of all kinds of young women willing to fuck, meet up, get married, have dinner or go to the theater with him. Marco would therefore sometimes just randomly dial any number on his phone, knowing fully well that at the other end of the line, some girl would be waiting for him licking her lips and stuffing her legs in stiletto heels. Haha. losing in sex is for losers. And what about love? Marco had already forgotten, or had successfully tried to forget about it and almost came close. In love, the feeling of disappointment was so strong every time that he did not ever want to get involved in matters of the heart again. Having it pump blood at an amazing pace through his body and, most importantly, to his penis while going crazy in bed was his heart’s most important role at the moment.
“You’re so charming,” Christy said softly, and her smile radiated an experienced invite to the bedroom. But then, the child….
Yet, again, although a call to mate is a call to mate, Christy is certainly keeping a clear distance. She is extra relaxed, making no effort to speed up the process, and is sure of herself; not like those twenty-year-olds who make themselves appear inaccessible and pretend they are “not that kind of girls”. She is obviously sexually experienced. Where is she calling him then, if not to bed? With such a mouth, perfect teeth … Mmmm.
I’ll make this mouth do wonders, Marco thought. Everything is all at my disposal.
Something has to happen, fast, or his penis will simply jump out of his jeans.
“Do you love Bocelli?”
After uttering these words, Christy turned to the computer and slowly bent over it, exposing the fullness of her impeccable buttocks in black jeans for Marco to see. Marco had already realized that he would simply have to enjoy his affective state, and no longer resisted. They talked about Italy and Italian music, then ordered pizza. But when Christy sat next to him, he could no longer restrain himself, and began gently stroking her knee, which, strangely enough, did not anger her at all. She calmly finished the pizza, kissed him on the cheek, and said that it was time for her to take the child to bed.
“Will I see u again?”
The Italian asked helplessly.
“Sure, baby.”
Christy’s hot tongue gently touched his lips, which sent an involuntary shiver down Marco’s spine. Obediently rising from the couch and going out into the corridor, he put on his coat. And already, between the doors, he could not stand still, and rigidly took Christy by the hip, biting his lips into her mouth. Then the little girl interrupted the moment and called out from the room,
“Mummy, I want another slice of pizza.”
Marco bade farewell and left.
With the taste of her lips still lingering on his mouth, Marco continued relishing the kiss.
Why can’t a man just pounce on any woman he fancies and have his way with her? Why all this courtship?
You want to feel the warmth of her body, deeply insert your cock in all her holes, ram her hard until she moans with pleasure, and reach the point when you are both immersed in a state of sweet languor, with that feeling of the inaccessibility of a person slowly becoming more desirable than unavailable. But who said that she is unavailable, if she actually kissed him first. How else can she show that she is available? The child messed everything up. I should have simply dragged her to another room. Stupid me! But how delicious that kiss was. And her ass was mouth-watering … these impeccable type of buttocks had seemed to only appear on the canvases of the best Italian painters. No, her legs are not crazy long, and her breasts are not size E. And why do you need these legs and tits, anyway, if they are neither warm nor cold? It’s hot here. Yes it will be very hot here.
Still pleased with himself, Marco sat in a taxi. It took him only a few minutes to reach the huge apartment that the firm had ceremoniously given him as befitted a badass foreign executive. He slept in seventh heaven. he next morning, recalling his conversation with Christy, Marco started remembering that she was divorced and worked as some kind of stylist or maybe photographer. Some kind of nonsense, anyway. And, although her career or job was interesting enough, all that Marco kept thinking about were her legs, her shapely buttocks, and her smile that made her mouth clearly spell out a promise of some excitement yet to be enjoyed, a pleasure yet to be indulged in. Standing in the shower, Marco could not help but take advantage of these memories and vividly orgasm under the jets of warm water gushing out of the sprinkler overhead.
Bitch! But one with class, of course. Not even a bitch, but maybe not that kind of a classy girl either. Marco found it difficult to find the right words to describe his new acquaintance. Something in between, maybe. He made up his mind and went to his office.
Coffee and some orange juice were already waiting for him at his desk. One of the secretaries was standing by the printer, shuffling a huge pile of papers in her hand. He remembered how he had fucked this girl a couple of times in the toilet. Shit! What’s her name again? He never seemed to remember it (he had to finally resort to simply calling her “sweetie-pie”, which made her inexpressibly happy, since the girl, unaccustomed to such treatment, believed that he had singled her out from an obvious crowd of female admirers, with her already ready to go and meet his parents any time.) She did not know that it was Marco’s custom to call all the women he had had encounters with at work “cutie-pie” or “sweetie-pie”, or some other fake name, and that the lower the status of a woman, the “cuter” or “sweeter” she was for Marco. This could be a waitress, a barmaid, a dispatcher, a secretary or a cleaning woman. Everyone was bound to be nice to this Italian macho with a dazzling smile and endowed with no less than a dashing male member. This is the way Marco lived his life in Russia, in great pleasure and indulgence. He lacked nothing to ticker his fancy or make his blood rush like a flood in his veins. Someone somewhere was always infatuated with him, wanted him, wanted to marry him, sleep with him, or put reins over him and forever domesticate this macho with animal instincts: women who had no idea that Marco loved only himself, his “younger brother” and money.
Yes, money is the engine of everything these days. Without money, no amount of snow-white smiles and sexual endowment can ever be appealing enough to women. One immediately falls out of their circle of popular friends; they lose their “macho” appeal and become ordinary human individuals. Marco knew this, and thus was successfully married to his work, and enjoyed his life.
Marco was ready to sign a contract for a huge amount of money. And even though he would later have to get stuck working his ass off somewhere in the Russian outback, where there is nothing to do, he did not mind. This money guaranteed him the right orgasms in the right place. Money guaranteed him unlimited excitement and real pleasures. Otherwise, it would just be masturbation, and that would be it. He never paid women money, and even rarely gave gifts. The very idea of being a successful Italian handsome who rides expensive cars made him God’s gift to women, and opened doors that were otherwise closed to others. As he calculated the possible benefits of the contract in front of him, he thought,
My life is all perfectly arranged.
He still needs to complete one or two of his work errands. Then there is this trip to this distant city for those millions. Leaving without a quickie lovemaking session is certainly out of the question. He called the secretary and briefly conversed with her some nonsense. Then he threw her onto his office sofa, had his way with her for a maximum of two minutes and, leaving the girl next to the used condom that he had thrown onto the sofa, drove to the airport, on the way making the necessary phone calls and calling for documentation.
All perfect. After
