Pasta, Porn and Promiscuity

I'd been married to Katie for four years. It had been a whirlwind romance which, on reflection, had been a bit rushed for both of us. She was fifteen years my junior, being twenty-two to my thirty-seven when we met. Physically, she was incredible and, on reflection, I asked her to marry me almost solely on the basis of that - anything else can be worked on, right?

Well no, as it turned out. Having made it to thirty-seven unmarried, I considered myself pretty experienced in the ways of women. But Katie was very different to anyone I'd been with before. In particular, physically she was very passive, some might even say cold. Although I'd noticed this pre-marriage, I had foolishly assumed that she'd 'warm up' over time. As she ticked every other box, this had seemed trivial.

Over the coming years though, it became more and more frustrating, and began to affect my behaviour towards her. She never approached me with affection, never held my hand, never even put her arm around me in bed.

Sexually, she was a puzzle. Although she'd never make herself obviously available, she never refused my advances. And during the act, whilst she wasn't particularly responsive, equally she never made any attempt to halt the process. My impression was that she was well versed in the art of 'lying back and thinking of England'. This passiveness played on my mind enormously, and a craving for feeling wanted began to grow in me.

I was generally able to suppress the inevitable resentment that built over time, but, with the benefit of hindsight, this was no doubt a contributing factor in the little sniping comments that I found myself letting slip, before instantly regretting. Katie was a beautiful, innocent soul and we shared some amazing times. I just couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't able to open herself up to me totally, that there was a part of her that I didn't get to see.

It might sound like a bleak situation, but there were so many things I loved about her, almost too many to list. The way her eyes squinted when she laughed, the way she knew who played that obscure track from the 80's before I did, even though she wasn't even born then. The way she could finish a pint quicker than I could, and the way the long burp that followed was somehow excruciatingly cute.

Physically, you could not have painted a more beautiful picture than Katie's face. Big, brown, curious eyes smiled out from a face which was simply flawless. Perfect skin and cheekbones which meant she didn't need an ounce of makeup to look good. But she did wear makeup, just enough to enhance the perfection, and draw attention to it. Lips were always ruby red, and there was always just enough going on around her eyes to really draw you in.

Her hair was mousy brown, and just over shoulder length. It was long enough that she could do all sorts of interesting things with it, but not so long that you worried when she went on a rollercoaster. Usually she just brushed it behind her ears, from which usually hung large, hooped ear-rings.

And I loved the way she dressed. She was uncompromisingly ladylike. She wore high heels all of the time, other than when driving (she kept a pair of driving shoes for that). She always wore skirts, and always looked supremely elegant in a blouse or sweater that complimented her amazing figure. Even after four years, sometimes, particularly when she emerged after spending far too long getting ready for a night out, I still had to catch my breath when I saw her.

For these reasons I suppressed any negative feelings about our relationship. My friends were constantly telling me how I was fighting above my weight. I'll confess to some feelings of smugness when I saw them ferrying kids around with a wife for whom spending time on their looks was the last of their priorities. But I also experienced intense jealousy when I inevitably clocked every eye in the room fixated on my girl's perfect rear view as she teetered over to the bar on those high heels during one of our regular visits to the local pubs.

Katie never showed any inclination to encourage such attention, but it played on my mind. She must like it, otherwise why would she dress this way? After a few drinks this led to some rows, all sparked by my own insecurity.

This was the backdrop to our big summer holiday this year. It was unspoken, but I sensed a feeling of 'last chance saloon' for our marriage. Katie had made it very clear that my insecurities were my problem, and she wasn't going to change. And in return I'd come up with some pretty spiteful comments about her apparent lack of interest in the bedroom. We'd moved past this the best we could, but it was all ready to come back to the surface at the next roadblock we hit.

We'd arranged two weeks in a private villa in a fairly exclusive resort village in southern Italy. Neither of us had visited before and we were both really excited for the visit.

It was as beautiful as advertised. We'd saved up all year to make sure money would be no object, and we were making the most of it. On day one and two, boat trips and water skiing were followed by endless lunches and plenty of local wine, against incredible backgrounds of little homes perched on the hills overlooking us, effortlessly clinging on to the cliffs.

It was on one such day that we sat, watching the sun go down in Franco's restaurant, the closest and nicest establishment we'd found. Franco was in his sixties, bald and moustachioed, and, despite always seeming to be doing nothing, kept a beautiful little place which served the most amazing pizza and pasta. His wife worked the floor, Franco worked the bar.

Emilia, Franco's wife, approached as we finished another bottle of wine. She looked perhaps slightly younger than Franco, and had clearly been a beautiful woman in her heyday. She still sported raven, curly hair and an impressive chest, which was displayed proudly with a cleavage which looked all the more imposing given how thin her waist still was. I wondered how it was even possible for her width to vary so wildly, as below the waist she reached the same proportions as her top half. Katie, giggling, had suggested she was wearing a corset, and I curiously eyed her up and down as she bent over the table.

"The wine flows, yes?" she smiled as she took the empty bottle.

"It certainly does, it's superb!" Katie enthused. I could see she was approaching drunkenness, as was I. Another bottle and we'd both be starting to slur our words, but right now we were just in that perfect zone where time stood still and nothing was a problem. I was still fixated on working out what Emilia was wearing under her dress, but turned my head sharply back to Katie when I realised Franco was observing me observing his wife so blatantly. When I turned back, Franco was laughing and he gave me a big wink and a thumbs up.

Katie had seen all of this, and took it as an opportunity to make her point again.

"Two things. Number one, you were eying up old Emilia something rotten there. Do you see me getting all jealous? No. You know why? Because I'm comfortable enough to know that your eyes being on another woman isn't the same as your hands being on her. And Number two, Franco there clearly loved that fact that you were eying his wife up. You know why? Because it's a fucking compliment."

There was an element of bite in her words, but it was fully deserved. She'd painted a picture of other men not resenting their other half's' attractiveness on many occasions, but this was a perfect opportunity to demonstrate that it was true. And, despite me arguing against this many times in the past, I couldn't argue now. Franco had given his wife's full bottom a playful smack as she'd passed him with the empty bottle, and shouted something over in Italian, accompanied by another thumbs-up gesture. We couldn't help laughing, despite having no idea what he said, and returned the thumbs-up gesture in kind.

Having received the order for another bottle from his wife, Franco sauntered over and filled our glasses.

"So," he smiled at me knowingly. "I see your eyes on my wife, no?"

"Oh, no, sorry. I mean..."

Franco roared with laughter.

"My friend, Emilia is a beautiful woman. I know you appreciate a beautiful woman, eh?" He smiled at Katie, who grinned back, fluttering her eyelashes slightly. I fought back a rush of jealousy, reasoning that this man had absolutely no issues with me admiring his wife (although I hadn't actually been lusting after her, just trying to work out what undergarments she wore!).

"Bella, my lady - and what is her name?" Franco looked at Katie, but was talking to me.

"Katie," my wife replied. Franco took her hand and kissed it.

"You be careful with my husband, Katie," Emilia called over from the bar. But it was in good humour. Franco laughed.

"I think I'm a bit old, eh? Twenty years ago, Dan, eh, you'd have to watch out. But now, now I'm an old man. But you know, when you walk on the beach with this beautiful lady," Katie beamed again. "Every head on the beach, it turn to take a look. This was Emilia. Many years ago, but this was her, eh?" He nodded over to her, and she shouted something back at him.

"I'm serious, Dan." He shouted over to his wife, who made a dismissive gesture. But he continued, as if he was persuading her of something. Eventually she seemed to concede, and disappeared into the back.

"Many years ago, OK. But Emilia, my princess, my queen." He made a 'chef kissing gesture' as Katie later referred to it.

Emilia emerged from the back clutching a book of some kind. She made her way over to us. Franco made to take the book from her but she slapped his hand, muttering something that we didn't understand. He laughed heartily.

"Emilia, she say this is for the girls, not us men!" he guffawed. I wondered what Emilia had tucked under her arm. She barked an order for Franco, who went to fetch her a glass of wine, and, without invitation, sat down beside Katie.

It turned out that Emilia had been a model. The book she brought over was a photo album. Franco was not lying, Emilia had been a stunning young woman. The photos were taken from what looked like fashion shoots. Emilia half-jokingly tried to shield my eyes from the photos as the girls turned the pages, which Katie encouraged, taking great pleasure in denying me visibility of our host's body as she talked her through each picture. I gave up trying to look, but listened to their conversation intently.

"All of these, they are from before I meet Franco, yes?"

"Oh right. So young, free and single?"

"That's right. It all looks pretty glamorous, no? But really it is not. A lot of travelling, a lot of missing sleep. But I do get some money, and I do meet a lot of people," she flicked a glance up at Franco.

"Oh, now this is just beautiful," Katie exclaimed as they reached the end of the photo album. She pulled the book up to her chest as I leaned over, taking pleasure in denying me a look.

"Well thank you. It is these pictures that are the reason for me and Franco, you know." said Emilia. "Franco know me, but when he see this, he go crazy, eh?"

My patience was running out.

"Give me a look!" I bleated, feeling pretty left out.

"Oh, but you have this beautiful lady, Dan," winked Emilia. "Why you want to look at anyone else?"

"I don't. I mean, I do - it's not..."

Katie burst out laughing.

"Oh, bless you, love. We're only messing with you. Here." She handed me the album, and poured herself another glass as I leafed through. Her eyes examined me closely over the top of her glass.

The pictures were truly beautiful. Clearly taken in the eighties or nineties, Emilia had a killer body, and the clothes she showed off, trouser suits and dresses, were the height of fashion from the times. Everything about the photos, from the clothes to the makeup to the photography itself, screamed 'class'.

The last couple of pages changed the theme a little. A lingerie shoot. Emilia sported a black basque, full stockings, garter belt and high heels. I glanced up and saw both girls watching for my reaction. Katie's eyes were on fire. I felt a little self-conscious, especially as I could feel Franco's presence behind me, as I perused pictures of his wife in very classy, but very revealing, underwear.

The last page gave me a similar reaction to that which Katie had on me on occasion. My breathing stopped unprompted for a brief time, and I was suddenly very conscious of my heart thumping against my ribcage. I was looking at a full-page photo of young Emilia standing and facing the camera, hands-on hips. Her bra and panties were completely see-through and her nipples and thick black bush were very obvious. Despite the situation, I felt an uncontrollable surge of blood to my crotch and I realised I now had an extremely firm erection to contend with.

I looked at Katie, then Emilia, then back at the picture. I felt a thump on my shoulder, as Franco's big hand landed on it.

"What I tell you? My Emilia, the most beautiful girl in the world, eh?" His face contained nothing but pride. Emilia also looked on with not an ounce of shame or self-consciousness, as we all took in her semi naked pictures from her heyday.

The wine was gone, and both Katie and I were now reaching that point of our words beginning to slur. Luckily our hosts probably couldn't tell, but we decided it was time to retire. There was a slight obstacle though, as my loose trousers were not going to hide the still totally full erection I was dealing with.

Katie had stood, and had her jacket and handbag on, whilst I continued to sit, wondering how I could stand without our hosts and my wife realising how aroused I was.

"Come on Dan, time to go!" she smiled. I looked at her. Then down at my crotch, panic striken. The fact the photo album was still open on the table, and that my eyes kept involuntarily flicking back to it, wasn't helping at all. And Katie, as ever, looked stunning, her brown, bare legs exposed below her thigh-length, brown leather skirt.

Eventually I managed to stand, as our hosts turned away from us, carrying the empties back to the bar. Katie's eyes flashed down to my tented crotch - she knew what my dilemma was, and I expected to see upset or anger in her eyes. But Instead I saw warmth, and amusement.

We went to settle up, but Franco said there was no need, they would keep track as they knew we'd be back tomorrow - we still had ten days of our holiday left.

"You come back tomorrow, yes?" he was making our minds up for us. He grabbed my arm, and pulled me closer, in a mock conspiratorial gesture, before whispering just loud enough so everyone could hear:

"And I tell you, Dan. You think Emilia is hot in these pictures, yes?" I nodded, unsure of what the correct protocol was in that situation.

"Well maybe, if we really nice to her, she let you see some more tomorrow from the private collection, eh?" Emilia slapped Franco hard across the face, but both of them were laughing. Myself and Katie joined in, unsure of what else to do.

My mind could not release the image of Emilia, so beautiful, and so proudly on display, albeit in see-through underwear. But my fascination was more on her and Franco's attitude. Neither of them turned an eyelid as two strangers leafed through Emilia's semi-naked pictures. It was a situation I could never have contemplated in reverse. My erection continued to point the way home, stubbornly refusing to subside.

After walking in silence for a minute, Katie was first to speak.

"Well," she started. "That was a bit of an eye-opener, right?"

"You're telling me," I agreed. I was almost as fascinated with Katie's response to this as Emilias. In fact, I couldn't work out who's response I was most intrigued by. My own, where my erection very obviously told its own tale, or Katie's, who seemed remarkably happy to have spent an evening looking at sexy pictures of a lady who had been serving us drinks all night.

Katies hand snaked down to test my arousal, and I heard her take a sharp intake of breath as she realised just how erect I was.

"Oh!" She started. The very touch of her hand almost doubled my cock's attempts to free itself from the restraints of my underwear and trousers. In our whole marriage, Katie had never instigated anything like this, any sexual contact had always been started by me. I could not hold back.

Without a thought of where we were, who might have been watching or what anyone might think, within a few seconds Katie was bent over the wall along the side of the road, her knickers around her ankles and skirt around her waist and my cock deep up inside her.

I was pleased to find no resistance, I realised this meant that she was also aroused by this situation, My mind started to think about what this meant, but this was soon overtaken by thoughts of this evening, the pictures our host had been so keen to show us and, most intriguingly, Katie's reaction. Within a few minutes I was ejaculating powerfully inside her.

The next morning I had a bit of a headache. Generally I drank beer, but wine was the choice for this holiday, it seemed. The wine seemed to have a different effect on me, I contemplated, and Katie too.

As my head cleared, the events of the previous night started to solidify themselves. As the images of Emilia in her underwear came back to me, so my penis solidified in turn. And as I recalled Katie's willingness to bend over and receive very hard and very urgent fucking on the main thoroughfare back to our hotel, I was once again rock hard.

I realised Katie was already awake, hearing her pottering around in the kitchen. She emerged, wearing just a t-shirt and holding a plate.

"Toast?" she asked. Aroused as I was, she looked simply superb - fresh from the shower and without an ounce of make-up. The t-shirt was just long enough to conceal her modesty, but I craved what it covered.

As I munched on the toast, it was clear Katie was wanting to talk. She wasn't one to talk about sex and neither was I, traditionally, but I got the feeling that this was the only subject either of us had on our minds. I decided to go first.

"So, that was pretty mad then."

"What?" she replied innocently, knowing exactly what I was talking about.

"Last night," I replied, stating the obvious. "I mean, Franco's wife, that's pretty weird, right? How would you like me showing you off to strangers like that?" Katie didn't respond, but I detected a hint of disappointment.

"I thought they were lovely", she replied. I was taking great notice of her expression and reaction. "And," she continued, her hand snaking under the duvet, "The whole thing seemed to get you pretty carried away too. There's some things you can't hide." Her hand grasped my cock.

For the second time in my life, both within the last twelve hours or so, Katie had taken the initiative, sexually. I decided I needed to taste her.

Turning her around and throwing the duvet off, so that my naked body was revealed in all its dubious glory, I slid my face under her as she knelt on the bed so that she was facing my feet. My tongue delved into her beautiful pussy, parting her lips and tasting the juicy rewards within. Katie was never vocal, but I could feel her pleasure as she leaned forward and started to grind her pubis against my chin, her breathing becoming louder as my tongue snaked in and around her hole.

She was so very obviously aroused and the more moisture I felt her generate, the harder my cock got. I'd not showered, and I must have still been wearing the remainder of last night's encounter, but this didn't stop Katie in the slightest. Markling another first in our relationship, she sank down on my cock, taking it immediately to the back of her throat. Given that she'd literally never done this before in our entire marriage (any previous blowjobs I'd experienced with Katie had been totally and completely instigated by me, clumsily shoving my cock in her mouth) I was instantly in ecstasy.