The Expatriates

"Oh, you crazy American!" Liza Dagleish cried, lifting her hungry mouth from Lucia's tasty twat as Billy pounded her like a maddened bull. "Oh yes, oh yes, oh mmmmmffff..." she gurgled, again falling face-first into cunnilingus. Lucia groaned her pleasure.

Another day, Polly Maxwell lay atop Lucia, each tongueing the others' pussy, with Billy crouched behind Polly's butt, his cock sliding in and out of her depths. Everyone grunted.

Minnie Pemberton, her old man's well-kept young wife, aggressively inhaled Billy's manhood while Lucia fingered her nether holes. Old Pemberton never had the taste or endurance for this.

=====

Billy's two years around Naples, with inspection journeys to Rome and Palermo (the latter was disappointing), flew by with memorable haste. But once again, good times never last.

Billy already felt he had achieved his corporate goals of evaluating manufacturers and eliciting valuable information, and he certainly did not mind all the sex with those unsatisfied women, but by April 1906 he was ready for a change.

"Signore Billy, you seem distracted," Lucia said, after swallowing a last mouthful of hot semen. Alert olive eyes in her almond face sensed his unease.

"Oh my lovely Lucia, it's the weather, and the volcano." He faked nonchalance to soothe her.

Vesuvio had been spewing fire, ash, and lava for almost three weeks and the eruptions of a fortnight ago had severely damaged metropolitan Naples. Winds blew ash and fumes away from Sorrento but greater Neapolitan life had been severely disrupted.

April 18th forced his decision. News came by cable of a disastrous earthquake and fire that devastated San Francisco.

He knew where he was needed — home, not here. He gently pulled Lucia's long black hair, easing her up to him. Her eyes never left his face.

"It's your home, isn't it? You belong there. You will travel there. I will miss you very much."

He kissed her spicy mouth, her perky breasts, her inviting navel, her anxious cunt. He left her gasping and wailing. And he left her, and Sorrento, and his tasks.

It was time to go home.

Author's note: This story by Hypoxia Smurf is copyright (c) 2021. The voices in my head insisted this be written so it is inevitable, ♫ la la. I blame all typos on my bad eyes. Your constructive comments and suggestions are always welcome. If you like this, join the LIT 1%ers and VOTE!