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Some of you may remember Jocelyn, a half-Filipino girl I’ve known since her teens. You might also remember she now has a boyfriend, whom I secretly refer to as The Clueless Bastard, on account of how he doesn’t know I’ve fucked her a few times while they’ve been dating. I’ve always imagined how jealous he’d be if he ever found out, but never guessed that I could be the one to made feel jealous over her. Here’s how it happened.
I hadn’t seen her for a while, but we bumped into each other at the local farmer’s markets one morning. She didn’t live in my area anymore but the boyfriend (okay, his name was Haydon) was nearby, so it was inevitable we’d cross paths in the streets. I was there with my neighbour, an old Sicilian guy by the name of Antonio, who’d promised to make me an old-fashioned dinner from his homeland on the proviso that I buy the ingredients (he was on a pension, after all), and to make sure I didn’t skimp out on the freshest stuff he accompanied me to the markets to show me how to identify the best produce. Already we had a tote bag half full of tomatoes, coriander and the most expensive organic flour I’d ever paid for in my life!
Well, being Italian meant that Antonio was also something of a hopeless romantic, and he waxed lyrical over Jocelyn’s youthful good looks (kept muttering “beda” whilst batting his lashes at her), gallantly praising The Clueless Bastard for having secured her heart. But man, did he lay it on thick, old Antonio. The poor bastard had been widowed about ten years ago, and he’d loved his wife passionately. I know he missed her terribly, though he soldiered on with life and continued to revel in the beauty of everyday minutiae. It was part of his charm, how he could be enraptured by light through the canopy of a tree, simple stuff like that.
And he’d promised me a meal which would make me weep. His words. So when he precipitously invited Jocelyn and Haydon to join our feast (that’s what he called it – he changed it up from a simple dinner to a feast to convince them they wouldn’t be imposing in the slightest should they accept the offer) I almost could have wept; but whether from laughter (that The Clueless Bastard would be breaking bread with me) or from anguish (that I now had to buy more ingredients), I couldn’t say.
Jocelyn was delighted by the prospect. Probably hoping to watch me squirm as she lavished the boyfriend with attention. Or perhaps the cunning little minx hoped to make him squirm by lavishing me with attention?
Either way, it was decided: Jocelyn and Haydon would be around to Antonio’s that night for dinner, graciously paid for by yours truly. Antonio seemed well pleased with himself as we left the markets, going on and on about how “beda” Jocelyn was. Calm down, old man.
When I popped around to Antonio’s later that night, the lovebirds were already there, wine glasses in hand. Antonio was in great spirit, fully immersed in his role as host.
“Buon amico!” he cried when he saw me, and quickly rushed forward with a glass of red for me.
There was a sparkle in Jocelyn’s eye – no doubt aided by the glass of wine she’d nearly finished – and I wondered if perhaps there’d be a secret dalliance later in the evening. Perhaps we’d wait until Antonio was chewing Haydon’s ear off about some subject or another, and we’d slip away and bang like bunnies in the bathroom?
“Did you know Antonio made the pasta from scratch?” said Jocelyn excitedly.
I did. I’ve known the old bastard long enough to know that hand-made pasta is one of his great passions. He hates the store-bought stuff. And to be honest, having tasted his pasta before, I can’t blame him. His is miles above any supermarket stuff.
“You’re in for a real treat with Antonio in the kitchen,” I smiled as though only I alone was privy to the secrets of his cooking. “He’s a master chef.”
“You may garnish it with as much salt and pepper as you want, but pumpkin still has little flavour,” he chided me from the doorframe, before disappearing back to the cooking.
“I’m canlı bahis serious,” I shouted back. “You’re one of the best, mate.”
So I sat and chatted with Jocelyn and The Clueless Bastard, guiding the conversation into reminisces from when Jocelyn’s family still lived in the neighbourhood, so as to disclude Haydon from the discourse. He was gracious about it, pretending to laugh along with us when we were amused by some anecdote or another.
Eventually, Antonio announced the dinner was ready. And he’d outdone himself, laying out a spread that could shame a King’s kitchen. There was obviously no way we’d manage to eat it all, and I was thoroughly impressed with how he’d managed to stretch the ingredients we’d bought this morning into such a lavish spread.
Of course, his pasta was the real star, and he explained to us why, saying it was owed to something called “bella figura”. It was a term Italians used to describe how the essence of giving back was put into something, how love and passion could infuse the cooking and make it greater than the sum of its parts.
“But also,” he said slyly, giving Jocelyn a wink, “bella figura also means beautiful figure.”
I swear she blushed at this, and The Clueless Bastard shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
Jocelyn had put on a bit of weight since I’d first fucked her, right next door and over the back of the old wooden seat on my porch. She’d lost that teen slimness in favour of a heavier body, but with her thick thighs and wide jaw it actually suited her.
When Antonio went through to the kitchen to ready desert, Jocelyn couldn’t help but remark how charming and handsome Antonio was.
“Really?” I said incredulously. “Did you not notice the wrinkles and the greying hair?”
“It’s not about that, though,” she said. “A man who can cook like that, with his whole heart, well, let’s just say he’s got my attention.”
Haydon chuckled, but I was stymied as to what the fucking joke was.
Out came the chocolate mousse (these weren’t hand-cooked by our host, I noted with some small satisfaction), and as we spooned the puddings into our gobs I nearly choked when Antonio suddenly blurted out how it was like “slurping on a nice young pussy.”
His eyes creased up as he started to chuckle at his own gaffe, and Jocelyn told him he was hilarious, holding his gaze a little too long. I began to feel the stir of jealousy deep within, and promptly looked to Haydon as an ally, shaking my head disbelievingly as though I expected him to stand up and declare the shenanigans must stop. But he was grinning lopsidedly like the village idiot, spooning the brown muck into his face.
“Ease up there, old man,” I cautioned Antonio. “Girl’s taken.”
“You don’t mind, do you, babe?” Jocelyn said, turning to The Clueless Bastard.
Haydon shrugged. “The meal was amazing,” he said simply, as if that exonerated all sins.
“You’re a lucky man,” Antonio replied, emboldened by not having been reprimanded. “I bet she tastes better than this slop.”
Haydon laughed again.
What the hell was happening here? Talk of eating puddings had diverged quickly into eating pussy. The bloody temerity of our host!
“It was always one of my favourite things,” continued Antonio. “I think I was even better at it than cooking.”
“No way!” exclaimed Jocelyn, mouth wide. “But your cooking was so good!”
Antonio nodded, running a knuckle across his bottom lip to catch any stray mousse.
“My wife says I was, bless her.”
This gets Jocelyn curious.
“I feel like I’ve got to try this,” she says.
“Try what exactly?” I venture, though I’ve cottoned on to what she means. Horny minx couldn’t keep it in her pants if she tried.
Antonio pats the table beside him, shoving his empty pudding bowl to the centre of the table, clearing a space before him. With a nod of consent from the boyfriend, Jocelyn’s out of her seat and circling the table, unbuttoning her denim shorts as she goes.
“Oh my god,” she enthuses, bahis siteleri “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
Antonio is muttering that inane “beda” again, like a mantra, and Jocelyn’s getting off on that as much as she is anything else.
“Yes, keep speaking Italian to me,” she urges him, dropping her shorts around her ankles and stepping out of them as she hoists herself backwards to sit on the table. “I’ve always been curious about an old man, haven’t I, babe?”
She’s grinning back at Haydon, and when I glance over at The Clueless Bastard I expect to see him ready to flip the table in a rage. Instead, he’s sitting there all calm and smiling indulgently back at his girlfriend. He catches me the confusion on my mug.
“We have an open relationship,” he explains. “It’s on her list of things to do.”
Well, who feels like The Clueless Bastard now? Yeah, that’s right. Me. Has Haydon always known that his sweet lil girlfriend met me in a hotel once for dirty sex? That I’d fucked her not long after her eighteenth birthday? That there’d been other dalliances (ones I’ve not outlined yet in any of my stories)?
Antonio was nearly weeping with joy as he stared down at Jocelyn’s crotch. With great reverence he peeled her panties off. She arched one leg out and left them dangling from the other ankle, resting her feet over Antonio’s shoulders so her bald pussy was spread on display right before his very eyes.
“Voglio assaggiare la tua sborra,” he said, nearly drooling on himself, and lowered his face between her thighs.
My god, those fucking thighs! I was insanely jealous this old man was going down between those honeyed legs. At the same time, though, I was sporting a ranging boner watching Jocelyn offer herself up like this, right in front of me and Haydon. She was totally unabashed, enjoying the thrill of being watched as much as having her pussy eaten.
“How is it, babe?” Haydon wanted to know.
Jocelyn moaned long and loud.
“He’s good,” she whispered. “Oh, he’s good.”
I could hear Antonio slurping away. Old men like him rarely get to eat such a gorgeous young pussy, and he was making the most of it, running his flat tongue up the sides of her pussy and nudging his nose between her folds, inhaling her scent like he was smelling a bouquet of roses. The look on his face told me he was in pure ecstasy.
He worked her for a good while, really savouring the experience. Me and Haydon just sat there, watching. Every now and then Jocelyn would arch her back and angle her head so she could look back at us. Mostly she maintained eye contact with Haydon when she did this, and eventually he stood and dropped his pants to reveal his erection, rubbing it for her benefit. He was fucking huge, too; a big thick snake in a nest of dark pubes.
She was gasping now, her knees clamped tightly to either side of Antonio’s head. Haydon made his way around the table and stood close enough for her petite hand to reach out and gently stroke his cock. When Haydon looked in my direction, he motioned me to join them. Hesitantly I stood, and realising he meant for me to stand on the other side, I quickly undid my belt and pulled my pants off, letting my own modest erection spring into the air. Placing myself opposite Haydon, Jocelyn reached out with her free hand and rasped my cock. Her hand was warm and felt like silk as she ran it up and down the shaft. I could see the dark folds of her pussy, all wet with her juices and Antonio’s saliva. He was going to town on her, slurping and sucking and flicking her clit with the tip of his curled tongue.
“Here it comes,” Haydon said, watching Jocelyn’s face carefully.
She’d gone redder, her mouth forming a tight line. Her grip on my cock was firm, and as she arched her back the grip became tighter. If she’d been stroking me now, I’d have definitely cum.
“I’m gonna come, oh god,” she gasped.
“Vienimi in bocca,” mumbled Antonio against her pussy, before clamping his wrinkled lips over her labia and gently sucking in a rhythmic bahis şirketleri motion.
Jocelyn began to whine, a high-pitched sound which merged into a kind of scream. Her hips jerked up but Antonio rode it like a bucking bull, his mouth clamped to her pussy like a lamprey.
“That’s it, babe,” cooed Haydon, stroking her hair.
She slapped his hand away and continued to jerk her hips and whine until she suddenly stopped, falling flat against the table and breathing heavily. I notice rivulets of tears streaming from her closed eyes, streaking down into the hairline above her ears.
“That’s it, babe, rest now,” cooed Haydon with a little laugh.
She let go of our dicks and rested her limp hands across her belly.
Antonio sat back, immensely satisfied with himself, grinning from ear to ear. His face was so wet with her pussy juices he looked like a glazed donut. He gingerly took her legs by the ankles and lifted them from his shoulders, holding her feet against his chest so that her legs were straight. Her pussy was puffy and engorged, and I loved how dark the skin was around it compared to the coffee-like colour of her belly and thighs.
“Cazzo e stato incredible,” wheezed Antonio, and though we didn’t understand what he’d said we could discern from the last word, at least, that he’d thought it was amazing. Or that Jocelyn was, at least.
“Better than pudding, eh?” I couldn’t help but quip.
“Buon amico, until you have tasted this pussy, you cannot know,” he said, shaking his head and staring at Jocelyn’s puffy mound as though he was witnessing a holy miracle.
How could I tell him that I have, indeed, already tasted her pussy? What if Haydon didn’t know he’d been cuckolded in the past?
“Okay, boys,” Jocelyn finally said, rolling over and climbing off the table. “Your turn.”
Jocelyn knelt on the floor and peeled off her shirt and bra, cupping her small tits in her petite hands.
“Circle jerk,” announced Haydon, positioning himself front and centre and taking his big fella in hand.
“Oh, yes,” Antonio almost squealed, leaping to his feet and completely undressing.
Besides Jocelyn, he was ow the only one completely naked. His body was definitely past its prime, but he didn’t care. And neither did Jocelyn, it would seem. Her eyes roamed over his body, admiring everything. She lingered at his groin, where from a tuft of coarse grey hair a long but thin cock shot straight out. It didn’t point up, like Haydon’s, or angle up and to the left like mine, but pointed at a direct right angle from his body. He was uncircumcised, the pink helmet sliding into view from the folds of foreskin.
“I like how different they all are,” Jocelyn grinned, looking at each dick in turn.
We took Haydon’s lead and positioned ourselves right in front of her; me to Haydon’s right, Antonio to his left. Dicks in hand, we began to stroke as Jocelyn encouraged us with dirty word play, telling us stuff how she wanted our cum all over her, how she loved having an old man lick her out. Soon we were all cumming, one after the other, spraying our cum straight onto her tits. I was tempted to one up the guys and let mine stray to her chin, at least, but it’d have been rude, especially without invitation. Antonio had been a perfect gentleman all evening, with his “bella figura”, providing a wonderful meal. I took his example and shot my wad onto her chest, watched it commingle with Haydon and Antonio’s sperm, dripping down her torso and disappearing between into the valley between her clenched thighs.
It had been a hell of a night, and Jocelyn was first to race through to the bathroom to clean up. Antonio handed us napkins to clean up, and oddly enough both Haydon and I became bashful, hiding our erections as we squeezed the last drops of cum free. Antonio, old and wrinkled, stood shamelessly in all his glory. I suppose it’s an age thing. Or a European thing. But he just didn’t give a fuck, and it dawned on me that that same brazenness during desert had rewarded him with some tasty young pussy.
Damn the old fool, but there was a lesson in it for us younger guys, and I’d be sure to remember it, especially for when I got to be Antonio’s age. Also, I should probably take up some cooking lessons.
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