I don't know what I'm doing in this craggy hilltop in a place whose dusty air blows in from Tunisia, depositing sand on the hot and sad little cars in the narrow streets of town below. Maybe looking for a shepherd, someone who scratches a living from what little soil there is. Someone with big, strong hands who will take me, ravish me. Instead, there's Jason, who is sensitive all right, but a bit of a wimp.

He's coming now, with his jug of wine. He's a dot on the hillside, ascending slowly. Below me there's a herd of sheep clustered around the only tree for miles, a sorry little thing half dead. I pull the long skirt up over my knees so that I can funnel what little breeze there is between my thighs. When Jason arises my back is to him, otherwise he would see that I'm naked beneath my skirt and heavy with lust.

The heat makes me horny. I've been thinking about fucking for days, ever since the hot winds have arrived.

"Hi," Jason says, setting the wine jug down on a rock.

I don't have time to return the greeting before the jug slides off its precarious ledge and crashes into a thousand shards, strong purple juices covering the ground like blood.

"Damn."

"No matter, we'll get some from the shepherd."

"Huh?"

"The shepherds always have a jug around."

So soon we're scrambling down the hillside, Jason following like a sheep, although more confused. Toward the bottom of the hill gravity has us running to keep our legs up with the rapid descent of our bodies; our sudden and comical appearance scatters the sheep.

We find the little rock wall with thatched room that probably houses the shepherd and a jug or two of wine. I peek in. He's asleep, snoring. He's also enormous. Strong as an ox, I imagine. The bottle's close by his hand.

"Let's just slip in and grab the wine." Jason whispers.

So I slip in. When my eyes adjust to the light I see his big, rough hands. I imagine a pair of his stout fingers pushing inside me and shudder. Then I see something else that left me breathless and shaking.

His pants are undone. His cock is lying in a gentle arc along his left pant leg like a banana. The biggest, fattest banana I've seen in a long time. I've got to see it better so I bend over him. It smells of musk, the type of thing that gets me all squirmy if I'm in the right mood.

I can't help it--I kissed it. Not one of those Cinderella kisses. Nope, a full, wet, sucky kind of kiss that sets the banana in motion like a flower coming to life in time lapse photography. It straightens a bit, then moves slowly in an arc from his pant leg until it parallels his zipper. I want to sit on it right then. But then my fantasy, the one about him ravishing me, wouldn't come true. I lick the end of it right below the knob, the one that set's Jason to coming whenever I want, in long streams of white goo. I can embarrass him just by kissing him in the right place when he's hot.

"Jeez, Angie, what are you doing?"

"Shut up, Jason!" I shout loudly enough to wake the giant.

He arises with a snort and reaches for the rifle he had hanging from a nail above his head. Then he sees me and his eyes snap open like he had seen a ghost. I brush his cock gently and he settles back, muttering something in dialect I can't understand. Jason rushes in and grabs my arm, trying to pull me away. Then his eyes focus beyond me, to the cock I just happen to have my hand around (well, not all the way around!) and that makes him go all limp. Men are funny sometimes. One's hard, one's limp. Trick is to get them in sync.

"Jason, sit." I said. He takes orders well, usually, and this time was no exception. He settles into the rickety chair in the corner and pouts.

I pull up my skirt until I've exposed my triangle to the giants saucer eyes.

"Angie!"

Whiner. "Unbutton and grab your cock. I think you're gonna get a lesson on love soon."

The giant shakes off his confusion and attacks like a bull, hunched over to suck my lips into his mouth, his hands clawing and scratching at my buttocks. He's grabbing large folds of my long skirt until the back of it's in a wad and I feel my ass all naked and his cock's poking me in front; it stands between us like it's trying to keep us apart.

But not for long. He twirls me around and gives me a little push in the small of my back until I fold over, my palms on the edge of the bed. I feel his cock press into me from behind. One thrust, then two, then I feel it all the way in, stretching me. I can't help but let out a gasp.

He is ravishing me just the way I dreamed. He is overcome with lust for me. Overflowing with desire. His cock has a mind of it's own, and it's sliding into me with a delicious hot friction. He can't help himself. I was too much for him to resist. He's mad with lust, a raging bull with nothing on his mind except release.

I push into him. I feel the heat of his breath on my neck, his arms wrap around my body tugging furiously at my breasts through the thin blouse that's already lost a couple of buttons. The tempo of his fucking increases and his breath starts coming in harsh gasps so I begin clawing desperately at my clit. I must come when that stream hits. I must.

I am well into release, the waves passing over me, weakening my legs but he's clamped hard to me, keeping me upright, then with one last thrust I feel his cock contract, pulsate and the waves keep coming and coming

I slump onto the bed. The giant falls to his knees, coming to rest with his elbows on the straw mattress beside me, hands together as if he's praying. I hear his sharp, wheezy breath and feel a line of wetness forming along my thigh. Sweat pours off the giant like rain. I lean into him, into the surprising softness of him. He takes my hand. I feel surprisingly warm inside, and happy.

I hear a soft padding across the packed dirt floor. Then Jason's beside me, his hard cock on line with my mouth.

"Please?" he whimpers.

Part II - Calabria--Jason's Story

Italian Story Index

(c) 1998 by James Martin. All rights reserved.