I am eighteen, going on nineteen and have never been fucked. Tamsin morosely hummed her thoughts to the tune of Liesl and Rolf’s duet in “The Sound of Music” as she gazed at her reflection in the lopsided, oval bedroom mirror that scorching August day. The interior walls of La Casa della Fontana sloped, the floors listed, so straightening the mirror, in the crooked little house of the nursery rhyme, was routine. This grandly named, spectacularly moldering house in a picturesque village on Lake Garda had been snapped up by her bohemian parents, Patrick and Eve Heriot, on the back of a legacy from a crusty uncle, and it was from here that, for the past twenty-five years, they ran year-round painting and creative writing courses.
Tamsin’s first year at university beckoned in six weeks’ time. Below bold brows, large, gold-flecked hazel eyes set in a plump, milk-fresh face stared back at her and she sucked in her cheeks. She peeled off her nightie (courtesy of a thrift shop, her wardrobe mainstay) and sighed. Her luscious boobs owed nothing to silicone implants but her tummy was majestically rounded and there was no avoiding it. She was a dumpling who couldn’t afford liposuction.
Her spirits boosted as she brushed her hair. Licorice-dark, thick and glossy, it tumbled to her shoulders in loose curls. He would surely throw her down and lose himself in it. And those deep dimples when she smiled, which she’d almost forgotten how to.
The three graces—her trio of close girlfriends, all lissome and nubile with antelope legs, all clones of the hottest models—had been fucked, or so they bragged. Fucked by their brothers’ buddies, fucked by their fathers’ buddies, fucked by studs in one-night stands. Fucked against library shelves groaning with texts on particle physics, fucked in the swimming pool, fucked knee-deep in mud at Glastonbury, fucked on the hallowed green grass of Glyndebourne to the shrill vocals of Brünhilde wrapping up the immolation scene. There was no doubt they’d fucked and she claimed likewise, although disbelief was palpable and vociferously voiced when, with narrowed eyes, they compared notes. Well, this summer she’d get fucked, by hook or by crook. Her summer of love. The summer Cinderella would go to the ball. She refused to go down in history as the only virgin fresher.
She had a plan. A plan that had simmered gently all night after she’d masturbated whilst poring over “Bonking For Tyros” and munched her way through two bags of prawn-flavored potato crisps. A plan she would implement at once.
A party of five couples was expected that evening on a week’s course. Patrick and Eve with Tamsin’s brother Gareth, six years older than her would, as usual, meet and greet them at the Milan airport, herd them onto a minivan and, after two hours, speed proportionate to vehicle’s decrepitude, puttering down the autostrada, decant them at the casa. Nine-year-old Ruby, Patrick and Eve’s last hurrah, was vacationing in style in Ibiza, with her best friend Isla, at the hip, minimalist beach house owned by Isla’s family.
It was ten a.m. and Tamsin heard a rumble of bickering voices as the Heriots left. The minivan was temperamental, so plenty of time was allowed for mishaps. Tamsin was delegated to stay behind to lay the well-scrubbed, rough-hewn communal refectory table, to ensure the pre-cooked meal was properly defrosted and heated up and the wine was chambray-ing. That was an affectation of Gareth’s, since the Heriots could afford, and served, what could only be politely categorized as easy drinking.
She glanced down at the plan, although she’d no need to as she’d memorized it by heart.
Change bed linen and sprinkle lavender water.
Flash the flesh.
Buy condoms and new knickers.
Rehearse Luca pretext.
Ah Luca! Ever since she was fifteen, she’d had a crush on him. Her head swarmed with fantasies of the scion of Il Principe Salvatore Leopoldo di Monte Valla and Principessa Catarina. He, godlike, was sole heir to the noble title and extensive agricultural land holdings, to the sumptuous Leopoldo palazzo in Milan where masterpieces in oils by Titian, Raphael, Caravaggio and El Greco hung in proximity to canvases by Impressionists, Cubists and Fauvists. Comprising one of the most fabulous private art collections in the world, it was on loan to the Italian government. And few dynastic families in Italy possessed the twenty-four carat pedigree of the Leopoldos, who counted among their ancestors the Chief Treasurer to the Emperor Barbarossa, a Pope, a composer, two saints and Renaissance Ambassadors.
Yes! Tamsin swiftly executed items one and two, painted her finger and toenails a shimmering Chinese red, slapped a flash of azure on her eyelids and whirled down to make breakfast. Contemplating the third homemade roll with lashings of salty butter and gooseberry jam coursing through her arteries, she hesitated.
Quickly they ripped off each other’s nightwear until they were both naked.
As he reached for a condom, Tamsin said quietly, “Is protection really necessary now we’re married? Let’s make a honeymoon baby.”
He said quietly. “Very soon, cara mia, but I’m not quite ready. Let’s get used to each other first.” Something like iron shifted in him.
It seemed to be the right response because she took it no further and wrapped her arms round him, settling in to him with a sigh. He pulled her soft curves into him and held her, kissing her fiercely.
Try something new today—the supermarket catchphrase—ran through Tamsin’s thoughts as, with her heartbeat tripling, Luca shot her that look that always gave her a warm, damp rush.
“Signora Leopoldo di Monte Valla.”
She let her legs fall apart. Just the deep cadence of his voice turned her ready. “Do it, make me come.” She knew what his tongue could do, what his cock could do. “I want you now, my prince, my lord.” She swept her hair over his balls, and took one then another into her mouth.
“Wider still and wider for me, babe. I want to see every bit of you.”
‘I hear and I obey.” She shifted and opened up, spreading her sex to him, and a deep growl emerged from somewhere low down in his chest.
“Love that womanhood, love your big, tight ass.” Firm hands clamped the cheeks of her butt, trapping their bodies front to front. He paused, his eyes glittering under the long, black lashes, and then he was dipping his head and she felt the ridge of his tongue slamming inside her, sucking her swollen clit, his breath moist and hot.
She gasped and shut her eyes. “I want to taste you.” Her pussy clenched and throbbed as his hands rested on her thighs, keeping her wide.
“Keep it going.” She whimpered.
She watched him rip the foil and roll on the condom, nudging her with the tip of his warm, smooth cock. She reached for it and took the hardness of his length in her mouth, savoring the nectar, wanting his thickness to enter her, wanting his juices in her, over her.
He wet his fingers in his juices and, circling her labia, she bucked.
“That’s what I like to know.”
“I’m going to…come.”
“Not yet you won’t.” His lips twitched in a smile. “If you do,” he whispered a sweet torture, “that’s it for tonight. Hush now. We’re going there together.”
He slid his fingers deep into her clit, moving in and out, the slick, accepting sound of her desire like a metronome beating time.
He stopped and she felt she’d die. “Move,” she moaned.
His eyes were darker than she’d ever seen before. He bent into her and nibbled a jutting nipple as he eased the head of his silky cock into the peachy damp of her slit. Her cunt flared up around him, waiting, ripe, needy, her heartbeat going wild as he thrust his cock deeper as he marked his territory, staked his claim to her. She was his for the taking.
“Sweetie.” His gaze tangled with hers. And then he was hammering into her, rocking hard and fast and she was spiraling out of control until the orgasm lurking somewhere over the rainbow rushed down to ignite them and they shuddered and shattered round each other as he spilled himself into her with a shout.
With a soft sigh, he eased out and rolled to one side. He realized something else. Tamsin had messed with his emotions. He’d got caught out. He’d have to watch it. He didn’t do emotions.
* * * *
Later that night, Luca turned to Tamsin and murmured, “How about a chaser?” He nuzzled his tongue down her cheek.
She felt her pulse beating in her throat as her lips slid down his cock. And then he was flipping her over onto her belly, running his fingers down her spine. She got on her hands and knees and he slid his tongue into her hole, slicking her, coaxing her with a slow sweetness that made her crave for more. Then bending right over her, his fingers eased in and out of her slippery cunt, fucking her till she came in spasm after spasm.
“The best is yet to be.”
The thought of his swollen cock riding into her ass made her quiver.
He must have sensed her anxiety for he said softly. “It’s going to be all right.”
“No pain, no gain?”
“Honey, trust me.” He slipped one lubricated finger into her ass and pressed down.