Wife’s Feet shared in Italy

A Warm Welcome in Southern Italy

The sun hung lazily over the rolling hills of Campari, casting golden light over the countryside. George and Carol had been in Italy for just a few weeks, settling into their rustic yet elegant country home on the outskirts of town. Life here was slower, simpler--a world away from their fast-paced days in the U. S.

That afternoon, Carol lay stretched out on a lounge chair in their garden, basking in the warmth. George sat nearby, swirling a glass of local red wine, admiring the view--not just of the vineyard-dotted hills, but of his wife, her long legs crossed, toes flexing slightly as she soaked in the sun.

A rustling sound interrupted their peaceful moment. From the hillside, a tall, well-built man with dark eyes and an easy smile approached. He exuded effortless Italian charm, moving with the confidence of someone who belonged to the land.

"Buongiorno!" he called out, stepping onto the stone terrace.

George set his glass down and rose to greet him. "Hello! You must be our neighbor."

The man extended a strong hand. "Yes, Vincenzo. I live just up the way. I was out for a walk and thought I'd introduce myself."

Carol propped herself up on one elbow, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "It's nice to meet you."

George gestured to the small outdoor table where their wine bottle rested. "Join us for a drink?"

Vincenzo nodded, pouring himself a glass as the conversation flowed naturally. They spoke of the best local markets, the beauty of the coastline, and the joys of Italian living. But as they talked, Vincenzo's gaze flickered subtly toward Carol's bare legs and feet, which rested lazily on the chair's edge.

"You know," he said, leaning back in his chair, "in Italy, we take relaxation very seriously. And nothing is more important than taking care of one's feet."

Carol smirked, tilting her head. "Oh? And why is that?"

"A proper foot massage can release all the tension from the body," Vincenzo explained smoothly. "Would you like to experience one?"

Carol glanced at George, who merely raised an eyebrow, amused. After a moment's hesitation, she extended her foot toward Vincenzo.

He took it in his hands, his fingers firm yet gentle as he began kneading the soft arch. Carol exhaled, her shoulders sinking into the lounge chair. His touch was expert, pressing into just the right spots with practiced ease.

George watched, fascinated by the way Carol responded. She wiggled her toes slightly as Vincenzo worked his way along each one, rolling them between his fingers.

"You have beautiful feet," Vincenzo remarked, his voice appreciative. "They are small--size six and a half, no?"

Carol's eyes fluttered open. "Yes... how did you guess?"

Vincenzo grinned. "I notice details."

George chuckled, swirling his wine. "I think you've found your calling, Vincenzo."

As the sun dipped lower, casting an amber glow across the terrace, Vincenzo finally released Carol's foot. She let out a slow breath, flexing her toes. "I have to admit... that was amazing."

An Evening of Indulgence

That night, George and Carol couldn't shake the energy of the afternoon encounter. Over dinner, they talked about Vincenzo, his confidence, his charm, and the unexpected intimacy of the moment.

"He definitely enjoyed himself," Carol mused, twirling a forkful of pasta.

George smirked. "And so did you."

She shrugged, sipping her wine. "I can't deny it. He's... skilled."

The next afternoon, Vincenzo returned, carrying a bottle of aged Italian wine as a gift. Carol had been lounging on their shaded patio, her feet propped on a low stool. The moment he arrived, his eyes drifted naturally toward them.

"You are barefoot again," he noted, setting the wine down.

Carol laughed. "It's too warm for shoes."

Vincenzo took a seat, glancing at George before turning his attention to Carol's feet once more. "Would you allow me another opportunity? I take pride in my work."

Carol hesitated, but George nudged her playfully. "Go on. Who am I to deny you some Italian hospitality?"

With that, Vincenzo knelt beside her chair, cradling one foot in his hands. His thumbs pressed into the tender arch, working their way up to her delicate toes. Carol sighed, melting into the chair as Vincenzo's touch sent waves of warmth through her body.

George, watching from across the table, found himself drawn to the moment. Without thinking, he reached for Carol's other foot, mirroring Vincenzo's motions. Carol opened her eyes, surprised.

"You too?" she teased.

George grinned. "I suppose I can learn a thing or two from our neighbor."

Together, Vincenzo and George massaged Carol's feet, their movements synchronized as they worked every inch of her soft skin. Carol let her head fall back, surrendering to the indulgence. The sun was warm, the wine was rich, and in that moment, she felt utterly worshipped.

Vincenzo lifted one of her feet slightly, brushing his lips over the top in a light, teasing kiss. Carol's breath hitched, but she didn't pull away. George, still holding her other foot, exchanged a look with Vincenzo--one of understanding.

This was Italy. Passion, indulgence, and pleasure were a way of life.

And for Carol and George, it seemed their journey had only just begun.