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                                   Casual/italy
                                          Italy
                      (slightly non-consensual (non-violent), probably hetero)
                 Today was not the day for calm reflection, but the rather hazy and yet
            intense day that leaves you breathless before you start.  I had found myself
          waking to a slight breeze chilling me as I lay naked on top of the covers.  The
                              night had been clammy, and unsatisfying.
               I stretched, and Tom sprawled quietly back over the other site of the bed.
            His arms were thrown back as if shot, but there was a peace in his breathing
          and face that belied that impression.  I smiled to myself, and ran my flattened
            hand down his chest, and washerboard stomach to his flaccid penis.  I loved
              this time, when he was soft, and unconscious.  I softly rolled his balls
           between my fingers, and felt a slight shift and firming against the back of my
                         hand.  I smiled, rolled away, and rose to shower.
               Over breakfast Tom was eager.  We had been together for almost a year, and
           almost all of it had been good.  He had been very tender, and passionate when
             we met, but had the roughness in men that I love.  He was always slightly
           stubbly, rumpled, and raw.  I had come to love the harshness of this older man
             as he kissed my neck, and kneaded my breasts or arse as we made love.  He
           wanted to be good to me, but not too good.  After some initial shyness, we had
                      come to share the play time, and fantasies of our lives.
              As we looked over the roofs of the town, Tom stood behind me and rested his
             hands on my shoulders.  He asked me if I had slept well, and we made light
           conversation.  I could feel his cock pressed indifferently between my shoulder
          blades, but had no desire so early in the day.  I was clean, and wanted to make
          a start on our day.  There was still much of the centre of town that we had not
                                   seen, and I wanted to meander.
              It was the start of rush hour as we left the front door of our small hotel.
           Tom had really made an effort, and was looking fit, relaxed, and very preppy.
           It was a look that never ceased to turn me on.  I loved a white shirt on older
            men, and his linen pants were a classic for me.  Myself ?  Tom had still not
           managed to dress me as I thought he would probably want, so I was comfortable
           in a short, split, light, skirt, and loose cotton blouse.  Tom thought I was a
            bit of a tart, I suppose.  I was cool though, and loved the freedom of being
                                           hot and young.
              To get to town we had been taking the bus.  It was all uphill, and the walk
          took the gloss off the morning when we had done it earlier in the week.  It was
            perhaps 10 km as the crow flies, and forty minutes by public transport.  The
          one down side of this trip was the swaying sweaty bus filled to the gunwales by
            men already seeming as if they had worked for days without washing.  I think
                                this was worse for him than for me.
               We swung onto the bus, and I slipped ahead of Tom along the central aisle.
           As we pushed past standing men I could see some of them looking at me in open
          appreciation.  This itself was OK, but I always felt a slightLY nervous knot in
          the pit of my stomach when this happened.  I was careful not to push into these
          men, though most were perhaps more appreciative than threatening.  Tom shrugged
           as I turned.  It looked like standing room only this morning, and I reached up
           grab the leather loop, and encircled my hands in them.  Tom typically grabbed
                     the two metal bars and faced forward.  The bus bumped on.
               For perhaps five minutes nothing happened.  It was clammy, and I was glad
            that I had dressed so lightly.  It was going to be searing later in the day.
            As we went round a street corner I felt a light hand on my arse.  I spun my
           head round, but all the men were talking, and seemed oblivious to my presence.
            I was too reserved to single one out, and felt uncomfortable not knowing the
          language.  I tried to glare, but couldn't see any mileage in it and turned away
                                     again.  So this was Italy.
              As I turned back, the hand was back...It gently stroked one buttock.  Again
           I spun my head round, and again could see nothing to help me see who this was.
               I half turned in the crush of people, and took a more solid stance in the
            corridor.

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  With my feet firmly planted against the side to side sway of the
            bus, I hoped I wouldn't get pushed again into the feeler.  Not so.  After a
            lull of just a few moments, the hand was back behind my knee, stroking then
             feathering against me.  Despite my uneasiness at this, there was a slight
            tingle in my leg, and my knee just broke a fraction.  I tensed up again, and
            the hand moved slowly up to my inner middle thigh.  This was too much, and I
            tried to spin around again, but was wedged tightly, and could barely breath.
           The bus topped to let some more people on, and the hand flicked back and away.
           I tried to pull my legs together, but felt dangerously unstable, even at rest.
                         The bus pulled away, even more packed than before.
                 Immediately the hand was back, gently stroking my inner thighs.  I was
           outraged, but strangely hot, as my eyes fixed onto the back of Tom's shirt.  I
          wanted to call to him, but was too embarrassed, or hot......I didn't know which
             now.  The hand moved up, and under my skirt, and towards my knickers.  The
           fingers made little circles on the back of my legs, and then slowly flattened
            to move over the roundness of my arse.  So slowly did the hand move that at
            times I wasn't sure if it had stopped...I was fixed on its movements like a
                                     rabbit before a mongoose.
               The hand moved down again, and the whole process seemed to be over.  As I
           relaxed, the fingers came up between my legs, and one of them started to trace
           the thin line at the edge of one leg of my knickers.  It moved quickly from my
           arse to the back of my pussy.  I started, and tried to clasp my legs together.
             All I succeeded in doing was grabbing the hand with my legs, and swinging
              slightly off balance.  I craned my head around, and again could see only
                        apparently conversing old men on their way to work.
              The finger had worked its way further forward, and was pressing firmly into
           the now soft petals of my pussy.  Totally against my will I could feel myself
          shudder, and loose some muscle control.  A slight tremble went through my body.
           The finger moved to the side, and started to hook itself into the side of the
            gusset.  As it arched under, it moved back and in, and I could feel my pussy
            exposed.  The hand continued to pull, and this was the first real force that
           had been used.  Another hand moved between my now parted legs, and suddenly my
          knickers were split.  They must have been cut, because afterwards I could see a
                                        clean break in them.
                I was stunned.  I couldn't move, and was so turned on, and frightened, I
            could sense the slightly sweet mustiness of my arousal.  The single hand was
              back now, but didn't push straight into me as I had expected.  Again it
            flattened and stroked my arse, bunched, and started to scratch a gentle path
            forward and downwards.  The tips of a few fingers started to split my inner
           lips from the outer lips on one side. As it split my labia one from the other,
            fingers gently tugged the hairs on my outer lips and pulled them apart.  An
            unbearable tension was building as the fingers inched forwards, and I waited
           the rough thrust into me.  As the fingers reached the front, they moved to the
          back on the other side.  With almost clinical care they slowly tweaked my inner
              lips.  I thought how like the pulling of Tom's lower lip this was, as he
            thoughtfully read this morning's paper.  I was wet now, and ambivalent about
           what was happening.  I had not asked for this, but was too aroused to call it
                 to an end.  I was ashamed as I stood there, but stood there still.
               Two fingers walked over my inner lips to the front, and placed themselves
              on either side of my clitoris.  They moved slightly, and the release was
           extraordinary.  A spasm went through me, and I could feel my pelvis, and then
           my whole body warming, and pulsing.  I fell forward into Tom's back, and a low
           animal sound escaped my lips.  As I straightened, the bus stopped.  I turned,
            and saw a group of surprised and anxious faces behind me.  None seemed other
                         than concerned for a young girl who had "fainted".
               One stood to let me sit, and I slumped down.  Tom  stood concernedly over
           me, and I had a flash of taking his cock in my mouth there and then.  I smiled
            grimly, and shivered.  Today was going to be a day of lust, and distraction.
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