Tourists

Tourists

They were tourists; two women in sun hats, cameras slung around their necks, sensible shoes, and fanny packs, clutching brochures of the grounds and (we discovered later) a small 'welcome' post card not intended for them. They stepped into the alcove formed by the neatly trimmed hedges a few yards to the right of where Astare and I were sitting on the long low garden bench with our wine and assorted charcuterie tray as my husband and Astare's Greg finished setting things up for our afternoon picnic.

We were on private property and fully within our rights (granted by the owners) to be there and doing what we were doing - these two were unauthorized interlopers here, at least technically. Yet it is never our intention to shock or offend non-enthusiasts or impose our tastes on their 'decent' sensibilities. So, I did cringe inwardly a bit and fully expected that once what they were seeing registered, they would make whatever bumbling sort of alarmed excuses they could manage and back (or run) out of the alcove the way they came. They would have a story to tell their fellow tour group members over lunch, but nothing more would come of it.

But it seems to take somewhat longer than it rightly should for things to register with these two. They pause there just inside the alcove and their gazes sweep the scene, going from the two males, who have looked up at them from their task securing the umbrella, to where Astare and I sit, then back again, once, twice before the younger of the two, a slender mousy thing in glasses, turns to the other and says;

"Really, we should go." and backs away a step or two towards the exit as expected.

The other, a middle aged, slightly heavy, dishwater blonde, nods noncommittally, but then, rather than withdrawing, looks down at the brochure map of the grounds she's clutching, then back up at me and, "Ahm, so is this the way to the statuary section?" she asks.

"I don't think so." I answer, try to smile through my irritation at what I take as her obliviousness, until that is, I see her gaze swing back to the two males and,

"Oh." she says. Then, "So I guess we're a little lost."

At which point I recognize that, whatever else she may be thinking, things have certainly registered.

We were at a large villa in Italy where a group of fellow CFNM enthusiasts had decided to meet up for a four day get together. One of our number, Lydia, had purchased the place for a ridiculously low sum under an agreement with the Italian government that she and her husband would restore it and preserve its historically significant features. To defray the costs of restoration and upkeep, Lydia offered occasional guided tours of the villa and surrounding gardens to tourists.

Our group hailed from many locales and countries. Most of us had never met in person, but we shared a common interest and had come for the pleasure of pursuing it with other enthusiasts in these luxurious surroundings. Lydia had clearly marked off certain gated portions of the gardens and villa interior for our group's private use, posting 'employee only, do not enter' signs to bar doorways and certain garden paths and, further, had instructed the guides to avoid those areas on any tour until our departure.

Astare and I had come to know one another via the group's private messaging platform. We had spoken once on the phone when I saw her name on the list for attendees at the villa. She was excited to be attending as she had recently met and was, in her words, 'still breaking in' a new male whom she hoped to bring and share, provided he could get the time off to make the trip.

Things worked out and we had both arrived the evening before with our respective contributions to the long weekend's entertainment; my husband Mathew and her new find, Greg. Group activities were not scheduled to start until others arrived in a day or so, but Lydia and her staff accommodated the four of us with a lovey dinner on the veranda and encouraged us to make use of the grounds and other amenities as we waited for the other guests to trickle in over the next couple days.

Astare, Mathew, Greg and I got on wonderfully at dinner. Though there was nothing scheduled for the group next day, we all agreed that a foretaste of some of what the weekend ahead offered would be a pleasant way to spend the next afternoon over a picnic lunch in the gardens, just among ourselves.

We chose a small relatively secluded alcove behind a gated path with one of those aforementioned 'employees only' warning signs. Although we knew there would be tours that day, we had closed the gate securely and so were not expecting company. We were sipping wine and relaxing (well, Astare and I were at least) as we got better acquainted and enjoyed comparing and toying with our two males.

The males were, of course, both naked and erect and had been since we first arrived; quickly stripping down and presenting themselves, standing side by side in front of Astare and I as we sat together on the bench.

I always love that initial moment of exposure when a fresh new male presents himself for my consideration and appraisal. I like the transition to be abrupt, as few preliminaries and as little ceremony as possible between the man's position as a pleasant new acquaintance engaged in ordinary social interaction, and the naked male standing silent before me, presenting his erect penis and upturned balls in that blatant, exaggerated way for my inspection and, should I find what he offers sufficiently interesting, use.

In contrast to the abruptness of the transition, I like taking my time with a first viewing, letting the male feel the submission of his body to my judgement, provoking (in the best cases) those anxious, reflexive thrusts and twitches of the penis as I make him await my verdict.

Though not as broad shouldered as I like them, Greg's lean build, larger than average circumcised penis with its pretty, graceful upward arc, the large glans flaring nicely wider than the shaft, and his symmetrically hung, well- articulated balls were much to my taste. There is also a vicarious, proprietary pleasure in sharing Mathew with new women; seeing his excitement at being exposed to fresh eyes is both endearing and arousing.

Astare was clearly pleased by, and more than politely complimentary of my Mathew's presentation. The thickness of his cock is almost always a pleasant surprise for new users. Anticipating the pleasure of her attention since meeting her over dinner last evening, his penis was fully flushed and lively under her gaze, pre-come already seeping generously from the head.

"Ah, that's nice, I like them lively." Astare had purred, clearly pleased by the frantic spasm and flexing of Mathew's cock above her hand as she handled his balls. For my part I was equally pleased with Greg's response when, per my usual preference for first handling, I took his balls between his legs from behind as they presented their asses; the spasming in the root of his cock against the heel of my hand told me his penis was performing its own little jig. Both males exhibited that charming, competitive agitation at being compared and seeing one another displayed and handled. We agreed they made a nice pair.

Introductions over, we had set the males to finish setting things up for our afternoon together; unloading the small hand cart of coolers and picnic paraphernalia so helpfully put together for our use by the villa staff. They had poured us wine and set out the aforementioned charcuterie tray and then turned to the rest. The blanket was spread and pillows strewn to receive us and the two of them were working to position and secure the large sun-shade umbrella in its weighted stand when our visitors arrived.

"Oh." The dishwater blonde says in response to hearing this was not the way to the statuary section of the grounds, her eyes settling on Mathew and Greg once more. "So, I guess we're a little lost."

The mousy one winces and casts me a pained look, says, "Brenda, c'mon, I told you that's what it meant. We should..."

"Yeah." the blonde (Brenda, apparently) agrees, but keeps her gaze fixed on the two males. "I knew already what it meant." Continues to look. Then, "Yeah." She says, a faint smile spreading over her features.

Interesting.

My husband and Greg have paused with the umbrella upright in its stand but yet to be opened. It's clear they're unsure what's expected of them in this situation. Mathew glances my way with a questioning expression. He's not some subway flasher looking to expose himself to unwilling women in public. That's the opposite of what excites him about serving this way; it's submission to and compliance with the voyeuristic whims and sexual demands of women like Astare and I that stiffens and drives him.

Yet this 'Brenda' is not acting like a particularly unwilling audience. I can discern the conditioned response of my husband's body to the presence and seeming interest of yet another new woman. He straightens up and shifts his stance to angle his hips slightly more in our visitors' direction. It's a reflexive motion I'm not sure he's even fully aware of; his body primed by habit to offer itself, even as his eyes are asking me what I want or expect of him. I watch that lovely penis of his flex for Brenda and...

"I told you." the mousy one says, seeming a bit panicked as she looks past Brenda at the two males, "So we should..." she starts again.

"Yeah, I knew what CFNM meant." Brenda says distractedly, her eyes still foraging the available male anatomy with unfeigned interest.

Unwitting or otherwise, that kind of response from any woman is a trigger for males like these; especially when they are already fully aroused and 'in role' so to speak.

Greg steps out away from the umbrella, faces Brenda squarely, opens his stance and presents himself; hips forward, pelvis curled under and up to offer his balls and erection for her appraisal. As I mentioned, I love seeing a male offer himself that way, just the confession of it. But for a moment I worry this may be a bit much for a 'civilian'. But...

"Jeeze, yeah, that's nice." Brenda says softly under her breath, her eyes narrowing in pleasure.

Well, at this point, I guess we'll just see where this goes. Mathew is still looking at me for direction and I flick my eyes towards Brenda indicating...

"Yes, Laura." he says hoarsely and steps out beside Greg to properly present himself for the 'new girls' to appraise.

It is entirely unsubtle and meant to be; leaving no room for misinterpretation as to the male intent to offer themselves for sexual objectification and use. It signals a woman's entitlement to do just that without worrying about other social niceties. Brenda seems fine with that; her eyes shifting from one penis to the other, glancing up only briefly at their faces; clearly pleased by the soft moans and excited dance of their cocks under her attention when her eyes drop back there again.

Mousy, on the other hand, seems unsettled. It's one thing to accidently stumble upon two nude men in a garden (though I'm beginning to wonder just how accidental this was), but quite another to stand there and ogle them when they present themselves so blatantly this way for your perusal. She's cringing and shifting about. But I note she's not entirely foregoing the opportunity to peruse.

"Really," mousy says, licking her lips before getting her eyes away from the males and meeting mine, "we were just going to take some photos of the statuary and got kind of..." she breaks off with a wince, perhaps realizing she is a bad liar, then, "The card said things weren't starting till tomorrow, so we..."

"The card?" Astare asks.

"Yeah, you know the..." mousy fumbles with the papers in her hand and pulls out one of the informational cards Lydia had printed up for our group, listing schedules and ground rules for our activities, holds it up, "the card. Says about the CFNM stuff. But it says the first things are not till tom..."

"Fuck shooting the statuary." Brenda, who has continued to peruse during this exchange, snorts happily. "I want a picture of this, right here."

"Brenda!" mousy cringes. "We should be..."

"Yeah, yeah." Brenda cuts her off with an unconcerned wave of a hand, then turns toward Astare and I. "I mean, yeah, sorry an' all if we interrupted." She says unapologetically. "But they don't mind, right?" she casts a quick glance back at the males, then, "Us seeing them this way." she clarifies. "I mean, sure, as long as you, you know, you're okay. But it's not like..."

"Does it look like they mind?" I ask rhetorically, finding Brenda's bull in the lingerie shop approach amusing. I motion slightly towards the males inviting her to...

She turns back to them again.

The males understand what I want from them; the implied expectation in my tone that they will make the rhetorical nature of the question abundantly clear for our guests. I know how asking them to accentuate the display of their excitement will prod their already overwrought arousal. But that only increases the gratification of seeing those hips buck in urgent demonstration of their excitement at having Brenda and her friend 'seeing them this way'; the hard clench of those fine asses and the sharp jounce of their balls as they buck under her gaze.

I know how being made (allowed) to perform this way brings my Mathew to a pitch; the auto-aphrodisiac effects of displaying his excitement serving to ratchet it up still further. I am gratified to see it seems to have a similar effect on Greg, as both men hold position after that last buck; hips forward, curled under and up so their two cocks point almost vertically, both flushed and twitching prettily.

After a moment, Astare nudges me gently with her elbow, gives me a conspiratorial wink, then turns and, "Aren't they a nice pair?" she asks Brenda pleasantly.

Brenda's eyes swivel back our way, her brows furrowed. "What?" she asks. "You mean...?" her gaze swings back to Mathew and Greg. "A nice pair, like..." back to us again, then, "Fuck, yeah!" she laughs, looks back at them again. "That's a fuckin great pair!" she says, then more softly, "Fuckin great." she nods, affirming this to herself. "But, so then," her eyes back on us again, "you don't mind us, you know, I mean, we did kind of know you might be... whatever, okay? Saw you heading down this way earlier and, yeah, Chazy did find that card with, you know, said about CFNM stuff. And I did know what that meant. But it did say that was only starting..."

"You're fine, Brenda." Astare says easily, then focusing on "Chazy is it? Really, it's fine. Why don't you..." she motions them both further into the alcove, "enjoy the scenery." She finishes with a soft laugh.

"Ah, fuck yes." A soft moan from Greg, another sharp buck of his hips at Astare's granting these two license for some further, though still TBD use of him.

I meet Mathew's gaze, give him my proprietor's smile to confirm my agreement with Astare's invitation. His eyes close, his head dropping back, a hard exhale as his penis flexes in approval of my decision to make him available as well for... well, I guess we'll see.

"So," Astare says after a moment when it seems Brenda and Chazy are not quite sure what to do with this invitation to 'enjoy the scenery', "you were saying you wanted some pictures?" she suggests.

I can't help but laugh. Astare is turning out to be a playmate after my own heart.

Brenda's pulls her head back like a chicken that's been bopped on the beak, her brows flit upward then drop sharply. "What?" she looks at Astare, "You mean..."

"Ah, fuck yes!" Greg answers her question with another soft moan that brings Brenda's eyes back there.

Astare apparently is far enough along with her 'breaking in' of Greg to know how to elicit a good performance from him; her offer for him to feature in Brenda's travel slide presentation on 'What I saw in Italy' triggering another hard buck of his hips, his balls jouncing pleadingly for Brenda to "Fuck yes! Please."

"You don't mind, do you?" Astare asks me quickly under her breath; having never played together before she gives me the courtesy of checking, but...

"No, no." I assure her in a hurried whisper. "It's perfect."

And, indeed, though perhaps not literally 'perfect', it makes for a very entertaining interlude, the occasional awkwardness and hesitancy of the mousy Chazy offering an amusing counterpoint to the blunt curiosity and typically American tactlessness of Brenda.

At first Brenda is, not exactly cautious, but rather unimaginative in her photographic approach; taking a few full body, straight on shots of the two of them together as if, other than being naked, erect and presenting their genitals in an exaggerated way, they were simply two fellow tourists posing for a 'we were there' portrait.

She's scrolling back through the images on the camera to check whether she 'got the shot' and mousy is next to her saying, "Okay, so you got them. And now we should be getting back and let these people..."

"Don't be silly." I interrupt this, finding both males', but especially Greg's mounting excitement at being photographed quite entertaining but not yet fully exploited. "You need some better shots than that to show your friends and enjoy for yourselves."

Because the point here, of course is not, per se, about getting Brenda material for her photo scrap book, it's about using that as a pretext and prod to make the males entertain us with, hopefully, ever more excited pleas and displays of their eagerness for her lens. We can always cut things short if it doesn't turn out to be fun.

As to that, the 'fun' for me, is the arbitrariness of it; the males' eager submission to 'whatever' we decide to let these two female tourists use them for; that's the jewel in Astare's and my crown of entitlement. I want them to feel and acknowledge that their bodies, arousal, even their semen, are ours to gift to whomever we wish and dispose of as we will.

The males do not know these two women any more than we do, or what Brenda may or may not do with any pictures she takes; share them with friends for a laugh, post them on line, keep them in a private file and masturbate to them, delete them in embarrassment as soon as she gets home... ah, the possibilities.

Yet these males will not dispute our prerogative to gift their bodies and arousal this way to Brenda's photographic whims. The anxiety and uncertainty about the uses to which the photos will be put, will only further stiffen their cocks to aching, make their thrusts and moans as they pose and offer themselves to her lens more entertaining.

I'll need to be fucked after this; perhaps persuade Astare to agree to a sharing arrangement for the evening; a chance for each of us to sample them together in less limited roles. They do make such a nice pair. I had, last evening, already privately mentioned to Mathew ('sight unseen' as it were) my potential interest in enjoying he and Greg together for fucking and other activities. I would, of course, extend the same courtesy to Astare for Mathew's use, either just for herself as a threesome or together as a foursome if she were so inclined.

This had been based strictly on our pleasant interactions over dinner, which, as usual in these situations, steered clear of any sexual topics or references. We all knew why we had come to the villa and the uses our two male companions would be put to over the next few days of group activity. So there was no need for clarification on that issue. It's far more interesting to let the anticipation of that simmer in the background as we all get to know each other in other respects. Learning their (non-sexual) likes and dislikes, the details of their careers, personal or family history, the books they read, and other mutual interests, just enhances the pleasure of sexual objectification when all of the polite social trappings of wit, accomplishment and status are stripped from them, along with their clothing, and they stand before me offering their bodies, erect penises and uplifted balls for my purely aesthetic appraisal and entertainment.