I’m completely infatuated with this man and the life he lives. He puts off this ‘I don’t give a fuck’ attitude, but underneath it all I know he does…and it’s obvious he does from what’s trying to break free from underneath his clothes.
The man is six foot five inches of pure scariness, but that scariness leads to a kind of obsession I want to feel directed my way. This isn’t the kind of guy you bump into every day, especially in the suburbs. As a matter of fact, I’ve never met anyone like him, and I only met him a few hours ago.
The way he commands any room he’s in, despite this being our house, excites me. The way my dad defers to him looks up to him both physically, and the way he speaks with him turns me on. Gio has more masculinity in his little finger than guys my age do in their entire bodies.
I clench my fists and wipe my sweaty palms on the sides of my body.
“It’s…original,” he finally offers up.
“I have some other ones you might prefer.”
“This isn’t the only one?”
“No, I have more up in my room if you’d like to come take a—“
He grabs me by my hip, his big mitt engulfing half my body as he stiff-arms me. “What are you trying to accomplish here, piccolina?”
The sound of ‘little one’ rolling off his tongue in Italian has my own tongue-tied.
“Just…welcoming you to our home.” I pause as his eyes narrow. “You know I sleep in the room you slept in when you were an exchange student here when my grandparents owned this house.” I bat my eyes. “Maybe you’d like to see it, for old times sake. See how I decorated it.”
“I’m not interested in decorations or anything of the sort. I’m happy with my couch, and have no reason to go upstairs,” he grumbles.
“Why are you gripping me so hard, Gio?”
He looks at his hand on my waist and quickly releases it.
“This conversation is over,” he says, preparing to stand but I go for broke, jumping up on his lap and grinding myself into his very obvious erection.
“What are you doing, bellissima?” he says through gritted teeth, but his jaw isn’t clenched out of anger. His hands find my hips and he moves my body forward across his lap and then back. “This isn’t happening.”
“It is happening, Daddy. And your little piccolina loves it, amore.”
Dad exhales hard in the other room and then mumbles something incoherent in his sleep. He’s the reminder that I need, I want, to keep this fantasy at the level it’s already reached. At any moment my dad could pop up and walk in, seeing his daughter riding his best friend.
I grab the back of Gio’s head with one hand and his belt buckle with the other.
“Your daddy’s in the other room,” Gio grumbles.
“My dad, the accountant in the mismatching Hawaiian shirt and jeans breathing through his mouth, is in the other room…passed out. My daddy is underneath my wet pussy read to slide his ten inches, which are currently at the same angle and firmness as that Leaning Tower of Pisa I drew, inside my sex, filling me with his seed. Big difference.” I pause, my eyes drifting down to his midsection. “Big difference.”
“This can’t happen,” Gio says, grabbing me by the hips and lifting me as if I weigh nothing, my feet finding the floor.
“Ok then. If you don’t want this,” I say, sliding my hands up and down my torso, “then I’ll just give it to someone, or something, else.”
Gio shoots me a look of confusion at the use of my word something but understands immediately when I grab the Leaning Tower of Pisa souvenir dad’s had in the house for years.
“What the hell are you doing?”
“Why don’t you keep your eyes focused here,” I say, rubbing the statue over the fabric of my minuscule cutoffs, “and find out.”
I slowly unbutton my shorts and let them fall to the ground, rubbing the souvenir against my Bambi themed panties. “There’s about to be a fire in the forest, although this forest was cleared long ago,” I say, pulling the top of my panties down to expose my freshly shaved mound.
Gio swallows hard and his fists clench. “Figlio di puttana,” he grits out the words for s.o.b., standing and wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “You can’t act this way and it’s time someone taught you a lesson.”
He grabs me by the hip yet again and roughly guides me over to the kitchen sink where he pushes my head forward and down at an angle where I can see him remove a different wooden spoon from the utensil drawer.
“We don’t let kids run wild in Italy.”
“Oh, I’m wild, daddy. Why don’t you put a saddle on me and try to tame me.”
“I’ve got your saddle right here. Ride this,” he says, and the back of the wooden spoon comes down on my ass, my cotton panties the only barrier between the kitchen utensil and my flesh.
It burns instantly, yet I can’t stop myself from sticking my bottom out, even more, grinding it into Gio’s groin. He mumbles something and then twists his body, freeing himself to bring the wooden spoon down on my backside yet again.
“Is that all you got?” I incite, even though my flesh is stinging.
“Why you little,” he spits, his lips not moving as I hear the spoon hit the floor just before his big hand makes contact with my ass.
But instead of pulling his hand away, he leaves it there, kneading my globe as the last joints on each digit curve as he digs his grip into my body.
“Are you going to cut this shit out and be good?” he asks.
“I don’t
