Welcome to Spain (fm:oral sex, 4049 words)

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"No," I agreed. "But why would I want to?"

The uniformed concierge handed me my key. He looked, I must admit, a little askance at my unannounced guest, but I'd iron that out later. Then we boarded the rattletrap elevator that had definitely seen better days, and finally, fell into my room, grateful for the sudden breath of cool air that broke the heat of the un-air-conditioned hallways.

I lit an incense burner on the mantel, squirted some patchouli into the air, and gestured towards the open window. "There's stables directly underneath us, and the smell can get a little ripe in the heat," I explained, with the recently acquired air of a seasoned traveler. "This takes the edge off it."

Peter laughed. "Don't bother explaining. It's a lot more exotic if you don't." Then, "but speaking of exotic, do you mind if I take a quick shower? After that bus ride, I'm feeling a little fragrant, myself."

"Go ahead." I watched him as he went into the bathroom, waited till I heard the hiss of the water and the accompanying gurgle of ancient pipes, then I stripped off my dress to hang by the window and air out a little. Still sweating in my bikini, I curled up on the bed, lying back and watching the lizard I'd seen on the ceiling this morning. He (or she) crouched motionless in the corner by the window, or at least, that's the impression he wanted to give. But every few moments, a lengthy tongue would dart out and snatch something out of the air, and an unwary insect would wind up his lunch. Good pickings! Unbidden, a curious thought crossed my mind. I wonder if lizards enjoy oral sex? With tongues like that, they ought to.

I heard the clunk of the shower switching off. "Towels in the airing cupboard," I called through the closed door. There was an answering grunt and the sound of some rummaging, then the door opened. I shifted my shoulders, allowed my head to dangle over the edge of the mattress as Peter stepped out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, while he vigorously dried his hair with the other.

"I needed that," he murmured through his motions. I grinned; "I bet you did," and then I stretched out both of my arms, clasping him by the knees. He stepped closer, and I tugged gently at the towel. It slipped down, but I kept my eyes trained firmly on his, trying to overlook just how comical he looked with his arms frozen in surprise above his head, his hair a wild tousle around the towel. People have said my eyes are my best point (people who've only seen me fully clothed, that is), and I won't disagree. Peter certainly seemed to be drinking them in, gazing back at me, his own face a wonderful confusion of bewilderment, surprise and anticipation.

It was time to break the spell. My hands were still on his knees; I pulled gently and he toppled forward, catching himself just in time to avoid falling on top of me, his legs parted behind my head and his cock just inches away. I grasped it in one hand, fat and soft and as unsuspecting as he seemed to be. Hah! Just how I like them to start with.

Mustering some grace and regaining his balance, he shuffled forward as his arms held his weight above the bed, then I pulled him to my lips, rolling the fleshy head of his still soft cock against lips that I'd just moistened with my tongue. There was a twitch as the blood began to rush in and I held him in my mouth as he hardened, sucking a little, but mostly not moving, thrilling as his weight and thickness stretched my lips wider, and pushed my tongue down.

I wondered why this had never happened before? How it was that I'd known Peter since college, and - with one completely out of character (yeah, Chrrisie, keep telling yourself that) exception, we'd never gone further than a few drunken fumbles, and the half-spoken agreement that, sometime, we really ought to sleep together? Well, that sometime was now.

I remembered the night I met him, one of those nights where the music was so loud that you had to shout even when you whispering, and the moshpit was so crowded that you had no choice but to move with the rest of the audience, a rhythmic swaying and surging that threatened to topple you off balance, even as the people packed against you made certain that you wouldn't ever fall.

I closed my eyes and went with the flow, only dimly aware of all the points on my body where others were squashed against me - an elbow here, a shoulder there, a purse somewhere else, and I don't know what it was about that pressure on my ass but I knew it wasn't anything I'd have expected to find. I turned my head as much as I could and the guy standing behind me caught my eye and smiled, which was when I knew for sure what it was. He had a hard-on like you wouldn't believe and the only thing stopping it from sliding up my ass were his jeans and mine.

I tried to wriggle away but couldn't, the crowd was too thick. And part of me, I realized, wasn't trying too hard, either. There's something oddly arousing about having a complete stranger just a few millimeters of denim away from fucking you up the ass, and when a particularly hard surge separated us for a moment, I was shocked to find myself feeling disappointed. He was still behind me, I knew, but his body had changed its angle just enough that the wonderful pressure I'd been riding for so long was gone. And I missed it.

I wriggled my ass, hoping to make contact again. Nothing. Just the hardness of his hips... but at least I knew I was close. I shifted from one foot to the other, stepped a little to the left - ah, that's better. He was still off target but an inch or two more - and then I felt him again, hard between my butt cheeks and I wondered what had changed to make him feel so much more "real"? Which was when I reached behind me with one hand and came into contact with flesh. Hard, hot flesh.

I turned again, and he was still looking at me. Smiling, but not in a creepy, scary way. It was a challenge, and I shocked myself when I realized it was one I intended to rise to. The volume of the music, the heat of the crowd, the sudden unexpectedness of everything else, each one hit me like a hammer and I curled my fingers around his cock, moved away slightly to give myself room, and began gently jerking him off to the rhythm, long hard tugs that pulled the breath from his body, short, fast twists that just seemed to make him harder.

My wrist was twisted but I didn't care. I just kept on jerking him and when he came, a sudden flood that splashed hot on my fist, I kept going, massaging him back to softness as his hand touched mine to let me know I should stop. I wiped my hand dry on his jeans and turned my attention back to the concert, smiled as I felt him stuff something into my pocket... it turned out to be his phone number, scrawled on a torn cigarette box... and the next time I turned around, he was gone.

Now he was back.

The position in which I was lying made it difficult to move my head too much; holding hard with my palms clamped to his butt, I began swaying his hips back and forth, to and fro, feeling him slipping in and out of my mouth. Occasionally I'd stop, hold him still while I sucked or, breaking for a much needed breath, lapping my tongue around his shaft, across his balls. I drew one into my mouth, sucking hard and then releasing it abruptly; he gasped aloud, and I felt him tense as I set to work on the other.

I raised my head and looked down my body. Peter hung over me, his eyes closed tight, his mouth wide open. I ran one hand along his torso as far as I could reach, tweaked a nipple and smiled as he gasped again. "Just making sure you're awake down there," I smiled, then pulled him back into my mouth.

"Oh, I'm awake alright." I didn't need to coax him this time, his hips were moving of their own accord, driving his hot meat into my mouth, harder and faster as he realized that I wasn't going to stop him for anything. My fingers crept across his butt to his anus, stroked the sensitive opening slightly, before I allowed one fingertip to slip gently in and out, echoing his thrusts.

His breathing was hard, loud. I left his ass and gripped his balls, tense and tight - oh, but I desperately needed to catch my breath, too. I hung on for as long as I possibly could, breathing through my nose, but his thrusts were unending, his excitement still building. I had to pop him out of my mouth, just for a second... jerking him hard as I drew a deep breath, and then hearing him cry out as he finally came, an unending jet of scalding white that spattered across my chest, pooled in my cleavage, even spattered onto my belly.

He rolled to one side and landed flat on his back, breathing heavily. "Wow, welcome to Spain," he whispered.

"Welcome, indeed." I glanced towards the window, out at the reddening sky. It was already early evening - my God, how long did he keep it hard for? Why had we never slept together before? I was kicking myself!

Sitting up, I unclipped my bikini top. Amazingly, very little of his juice had actually hit it, but it would certainly get sticky if I didn't move it now. I slipped off my panties as well and, as Peter reached for me, I slid over to sit on his chest, enjoying the prickle of his hairs against my buttocks, and the slightest hint of his breath on my dampening pussy.

"That was wonderful," he breathed.

"I know," I shot back at him. "I just wish I hadn't needed to breathe quite so soon."

His brow wrinkled quizzically, and so very lovably. "It's just as well that you did. I haven't cum that hard in years."

"Like I said," I replied. "I just wish I hadn't needed to breathe." I leaned forward and kissed his forehead. "Oh, don't try and work it out. I'll show you another time."

With his eyes watching me like a hawk, I traced a finger through the stickiness in my cleavage, raised it to my lips and sucked the moisture away. I felt his hands on the small of my back, drawing me closer to his face. Ladling up another fingertip of the drying cream, I wiped it lightly against the lips of my pussy, just a split-second ahead of his tongue. I felt him draw back a little, but I laid one hand on the back of his head and pressed him forward again. The next lick was tentative, but delightful in its uncertainty, and I wanted to feel that again.

Two fingers this time, and a glob of white that I deliberately smeared around my clit. A fast learner. He went for it immediately, his tongue swirling around that taut little nub, the sensations instantly chasing away any other schemes that I may have had brewing. I threw my arms behind me, letting them take my weight; my head hanging back, my eyes closed tight. Outside, I could hear the carnival traders packing up as a fresh wave of street musicians arrived to take their place, playing for the tourists who would now be flocking to the restaurants and cafes, or gathering to dance in the market square.

I heard violins and guitars, and there, a drum beat, one among many, but louder than the rest, deeper and more insistent. I caught it with my ears, harnessed it in my hips, and began slowly grinding its rhythm against Peter's face, thrilling as he picked up the same pattern with his tongue and ran with it, licking and flicking and sucking, face-fucking. Was that singing I could hear now? Or my own cries? I felt my orgasm gathering force within me, up from my legs, down from my belly, in from my ass, deep down inside of me, closer and louder and faster and there. Right NOW.

Now it was my turn to collapse in a heap, panting and gasping, and laughing as well, as Peter rolled with me, and suddenly flipped around. His mouth was on mine now, his chest pressed against my breasts and, down below, a miraculous hardness that did not even need to knock. It just slid right in, filling me with a glorious warmth, an indescribable weight, an irresistible pressure.

My legs wrapped around his back, and my arms reached up to meet them, gripping my feet and pulling them further apart. Peter was fucking me like a sewing machine, hard and fast, and not missing a single beat between strokes. Raising my head to bite at his shoulder, I caught sight of us reflected in the mirror on the wardrobe at the foot of the bed. Ah, that's why they placed it so close, I smirked to myself. I wonder why I never thought of that before?

The room was darkening fast, but the dying light only added to the fascinating show. I could see his balls hanging down, doing their best to mask the shaft that plunged in and out, but I captured a glimpse of it anyway, as my hungry pussy lips sucked at the hard flesh, pulling him back inside.

You know how, sometimes, you'll be talking to someone, and they're bemoaning the fact that their sex life's so straightforward, that there's no adventure any more, no excitement left and no real passion? Believe me, it's there. You just have to see it from the right angle. The tongue on the clitoris, the lips around the knob-end, the cock crashing into the spread, red cunny, they're all present and correct. It's just that when you're in the midst of doing it, you usually have no way of seeing it. I could see it, and it was getting me even hotter than I already was.

I pushed my weight against Peter's body; held him tight in mid-gyration, and with more strength than I knew I possessed, I forced him onto his back. He rolled willingly, and only sighed as I disconnected our bodies for a moment, as I swiveled myself around on his hips, my back to his face, my ass on his belly, slipping him back inside of me as he ran his hands up my spine, and then reached around to caress my breasts.

I was facing the mirror now, and I began moving slowly. This angle can be tricky sometimes, it's all too easy for his cock to slip out... there, it just did. I gently guided him back inside and lay my hand on my snatch, to hold him fast while I kneaded his balls, and let my palm flicker across my clit. It felt as fantastic as it looked.

I wished we'd left a light on. It was growing darker by the minute, and the only illumination was whatever crept in with the music from the courtyard below. And then, whoa! Suddenly the entire room lit up as a massive set of floodlights clicked on in the gardens. Now it was as bright as day, and at last I could see every move we made, every plunge, every thrust, every single drop of juice that caught the light and glistened in my pubes and on his shaft, dripping and oozing, so wet, so wonderful. And I could feel myself cumming again as well, as his thrusts grew more urgent and I knew that he was as well. I ground my hand against my clit, willing us both to make it together - and we did, although as my hand flew back to the mattress for support, I felt, more than saw, his cock pop out again, and shoot its payload hot across my thigh.

I almost spoke, a flippant "damn, missed again" poised on my tongue. But the words were lost in my throat and, besides, who knew if he would even know what I was talking about? Instead I rolled over and kissed him hard on the mouth, and it was only after we'd lain there, not moving, for a while, that he finally spoke.

"You noticed the mirror as well, then?"

"Noticed it? I put it there," I lied laughingly.

"I wondered. I've never watched myself before. It's like starring in your own porno movie, isn't it?"

"Except there's no director around to shout ‘cut' at the wrong moment," I agreed. "The only drawback is, you can only watch it the one time. There are never any reruns on the Looking Glass channel."

He eyed me curiously for a moment. "Would you want to watch something like that again?"

"So long as I owned the only copy."

"I'd download it onto your laptop myself." He stood, crossed the room to his luggage, and pulled out a carryinging case that I knew, before he'd even opened it, contained a video camera. He pointed it at me and adopted an atrocious Hollywood accent. "Lights... action... sound?"

I laughed. "You're on. But remember, you're just the cameraman. And when I say ‘shoot...'" - I paused and squeezed his balls. "I want to see you shoot."

I awoke late, and was surprised to find Peter still curled up beside me. The bus out of town, the only bus of the day, left at 8, and we'd gone to sleep in the belief that he would be aboard it, and we'd catch up again when he returned to the United States. For a moment, I thought he must have overslept, but as I sat up, he rolled over to face me.

"So, what do you have planned for today?"

I stroked his face. "Couldn't tear yourself away, then?" It took me a moment to adjust to the silence outside, and then I remembered. When the bus went, most of the tourists went with it. The festival was over, and there was nothing else to keep them here.

"I thought about it, but hell. Europe will still be out there tomorrow. You, on the other hand, may not be. Not if you have to be in Madrid on Monday. So I figured I'd stay."

I kissed him and snuggled down beneath the thin sheet that covered our naked bodies. In my mind, I could still hear the drumming that had finally lulled us to sleep, around the same time as it awoke the dawn chorus. Out in the hallway, a radio was playing Al Stewart's "Year Of The Cat," one of my all-time favorite songs, so mysterious, so sensual. Relaxing to a musical medley I couldn't resist, I took one of Peter's tiny nipples in my mouth, sucking gently at it before I began inching my way very slowly down his body.

Watching back one of the things that he'd filmed me doing last night had given me an idea... something I wanted to try while it was still fresh in my mind. Plus, the hotel didn't offer room service, and I really needed to put something in my mouth.

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LUST4LIFE writes Wed 16 Apr 2025 19:11:

Excellent story. Thank you for sharing. Do you really live like this? Or are they just stories? Congrats if you do, or imagination and hope makes life worth living?

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