Camille

by PostScript56

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Camille lived in my building; across the hall with her husband. No kids. They kept to themselves.

Between my schedule and theirs I didn't see much of them at all. In fact, the first year I lived there I never saw her at all. I did see her husband on occasion, usually in the elevator on the way to work. At the time I didn't know who he was other than an arrogant prick who never returned a 'hello'. I had heard he wasn't nice to other tenants either and in the back of my mind pitied his wife.

The next year I lost my job - my company merged and purged. I was a bit concerned to say the least. I had spent a lot of money partying - hey, I was 25. Thankfully I managed to get a job bartending nights before what little money I had ran out.

It turned out to be a great job. I always knew how to talk to people so took home a shit load of tips and women. I was cautious with my money this time and instead of partying with the women before I took them home I just took them home. Now the parade that exited my door in various degrees of dishevelment did so exclusively during the day - the so called "Walk of Shame!".

It was around that time I first met Camille.

It was mid-morning and she was getting her mail and I was escorting Shira, a hot indian nurse - who looked exactly what a hot Indian nurse would look like after getting fucked all night with little sleep and no shower, to the lobby door. What can I say? She didn't expect a 4th round of fucking and then she was pressed for time.

Camille stepped aside to let us pass and her look of momentary puzzlement became one of reluctant curiousity when I asked her to hold the elevator. I saw in that moment the confusion of disapproval and admiration peeking out from the corners of her eyes. I knew, without a doubt, images of fucking were flickering in her mind.

I'd seen that look before. Neither Shira nor I were fully put together and we reeked of sex. I was in slippers, shorts and a T, and Shira was still sex drunk and loose as she adjusted her wrinkled uniform, head down and oblivious, as the elevator door opened. Her hand was still pushing material down her pants when we walked past Camille.

In the vestibule on the other side of the lobby door Shira kissed me passionately and made her need clear with a flurry of her tongue and a question, "Fuck me Wednesday?".

I nodded and she pulled me into her open legs and gave me a quick, hard kiss, "I can't wait."

Walking back I caught Camille's eyes take me in. It made me laugh. Girls with big tits know what I mean. Her eyes rose from my cock and she blushed at my smirk, "What-ah floor?", she asked.

"Six."

She pushed it and no other.

"You too?", I asked.

"Si."

"I'm Daryl.", I nodded and gave an apologetic shrug, "Sorry for my appearance."

"Is ok.", she excused with a cautious smile, "I - ah - Camille."

"I love your accent. Where you from originally?"

"Grazie. I froma eetaly." she said self-consciously.

"I hear it's a beautiful country. I can tell just by looking at you."

Maybe it was the way I looked her over or maybe just the comment itself, but she seemed surprised at my interest and paused before she nodded and smiled warmly, "Ye-es," she said shyly in her unsure english, "is a beautiful country. You go?"

"No. I'd like to. Maybe one day you take me," I teased.

She acted like she didn't get it, "Yes, you will alike. You go with you girl-afriend." she gestured at the elevator doors out of which she first saw Shira appear.

"She's not my girlfriend."

"Oh-h," she replied shly, "I sorry."

"No, it's ok." I gave her another once over and a smile, "I'm still looking. How 'bout you? "

Camille smiled awkwardly as if not quite sure of the question or her answer. "Ah, ah, no." She looked down at her ring and rubbed it self consciously, almost sadly, with the fingers of her other hand.

I flirt automatically but halfway past the 1st floor my interest was raised.

It wasn't just her answer, it was the way she moved in spite of her shyness, - there was a curve and a glide that just drew my attention and I became intrigued by the possibilities beneath those unglamorous clothes.

Camille was in the ionosphere of youth with its mature sexuality and default appreciation of good fucks. I knew this first hand; I'd fucked a lot of older women since my high school guidance counselor. That's another story but I knew I could make Camille ooze and flow until my cock was deep and bathing in her release. By the 2nd floor I was making plans.

Considering everything, I knew it would be best done slowly. She wasn't going anywhere. I had plenty of pussy; I'd flirt and let her simmer until she was hot for dick. I figured 6 weeks of simmering and I'd be stirring her stew.

It's funny how the mind works. What I described took seconds. I put my hand to my chest and made a sad face, "You just broke my heart."

She laughed self consciously and lowered her eyes to her covered ring, then, what I undoubtedly read as a thank you, Camille postured up and swayed to give my interested eyes a better look. When her eyes rose they had a grateful and inviting glint as mine raked her over. I could make out a curvy body, with an ass that still looked firm in spite of its spread and a set of tits I would come to love.

The elevator dinged and I chivalrously let her exit first and took the opportunity to admire the sway of her ass. As Camille opened her door she turned and caught me looking, then smiled with appreciation and gave me a little wave as she pushed open the door. I waved in return and stayed to watch her slide her way in and give one last awkward smile as she peeked out from behind the door as it closed.

Yeah, I was gonna fuck her.

You know how the eyes are the windows to the soul? Her soul needed fucking.

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Camille was active in a predominantly italian church and had a group of women friends, all italian, that would often get together in the morning. Other times she was at home cooking or making things to donate.

As it turned out our schedules kinda meshed; more women, more encounters. After the first week it seemed we ran into each other like clockwork.

Actually, I have to confess, after our first conversations I got a good idea of Camille's schedule and timed things accordingly.

Buses are very much on schedule around here so it wasn't hard for me to time my escorting of females to the lobby as Camille was coming back from wherever, usually with a bag of groceries or something.

She was a creature of habit.

The first time I offered to help she politely refused. The second time she had a pretty heavy bag of groceries and she allowed me to carry them in for her. Her place was old world Italian with heavy furniture and religious objects. Everything was neat, clean, and polished.

Later on she brought over some eggplant as thanks. When I returned the dish I told her how much I loved it and shortly thereafter she started bringing over other things she cooked. She said I wasn't getting enough home cooked meals; that I was too skinny. But we both knew it was just an excuse for company and compliments.

It was evident she was disgusted with her marriage. Shortly after she started coming over I joked about not being married and she dismissed it with a wave of her hand, "Marriage not for ev'body Donato." for some reason she found it easier, or just preferred to call me that instead of Daryl, "Is ok you no marry. You have fun. Is good."

I'm good at pressing buttons and it wasn't long before I touched a nerve that cascaded information and gave me insight into her life.

With regret and disappointment she told me how she came from a poor agricultural area of Calabria and married right out of high school. She moved in with her husband to his family's farm. They were married just over 2 years when they found out she couldn't bear children. Since that was an implicit requirement of their marriage her husband got an annulment and she returned to her family.

It was a family dishonor to her old world parents and, through some arrangement and family connection, she was married off to Enrico who was from a village not far from hers. His wife had died recently and their families knew each other. He had grown kids and was looking for a wife to go to the States with him, so, in everybody's eyes, he was doing Camille and her family a favor.

He was 46 and she was 21. That was 20 years ago.

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Enrico treated her like shit and because of her shame she took it. They settled in the "Little Italy" of a town a few miles away where only Italian was spoken and women lived by the rules of traditional Italian wives. Enrico wasn't well liked. He was tolerated because of Camille. They lived there 18 years when they had to move because Enrico pissed off the wrong people.

Just to set the record straight; Enrico was an asshole in Italy too - it's why, Camille found out later, he was looking to go to America. Anyway, they were ostracized and, without much money, took an apartment in my building. Camille was not happy.

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Camille was fascinated by the amount and variety of women I had over and would comment on them. Of one she said, "Bella faccia... pret-ty face... yes?" of another, "Longa legsa..." and stroked her own to clarify..."yes?"

I remember I acted like I didn't understand and she did it again, and emphatically a few times more before she realized what was going on, then blushed and admonished me.

"Why you ah tease? I just say why you have apretty girls."

I mimiced her moves, "I like see you describe."

"Ah, Donato, you naughty to tease. I just like it's good you happy and why."

"I know. So you will strip for me please?"

"Strip? What you mean?"

I described it.

She found that hilarious and laughed long. "Oh, Donato. No, I old, but you make me feel nice." She slapped my arm.

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Camille hated a mess and, when she came over to drop off food, would tidy up my place without thinking and would pause with it in her hand when she came across an article of woman's clothing. I

liked to watch Camille evaluate it before handing it over. I could see the wheels turning as she tried to picture the size and shape of the woman who had worn that article of clothing - and, more than likely, the image of us fucking.

She had gotten to know some of them by sight and I remember one of the first items she found was a tiny thong. She held it up and stretched it out, "Who can wear?"

She didn't expect an answer but I took out my phone and showed her. Lisa was petite and smiling.

Camille looked and smiled, "Oh, si, faci linda."

"Yes. And body."

I swiped to the next picture of Lisa sprawled out naked and exhausted from sex. There was cum on her stomach. Camille was surprised but curiously not offended and looked long and hard before she responded, "Maybe you no show this. She know?"

"Yes. She like."

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The next day I showered and knocked on Camille's door.

"Whoeese?" I heard from a distance inside.

"Daryl from across the hall." I said loudly to be heard.

I heard growing footsteps and the clank of a lock. Camille was surprised and smiled as she wiped her hands on her apron and patted her dress down.

"Sorry to bother you. Can I borrow your vacuum cleaner? Mine just died."

"Shoe, ah-shoe." She said and stepped aside. I waited politely by the door. She gestured me in, "My hands cooking. You get I show."

I stepped into the hall and I was hit by the smell of her cooking. It was enticing and earthy and an image flashed in my mind of me, with baggy, canvas pants at my feet, fucking Camille over a short stone wall with her dress pushed past her waist as my cock forced cries of pleasure and encouragement from her mouth. Call me a romantic.

I followed her swaying ass to a closet off the living room. She caught me staring when she turned to make sure I was following. Her smile was encouraging and I perceived a greater sway in her ass the few remaining steps it took to our destination.

"In there," she pointed triumphantly.

I opened the door and lifted the old, well maintained, upright vacuum and closed the closet. I lifted my nose and inhaled deeply, "What smells so good?"

Her face brightened, "Ahhh, you like brisciole?"

"What's that?"

"Meata. Come I a-show."

I followed the accentuated sway of her ass to the kitchen. She knew.

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This was her domain and she lifted the lid of a simmering pot and with pride spooned out a tied up roll of meat.

"Wow, that looks great."

"I geeve you whena ready."

I touched my heart again, "Oh, that's so nice."

When I returned the vacuum less than an hour later Camille opened the door looking nicely made up. I mean it wasn't like she put on the glamour but her lipstick was freshened, her hair was tidier and it was obvious she went to some effort to look more than just 'presentable'.

"You're the prettiest cook I ever did see." I smiled.

"Thatsa nice say. I justa cleanuppa from cook. You like a-coffee?"

"Yes."

" I make a-espresso." She waved me to a chair at the small kitchen table. "Sit-a - sit - a."

She turned and opened a cabinet and took out a sealed bag of coffee and loaded spoonfuls into an espresso pot and put it on the stove. She moved efficiently and surely as one does with things second naturedly, but I noticed not only a more pronounced sway of her ass but a more noticeably defined profile because of a noticeably tighter dress.

She hummed some Mediterranean tune and glanced to see if I was looking and smiled when I was.

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The next day she brought over a pasta dish. I had our coffee ready.

"Madone, Donato... that one-a todaay..." she made exaggerated hand motions over her own tits to describe them.

"Yes, big." I laughed, "I like big."

"Yes?" she smiled in surprise, "That big?"

"Mmmm..." I puzzled out loud, "nooo,... I like..." I dropped my gaze to her tits and tilted my head side to side looking at one then the other, "... yours."

She placed one hand to her cheek and shook her head in embarassment while the other hand waved me off, "Please... Donato,... I meana for real."

I kept looking from her eyes to her tits,... eyes to her tits,... nodding and smiling, eyes to tits, "Yes... for real."

She looked at me tenderly, "Oh, Donato I know you make-a fun."

"No. Really. Stand up."

She didn't react right away, just sat and continued to look at me unseriously, her face still resting in her hand. I kept nodding and smiling and making motions for her to stand up. Finally she did, slowly and reluctantly, standing self - consciously with one hand resting on the back of her chair.

I stood and walked around the table to face her and she reflexively crossed her arms in front of her chest. I gestured her arms down, "Let me see."

She was looking at me still not sure if I was serious but hoping I was.

I smiled, "C'mon Camille, how am I going to be sure?"

She dropped her arms as if she was going along with a joke.

"They're beautiful."

Camille quickly covered her eyes with one hand and her tits with the other. "Oh, Donato... I feela silly."

"No. You should feel beautiful."

Camille was slowly shaking her head, her hand still over her eyes. "Donato, pleease... I embarass."

"Don't. You're beautiful. Come." I took the hand covering her tits and she kept her head down like a little girl as I led her to the full length mirror outside my bedroom door. I stood behind her. "Look."

Camille raised her head slowly but dutifully.

I half-whispered in her ear, "See?"

She looked at herself but didn't say anything.

"Relax." I gently pulled her shoulders back until her tits popped forward. "That's better."

Camille made a face of reluctant acknowledgement then smiled at herself and to me in the mirror. "You naughty."

"I know. What are they? 36C?"

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. She apparently knew what her measurements were in English. I caressed her shoulders and put my cheek next to hers and spoke to her eyes in the mirror.

"You should wear something that does them justice."

She was wearing a house dress buttoned up to the top. She turned her face slightly and addressed me in the mirror. Her breath smelled of coffee. "Wha' you mean?"

"Like Lea's dress."

"What is Lea's dress?"

I dropped my arms beside hers and let my thighs brush against her ass. "Lea, the girl today with..." I pantomimed big tits over hers then pulled up a picture on my phone."Her dress."

My phone was in her face and Camille leaned back into me to get the picture in focus. My cock snuggled her ass and she settled into it. "That for young girl. It show alot."

"I know."

My free arm crossed her waist and I was softly humping her ass as we pretended to focus on the photo. I unbuttoned her top button and had my fingers on the second before she thought she needed to show some effort in protecting her modesty. Her hand reached up to stop me but there was no will behind the gesture and no resistance when I pulled it away.

Quietly she said, "Donato, what you doing?"

I ignored the question and, with her eyes focused on mine in the mirror and arms hanging limply, I undid another button. And another. My humping was no longer subtle.

She turned her face in profile and timidly gazed at our reflection out of the corner of one eye. "You be naughty Donato."

I continued and Camille playfully fought off my hands unsuccessfully all the way to the unbuttoned 5th button when I slowly opened her dress until it hung off her shoulders. Her breasts were bare to her bra.

Her words felt like kisses; velvety and wanting, "Naughty... Donato..."

I pulled her hands behind her and cupped one at my balls and the other on my cock. I only had on gym shorts and my size was evident.

Her hesitant grip stroked my cock to its tip. "Oh Dio."

I slid my hands along her breasts and scooped them out; feeling their weight settle in my palms. I was surprised by the length of her nipples and she leaned her head back under my chin. Her eyes were closed.

Her nipples were sensitive and when I pinched one lightly Camille tensed with an intake of breath and tightened her grip on my cock.

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Her aureoli were large and dusky red with perfectly round borders; puffy and swollen with long, hard nipples.

When I released them, her breasts sagged, not as much as expected, and her nipples arched upwards.

So nice.

I admired them silently.

Camille's eyes opened slightly with the neglect of her tits and said nothing while I unbuttoned the rest of her dress to her pussy. Her panties were wet and when I slipped past the waistband found a soaked bush as well. My fingers slid in - three with ease.

Camille shuffled pleasurably on them.

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Her dress slid to the floor as she arched and jerked and her animalistic moans screamed out when she came.

She was surprised by the sight in the mirror.

My one arm wrapped firmly under her tits, forcing them up obscenely over her bra and the other was cupped inside her panties still wet with her juices. Where her panties ended, her splayed legs glistened with evidence of a well churned pussy.

Without a word, Camille stepped out of the dress pooled around her ankles, picked it up, smoothed it out and draped it over the chair just arms length away, then kicked off her flats and undid her bra letting it drop to the chair and eased the waistband of her wet panties over her ass and past her knees before stepping out of them. She stuffed them into one of her flats and faced me.

I was mesmerized by those tits and her full, curvaceous body.

She took a deep breath, slid her hand down the front of my shorts, and without breaking eye contact or saying a word, stroked me hard.

She looked down at my hardened cock and back to my eyes.

"Donato,... please... I want."

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I led her to bed and when I kissed her her mouth attacked mine. It was brief and she rolled to her back and spread her legs. She looked at my cock ravenously and stopped me when I took out a condom.

"No. I want feel you shoot."

I slipped in and plowed her slick cunt with one slow, continous stroke and she hummed and cooed, "unnnhhh, Ahhhhh!...", until I hit bottom, then her eyes pinched closed and her frozen mouth broke, and Camille came - "AAAHH!!..." and came, "AAAAHHHH!!! ODIO!... ODIO!! ODIO!!!"

I stilled my dick and waited for her to calm down. I was halfway in and could feel her cunt loosen and adapt for more.

I forged ahead under steady steam and her beautiful breasts heaved as she caught her breath, "Oh, Donato... so big... so big... I love..."

With my dick backed out and her senses back in she hugged and kissed me slowly, gratefully grinding more hungrily at what dick was still in her.

I gave her more and she gasped, "Si!... Si!!..."

I picked up speed and she took it - cumming harder - and in streams.

I fucked faster, harder and longer and she climaxed harder and longer and that animalistic expression never left her face... until I came like a motherfucker and she spasmed and whimpered while I pumped her cunt full of cum - record amounts of cum.

Her body was electric and she jerked and curled, shaking like winter. I pinched one rubber-tight nipple and her body straightened out like a board. Her head went back. Her eyes squeezed shut. And her mouth froze open. and her body trembled until one spastic hand smacked mine away.

When it was all over she lay exhausted on her back leaking large amounts of cum. She looked at me dumbfounded and stupid while I adjusted her limp body and worked a towel under her. Realization set in.

" Donato... I sorry... I wash."

"Shhh," I scooped some on my fingers and brought it to her mouth. She licked and cleaned my fingers without hesitation.

She reached for my deflated cock and put what she could in her mouth; sucking and licking until I was once again hard then mounted my cock and rode herself into oblivion - loudly. In Italian.

The End

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