Ian awoke a few hours later on the couch. He couldn't remember much of how he had managed to bring his bags up to the apartment. At first, he couldn't even remember where he was or why he had fallen asleep with his clothes on. A heavy feeling in his groin and the packed bags reminded him of the unreal drive from the airport. Without thinking, his hand was slowly rubbing his cock through his pants, pretending it was Amara's hand, just like in the car. Desire washed over him, and he pushed his pants down. Blood rushed to his groin. It felt so good. This was going to be quick, he smiled. Then stopped, for he had suddenly remembered Amara's strange request. She had made him promise not to cum. He was still a little confused about that - had she really meant it? Looking down at his hand on his cock, he let go with a chuckle. His experience with Amara had repeatedly taught him that she meant everything she said. He pulled the pants back up and shook his head, he would think about that later. He could wait, for now.
Ian was still quite groggy from the jetlag, but it was also a long time since had breakfast on the plane. Hungry, he looked in the fridge, hoping that by some miracle, there was food in there. Disappointed, he found that it was not even on. Instead, he turned to the bathroom and began undressing for a shower, but felt something in his pocket. What was this? He fished a folded piece of paper was in his pocket, a little damp though, and instantly he knew what it was; Julia's number! Carefully unfolding it, his heart sank. About half the numbers were smeared and now beyond recognition. How could he have been so stupid? Putting the note on the desk, he copied down the numbers he could recognize and his best guess at the others. What was her full name again? Julia Ga-something, was it Garcia? No, that was gone too. He sighed deeply. Ian had never been good at remembering names. Heading back to the shower, he tried to wash the disappointment away. This was a challenge Ian could solve later when fully awake and his mind at full capacity again. He did love a good challenge, he attempted to remind himself, but it was no use. He was an idiot, the first girl who had ever given him her number, and he had fucked it up.
After the shower, Ian did feel slightly better and began to settle in. The fridge was turned on, he shopped a few necessities nearby store and grabbed a sandwich, which he ate on the way back, then unpacked his bags. Through the trivial tasks, he had difficulties focusing. His mind drifted and took him back to the plane and the high-speed drive through Rome. The experiences still fresh, he soon found himself getting aroused. Briefly, he entertained the idea of jerking off to regain a little bit of focus, but he couldn't shake Amara's strange request from his mind - even if he was more and more sure that it must have been a joke. In the end, he concluded that it was better to be safe than sorry. Another line of thoughts also filled his mind, but this one was more difficult to admit. Was the loss of control turning him on? A strong woman taking control? He had read such erotic stories many years ago in high school, and he had often pretended it was him in them. Chuckling, he remembered how he had renamed the mistress in his favorite story to Miss Perdue, a rivetingly sexy teacher in highschool. He looked down and adjusted his now fully erect cock. Amara was his advisor, maybe not technically, but still, there was an air of authority around her. He really shouldn't pursue this, and those fantasies were something he had left behind a long time ago. In the end, he concluded that he would have to say something. It wasn't proper. Instead, he would focus on finding Julia's number.
Around 7 pm, Ian finally sat down for a break and turned on his computer. Luckily the WiFi was already set up and working well. Next to his laptop, the note from Julia was still tauntingly reminding him of his stupidity. But he wasn't ready to try and tackle that yet. Instead, he saw that Amara had shared a few folders with him; inside was the complete set of the scanned pages from the Angelica Texts. He downloaded one and quickly looked over it. His initial impression was that they were similar to the tiny snippets Ian had seen so far: Completely incomprehensible, the characters, unlike anything he had seen before. The text filled the pages completely, with almost no margin and no paragraphs or sections to it. This was, without a doubt, his biggest challenge yet.
There was an email from Amara reminding him of dinner at 10 pm at a nearby restaurant. He had thought how bad could it be when Amara had told him that Italians ate very late, but the email left no doubt about the time. Besides him, it was addressed to what he guessed were two of her colleagues, Marcus and Roberto. The place sounded fancy, and from a brief look at their webpage, it was clear that while there was no formal dress code, he would be expected to wear something nice. Conflicted, Ian looked at the suit he had put in the closest less than an hour ago. Now happy that he had brought it, he was, as always, skeptical of wearing it. He had, for most of his life, managed fine with jeans and a t-shirt. Honestly, he didn't trust people who needed to wear suits. To him, they were simply trying to hide either their insecurities or that they didn't know what they were talking about. He had always argued that your ideas and thoughts should speak for themselves and didn't need a suit to persuade people, look important, or bolster his confidence. Then again, he didn't want to make a bad impression on the very first night, so as the time neared 10 pm, Ian changed into the suit nonetheless and left for the restaurant.
The evening walk towards the restaurant was everything Ian had hoped Italy would be. Warm enough to be comfortable, but cool enough not to sweat like an overweight American tourist in the Caribbean. The area was full of older buildings, and it slanted down towards the center of the city. The small steep streets soon gave way to wider ones, and the cafes on the corners were joined by larger restaurants and specialty shops. The streets were filling up with people too, and it was clear you could easily have dinner this late in the evening. The Italians were coming and going, enjoying the more temperate hours to their fullest. Everybody was also very well dressed, not overtly sexy nor overly formal, but just fashionable, conveying relaxed confidence. Ian was for once glad he was wearing a suit, even if it, in comparison, felt old and bulky. He had a lot of shopping to do before he fit in properly.
On the way, he wondered how Amara would react after what had happened earlier? Should he say something now? No, he wouldn't mention it. Ignoring it, at least for now, would be for the best. Also, he didn't want to make a scene at the restaurant. Tomorrow instead, at work, that was better.
Finding the restaurant was simple and Amara, who was already there, spotted him as he entered.
"So, you did show, after all."
Ian looked confused.
"You never called me," Amara said with just a hint of annoyance as she hugged him.
"Oh, no... I forgot! I'm really sorry," he responded, and she led him to their table and sat down opposite him, then she ordered a bottle of wine white and sparkling water. Ian considered briefly to ask for still water but let it go.
"Forget about it; you are here now. So did you sleep okay? You seemed a little on edge when I dropped you off," her usual smile was back. The comment innocent and then not really.
"I did, thanks. But about earlier..." Ian regretted immediately starting down that line of conversation.
"Yes?" Amara looked him dead in the eyes with a curious smile on her face.
"I'm just not sure if we should... you know. We have a professional relationship after all," Amara kept her eyes on him, not making this any easier at all.
"Well, it was just a little fun, Ian, you can relax, we are in Italy now, we are not so stuck up here. I enjoyed it a lot, and as I remember, you seemed to enjoy it too."
Ian was stunned and didn't know what to say, and he had failed to keep eye contact. His eyes had drifted down to Amara's generous cleavage. She had on the same dress as earlier at the airport. From his position across the table, Ian had a rather generous view down the front of her dress. The view was, in one word magnificent. Amara wore a small golden necklace, her fingers played idly with it when one of them strayed and traced a path down her cleavage. Ian gulped.
"Just admit it, Ian, you enjoy this way too much, don't you?" She asked, her smile had turned to a wicked grin. But Ian never got to answer as Amara stood up, her breasts swaying softly, and waved at two men coming into the restaurant.
They were joined by Amara's colleagues at the table, and the youngest of the two, Marcus Garcia, sat down next to Ian. He was another ph.d. student, Italian, and very enthusiastic about Ian's visit. Marcus was a little shorter than Ian but very fit with black wavey hair, and his dark brown eyes shone with curiosity. Amara had asked him to help Ian get settled and with any practical issues that might arise. The other man was in his fifties, starting to go bald, the yielding hairline now more prominent than the remaining hair. The hair still left was almost white. He was head of the department and introduced himself as Roberto Rossi, very polite but seemed a little reserved about the dinner party.
"I have never seen a visit fall in place this quickly before. You should count yourself lucky Amara managed it with such efficiency," Roberto Rossi said.
"Speed was necessary. Ian is almost done with his dissertation," Amara explained.
"Still, I have seen the administration work things out this fast before, or maybe it just when I make a request." The smile on Mr. Rossi's face showed that he didn't mean what he said. "You have always been great at motivating people, Amara."
Amara caught Ian's eye right at that moment and winked.
"I guess I do have a knack for making people see the bigger picture."
The naughty grin was before was back and Ian wondered how exactly Amara had been motivating the people working in the administration.
Amara and Mr. Rossi had something unfinished to talk about because they were quickly deep in discussion, in Italian naturally, and Ian couldn't follow at all. Instead, he and Marcus talked. Marcus was honestly curious about the project Ian should work on. At first, it was difficult as Ian didn't know how much Marcus knew. He, however, turned out to be quite knowledgeable about Ian and Amara's research plans. He also told Ian that a few of the tomes were on display in the library where they were found, so people could see them in the actual place where they had been found. Marcus promised to take Ian during the week and claimed that the tomes were very popular, with hundreds of people coming to see them every day. He seemed to have visited more than once already. At first, it almost sounded like he was going every day before coming into the office, but that couldn't be true. Ian concluded that some nuance must have been lost in translation.
Suddenly something brushed against Ian's shoes, just a stray foot, but then he felt it again. It took a few seconds, but he finally realized it had to be Amara's feet. The effect of the next touch was electric, even if it was purely accidental. He looked up and saw her still intently in discussion with Mr. Rossi. He couldn't help himself and stretched his feet further towards Amara, trying to provoke another touch. He didn't have to wait long, but this time he felt her feet against his shin, and this time the contact was not a coincidence. It felt very deliberate yet gentle. Then her other foot joined the first. They ran up and down his lower legs, teasingly. Then her toes tried to sneak up the inside of his pants. Amara had slipped off her shoes. Ian's heart beat faster, and he was getting a little nervous. Glancing around the table, Ian tried to see if Marcus or Mr. Rossi had noticed that Amara was playing footsie with him, but they seemed oblivious. Ian had stopped talking, and Marcus was filling out the silence by telling in detail about the project he worked on, some literature study, but Ian couldn't really concentrate. Instead, he tried to focus on his food, eating slowly, nodding once in a while, pretending to listen all while Amara's toes moved up his legs.
"Are you okay there, Ian? You seem all quiet," Amara's voice brought his attention back to the table. Now all eyes were on him.
"I'm good, thanks. The food is just really delicious, isn't it?" Ian was trying hard to remain calm, but Amara's feet had reached his knees and continued to wander higher and higher.
"Tell us about Boston. What have you been doing in the last months?" Amara asked, not letting him off the hook yet.
"Well, not much, actually, you know. Just finishing up my p-papers," Ian stumbled over the last word as Amara's feet pushed his legs apart.
"Really nothing to share? I'm disappointed," and Amara's feet retreated a bit as she replied. She rested them on the inside of his thighs, but they kept still, just a bit away from his crotch, ready to resume their teasing at any moment. Ian's eyes flashed to hers. There was a wide smirk across her face.
"I have been studying to learn Italian," he tried, and immediately he was rewarded with Amara's feet moving up his thighs. "I have had - ah - a few classes." Amaras feet pushed against his straining cock. The thin dress pants provided almost no protection from the seductive touch of her feet and toes.
"That is great!" Marcus contributed to the conversation, and the smile on Amara's face widened, even if nobody but Ian noticed it. Marcus continued, "so what can you say?" Again, Amara's feet paused their efforts waiting for his response.
"Grazie; mi chiamo Ian." Each word earned him a little hidden rub under the table. Embarrassed by his lack of Italian but desperate for more attention, he struggled and kept going, "non parlo italiano, io parlo inglese." Amara's feet stroked rhythmically along his erection and with ever-increasing intensity.
"Excellent pronunciation," the over-optimistic Marcus praised, "even if there is still some way to go. I guess that saying you don't speak Italian is a good safety sentence. Just let me know if you need any help. I don't mind at all." Amara's stimulation continued below the table. Still aroused from earlier, Ian could feel his attention to the conversation failing. To steady himself, he grabbed the edge of the table. The toes of one foot were tickling his balls while the other kept the rhythm and stroked the length of his cock. If she kept this up, she would make him cum! Stop! He mouthed to Amara, but she just smiled, shook her head, and pushed firmer against him. Breathing deeply, he was losing control of himself, giving in to the sensations. Marcus gave all kinds of hints to learning Italian, and Mr. Rossi was busy with his food, but none of it registered with Ian. Getting desperate, his hands dropped to his crotch, and he tried again to signal Amara to stop. An ice-cold stare met him, and her feet pushed his hands away. Yielding, his hands returned to the table, as did the soft expression on Amara's face. He could do nothing but wait for the inevitable conclusion to Amaras magically touch. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed tightly on the edge of the table. He needed this bad, and all thoughts of embarrassment were gone, just a little more. Oh yes! That is it, he thought to himself, but just as he was about to succumb, the sensations stopped. His eyes flashed to Amara.
"Per favore!" Ian begged much more forcefully than intended, which earned him startled looks from Marcus and Mr. Rossi. Amara, who couldn't contain herself, started laughing.
"I think that is enough. Perhaps we should let Ian enjoy his food," Amara concluded, moving her feet back to the floor. Leaving him on the edge of orgasm for the second time that day. Frustrated and embarrassed, he sat back up straight, tried to regain a little bit of control, and then finished his food. As the dinner dragged on, more wine was ordered, and after a few glasses, he began feeling sleepy. As Ian had calmed down, he had begun to hope that Amara would continue her sexy games and hidden stimulation. But as time passed, it became clear that she had already had her fun. A few times, he had rubbed his feet against hers, but a sharp heel from her shoe pressed firmly against his foot, and a determined stare from Amara stopped that. The message was clear: She decided when and how. The sleepiness had the small benefit of damping his arousal, and he did partake in a few meaningful discussions. They reminded him of the great opportunities that lay before him.
Feeling ever more drowsy Ian excused himself before falling asleep right at the table. Then said good night and wholeheartedly thanked them all for the very excellent dinner. The food had been fantastic, even Mr. Rossi agreed on that. Amara assured him that she would pay as she followed him out.
"Tomorrow, just ask for Marcus at the reception, and he will help you get settled in," she gave him a long hug, her thigh pushing between his legs, rubbing against his cock as she spoke. "Ian, remember our little agreement. I must stress that this is very important to me," she whispered in his ear, and he moaned softly in response. "I know it can be a little difficult, but I promise you, in the end, it will be more than worth the slight frustration you might feel now."
Drunker than he had realized, Ian looked Amara in the eyes, the sparkle in them captivating, her thigh against his crotch, her hands on his shoulders. But everything seemed to swirl a bit, and he couldn't focus. She was so beautiful! He leaned forward and half attempted to kiss her, but she deftly dodged him and moved away from the hug, making him stumble a few steps. "Good night, Ian," she stated, before turning and hurrying back inside the restaurant. Overwhelmed by yet another unreal interaction, he walked home with a now very uncomfortable and obvious bulge in his pants. It was past midnight, and the streets were much less busy, so the embarrassment was not that bad. Returning to the apartment, Ian was tired from the jetlag and the wine, so despite his terribly aroused condition, he managed to fall asleep. Blissfully unaware that back at the restaurant, Amara was unusually quiet, letting Marcus and Mr. Rossi talk. She was very pleased with herself, so far everything was going according to plan.