Night at the Monastery

It had been a sudden decision: to spend a weekend at a monastery on the mountain.

I, my wife and a friend of us. We had asked for two rooms, but as soon as we arrived, the cold of the environment and the mystery that seemed to envelop its walls, convinced our friend to sleep in the room with us.

We dined and, to warm up, we drank a lot and so, after midnight, we came back to the room a bit shabby. My wife suggested to our friend to sleep with her: I had slept in the cot, alone. To my disappointment in the face of that solution, my wife whispered to my ear. "Tonight you'll enjoy as never before!"

Magnificent woman. In the darkness of the late autumn night, I was lurking with sighs of all nature coming from the big bed. The window's shutter was open and the full moonlight flooded the room through the glazed windows. So I could see. The profile of my wife's nude body rubs on the naked body of the other woman; their wombs of mature women press one against the other; it seemed to me even to see a silver thread of saliva tie my wife's lips to other’s erect nipple. I was a child again: in the night of the convent I started rubbing against the mattress as when, teenager, I was looking for peace for my senses that exploded. Then like now.