Good Vibrations Magazine

When I awoke in our sunny hotel room, my wife was reading a travel guide in a large, comfortable armchair, her bare feet together on the seat and her knees bent out from her body. Seated in this position, wearing a mini-dress, she was giving me an intimate view. Her narrowly-clothed crotch took center stage, framed by the creamy curtain of her thighs and the cushion of her bottom. I noticed how the slim gusset of her lavender panties lay clingingly in the center of her slit, leaving the outer parts of her femininity visible. The lewd effect was crowned by the cute, straw sun-hat she had put on, in preparation for the day’s tourist activities.

As morning consciousness pushed out the haze of sleep, I remembered how our evening had begun. “Are you busy?” she had called to me from the bed, while I made some notes at the neat little hotel-room desk. “Because I was hoping you might come over here and kiss all the invisible hairs on my bottom. I’m situated just right, see?” Her eyes had lit up her otherwise impassive face as she gracefully flipped the back hem of her short, silk dressing gown to reveal the soft curves of her naked cheeks. They were radiant with anticipated delight. I had approached her and watched her derrière wriggle in a brief, involuntary spasm of pleasure. Her slight lime underpants, which she had peeled down silently while I had been absorbed in my work, nestled politely on the carpet at the foot of the bed. A minute later, I was feasting on her, watching the flesh of her hills drink every squeeze, every playful little slap, every tiny kiss. I saw her roll into each titillation of our bedside feather up and down the sensuous crack. When she was as hungry as she could get, she had turned herself over to pull me in between her thighs, and at last I had entered her sexual grand junction.

Afterwards, I had slept very well.

“Good morning,” I said softly. I gave her irresistible nose a quick kiss and her boldly-available crotch a quick grab. “Kiss my juncture,” she whispered in my ear. I knelt down, stretched the gusset to one side, and cheerfully complied.

With my erection starting to protrude from my pajamas, I hustled over to the luggage stand. I produced a long, soft silk scarf from the suitcase, and I held it up to show her. “It still smells like you from yesterday afternoon,” I observed with a grin.

She put her book down and unzipped her dress. She was bra-less, and when we met at the bed she wore only her hat and the already-moistening panties. As I removed my pajama bottoms and sat, she leaned over to kiss the head of my stiffness before settling herself, face down, across my lap.

Inch by inch I eased the panties off her cheeks, until she lay bare-assed over my thighs. Her bottom, now just clearing the delicate fabric, smiled up at me, its feminine roundness winking lustfully. I admired the dimpled cheeks for a moment before touching. Then, like the night before, I massaged the inviting globes. She writhed contentedly and further moistened the crotch of the underwear which, in its half-removed state, pressed against her.

Now I slowly threaded the scarf between her bottom and the panties, so that it became intimate with her slit. From there, we guided the silk together along her warm, sensuous belly. “It’s like a printer ribbon,” I whispered, and we laughed. When we had finished situating the scarf beneath her, she held the end that emerged from between her breasts, and I held the end that tickled the inner undersides of her buttocks. With her free hand, she claimed my straining member.

Ever so gently, we rocked into a peaceful “tug of war,” so that the silk caressed her in as many places as possible. I let her set the pace, which quickened as her stimulation blossomed into frantic arousal. Finally, she gripped the scarf unequivocally with her groin muscles and screamed a giggling, incoherent orgasmic song. Her ass cheeks were becomingly flushed, and it was just as I noticed this that my tension throbbed definitively against her fingers and I spurted onto her flank.

“And you thought it was silly of me to pack a scarf for a trip to Italy,” I murmured.

this piece was originally published in Oysters & Chocolate, 2006