said, agreeing, but he pinned her there, and leaned in for a long and delicious kiss. 

Her lips parted and her tongue found his and then traced a slow line along his jaw, and down his neck.

He rubbed against her, pressing her to the wall, and with no preamble, she slid her hands to his belt and unbuckled it, unzipped his jeans, freeing his priapic cock from the denim, and rubbing him with her hands.

He drew in his breath, sharply, and lifted her skirt. She purred like a kitten as he rubbed her thighs, his hand slipping between her legs, stroking her there until she cried out. He slipped the waistband of her tights low, and lower still, kneeling now, rolling her tights down, kissing her bare legs as he peeled them away, all the way to her feet. He lifted off her shoes, tossed them aside, took the tights all the way off and began kissing her again, moving up her legs, higher and higher, to the warmth between her legs, spreading them, slipping her pink silky panties to the side, and letting his tongue now lap an entirely different set of lips than he was kissing just moments earlier. Her pussy was warm and soon slick from both his saliva and her coming.

From the corner of his eye, Jack saw that Dan and Adriana were undressing each other.  Dan’s tee shirt was discarded and his pants sliding down past his boxers. Adriana’s full, bare breasts were cupped in his hands, her nipples taut. He bent low to lick them, and Jack realized that he was not paying any attention to Jemma’s breasts…

He rose, and lifted her shirt, deftly unsnapping her bra, and teasing her nipples with his tongue, pinching them lightly between his fingers.

He felt someone stroking his buttocks from behind, and he turned to see Carlotta fondling him. She reached all the way around to the front, and fondled his balls and his dick. Jemma took Carlotta’s hand and drew her up against the wall alongside her.  “Bella, bella,” she said to Jack. “Both of us – we want -”

The universal language was apparently not music after all. Jack raised Carlotta’s arms like a child, and lifted her blouse over her head, and then he unhooked Carlotta’s bra – black lace, a contrast to Jemma’s white satin. There they were, two luscious ripe women, bare breasted, pressed against the wall. He wasn’t sure who he wanted to take first, but he’d have to take one of them soon, he was throbbing.

Carlotta tugged off her own tights, and stood there waiting. She was wearing no underwear at all. He stroked her with his fingers until she was glistening and wet, her back arching against the wall. He kissed Jemma’s breasts, her lips, the dip between her throat and her clavicle.

He heard a groan and cast a quick glance over at Dan, who was lying on the bed nearest the door; Adriana’s head bobbing up and down, a sheaf of golden hair like wheat rising and falling across his hips as she sucked his cock.

Another groan, closer – his own – he couldn’t wait much longer – 

As if they knew, and he supposed they did, they each took one of his hands, just as they had when they left the bar. They led him over to another of the beds, and stripped off the last of his clothes and theirs. And then it all became an incredible, sensuous blur. Carlotta, then Jemma, took him between their lips and licked him and sucked him until he thought he would explode, but somehow he did not.

Jemma climbed on top of him, wriggling her deliciously wet pussy onto his hugely erect cock.  Carlotta stroked and massaged his body, head to toe, running light fingers along his thighs and slipping beneath his buttocks. Then he did explode. 

There was wine, and more dancing, everyone bare naked, their skin in the candle light the same soft pink as Lecce’s stone walls. Carlotta took Dan to her bed now, and it was Adriana who spread herself across her bed, arms and legs wide, a starfish with golden hair; she pulled Jack on top of her. His cock surged inside her, and he lifted her legs high in the air. Jemma massaged his buttocks, kissed his thighs, fondled his balls, leaning in close to lick his ass and balls, nibble at the tender skin of his scrotum.

He cried out, the sensation was something he would remember, dream of, drift through however many months lay ahead at sea. The earth was moving like that sea tonight.

Over the course of the night and into a day which spilled sunrise like a ruddy rug across the bed, each of the women took Jack inside their soft bodies. He dozed against a pillow redolent with the faint smell of roses, and a stronger, more arousing smell of salty skin.

When he woke, it was high noon – or so the clock on the cathedral bell tower was chiming. Bright white sunlight filled the room. Dan was sitting, dressed, at the kitchen table, sipping espresso. The girls were gone.

“They went to work,” Dan said, tossing Jack his jeans, still crumpled by the door. “They’re nurses at the local Hospital.”

“Florence Nightingale was never that good,” Jack said, pulling on his pants.

“Hell of a night, man,” Dan said. “We’ll be telling that one and no one will believe us.”

“Three beautiful Italian women, employing the universal language…” Jack said.

Dan took his cup to the sink and washed it out. “Next time you’re in port -”

“I’ll tell you to hop on a plane and meet me in Lecce.”

They left the apartment. On the corner, a street vendor was selling roses, yellow, red, and pink. Jack bought a bouquet of each color, and left them at the door to the girls’ apartment.