Page 71 of Meet Stan

“I was just thinking—it was super hot, and the honeymoon hasn’t even officially begun.”

Epilogue Two

Stan

For our honeymoon, I took Ivy on a yacht trip from Morocco to Venice, hugging the coastline along the way.

When we arrived in Venice, I surprised her with a cottage-style manor house overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. She stood on the back porch and gaped at the sun-splashed sea crawling toward the rocky shore far below.

“This is amazing. What a view.”

She cut a magnificent figure in her white lace sundress. The stiff sea breeze pressed it tightly around her body like a sheath. The bags from our recent shopping excursion still dangled from her fingers.

“I knew you’d like it. I happened upon this cottage when I was out on a hike many years ago, and I immediately fell in love with it. It’s fully refurbished and modernized on the inside. Most importantly, with central air.”

She laughed, even though her forehead glistened with sweat.

“I really don’t mind the heat. Air conditioning is nice, don’t get me wrong, but I wouldn’t want Italy to be anything other than Italy.”

I held the rear door open for her, and we ventured back inside. The scored concrete floors were broken up by area rugs with a definite Greek flair. Nymphs and satyrs chased each other around ancient glades under our feet as I gave her a tour of the rest of the house.

We passed a door on our way to the bedroom with a lock on it. She paused beside it and pointed.

“What’s in here that’s so important you need to put a lock on it?”

“This lock is hardly secure.” I used a small key to open the tiny padlock. “Really it could be torn off with relative ease, it’s just a privacy lock so when the cleaning staff come by they don’t wander in here by accident.”

I took the padlock off and opened the door. She walked inside and started laughing.

“Okay, I can see why you wouldn’t want them to wander in here.”

“I just don’t want to embarrass them,” I said. “I’m not ashamed of anything in here.”

The room featured a domed skylight which lent an air of being outdoors without the heat or weather. There was a bed near a sea-side facing window, but the middle of the room was dominated by a collection of straps and suspension known colloquially as a sex swing.

A shelf to the left of the entrance was lined with high-quality sex toys, all of them freshly unwrapped and waiting to be used.

Ivy turned around and I took her in my arms, kissing her hard, deep. The bags slapped the floor as they slipped from her fingers. Ivy embraced me back, her hands roaming around my body as I lashed my tongue against her own.

We came up for air, and I put my hand on her cheek. She turned her face into it, kissing my palm and putting my thumb in her mouth. I swept my hand back and gathered up her hair, stroking my fingers through it. My other hand groped her breasts through the thin dress. Underneath, she’d gone with the Euro fashion and not worn a bra.

My fingers sought out her nipple through the thin material. She moaned into my mouth as I pinched her sensitive skin, increasing the pressure by tiny degrees as I thrust my tongue into her mouth.

Her hand slid down and caressed the growing bulge below my belt. I felt my cock twitch hard as it began to engorge with hot blood. I burned for her. I burned for my wife,

Any and all thoughts about fake relationships were long since past. Now I just wanted to ravish her with every fiber of my being.

I pulled away from her, but maintained my hold on her nipple. I walked backward, using her pinched flesh like a leash. She went along with it, her lips slightly parted as she let out breathy pants.

I released her nipple and then grabbed the hem of her dress. I slipped my hand underneath, sliding it up along the curve of her hip. Her eyes fluttered closed, a soft gasp escaping from her ruby red lips. I slid my hand between her thighs, and up toward her heated pussy.

My arm had vanished under her dress up to the shoulder. I felt around until I found the satiny softness of her panties. I ran my fingers through the groove of her pussy, feeling her up through the silken fabric.

“It feels like you’re getting wet,” I murmured, my free hand sweeping under her skirt and around to fondle her magnificent ass. “Should I move the panties over and check?”

“Oh god,” she moaned, her cheeks flushing red.

I hooked my fingers through the triangle of silk and then pulled up and out. I hiked up her skirt to her waist, rewarded with a view of her swollen pussy lips on either side of the white silk panties bifurcating them. I tugged up, working the silk through her pussy and enjoying the symphony of gasps and sighs she made.

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