tagExhibitionist & VoyeurThe Gondola Ride

The Gondola Ride

byBaxter72©

As a professor in a small New England college, I have been asked occasionally to be a chaperon to some event or other. The ones I liked best were trips to other areas or better still—trips out of the country.

For many years, it had been a practice of the French department, the Spanish department, and the Italian department to offer students a trip to the country of their study, usually around April, when the air and hotel rates were less than during high season.

The students studying Italian under Professor Dominic Amici were always offered the choice of Rome, Florence, or Venice, and they nearly always chose Venice. It was after all one of the most romantic cities in the world. This year, there would be a dozen students going, eight of them girls, four of them boys. In addition to the teacher, two chaperon positions were sought, and I volunteered for one of them. The chaperon only had to pay 50% of his airfare and hotel; the college paid for the rest. I had been to Venice twice before, but I never grew tired of it.

We flew from Boston to Milan overnight via Alitalia, and then a short hop from Milan to Venice, arriving there around noon. The hotel where we would be staying for five nights was a large affair right across the Grand Canal from the Santa Lucia railroad station.

Everyone was tired that first day, so most of us just rested up and then got together around 7 p.m. at a restaurant near the hotel for dinner. The sightseeing would begin the next day.

So the next day, we took a vaporetto water bus from outside the train station all the way down the Grand Canal to the Piazza San Marco. Our Italian guide led us from there to the famous La Fenice theatre and told us about the Carnivale period in Venice when everyone wears a mask and "anything goes." "There is a lot of sex," he said with a smile.

During the course of the day, I began to realize that one of the students, Amelia Wayne, seemed always to be near or beside me. If she was in the process of forming some kind of a crush on me, I did not mind that since she was probably the prettiest girl in the college. She was tall, about five ten, and slender, with long and straight blond hair. She looked more like a model than a student. And from the essays she wrote for my English class, I got the impression that she was somewhat daring and adventurous.

During one of the free afternoons, she asked me if I would be willing to take a walk through the narrow streets with her, since she did not really want to go alone, and I agreed.

"This is a great trip," she said as we were walking. "The only thing wrong with it is that it does not include a gondola ride. I know that professor Amici said they're too expensive, but I brought an extra hundred dollars with me, and I would like to use it for that."

"Then do so."

"But I can't go alone. Would you go with me? I'll pay for the whole thing."

I was very flattered. "Yeah, I guess I could go with you, but I don't want you to pay for the whole thing. I'll pay for half of it. When do you want to do it?"

"Well, I want to do it at night, not in the daytime. I think it would be more exciting and romantic that way. And I don't want the others to know about it because they might be—you know—jealous or something. Tomorrow is our last night here, so what I would like to do would be to slip out after the ten o'clock bed check and go then. I could meet you down in the lobby."

"Well, I'm supposed to prevent you from doing that kind of thing, but I guess if I'm with you, it would be okay."

"Great. I'll meet you there at ten. I know no one else from our group will be in the lobby, and I'm going to tell my roommate that I'm just going down to the lobby to read so I don't keep her awake."

"Okay. Sounds like a plan."

The following night I was waiting for her in the lobby. I had taken the liberty of buying a bottle of Italian champagne for the event. The door to the cage elevator opened, and the most ravishing creature I had ever seen came out. She was a beautiful blond woman in an ankle-length white satin gown, with a white shawl pulled over her head and around her shoulders. You could not see her face, since it was covered by one of those white ceramic Carnivale masks. She held the mask in place by a stick fastened to the side. She walked over to me.

"Ready to go? She asked.

"My God! It's you! I can't believe it. Where did you get that?"

"I brought the gown with me. I told you: This is my fantasy. I planned it ahead of time, and I bought the mask today down near the Rialto Bridge."

"You look spectacular." I looked down. "I feel underdressed." I was wearing tan slacks, a blue sports coat, and an open white shirt.

"You look fine. There's no way you could have known. Shall we go?"

"Yes. I looked her over more carefully, and it became apparent to me that from the absence of any lines, she did not appear to be wearing underwear—either top or bottom.

"Will you be warm enough in that?" I asked.

"I'll try, but it doesn't matter. I see you brought some champagne."

"Yes."

She smiled, took my arm, and we walked out of the lobby.

There are always a lot of gondolas in front of the train station since the station is right at the beginning of the Grand Canal. So we walked across the old wooden bridge to the other side of the canal.

"Do you know where you want to go?" I asked.

"Yes. I want to go under the Bridge of Sighs. I know where it is. It's on the other side of San Marco, so it's a nice long ride. And I don't want to go on the Grand Canal. I want to go on the back alleyways. We can come back by the vaporetto bus. How much do you think it will cost?"

"There's no set price. You have to dicker with these guys. Let me do that, but stand beside me. I'm sure any gondolier would LOVE to have you in his boat."

The first price for a ride down and under the Bridge of Sighs was a hundred dollars, but when I told him this beautiful young lady was my "niece", and it was her birthday, he finally came down to sixty, which we accepted.

The boat, about 30 feet long, was made of black ebony, and the two-person seat in the center looked quite comfortable, with rugs, throws and pillows. "I guess you won't be cold with all that," I said. But I also could see by casting a glance at the front of her dress that she was cold right now.

We got on the boat, and as we did so, the gondolier, who was wearing the traditional black trousers, blue-and-white-striped shirt, and straw hat, gave me a wink, probably indicating that he did not really believe the "niece" story.

We made ourselves comfortable in the pillows and throws, and then we were on our way. The gondolier had already told me that he did not want to use the Grand Canal anyway because it was too rough from the motorboats. So the whole trip was to be through the narrow and dark back alleys. I had never been on a gondola before, but I had to admit it was very romantic.

Satisfied?" I asked.

"Almost. This is fifty percent of my fantasy."

"Really? What's the rest?"

"To be made love to in a gondola."

"I guess you'll have to wait until you come over with your boyfriend for that."

She gave me a funny look. "Maybe not."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you think I'm pretty?"

"I think you're beautiful."

"Then here's your chance to do something about it that no one else will know about."

I could not believe it. She had to be kidding. But to test her statement, I reached over to the strap of her white gown and pushed it off her shoulder. Then I pulled the part covering her left breast down. Her maroon nipple was stiff with the cold. "Let me warm that up for you," I said, and I covered her nipple with my mouth. Then I pulled down the other shoulder strap and the part covering her other breast. And I warmed that nipple up as well.

Since the gondolier was behind us, and the backrest was fairly highly, he could not see what I was exposing, but he could certainly tell what I was doing, and it was probably not much different than he had seen many times.

"I guess this is like Carnivale," I said.

"That's what I wanted. Remember what the guide said: Anything goes. And a lot of sex."

"I also read that at Carnivale, many of the women wear no undergarments so they will not be hindered in their lovemaking."

"That sounds like a good idea."

"Could I check?"

"Of course."

I took her white satin gown at about the knee and began pulling it up. She lifted herself a little off the cushions to assist me. And there it was: a beautiful little blond muff. I cupped it with my hand. Then I slipped my finger inside her. She began to breathe deeply. The air may have been cold outside, but she was warm and wet on the inside.

"How much more time do you think we have?" she asked.

"I don't know, but we shouldn't waste it."

"I agree." She reached over, unzipped my fly, took out my penis, lowered her head, and began to suck it. I can imagine the gondolier was enjoying this idea too.

In less than a minute I was as hard as I was going to get. She lifted both sides of her dress to her waist and straddled me. Despite the gently rocking water, we managed between the two of us to get it all the way in her. She closed her eyes, sighed and then began to go slowly up and down on it.

"What does the gondolier think?" I asked.

She opened her eyes to look at him. Apparently, he was smiling, since she waved to him. "I think he likes it—even though he can't see it," she said.

"This is going to be a night to remember—for all of us," I said.

"Yes, and thanks to my boyfriend back home, I'm on the pill, so you can come inside of me if you want."

"I would like that." And I did. I came in her with the biggest orgasm I have ever had in my life. There should have been fireworks—just like there would have been if it was Carnivale.

She collapsed against me.

"Since I've had sex with you, would it be all right if I kissed you?" I asked.

She sat up. "I would like that." She leaned forward, and I kissed her, long and deep—and she returned the kiss with passion.

"Should we give the gondolier a tip?" she asked.

"What did you have in mind?"

"This." She pulled the rest of her dress over her head and dropped it on the seat beside me. Now, other than her low-heeled white shoes, she was completely naked. She disengaged herself from me—which was not an easy matter—turned and carefully climbed up on the front of the boat, affording me a wonderful view of her pretty bottom. Then she turned, stood up, raised her hands high over her head and exclaimed: "NAKED AMERICAN GIRL!"

"Bellisima!" the gondolier cried and then point forward. She turned. A hundred feet in front of us, the Bridge of Sighs was coming into view.

"It's the Bridge of Sighs!" she cried, jumping down again. "I want another kiss under the Bridge of Sighs!"

"No problem, but I think you'd better put on your clothes first. We're getting near the end of the trip."

She did so...and she got her kiss, deep and passionate.

The next day, she came up beside me in the lobby of the hotel as we all were waiting for the launch that would take us back to the airport.

"Let me give you a word of advice," she whispered.

"What's that?"

"Next time you want to have sex with a girl in a gonola, tell her at least to bring some underwear with her. I didn't tell you then, but I was leaking all down my leg on that vaporetto ride back to the hotel."

I laughed. We both laughed.

The End

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