Teach me Italian!

Orhidea leans back in the velvet chair, thighs parted, watching Bettina pace in front of her. Orhidea says she wants to learn Italian just to coax pretty Latinas into her bed. Bettina stops. A slow smile. Bettina drops the grammar book onto the carpet, slides her fingers beneath Orhidea’s skirt, and spreads the fabric aside. Bettina speaks every new phrase against Orhidea’s inner thigh: first guttural “bocca,” then wet “lingua.” Each word dips lower, her accent rolling over flushed skin. When Orhidea sighs “di più,” Bettina lifts her gaze, locks eyes, and slips two fingers between slick folds, dictating proper pronunciation with every stroke. Orhidea repeats obediently, hips chasing the lesson, her accent already breaking into needy moans as Bettina spells out vowels directly on her clit.