Shape

Sicilian Stranger

I had never been much of a risk-taker in life. In fact, coming to London on a whim had probably been the craziest thing I had ever done in 24 years of life. I had seen some viral list circulating of travel hacks, and even though I live in New Jersey and taking the ferry across the river into New York City is usually too much for me, it had been 3 am. 

 

I couldn’t sleep. 

 

I looked at the list. 

 

I had always thought international travel was prohibitively expensive. It turns out, that sometimes you can get a flight from New York to London for cheaper than you can get a flight from New Jersey to California. 

 

So that’s how I found myself in London in the middle of a massive heatwave, in the middle of August. I spent many days on the River Thames because it’s always cooler by water.  

 

Alessandro had the same idea. And that’s how he found me.  

 

As somebody who had basically done one spontaneous thing in my entire adult life, I was not exactly the warmest to him when he came up to me. 

 

I was sitting on a bench. He said hello and asked if he could sit. His accent was very thick. I looked him up and down a few times. 

 

A thick shock of dark hair? Check 

 

Stubble? Check? 

 

A pair of jeans so tight that it looked like they came from the junior’s section of a Kohl’s? Check. 

 

I looked at him way too long for it to be friendly. However, he had no complaints. Alessandro knew he was hot as fuck. And he knew that I thought he was hot as fuck. I didn’t even say anything to him. He sat right down on the bench and introduced himself.     

 

Alessandro was from Sicily. And he was proud of it. He had a thick accent and easy confidence. He knew he was hot as hell. He wasn’t worried. 

 

It was infectious and dangerous. Pretty soon I, who up until three days before that had been too nervous to go to another state alone, was following him from the bench by the Thames to a cafe. 

 

We drank coffee together, and somewhere between sip 1 and 10 ended up coming as close to sitting on top of each other as two people forced to sit in separate chairs can really be. 

 

It turns out his English was limited. How old was he? I don’t know. He had a few gray hairs, but his face looked youngish. He could have been my age. He could have been 35. Who knows? What was he doing in London? I think he might have explained half in Italian, but I couldn’t tell you.      

 

He kissed me outside of the cafe. “Come with me?” He said. 

 

It was 3 in the afternoon. 

 

Was I going to go have sex with this man I just met in a strange city at 3 pm on Wednesday? 

 

“If you want it?” He added, and it was the first time I had seen him look unsure about anything in hours.   

 

I took his hand and he led me away.   

 

It turned out he was staying at a beautiful hotel in central London, with a bed big enough for ten people.  

 

He picked me up and threw me on it like I weighed nothing at all.  

 

My last thought before he crawled on top of me and kissed me breathless was that it was air-conditioned, and I needed to stay there for as long as possible.  

 

We were fully clothed and grinding against each other, sucking each other’s tongues. I felt like I was on fire. I wound my fingers in his lush hair and he groaned into my open mouth. It was a delicious sound that I could feel vibrating in my toes.      

 

Slowly it dawned on me that there was something hard pressing against my leg, and it was maybe the biggest cock I had ever felt in real life.    

 

I guess my facial expression must have changed because he sensed something was off. He stopped touching me, and the loss of his body on top of mine hit me like a slap.    

 

“Ok?” He asked. I wasn’t sure if he would understand if I articulated it, and I could barely manage to speak English myself at that point. I realized I was breathing like I had run a marathon. Even though he wasn’t touching me, I could see him watching with open lust as my breasts heaved up and down with my breathing.  

 

I crawled over to him started to rub the heel of my palm against his hard cock through his jeans. 

If I was going to take the risk of going to an undisclosed location with a fine ass man with a huge cock in a foreign city I was going to take that cock.  

Who the fuck had I become? 

 

I didn’t have time to fully process my identity crisis because he laughed a happy little laugh. Alessandro then let out a long low moan as I applied more pressure.   

 

I don’t know who had become, but I did know I was going to take his dick out. So I did. I popped the button on his jeans and unzipped them.  

 

I was not wrong. It was huge. My expression must have betrayed me because he chuckled. 

 

I hate men.

 

He left me with no option other than to fuck him until he was too fucked out to be a ridiculous smug bastard.  

 

“Condom?” I asked. It took him a second to realize what I had said. His breath hitched. He pulled one out of the back pocket of his jeans beneath him and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. 

 

I wondered if being a ridiculous smug bastard he was particularly out for sex today, or he just always kept condoms on him because pussy was constantly being thrown at him like rice at a wedding. 

 

Who leaves the house in the morning with a condom in their pocket?   

 

“What?” He asked as he rolled the condom down his dick. 

 

“Fuck off,” I said, and he looked confused.  

 

He looked a lot less confused when I ripped off my shorts and panties and sank down on his cock in a single shot. 

 

Oh my god. 

 

It was big. I was shaking inside. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think. I could vaguely feel myself sweating and feel his jeans pressing against my thighs and ass.  

 

I could feel Alessandro’s hands on my thighs, stroking my skin. His eyes had rolled back into his head and his mouth was open wide. He was muttering curses in a mix of English and Italian. 

 

I took his hands in mine and he held onto me tight. I rocked back and forth, just a little bit, barely grinding against him to see how much I could reasonably take without passing out. 

 

I think it might have hurt. 

But I also think it might have felt incredible. 

 

His moans were addictive. I kept up with my little movements, grinding against him with no particular rhythm, just seeing what I could take.  

 

I could see his body tightening up. He had no control. And it was slowly driving him crazy.  

 

He said something in Italian. I slid up his dick a few inches and then dropped back down. He looked up at me with wide eyes. 

 

“Again.” He said. 

 

I did it. 

 

And again. 

 

And again.   

 

He growled a raw and broken sound that made me shiver from head to toe. It occurred to me vaguely somewhere in my mind that I had perhaps been teasing him to complete insanity for some length of time, but all I had really wanted to do was to see if I could play with his cock without splitting in half.  

 

I felt his cock twitch inside me and suddenly he pulled me off him, threw me down on the bed, and had crawled back over me. 

 

He slid into me with all of his strength, straight to the hilt. 

 

I screamed.   

 

“Louder.” He said and slammed into me again. 

 

My body was shaking. I swear I had almost gone blind. I had never felt so full in my life. I’m pretty sure I wailed as he pounded into me with the complete abandon of someone who been teased to the breaking point.        

 

Then suddenly he slowed down. He had to be giving me less than half of his cock after he had already speared me open and gotten me used to all of it.  

 

I tried to move to get more. He wouldn’t let me. 

 

Then I looked up into his smug bastard face and realized that he wanted to tease me now. 

 

He wanted revenge. He was smirking like an absolute motherfucker. His eyes were stormy and green and full of mischief.  

 

I couldn’t take it. 

 

“Alessandro,” I whined. “Please.”