Fucking Olivia Like Crazy

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by Cristiano Caffieri

Matthew Paladino had worked for a small/microscopic daily newspaper in the bowels of Ohio for over ten long, low paying years. One day, the bean-counting, corporate philistines who owned it decided to close the periodical without notice to avoid any chance of their loyal employees finding other jobs to support their families. Luckily, due to the pittance Matt received in his weekly check, this did not have a gigantic impact on his income but it did afford him a lot more spare time. The owners of the paper tried to kill even that in its crib out by implementing a compulsory volunteer program but lost their case in a bitter court battle. Appeal pending.

Now free to do what he wanted, what exactly did young Matthew really want to do? He had managed to put a little cash aside, by sneaking printer ink home each night in his Baggie-lined pant-pockets, so a few frugally priced options were available to him.

Being of Italian extraction, Matty had always considered the Tuscany area his home away from Ohio. Why not become a novelist, typing out vast reams of great literature while sipping santiovese on a vine strewn hillside? That sure sounded a step up from trying to kick his ice-cold radiator to life in his Lattasburg apartment. With his mind was made up, Matthew sold his neighbor’s car and flat screen TV and bought a ticket to the old country.

After nearly loosing his life 4 times in the traffic out of Rome, Matt arrived in the town of Arezzo and immediately started looking for a place to hang his cappello. After a large Chinese dinner and some hefty glasses of California wine, he stumbled upon the perfect writer’s edifice. It was a tumble down castle than had seen better days and much better owners. Several epic tremblers and multiple territorial disputes with Napoleon and various German entities, had reduced its habitable area to just two rooms. The toilet facilities consisted of a small wooden structure over top of a very, very deep hole out back. So, he found himself living in cold, cramped conditions with a stinky toilet, surrounded by ruins. It was just like Matt was back in Ohio! He loved it.   

Oh, the many wine-drenched hours he would spend, typing words of infinite beauty and style, fashioning tales of love and betrayal and not being able to sleep because of the overwhelming smell of nearby poo. Things were going along just splendidly until Olivia came a-knocking upon his unbelievably rickety door.   

She claimed she to be an acquaintance of his third cousin on his father’s mother’s side of the family but all he really knew about his family was that he owed most of them a lot of money. After they’d nibbled on pastries and supped the nectar of the grape, Olivia revealed the real reason she had darken and almost knocked down his door. She had a very serious problem.

“Oh God, she needs one of my kidneys,” fretted her host.

“I’m what the tragically uninformed would call – a – nymphomaniac,” she sighed. “I simply can’t get enough sex. But I live in a small village where most of the men are old and regrettably hung like flaccid gnats and the younger ones have all run off to Florence or Rome.”

Matthew, thought that it might be best to steer clean of a woman with bigger problems that his own (quite a rarity), particularly one who rambled on like a gibbering nut-basket and didn’t bother to clean the biscotti crumbs out of her impressive cleavage.

“Perhaps you could follow those un-gnat-like fellows to Rome,” he suggested.

“Oh, I could never move that far away from your Aunt Isabella,” she sighed, dropping an even larger chunk of almond biscuit between her tits. “It’s such a lonely life, she leads. She is 85 and when she breaks wind, the dog runs away from home.” She swung her arms around dramatically. “I want to stay here with you fair Matthew. I will cook for you, clean for you and you may place your penis inside me often as you wish. If only you will allow me to remain here, in this mighty castle were writers dwell.”

“Well I’d absolutely love to have you,” replied Matthew, hoping she wasn’t concealing any sharp knives or vials of infected nun’s blood, “but I’m trying to finish up my novel and it’s best for my art that I separate myself from the world at large.”

“What kind of novel is it? Would I have read it?”

“Well, no. As I said, I’m still writing it,” he replied, trying to stay calm. “This woman is certifiable,” he thought. “It’s a comedy romance.”

“Romance! I so love pure and innocent romance,” Olivia rhapsodized. “Anal sex. Doing it in the bathroom at Burger King. Getting a nasty rash from three guys in the back of a donkey cart.” She clapped her hand to her heart. “This is perfect, like a storm,” his randy relative declared. “You can use me to help act out all your love scenes. If you don’t have a strap-on I could even play the woman. ”

“I… ah… “

“You see, it is an ideal arrangement and I am not even asking for credit or a “thank you” on a separate page before the chapter listings for this enormous and free contribution to your oeuvre.”

Matthew was about to feign a case of Ebola in an attempt to get her to leave but she suddenly sprang out of her seat and removed her top and skirt. The remainder of her breasts made the Palace of Versailles seem like a rundown Stuckey’s gift shop. He didn’t know whether is was correct to equate a woman’s anatomy with buildings, but he hadn’t seen chest muffins that fine since he’d spent 2 hours doing important research for his book on Pornhub earlier that afternoon. He also noticed, that besides the biscotti, there was also some tuna sandwich lodged down there that she’d had for lunch.

Olivia gamboled naked into the kitchen and began to wash the dishes between bouts of fingering herself. By now, despite his very valid reservations about her sanity, Matthew had a wangbone in his pants so big he was afraid of tipping the table over. The prospect of shoving his meat and potatoes into this exquisite creature’s TV dinner tray was weakening his resolve to have her carted safely off to an asylum.

Matt finished the last drops of his wine and pranced into the kitchen to claim his poontang prize. Placing and arm around her naked waist, he gently kissed the back of her neck. Why, he could already feel his righteous roger…

 “Stop that you naughty boy, you’ll make me drop this cup. You’ll have to be patient, go back and go sit down.  Write that book of yours or recite a poem.”

Matt was a tad bit confused. About a half-an-hour ago she was a nymphomaniac wanting to bump uglies in fast food toilets and now she had gone full domestic servant on his ass. He still liked her being naked, though. That’s what she was counting on!

“I shouldn’t have agreed to let her stay here,” he chastised himself. “I’m never going to get any work done like this. Maybe I could move out. I wonder how bad Aunt Isabella’s farts really are.”

With the dishes done, Olivia decided that the living room clock needed an emergency dusting and stood on the chair next to Matthew. She positioned her lap cookie just inches from his face. It reminded him of a tweeter he used to have on his stereo speakers. “Hey, while she’s cleaning the clock up there, perhaps I’ll clean her clit down here,” he quite reasonably reasoned and leaned forward for a deep, languorous lick. The next thing Matt knew, he had a mouthful of the duster and an irate relative accusing him of taking liberties and half an Almond Joy she was storing up her hoo-haw for a midnight snack.

When all the dusting and cleaning was complete, Olivia announced that it was time for them to go to bed. “But before we can make love like crazed wolverines high on airplane glue, you have to take a shower.”

This, of course, meant going outside in the cold and dark and tripping over the stone strewn courtyard all the way to the iffy, whiffy outbuilding.

Stripping down to his boxers in the bedroom, he grabbed a towel and began his fraught journey to the distant bathroom. The water was blisteringly cold and it shriveled his dick almost turning it into an “innie.” Then, dodging in and out of the fallen battlements and the odd abandoned Gelato stand, he made his way back to the door of the living quarters only to find it locked.

“What the fuck is going on?” wondered out loud, while flailing on the door with fiery fists.

17 minutes and 38 seconds later, Olivia greeted him with a towel around her body and a tea pot balanced on her head.

“You are so impatient,” she scolded, as Matthew shivered and continued to nether-shrink in the evening air. “I was just cleaning up in the kitchen sink,” she continued, “And I like to wash my private parts in private.”

After finally being allowed into his own living room, she stopped him in his tracks with a pointy nail to his chest. “Oh god, what now?” he dreaded.

Olivia pulled his towel off, removed the teapot from her head and placed his penis and ball in it. The heated water on his frigid phallus felt like warm, beautiful, super-super-nice heaven.

A blissful “Oooh,” escaped his lips and blood and a goodly amount of its size returned to his man package.

Olivia then transferred his recuperating member from the balmy, restorative liquid to her mouth.

“Hey, that feels even better than teapot,” he marveled.

She pulled back his foreskin and had her tongue run laps around the base of his love lump. Olivia lingually kneaded his shaft, as she descended to his awaiting nutack. It was well worth the wait. She sensually drew his nards in between her lips while slipping a finger into his rectal cavity. Although this was a new sensation for him, he was not at all averse. More  and deeper knob slobbering followed, accompanied by a remarkable two-finger prostate massage. Then it was back to a full-court press on Mr. Howdy. His head was spinning. Both of them were.

Matt could feel the frenzied sperm in his licked and polished sack begin to assemble and prepare for evacuation. Two or three more bobs of Olivia’s hot-blooded head and his groin goo was seriously on the march. The last six inches that mung travels to freedom, are the highlight of any man’s day. Matthew’s year. Searing orgasmic ripples expanded out in all directions as he resplendently spewed his spunk into the back of Olivia’s maw. The harder he came, the more determined she was to extract every last squiggler from his incandescent fuckpole. Matt eventually had to push her off his Johnny before she sucked his nuts out through his urethra.

He stood unsteadily in the doorway. His legs were shaky and his dick was spent. “Perhaps a lie down?” he considered.

Too late. Olivia grabbed his forearm and roughly pulled him towards the bedroom. He loved the sight of her tits pogo-dancing on her chest but thought perhaps a good leisurely round of cave painting might give him time to re-inflate the monster.

Olivia launched herself onto the bed, spread her legs like an upside-down “T” and bade his face to come in for a landing. Matt was on it like a bear on a Boy Scout. He sank his cheeks into the soft wet folds of her womanhood and feasted on her glory. She was bucking so hard, the bottom of vaginal opening was banging on his chin. Lustful moans and unintelligible Italian obscenities filled the air. Olivia pulled him closer. Matthew’s nose was pressed so hard against her pelvic bone; he was exhaling into his own mouth. But oh, what access his tongue was given to her muffin pan! Sticking his tongue as far up her candy canal as his oral anatomy would allow, he orally fucked her foo-foo with reckless abandon. Olivia’s taco tunnel began to tighten around his thrusting lingua.  Really tighten.

“Oh my God,” she shouted, “I’m cumming, I’m cumming!”

By the time she’d finished raunchily writhing, his eyesight was blurred and his forehead was soaked. But, parts of him had indeed re-awakened.  He promptly climbed on top of his surprise housemate and sank the torpedo.

“Now I’m going to give her the fuck of your… “

He didn’t get to complete that thought. Olivia began to hump and thrash about to such a violent extent, he had to latch onto the bed sheets to avoid being thrown onto the floor. Matt tried to adopt a rod ramming rhythm but this particular intercourse was like mogal skiing with his cock.

 “Go faster,” she cried, “Go faster, I want to cum again. Make me cum again!”

“Holy fuck,” he fretted. He decided that the best he could do, considering the turbulent conditions, was to make some stentorian grunting noises and concentrate all his energy on staying mounted. Her fingernails sank deep, what seemed like inches, into his ass cheeks. The pain was excruciating but, on the upside, it did help his doowanger to stay moored.

Her second orgasm would have collapsed the walls of Jericho without the need of a single trumpet. Immeasurable, cataclysmic climactic spasms turned her body into a human paint-shaker. Olivia’s shrieks of apocalyptic rapture drilled into his brain like a jackhammer as the devastating cum quakes and savage aftershocks ripped through her very core. By the time his licentious lover returned to the land of the living, Matthew had tossed a second load of baby shrapnel but didn’t even realize it until he retrieved his meat pump from the burnt out hulk of her torso. She still had really nice tits, though.

When he woke up in the morning, he discovered that Olivia had built a model Mt. Fuji out of used teabags and cake icing around his cock. “I like it,” he thought. “Besides it’s too sore to use for anything else right now, anyway.”

Oh well, a great novelist is supposed to live an odd, interesting life. This wasn’t exactly the Bronte Sister but it wouldn’t be dull. Nope. It sure wouldn’t be that.

THE END

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Copyright 2014 Cristiano Caffieri

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