The Italian Woman and What Was Happening in the Hills

After Emma was born, Damián wanted to get back to his Saturday bike rides, but the baby had stolen every free hour from the house. Noa, trapped between sleepless nights and bottles, could no longer keep up with him like before. Even so, neither of them wanted him to give up his only escape.

The first Saturday after the birth they left Emma with Sandra, the neighbor, and went out together to ride through the Turia Gardens. It was an easy outing, kilometers of gentle pedaling among bridges and orange trees, with the sun still low. Noa hadn’t trained in months and fell behind on the climbs, but he waited for her at every bend and gave her a push with his hand between her shoulder blades until they reached the top.

—You still pedal better than half the people who come through here —he told her when they finished.

She laughed, sweaty and happy, and for a moment they were themselves again.

But in the weeks that followed Emma demanded more and more, and Noa stopped joining him. One Saturday Damián headed out alone toward the Sierra Calderona, found the trails that climbed between the pine trees, and came back with trembling legs and a clear head. He enjoyed the effort, though the solitude weighed on him more than he’d expected.

It was Noa who suggested he call Chiara. The Italian woman had shown interest in cycling on an outing months earlier, and Noa thought it was a good idea for him to have company.

Chiara was Bruno’s wife, one of Damián’s analysts. Dark-skinned, young, with dark wavy hair falling to the middle of her back and large eyes of a deep brown that stood out against her tanned skin. She had a slender figure, with just the right, well-defined curves, firm breasts that showed under her cycling jersey, and a high, round ass that made it impossible not to look at her when she pedaled in front. She moved with a confidence that no one could ignore.

She was not a submissive woman. Quite the opposite: there was something untamed in her, a natural rebelliousness that Noa, in her imagination, had more than once turned into a specific fantasy. She pictured her husband slowly fucking that wild filly, spreading her legs, pushing his cock into her all the way until she gave in and begged for more. The idea, though it gave her a sharp twinge of jealousy, fit within the agreements they had accepted long ago. For some dark connection she never quite understood, thinking about it made her pussy wet.

The rides with Chiara became routine. They tried more demanding routes, rocky trails near Náquera, viewpoints where they stopped to catch their breath while the valley opened beneath them. Chiara, who at first struggled with the technical parts, never let herself be beaten: she clenched her teeth and kept Damián’s wheel all the way to the top. On the way down they always ended up on a terrace, laughing and trading stories that dragged on longer than they should have.

—Bruno has no idea what he’s missing —she blurted out one Saturday, seated in the shade of an oak tree, toying with a blade of grass—. He spends all day on the sofa with his phone. I don’t understand how you can live like that.

And she shot him a look Damián recognized at once: barely concealed flirting.

—Everyone has their own pace —he replied, wiping his forehead, not biting the bait—. But getting out of the house is always good.

As the Saturdays went by, Chiara’s flirting became blatant. At a viewpoint she asked him to adjust her saddle and leaned in much closer than necessary, rubbing her ass against his arm while he worked the bolts. She always found an excuse to brush the bulge of his crotch when handing him the bottle or to lean in so her tits brushed his back, that mischievous smile hanging from her lips. She started wearing more and more daring outfits, shorts so tight they outlined the slit of her cunt and jerseys without a bra that let the hard nipples raised by the cold of the climb be guessed at. Clothes she took off only when alone with him at the top of the mountains and put back on when they returned to familiar streets.

—I don’t know how Noa manages to keep you all to herself —she let slip one morning, not finishing the sentence.

—Well —Damián replied, amused—, sometimes Noa has no choice but to share me with some other lucky woman.

And he winked. Chiara bit her lip.

Later on, purposely lost on a side trail, she braked beside him.

—I think we’re lost, or is it just me? —she said in her sing-song accent—. Though I’ll admit getting lost with you doesn’t seem so bad.

—Getting lost is only fun if you eventually find your way back, don’t you think? —he answered, keeping the tone light, in command of the game.

***

One Monday at the office, Daniela arrived with a smile lighting up her face. They had been waiting for that news for a while.

—I have a boyfriend —she announced—. His name is Andrés, but everyone knows him by his surname: Salas.

Damián and Noa congratulated her warmly. To celebrate, they organized a bike ride that included Daniela, while Salas, not much of a sportsman, preferred to wait for them at the bar. The plan was for Daniela, Chiara, and Damián to ride first and then meet up as three couples for aperitifs.

Daniela had bought an outfit almost identical to Chiara’s. Dressed the same and with similar bodies —except for a few extra centimeters in the Italian woman and the color of the hair— Chiara felt the urge to stand out in Damián’s eyes, to show off for him in a noticeable way.

On the route she pedaled glued to his wheel, taking advantage of every straight stretch to call his attention. At the first stop she came closer with a playful smile.

—Damián, you always pick the best roads —she said, letting a loaded look fall on him—. Though you know I wouldn’t mind if we got lost for a while.

Daniela laughed without malice.

At vermouth time, Damián, in his usual commanding tone, asked Daniela to start pouring. She jumped up, but Salas frowned.

—And why does she have to serve? —he protested, looking at Damián with distaste—. Don’t give my girlfriend orders.

Daniela, unbothered, answered softly:

—Andrés, darling, no one is ordering me. Thanks to Damián and Noa I learned that I love taking care of other people. I do it because I want to, because it makes me happy. So instead of complaining, you should be grateful.

Salas watched her, baffled by the steady calm of her voice. Damián, meanwhile, took a sip of his vermouth and added with a smile:

—Salas, you should be delighted to have her. She’s attentive, helpful… and with that ass, anyone would stay seated waiting for her to come back with another round.

Everyone laughed and the atmosphere loosened. When the glasses were put down, Bruno suggested Chiara serve the next round. She crossed her arms.

—It’s not fair that it always has to be me.

—Looks like you’ve got a rebel at home, Bruno —Damián said, laughing, seeking complicity.

—Sometimes she forgets she doesn’t live in an independent republic —Bruno replied with a shrug.

Chiara ended up laughing too.

—All right, all right, I’ll do it. But let it be clear it’s only this once.

—You’re going to like it, you’ll see —Damián told her confidently—. And while you’re at it, ask for a rag and give the table a wipe.

***

Every time he came back from a ride, Damián told Noa about Chiara’s attempts. She listened calmly, smiling.

—It’s normal, sweetheart. You’re an attractive man, and Chiara… well, we’ve already seen what she’s like —she told him, kissing his cheek.

Over time she started joking about it. When he told her the Italian woman had leaned on his shoulder “by accident” during a stop, Noa burst out laughing.

—Keep having fun with her. Don’t worry about me —she encouraged him—. And if one day you want to fuck her and give her what she’s looking for, you know I’ll accept it. I’d prefer you didn’t, but your wishes matter more than mine. In fact, I want you to tell me everything: how you put it in her, how she screams, how she comes with your cock inside her.

That open attitude, far from the jealousy one would expect, helped Damián handle everything calmly. He, on the other hand, felt sorry for Bruno’s passivity, which if he kept it up would end up costing him his marriage. He proposed inviting the couple over for lunch, under the pretext of having a good time and, while they were at it, waking the husband up a bit.

Lunch was the following Saturday. Damián and Noa made an effort with the menu, and when Chiara and Bruno arrived, the mood was relaxed, though Noa knew that at some point everything would go sideways.

During the long after-lunch chat, Damián set the plan in motion. As he poured the wine, he let slip a compliment loud enough for Bruno to hear.

—Chiara, you have a smile that lights up the table.

She smiled back, grateful. Bruno raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. When Damián kept going with the details —more wine, praise for her dress—, the husband began to squirm uncomfortably in his chair.

—Damián always knows how to make a woman feel good, right, Chiara? —Noa added with a knowing smile.

Bruno filled the chair more than necessary. He had broad arms resting on the table and, although he looked imposing at first glance, the bulge of his stomach gave away too many hours spent sitting. As always, he wore a striped shirt and loose pants, an office uniform that never quite fit. He looked like a strong man whose own presence was slipping through his fingers. In an attempt to regain ground, he turned his attention to Noa.

—Noa, always so elegant. It’s easy to see why Damián is proud of you.

She smiled, but didn’t make it easy for him.

—Thank you, Bruno —she said with a hint of flirtation—. Though, you know, it’s not just a matter of elegance. It’s taking care of yourself, staying active. And sometimes I wonder if you haven’t been neglecting yourself a little…

She left the sentence hanging, just enough for him to feel targeted. The comment left him thoughtful: he couldn’t deny that the sedentary life was taking its toll, on his body and on the relationship.

After lunch, while they washed the dishes alone, Noa went back on the attack, this time without an audience.

—Bruno, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but you need to wake up. Chiara loves you, but if you keep living like this you’re becoming someone else, someone different from the man she fell in love with. You’re attractive, and the sofa isn’t doing you any favors. A woman like her needs to be fucked properly, and if you don’t give it to her, sooner or later she’s going to look for it somewhere else.

Bruno lowered his head for a moment.

—You’re right. I’ve let myself be carried away by comfort, and that’s not good for anyone, least of all Chiara. Thanks for telling me. I’m going to change.

Meanwhile, in the living room, Chiara was pouring Damián a drink. He had both hands under her skirt, caressing and squeezing the thighs hardened by so many hours on the bike, slowly moving up until he brushed her groin. The Italian woman let out a sigh and spread her legs a little, inviting him to keep going. Damián’s fingers found the edge of her panties, already soaking wet, and moved them aside. He ran his fingertip along the wet slit of her cunt, up and down, then pushed two fingers deep inside her. Chiara bit her lip to keep from moaning, setting the glass on the table with a trembling hand. The kitchen was only a few meters away, and that closeness to danger made her even hotter. Damián moved his fingers slowly, searching for the spot inside her, while with his thumb he pressed her swollen clitoris. The Italian woman clutched the back of the sofa, legs open and hips pushing against his hand, feeling how for months she had been waiting for exactly that.

—Not here —she whispered, her voice broken—, not now… but soon, please.

Damián pulled his fingers out, brought them to his mouth, and sucked them slowly, looking her in the eyes. Chiara almost came just from seeing it.

***

When the guests left, Noa knelt at Damián’s feet with that mischievous spark in her eyes. She decided to take the joke up a notch. She put on a very serious expression and started speaking in an exaggerated Italian accent.

—I’m Chiara. I ride a bike and I never obey men.

Damián, who understood Italian well, raised his eyebrows and played along.

—Ah, the famous Chiara. I’ve heard of her. Apparently she needs a bit of discipline —he said, and patted her cheek, then the other, gently, weighing every gesture.

Between each slap, Noa moved closer to his lap, unzipped his fly, and pulled out his cock, already half hard from knowing what was coming. She held it at the base and licked it from top to bottom, from his balls to the tip, with her tongue broad and flat, like someone licking a melting ice cream. She spat on the glans and spread the saliva with her thumb, turning it slowly, until she felt it harden like stone in her fist. Then she closed her lips firmly around the base and started moving, setting a rhythm, bobbing her head up and down while his heat hit her face and the salty taste settled on her tongue.

Damián let out a restrained growl and she knew she was doing it right. She traced every vein, every ridge, with the tip of her tongue, outlining the head, dipping into the little opening at the tip until she drew out a thick drop of pre-cum that she swallowed while licking her lips. She felt it harden even more in her mouth, pulsing against her tongue. She took him deeper, all the way to the back of her throat; she felt his hands gripping the back of her neck, pushing her, forcing her to swallow him whole, and though she gagged slightly and tears blurred her eyes, she didn’t pull back. She wanted him to feel how much she wanted him, how much she liked being his slut.

She leaned back, let him slide out with a thread of saliva hanging from her mouth to the tip, and lowered her tongue to his testicles, licking them slowly, sucking them one by one, taking them into her mouth carefully while she worked his cock up and down with her hand. Damián was trembling, thighs tense, and she enjoyed watching him lose control. She lifted his cock upward and licked his perineum, going lower still, until the tip of her tongue brushed the edge of his ass. Damián jerked in surprise, and she laughed with her mouth full.

Damián grabbed her by the hair and lifted her just enough to slap her cheek with his sex, first one side, then the other, marking her face with his wet cock. He ran the glans over her lips, over her nose, over her forehead, rubbing it all over her face while holding her by the nape with his left hand. She looked up at him from below with a desire she couldn’t hide, mouth parted, tongue out asking for more.

—Open —he ordered, and Noa obeyed.

He shoved it into her mouth again, this time without delicacy, fucking her face with short, deep thrusts, all the way down her throat, barely letting her breathe. She grabbed his thighs with both hands, letting herself be used, letting herself be filled. The wet sounds of sex against her palate filled the living room, and between thrusts a few muffled moans escaped that drove Damián wild.

He pulled his cock out for a moment, let her breathe, and she took advantage of it to ask for more in a hoarse voice:

—Come in my mouth. I want to swallow it all.

Damián pushed it back in, this time hungrier, until his whole body tensed. He pressed her against his throat, held her there, and she felt him finish in hot spurts that ran straight down into her stomach. She swallowed every drop without pulling away, her nose pressed to his pubis, holding his gaze until the end. When he pulled back, one last thread of semen was left at the corner of her lips and she gathered it with her finger and took it to her tongue.

When she pulled away, she slipped back into her fake accent.

—I’m Chiara, I swallowed everything. But let it be clear it’s only this once.

They both laughed, relaxed and happy. Damián put his legs over her back to rest, and Noa stroked him meanwhile. As the minutes passed, the weight began to show and the hard floor pressed into her knees.

Damián ended up asleep on the sofa. Despite the discomfort, she decided to stay there serving as his footrest. She was sore, even a little humiliated, with his taste still on her tongue and her panties soaked from getting wet all by herself while sucking him, but seeing him so calm and satisfied made her own discomfort seem unimportant.

Three hours later he woke up and, finding her still kneeling, lifted her into his arms with a tenderness that completely undid her.

—You always make me feel special —Noa murmured, curling against his chest, leaving the discomfort behind as he carried her to bed.