Unlocking My Private Locker: The Forbidden Italian Night in Rome
I’ve kept this locked in my private vault for years. That night in Rome, in that massive hotel room. The memory hits hard. I’m 18 or 19, backpacker low on cash. Train from France to Italy. Wake at border. Can’t sleep. Smoke in the corridor. Italian guy there. Speaks perfect French. Chats me up. Business trip to Rome. Offers to host me. He’s kind. Tall like me, bit paunchy, shiny skin, baldish, big smile. I agree. Taxi to luxury hotel. Huge bed. I shower first. Exhausted from train. Emerge clean, jeans only, shirtless. He lounges on the bed. Smiles. ‘Shower feel good?’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘Tired? Come here.’ Taps beside him. Doubts flicker. But hunger burns. Four months no sex. Just secret jerks in hostels, one Paris kiss. I lie down. We talk. He rolls, props on elbow. Fingers my wet long hair. Heart races. In reality, I bolted. Said misunderstanding. But here, in my vault? I smile. Close eyes. Let his hand stroke. Back of knuckles down cheek, neck, collarbone, chest. Breathe deep. Eyes open. He grins, relieved. Hand to my jeans button. Surprise jolts me. But I lift hips. Innocent urge. He slips in. Fingers graze my hardening cock. Electricity. Lying back, his hand inside. I crave more. Both hands shove jeans down. Cock springs free. He beams. Young guy yielding. Shame flickers. Fades fast. Fingers toy balls. Ear to my chest, belly. Mouth nears tip. Breathe ragged. Anxious thrill. Then lips engulf. I exhale sharp. Vault opens wide.
His mouth hot, wet. Sucks slow. I throb. But fantasy pushes. He pulls up. Strips pants. Lies back. Jerks his thick cock fast. ‘Come.’ Can’t leave. Kick jeans off. Eyes lock on his dick. Memories flood: girls’ mouths on me. Shame? Gone. Secret here. No one knows. Lean in. Mouth opens. Take him. Warm, pulsing. Taste hits: salty, alive. He groans ‘Ah…’. Love it. Texture under tongue. Balls smooth, hairy. Hand grips base. Don’t look up. No eye contact. Test skill. Deep as possible. Lips tight. Tongue swirls frenulum. Breathe, pull back, lips on head. His hand in my long hair. Gentle push. Dive again. Saliva drips. Hand strokes base. Alternate suck, jerk. Natural. Gifted, maybe. On all fours now. Ass up, cock dangling hard. If mirror behind? My firm cheeks spread. He could stare. Pulls out. Smiles, panting. ‘You’ve done this before?’ Shrug no. Lie beside. Arm around me. My hand stays, stroking him. Kiss try? Turn away. But grind cock on his thigh. Hump slow. Excited still. No kissing. ‘Never before?’ ‘No.’ Stroke firmer. ‘Continue?’ Hesitate. He sits up. ‘Or lie on belly. Let me give.’ ‘Fuck me?’ He nods soft. Words soothe. Lie prone. Legs part slight. Cock trapped, lift hips. He strokes back, shoulders, ass cheeks. Firm 19yo muscle. Thighs inner. Finger probes. Saliva lubes. Push back. Finger in. Gasp. Accept. Rock on it. He jerks himself. Kneels behind. Hands spread cheeks. Gland presses hole. Breathe deep. Push out. He slides. Slow burn. Breath gone. Full. No return. In Rome hotel. Stranger’s cock in ass. He moves gentle. Chin up, blissful. Kid’s hole his. Slap his thigh. Go deep. He thrusts steady. World spins. Heat everywhere. Electricity toes to fists. Mouth agape, moans escape. Cum shoots untouched. He collapses. Pulls out. Cum drips anus to balls. Collapse. Sleep.
The Breaking Point
Wake light. Mind clear. Vault snaps shut. In truth, I walked Rome solo. Slept apart. Left at dawn. Thanked him. Hit Greece, Macedonia, Hungary. Called sister Christine for balance. But fantasy? Pure release. Adrenaline fades. Secret safe again. Lighter now. Shared thrill. Yours alone.
