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#### **_The Sex in the City series_**

Fully Interactive EROTICA where _YOU_ choose to please yourself.

They say getting there is half the fun but with the _Please Yourself_ **Sex in the City** series every choice is a destination.

With over a dozen possible climaxes and loads of options along the way, these encounters will get your pulse racing, time and time again.

Forgo the foreplay,or tease things out to the final pages - what you want to do and who you choose to do it with is up to you. Take your fantasies into your own hands.

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_**

**Breathless in Barcelona  **

Seduced by Sydney

**Risqué in Rome ( _coming soon_ )**

**Passion in Paris  ( _coming soon_ )**

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#### Published by Please Yourself Press. 2015.

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**Text copyright © Kate Lachance  **

All characters and events in this interactive story, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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Images  \- Please Yourself Press and creative commons

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### The moral right of the author has been asserted.

### All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

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### About the author - Kate la Chance

Kate is a citizen of the world and lives with a well stamped passport, a pair of Mandarina Duck suitcases and her trusty laptop, flitting between cities and lovers; and sometimes both on the very same day.  She lets her wanderlust dictate her movements and rarely stays longer than a year in any given country.  She has a love of language and a lust for life.  She currently calls Italy home and is writing her next Sex in the City title _Risqué in Rome_ from a small flat with a glimpsing view of the Colosseum.

_Breathless in Barcelona_

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How to read this story

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Start the story

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## How to read this story

This is an interactive story.

Once you start reading you'll eventually reach a spot where you have to choose between a number of possible options.

To move from one page to the next, choose one of the choices at the bottom of the page.

On a touch device, simply press; on a device with a cursor, press UP to begin choosing, then use UP and DOWN to change option, and the main button to select your choice.

On cursor-based models, pressing select when not over a choice will start a highlight. If this happens, press select again.

Every section ends with a choice. If you can't see it, use the page forward buttons to read on as usual. Use the menu to return to the beginning.

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##### Begin the story

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_The cities of lovers. The cities of light. Cities of life. Cities of my life. My mistress Barcelona._

  Halfway.

   The contents of the letters swayed you. The box had arrived via your father who'd been slow to come to terms with you no longer being his little girl.

   "My aunt Lucy's" he'd said with a knowing smirk. "I'm inclined to believe that she was more than a little wayward".

   Running silent and smooth, Spain passes in a blur, your eyes lost to the outside world. A distant sea of gray green rolls over hill and dale. A vast army of olive trees camps as far as you can see, draped in a smoky haze as still as the heat of the day. The AVE high velocity train from Puerta de Atocha Madrid to Barcelona barrels along, making short work of the distance. They hadn't had fast trains in the 1930's. Lucy had spent all day and half a night making the same trip for a handful of pesetas.

Your fellow passengers are worlds away, their touchscreen devices working overtime, shrinking time. Next to you sits a man, patchwork tie loosened; suit a million dollars, tapping away at a laptop with manicured nails. Graying sideburns trimmed, he is lost to his work. There is a certain handsome appeal to him. The faint creases that splay out from his eyes suggest a life lived in bright light. He doesn't sense your appraisal and bored, your gaze returns to what lies beyond the window.

A trolley is being pushed the length of the carriage and you see a young woman dispensing coffee in paper cups. She soon arrives at your row and asks whether you'd like one.

You use the opportunity to throw a friendly glance the way of the gentleman sitting next to you.  He lets a weak smile escape from his lips but there is some distance and something cold in his glint.

You nod "After you" and it is only when he is handed a coffee that you contemplate what you'd like.

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##### A coffee

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##### Nothing

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**Please turn back a page**

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**Please turn forward a page**

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   A one-way ticket, no return date, two, five, twelve months - you can't be sure. Your plan to traipse between the most tantalizing, most romantic cities of the world has finally stepped out of the screen and become reality. You've realized that life is for the taking and a girl's just got to live it. Lucy had put you up to it. Long gone, great Aunt Lucy. An unusual bequest had come your way but there were still some strings attached. Strings that tied bundles of letters together.

  You'd started slow, reading one a night. Postmarked from exotic capitals, foreign city names that were just blips on a map to you. They were love letters. Overwhelmingly love letters. And they were just one half of a two way street. These were the incoming: Istanbul, Prague, Lisbon, Paris, London, Barcelona, Rome, Buenos Aires, San Francisco and Sydney. Different men. Different names and scrawls. Elegant, messy, rigidly contained. They were all missives of dedication. Letters of enchantment. Letters that promised eternal devotion. Affectionately yours. They recalled times washed by the golden light that kept lovers enraptured and memories alive. Yet when you read between the lines, what was there and spelled out in invisible ink was that great aunt Lucy had been a libertine who had led a sexually adventurous life unrestrained by conventional mores and national boundaries. She'd truly lived and she'd truly loved and she wanted you to do the very same. She had been the black sheep, your father had said. You are going to take a leaf out of her book.

   Lucy's bequest had engendered a quest.

   Visit the cities of my life. Stay open to sensation. Travel lightly. Love but don't linger.

Being the co-director of a profitable yet boring business was never going to do it for you.  You can't deny that you'd been in a rut. When the most exciting thing that had happened to you in long months was last year's office Christmas party, the one that led to Cynthia looking sheepish for days, having emerged from the photocopier room trailing a barefoot Ted, a garland of lipstick smears encircling his neck and you daren't imagine what else, and her tangerine lace knickers strung between his ears, nose and chin, you are most definitely ready for a change. And not just via an expensive outing of retail therapy and a reinvention via the outfit racks of the department store. At the time you'd wondered if Cyn had chosen the hue of Urban Decay 'Naked' for the occasion. Ruby red fleshy lips that her tongue caressed in a fashion that shouldn't be witnessed in polite company. You'd pinched yourself at the time; watching other people's lewd games was where it was at for you and you wanted a slice of that pie, and no siree don't hold the cream.

And that was before Martin, the office dweeb, declared himself available to you in perpetuity, before sending a Technicolor yawn adrift over the punch bucket. Lucy's letters had planted the seed but the party had been a turning point and ever since you hadn't quite been able to shake what had started out as a niggling itch. You started small, just a quick browse of the most popular travel websites. Life abroad seemed to offer so much more.   Glamorous cities, elegant people and opportunity. Endless opportunities for flirtation. And surely foreign men had something that the local pretenders didn't? This tantalizing mix of erotic potential and exotic adventure gripped you. In recent months, what had started out as an exploratory exercise had become the firm focus for your days; an unshakable obsession that led you down the track to where you are sitting today. Lucy would be proud.

You'd tired of the merry go round of life in your own city, the conversational certainties, the all too predictable lunchtime tête-à-tête's with Cyn and the dwindling selection of attractive males in your social group. Asking Ted to buy out your half of the business was the most satisfying thing you'd done in months. He took it quite well. The extraordinarily generous buy out figure was most kind of him. Of course, it helped that you were old school pals with his wife Rosie, who to this day remained blissfully unaware of the Christmas shenanigans, six months previous and any number of barely disguised occasions since. You touched your purse in satisfaction. It bulged.

You've sublet your apartment to your younger sister and her semi-to-borderline totally useless boyfriend. She'll keep the rent flowing while he writes the Great Novel. Just because... Your sister is eternally grateful. She'd grown tired of living with her boyfriend in the damp basement of his doddery parent's brownstone. Upstairs smelt of old people and downstairs... well downstairs had essences that had yet to be scientifically cataloged. You always said he was a damp squib, when perhaps what you actually meant was squid.

So here you are. On a train. Traveling fast across the dry rolling hills of Spain. Your plane had touched down in Madrid but you'd left that city for another day.  Barcelona had beckoned. You play with your hair, twirling the strands until they frizz together and then you sweep them back over your shoulders. You let your eyes wander the carriage, wanting the world to meet your gaze.

   You are free. You are sensual animal now unleashed.

You've spent a good portion of the train ride staring out the window or going over the Barcelona guide book on your iPad. You find yourself pining for the bustling Catalan city. You can already see yourself there, gazing out over the turquoise waters of the Mediterranean Sea from the mosaic clad benches of Gaudi's Park Güell while your hunky guide buffs to a glossy sheen the rouge of his beloved motor scooter. Your Spanish is so-so but you're equipped with a book called ' _Hide this Spanish book for Lovers_ ', which promises to serve up the local lingo on all things in the zone of Eros. Hmmm mm... wait until those Spanish men see you.

 Welcome to Barcelona Sants Station, the scrolling sign in many languages says, a few moments before the train comes to a halt. You gather your things and step off the train into warm coastal air and a new chapter of your adventurous life. You have a lust for new experience and a lust for lust.

  You walk slowly, with that sense of enchantment that comes with new surroundings, following the GPS navigation on your phone to the hotel. You'd booked ahead and the small hotel is just a short stroll from the station. The sun is packing up for the day, draping the buildings around you with the rich golden glow of the late afternoon. There's sea salt in the breeze and elsewhere the smell of food. You find yourself desiring a cool glass of something. Seagulls squawk in the park, squabbling over tortilla crumbs. The check-in process is painless. You dump your bags in your room and return to the street, alive to the possibilities of adventure.

   You wander down a street called Carre de Casanova. It makes you laugh, and you wonder if the great seducer had left any offspring in the city and if so, how you'd be keen to meet them, especially if they were tall, dark and handsomely endowed.

   You can't deny that you've developed a bit of a thirst. You contemplate heading to the bar with outdoor seating, spilling out into a small park, when you spy a sign above some stairs that catches your eye. Tantra Masajes. Mmm... A massage. That could be nice.

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##### _ _Do you head to the bar and quench that thirst? You could always get a massage later on.

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##### Do you grab that massage now.  Your shoulders could use a rub.  As much as a few hours on the train was undemanding, you still had some sense that you hadn't completely unwound and that a relaxation pampering could be in order.

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**Please turn back a page**

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**Please turn forward a page**

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 You take a sip. It is strong and black and not half bad.  You turn and let what lies beyond the window hypnotize you, soon losing count of the many white washed villages that vanish in the wake of the train, houses knitted together in tight little rural communities.  It seems likely that the pace of life has gone on unchanged down the decades.  That the train is passing them by at great speed seems to say it all.

  You let your thoughts linger before being abruptly hauled back into the present when you become aware that Mr Patchwork tie has been giving you the once over.  Make that the twice over.   His reflection in the window is a give away.  His eyes glance at your legs and roam up and over your chest before lingering on your profile, hair bobbing on your shoulders.

He isn't aware that you've spied him and for now you keep up the pretense of letting your interest lie with the outside world, all the while secretly assessing his gaze out of the corner of your right eye.  He looks out the window and then back at you, slowly tapping with a single finger at his laptop, confident that his casual appraisal is going unnoticed.  You can't help feeling a small rush of pleasure and thrill from being checked out.

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##### Do you ignore him for now?  You'd like to wait until Barcelona before getting embroiled in any sexy shenanigans and he did seem to struggle with returning your smile.

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##### Or do you slowly let your leg slide across the seat until it rests against his.  After all his left leg is so very close to yours and casually brushing against him seems likely to arouse something in you both.  Bad boy or not, you can't seem to resist the idea of a casual flirtation.

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**Please turn back a page**

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**Please turn forward a page**

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 You keep your eyes glued to the countryside zooming past yet ever so slowly inch your leg across the seat until it is pressing lightly against his.  You feel the heat rise from his thigh.  Your skin is alive to the sensation of another body. There is silence between you.  You are unsure whether the man has even realized you are pressing your leg against his.  You leave it there, letting him get used to the feeling and enjoying the rush of not knowing quite where you are heading with it.

You let your leg relax, content to let the tingle of proximity thrill you.  You've long since downed your coffee and the caffeine has you alive to possibility.  You are far from the need for a siesta but closing your eyes and feigning sleep, you let your leg press and rub against his.  Then. Just then. Your skin prickles. The sensation of movement. The man is moving his leg and you feel the press and slight jostle and rub against you. You are still for a moment and you slowly exhale.  You feel your pulse pick up, your heart pushing your blood, a slow beat becoming a zither.  Sliding in your seat you let your butt edge his way.  You move slowly until your whole thigh is pressing against his leg.

Waiting.

Your breathing slows and you try your best to remain relaxed but it is rather difficult under these circumstances.  With your eyes closed you feel it touch down. He has placed his hand on your leg. It is just quietly resting there and when you get over the jolt of surprise, you silently urge him to move it.

You push your thigh his way and his fingers tumble over the precipice and slide between your thighs.  He quickly withdraws them, unsure with what is happening.  You can't keep the pretense going and slowly turn to face him. His face is caught in that space between fear and guilt and irrepressible lust.  You don't need to speak for your expression communicates everything you wish to convey. You've formulated a smoldering look of such vixen like intensity that he'd have to be blind to misread you.  The wink then seals the deal.  You move your right hand and place it on his, letting your fingers toy with the strong bones, thumb pressing into the soft place at the side of his forefinger. You clasp this hand and slowly drag it back between your thighs. He keeps tapping at his laptop with his right, for all intents and purposes maintaining the ruse of a working businessman.  You glance around the carriage.  People are absorbed with screens, books and headphones. The coffee cart is nowhere to be seen.

You wriggle forwards while pulling his hand toward you, slipping it under the hem of your dress and feeling his fingers brush the sensitive skin of your inner thighs.  That his hand is now an active instrument in his yearning is without doubt. You don't need to hint or be so forthright with what you would like.  He's got the message.  His index finger curls around the hem of your knickers while his thumb softly rubs at the thin cotton weave that covers your sex.  He succeeds at pulling the hem to one side and you feel the on rush of air whisper kiss the damp crease of your pussy. You push towards the visitor.  Lifting your butt a little from the seat you ease forwards until you feel the tingling press of his thumb hovering over your button.  You shuffle forwards, a small thrust from your middle and his long fingers slip quickly into the gap where you want them.  He is still tapping away, barely looking at you.  You can see the spreadsheet on the screen. He is adjusting numbers in columns.  He's a true master of subterfuge. You are impressed. His fingers glide, trapped in the moist grip of your cunt.  He is moving them slowly, just a little bit in, just a tiny bit out.  The pace is exquisite.

A soft swirl of his thumb glides over your clit, which basted with your slick juices shivers and shudders at his touch.  The sensation makes you ache just that little bit harder and you find yourself swallowing a moan, letting a muted cough take its place, bursting into the silent carriage like an announcement.  For long minutes you luxuriate in the sensation.  The illicit nature of the encounter.  The silent agreement and consent.  You feel the onrush but it's not yet moving as fast as the train.

His fingers keep up the rhythm and you wriggle and squirm, feeling little spasmodic shudders and willing him on.  His fingers are wet with your juices.  You know you are at the cusp. You can feel that dangerous teeter and you yearn to throw yourself headlong into its pulsing rush.

But then you both spy the woman pushing the coffee cart back from the end of the carriage. She is collecting used cups and exchanging pleasantries with fellow travelers.  As if by silent compact, the movement of his fingers accelerates.  It's as though he's pushed the gear stick into third.  His thumb is performing a little percussive maneuver on your clit with each little rat a tat sending a pulsing beat to your core.  You squirm and judder as his fingers take you there.  There is no turning back. You watch the coffee cart roll slowly toward you and struggle.  Your tongue lolls, tasting your lower lip. You pant in time to the throbbing sensation coursing up through you from your cunt.  And then he presses just so on your clit and you detonate. A raging coursing river of sensation floods through you and you bite down hard on your lower lip. You feel the flush and tingle reach your extremities.  Your toes feel as though they are bathing in rich sunlight.  He withdraws his hand slowly, bringing damp fingers to the keyboard and giving the coffee cart woman the sweetest of smiles as she rolls slowly past.  She catches your eye, giving you a slow wink matched to a saucy grin. The smile she wears is as knowing is it is envious. "I'll have some of that please" she seems to be saying.

Not a word is exchanged between you after the encounter.  You sent him a naughty smile of lip smacking satisfaction and thanks.  He grinned but as soon as the train pulled into Zaragoza he gathered his things and was gone in a heartbeat.  The train pulled out of the station and you...

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##### Continue daydreaming as the train gallops toward Barcelona

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#####

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**Please turn back a page**

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**Please turn forward a page**

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You decide against a coffee and when the train stops at Zaragoza, the man leaves with barely a word.  No one replaces him. You've got the seat to yourself.

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##### Continue daydreaming as the train gallops toward Barcelona

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#####

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**Please turn back a page**

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**Please turn forward a page**

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You climb the stairs slowly, pushing the door at the top open and then letting it swing softly shut behind you. A woman at the front desk looks up, nods and smiles saying something you can't quite grasp.

 Sensing your confusion she tries in English "Massage? Welcome"

  You nod " _Si_ , Yes, just what I need, _gracias_ " and let your gaze take in the room. Small Buddha statues sit in quiet contemplation of the Eastern themed prints that adorn the walls. A homely smell of sandalwood drifts past from an incense stick that smolders in the corner.

"Would you like a man or a woman to give you the massage?" she asks.

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##### A woman

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##### A man

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**Please turn back a page**

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 She tells you that they can accommodate you straight away and directs you to the change room, handing you a robe at the door.  You are aware that the muscles of your neck and back are still a little tight from the train trip.  The thought of some simple pampering has great appeal.  The change room is empty and you set down the robe on the bench before slowly removing your shoes and letting your toes taste the air.  There are a number of shower stalls and lockers here and a pile of neatly folded towels sit in a ornately carved timber shelving unit.

 Unbuttoning your blouse and slipping off your dress you hang them and your handbag in the locker.  You reach for the light silk robe but not before you enjoy the brief sensation of being naked.  There is apparently no one in the room yet you can hear the sound of water bouncing off the floor coming from a shower stall.  You decide to wash after the massage.  The lightness of the fabric feels magic. Its looseness is enchanting.  The delicate satiny nature of it. Soft and tender and plush.  You love the feel of it on your bare skin. If only one could wear this all day every day. Without undergarments.

You close your eyes and let your hands trace the outline of your body. You've got some winning curves.  Caressing your skin, running your hands over the lustrous white silk, you savor the feeling. Gloriously soothing. You run your hands across your abdomen and let a finger curl a exploratory trail near your sex.  Nice.  The fragrant smells of jasmine and the lush orchids coming from the pots that are hung throughout the room float in the air.  You sigh at the sensual nature of the experience.  Your sense of smell is finely tuned.  Thoughts roll like tumbleweed. All your hopes and dreams about Europe and Barcelona  present themselves. You've spent so much time with the guide book it is almost as if you have already been here for days.  Late night films in Spanish and French, all elegant haute couture or nothing at all.  Sumptuous cities and sordid nights. Lovers. Spangled. Torn. Lusty tempestuous consummations. Vino swilled. Vino spilled.

Caught in this minor reverie you fail to hear the sound of the water splashing cease from the adjacent shower stall. Nor the door open and then close.  It is only when you feel a soft damp hand on your shoulder that you open your eyes.

"Hey. Sorry to disturb you. You seemed lost in the moment. But the masseur has just signaled for you"

A woman with a bob of neatly trimmed black hair is stood before you rubbing a fluffy white towel through it.  She is shorter than you and coupled with the uniform white robe, she wears a broad smile.

She points down the corridor to a line of small doors.

"I can recommend the _denuda degustacion_ " she says with a wink.

You thank her and stroll down the corridor to the room with the door open.

The room has subdued lighting. You greet the masseur with a tentative hello.  He is patting down fresh white linen atop a massage table.

The masseur is tall and firmly toned.  He looks like someone who does sun salutes at dawn while taking the latest live green health juice intravenously.  He gives you a broad smile of such welcome that it instantly douses your sense that he may be a humorless health nut.

"Welcome, I am Rodrigo.  Rodrigo Henríquez. It shall be a pleasure to serve you today _Señorita_ " he says holding your gaze.  For a brief moment his clear brown eyes are unwavering before he arches a sly brow and turns pushing the door shut.

There is something satisfying about the click as the door closes.  The silence of the closed space is calming.   Rodrigo moves to the corner of the room where a small table lined with bottles of massage oil and other exotic unguents sit.  White flowers float in a glass bowl, lilies in small ponds.

" _Denuda degustacion_?" He asks.

Denuda sounds like nude. Naked. Is this what he means?

You find yourself a little flustered.  You aren't really sure what to say here and find that yourself emitting a short " _Si_ " that goes partway toward quelling your butterflies.

 Rodrigo directs you lie on the table. But before you do you wonder if you should remove your robe.  Again you feel a little flush of uncertainty sweep through you.

You know a massage is best enjoyed with nothing between your body and the masseurs hands.  Rodrigo has seemed to suggest that being nude was normal.

Do you disrobe? Or do you leave the silk robe on for the time being and see what unfolds. Surely you'll be directed one way or other.  You don't want to offend anyone.

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##### Do you disrobe?

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##### Stay covered

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**Please turn back a page**

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**Please turn forward a page**

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 You decide to throw caution to the wind and let the robe slide from your shoulders and pool at your feet.  Denuda equals nude right?  You turn your head to gaze at the masseur who is warming massage oil in his hands.  He has dark hair cut short, a fashionable crop of spiky brown.  You admire him,  his  fresh and flawless complexion, his stately build.  He is wearing loose flowing white pants and a T shirt of such crisp whiteness that in daylight it would dazzle you blind. He is unabashed as he stares at you, eyes widening at your nakedness. You feel them travel down your naked body and note that he charts your curves and in a glance admires your breasts.  You feel a tiny surge of pleasure, a current of warmth that takes hold at your core.

You climb onto the massage bench and lie face down on the soft towel that stretches across it. Soft music begins to play as you feel warm oil pooling on your back.  Rodrigo spreads the oil out in a series of hand movements that sooth any minor apprehensions you have about being so forthright disrobing.

 "Degustation massage. You want hard or soft?"

You find yourself sifting through these words, eager to extract their meaning while lingering too long on the allure of his deliciously accented English.

Despite wondering what the degustation bit means you say "soft"

A slow relax is what you are really after rather than a muscle shaking throttle.

Rodrigo's hands are supple coated in the slick oil and they slide and mold to the curves of your body, crest your shoulder blades and then softly knead your neck muscles. He explores your back, spreading a thin film of oil over your skin. His hands run down the sides of your body, fingers lightly touching the sides of your breasts which softly spill, partially flattened to the table.

You'd forgotten how much you enjoy a massage and struggle to suppress a moan.

Any aches you had were being soothed away with expert hands.  Time evaporates.  The background music and Rodrigo's expert ministrations lull you into a trance like bliss.  Here you are naked on a bench glistening with oil and loving every minute of it.

A deep caress of arm and long sweep of his hands along your calf has you giddy.  For long minutes you luxuriate in this feeling as a deep relaxation comes over you.

Every time Rodrigo stretches to cup his hands together and slide them the length of your calves you feel the press of his body.  You wonder if this straining to reach your limbs and the soft brush of his body against yours is deliberate.

These thoughts began to grow and crowd out the deep sense of contentment you feel. You still feel relaxed but now you are attuned to every touch from his hands.  You feel a rise and sense that your heart has started to pound.  Your breath which had been slow is becoming ragged.  It takes you a moment but you finally come to your senses and realize that you are being turned on by the movements of this calm hunk of a Spanish male.

Are you imagining the way his body touches yours?  It feels as though the contact is becoming more insistent.

You breath deeply and tell yourself to get a grip on it, sensing that your imagination is in overload and firing madly due to the supreme contentment you feel.  Being at the center of such a sensual experience is just bliss.  Despite this, you inwardly tremble.

"Turn over" Rodrigo says, a deep melodic whisper in your ear.

You roll over and shift into a comfortable position aware that your breasts and finely trimmed crotch are on display.   You look up at Rodrigo.  His cheeks are lightly reddened but he keeps a very measured face that seems to say professional at work.

He holds the bottle of oil above you and slowly upends it, letting a thin string of oil spin and unspool over your chest.  A warm golden trail gradually snakes over your body starting from your pubis and wends its way toward your face. You catch a glint in his eye and hold his gaze while he drizzles spirals  over your breasts. You gasp at his brazen suggestiveness.  Rodrigo seems to be gazing in rapt attention at your breasts, still pert as you recline.  He reaches over and begins to spread the oil which had already started to spread, finding its own route along your contours.  You feel your nipples harden. They stiffen in a puckered arousal of which you had lost control.  Continuing to massage you, his hands explore and stroke.

His fingers slide around your breasts before he brushes the backs of them over your nipples sending an exquisite sensation coursing through your body.  By this time, you are sure Rodrigo is aware that your breath was coming out in irregular pants.  You are moaning audibly.   He is right beside you now. You feel your body tremble, conscious of the flush of desire that is washing through you.

A desire to reach out and touch Rodrigo's leg grips you but you resist for a moment wondering if you have misread the situation.

Do you stop trying to control your impulses and act now, stroking those strong legs that have been pressing against you?

Or do you lie there and see if he will make the first move. He may be a consummate professional. Perhaps you should let him lead the way. If indeed there is a way.

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##### Stroke those strong legs

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##### Wait and see

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**Please turn back a page**

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**Please turn forward a page**

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 You lie back and watch Rodrigo spread his large hands softly over your body.  His touch feels like the strokes of a velvet glove.

Rodrigo is ever so slowly massaging you and his hands move in a fashion that is as tender as a caress. His fingers are charting supernovas, wending spirals of bliss over you.  He leaves teasing trails of pleasure, a cartographer charting new passages over cherished vellum.   You are a sensual being and this is pure distilled essence of bliss.

You feel a rising urge to touch him and after a moments deliberation decide that now is the time to act.  You reach out and bring your right hand up until you can feel Rodrigo's leg.  A course has been set and the future is shaken.

You slide your hand up Rodrigo's thigh bringing the tips of your fingers together to caress it so very lightly through the thin fabric.  For a brief moment there is silence as Rodrigo stops.   You feel his body tense and you count the seconds until his breath is released in a low gasp.  Your anticipation for this moment has a delicious sweetness about it.  Then, in a slow and sublime fashion Rodrigo moves. And it isn't away from you.  His hands which had for a moment tensed and frozen against you, again started moving.

You move your hand along his thigh heading up and over the fabric of his pants.  You are sensitive to the heat being released from his skin through the fabric.  You keep your hand on Rodrigo's firm inner thigh, fingers stepping over themselves as they climb an invisible ladder toward his cock. Rodrigo holds your eyes, complicit in this dance.  You know that your touch is teasing and enhanced by the cottony weave of the fabric.

  You watch as Rodrigo slowly withdraws his hands, placing them along the hemline of his T shirt.  He grasps this and in a deft move pulls it up and over his head. You take in and admire his chest.  He has pectoral muscles that are well defined and a chest almost entirely free of hair.  You wonder if he waxes this perfect sculptural expanse of exquisite maleness.   You reach up to stroke him but he grasps your hand.  His fingers entwined with yours like tendrils of an all consuming vine.  He then let your fingers ever so slightly graze the skin beneath his nipples.  You feel him respond to your touch, his body giving over itself to your tactile attentions.

"I massage you" he whispers placing your hands down on your left breast.  Letting your hands uncouple, his hands slide south towards the sun; the source of all your heat.  You are aware of the flush of dampness. Hot and humid; dewy, like a hothouse flower, your petals are unfurling, exposing their sweet nectar to the air.

Rodrigo's eyes are feasting on you as his hand inches ever closer to your pussy.  He is letting his eyes gorge, consuming all your delicious nakedness. He is feasting on it like a glutton for pleasure. Your eyes are being drawn toward his fingers which are on autopilot for it seems the blueprint had been predetermined the moment you had entered the room.

While Rodrigo is contemplating, luxuriating in the moment, you let your eyes close in joyous anticipation for what you know is coming.  You can feel it acutely and the tension is sublime.

Yet then Rodrigo withdraws his hands from their course of moving towards your aching pussy.  And this has you groan in dashed anticipation.  Suddenly his mouth is lowered as he brings his lips to your breasts.  He licks softy, first the undersides and then the swollen fullness of your breasts. Then his tongue teases and tickles your nipples. He licks at them until they spring taut from teasing tongue.  You are cooing now.  The sheer wanton agony of the sensation.  You are desperate to rip his pants from him asunder and feel his heat, feel the intense hot throbbing hardness of his cock.   You are lifting your body from the massage table in order to push your nipple into the warm suck of his accommodating mouth.    He seems to respond to your need moving his mouth with purpose, finding succor in consuming your flesh. His lips are feasting. He is using his tongue and his teeth to softly, ever so gently nibble you.  You could feel your skin flush and it made you let out one long slow moan. The pleasure of the moment. You'd barely arrived in Barcelona and already you are halfway gone.

Your hands do their best to remove Rodrigo's pants. Your tugs are insistent and Rodrigo gets the message and slips his pants down, easing it over the swollen ache of his sizable cock.  As he is easing them off, you reach up and run your hand across his scalp.  Richly brown, his hair prickles.

In a singular motion, he swings his leg over on top of you, draping it over the side of the table until he is mounted with his butt resting on your pubis.  You reach up and let your fingers measure the flawless skin of his chest.  You'd never felt skin on a male as soft as his.  Not rough or hairy like many men but sheer and golden. It was exotic, his hue and its velvet smoothness.  You wonder what your skin feels like to him.  You grip his shoulders as he leans towards you.  He kisses your neck and his hair tickles your forehead. He pulls back and you let your tongue stretch towards him and he leans further forwards sucking it into the confines of his warm wet mouth.  Rodrigo then moves his mouth to your breasts, again kissing them insistently. You shiver as his warm mouth envelops your nipples, first one, slick wet saliva, a conduit for electric pleasure and then the other.  He worships your breasts.  His desire for them is palpable.

You close your eyes again and mutter "Please fuck me. Have me now".

He slides off you and grips your feet. You feel his hands slide up the insides of your thigh.

You draw breath as you feel his tongue wend its way towards your hot carnal core.  His tongue skirts the edges of your tamed bush.  Your hair had been trimmed close to the skin. It was almost not there; an acknowledgment of your womanhood.

Rodrigo brings his lips gently between your legs and follows a slippery trail that leads him to your hot, aching center. As his tongue teases your bud you cry out, such is the exquisite release.  He waits until you are panting, audibly begging for more, your insistent moans a chorus that is cheering him on.  Again his tongue darts and swirls around your pulsating clit before taking leave and exploring the puffy lips that encase it.  A slick river of your honey has soaked the inside of your legs, spilling from your cleft in a sticky tide.

You hold the sides of his head as he lavishes his tongue on your hot sex.  Your pussy is moist and tropic and it now aches for something more. Such sweet release is being promised and you feel the steady climb of your pulse that signals the need to come.  The attentions being lavished on you are making you squirm.  Your itch is being scratched and the resultant ache is a slow thudding pulse, an invisible shudder from your clit to your head.

Rodrigo is also loosening low moans in between thrusts of his tongue.  He is lapping at your secret flesh, consuming your lusty juices with unquenchable passion. He is teasing you, bringing you ever so slowly to the peak.  He slips a finger and thumb into you.  You are so very wet you almost don't feel them. Your pussy offers no resistance and you enjoy the feeling of being penetrated.  You wish he would use something with greater girth.  His hard cock for instance. His tongue is darting in and out, pistoning and bouncing off your clit.  His hands reach up and grasp your breasts. You are spread open, your whole body a glistening sheen of sweat as this hot man is treating you to the wildest cunnilingus of your life.  The pleasure is building in a heated wave that threatens to crash at any moment.  Rodrigo senses this. That he could read you made you whimper and your climax then builds until an agonizing crescendo boomed. Kapow! You cry out and gasp as waves of intense pleasure wash over you.  You are drowning until letting out a whimper, the final thrashes of orgasm fade from your body.  The afterglow is unlike any you have ever felt.

Rodrigo leans forward and kisses you as you feel the last contractions and shudders dissipate. He steps from behind the table and dresses, pulling what is still an engorged and sizable member back into the confines of his pants.  You watch, sated but with a need to return the favor.

 "Thank you _Señorita_ , massage is finished" he says. His eyes sparkle mischievously and he winks and pouts, bringing his left hand to his lips and blowing you a kiss. Even if a single air kiss could never convey it all, this one came so very close.

You slowly pull yourself together. The experience was unlike any previous. You luxuriate in the shower. The hot sting of the water in no way washing away the state of contentment and bliss that you feel.  You dress and head out.

* * *

##### You head back to the hotel. The post orgasmic bliss bomb has shaken you to the core and your body now demands rest. Tomorrow is a new day.

* * *

#####

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**Please turn forward a page**

* * *
 You lie back and watch Rodrigo spread his large hands softly over your body.  His touch feels like the strokes of a velvet glove. You feel a rising urge to touch him but you falter not wanting to break the spell.  You are still unsure of the protocols in this situation.  You want to test the waters but something pulls you back and you decide to refrain for the moment.  It is not normal for you to rein in your desire to act.  You've always been proactive in your pleasure seeking.  Taking the initiative, taking the plunge, taking your hand and slipping it somewhere, an able scout and instrument in all your seductions.  The pleasures of the massage are manifold.  Perhaps you should content yourself with this state of exquisite arousal.

Rodrigo is ever so slowly massaging you and his hands move in a fashion that is as tender as a caress. His fingers are charting supernovas, wending spirals of bliss over you.  He leaves teasing trails of pleasure, a cartographer charting new passages over cherished vellum.   You are a sensual being and this is pure distilled essence of bliss.

Something happens. By accident or design, you're not sure.  A course has been set and the future is shaken.

Your right hand accidentally brushes against Rodrigo's leg.  Then on impulse you let the tips of your fingers caress it so very lightly through the thin fabric.  The touch is over in an instant but for a brief moment there is silence as Rodrigo stops.   You feel his body tense and you count the seconds until his breath is released in a low gasp.  Your anticipation for that moment has a delicious sweetness about it.  Then, in a sublimely slow fashion Rodrigo moves. And it isn't away from you.  His hands which had for a moment tensed and frozen against you, again started moving.

You move your hand along his thigh heading up and over the fabric of his pants.  You are sensitive to the heat being released from his skin through the fabric.  You keep your hand on Rodrigo's firm inner thigh, fingers stepping over themselves as they climb an invisible ladder toward his cock. Rodrigo holds your eyes, complicit in this dance.  You know that your touch is teasing and enhanced by the cottony weave of the fabric.

  You watch as Rodrigo slowly withdraws his hands, placing them along the hemline of his T shirt.  He grasps this and in a deft move pulls it up and over his head. You take in and admire his chest.  He has pectoral muscles that are well defined and a chest almost entirely free of hair.  You wonder if he waxes this perfect sculptural expanse of exquisite maleness.   You reach up to stroke him but he grasps your hand.  His fingers entwine with yours like tendrils of an all consuming vine.  He then let your fingers ever so slightly graze the skin beneath his nipples.  You feel him respond to your touch, his body giving over itself to your tactile attentions.

"I massage you" he whispers placing your hands down on your left breast.  Letting your hands uncouple, his hands slide south towards the sun; the source of all your heat.  You are aware of the flush of dampness. Hot and humid; dewy, like a hothouse flower, your petals are unfurling, exposing their sweet nectar to the air.

Rodrigo's eyes are feasting on you as his hand inches ever closer to your pussy.  He is letting his eyes gorge, consuming all your delicious nakedness. He is feasting on it like a glutton for pleasure. Your eyes are being drawn toward his fingers which are on autopilot for it seems the blueprint had been predetermined the moment you had entered the room.

While Rodrigo is contemplating, luxuriating in the moment, you let your eyes close in joyous anticipation for what you know is coming.  You can feel it acutely and the tension is sublime.

Yet then Rodrigo withdraws his hands from their course of moving towards your aching pussy.  And this has you groan in dashed anticipation.  Suddenly his mouth is lowered as he brings his lips to your breasts.  He licks softy, first the undersides and then the swollen fullness of your breasts. Then his tongue teases and tickles your nipples. He licks at them until they spring taut from teasing tongue.  You are cooing now.  The sheer wanton agony of the sensation.  You are desperate to rip his pants from him asunder and feel his heat, feel the intense hot throbbing hardness of his cock.   You are lifting your body from the massage table in order to push your nipple into the warm suck of his accommodating mouth.    He seems to respond to your need moving his mouth with purpose, finding succor in consuming your flesh. His lips are feasting. He is using his tongue and his teeth to softly, ever so gently nibble you.  You could feel your skin flush and it made you let out one long slow moan. The pleasure of the moment. You'd barely arrived in Barcelona and already you are halfway gone.

Your hands do their best to remove Rodrigo's pants. Your tugs are insistent and Rodrigo gets the message and slips his pants down, easing it over the swollen ache of his sizable cock.  As he is easing them off, you reach up and run your hand across his scalp.  Richly brown, his hair prickles.

In a singular motion, he swings his leg over on top of you, draping it over the side of the table until he is mounted with his butt resting on your pubis.  You reach up and let your fingers measure the flawless skin of his chest.  You'd never felt skin on a male as soft as his.  Not rough or hairy like many men but sheer and golden. It was exotic, his hue and its velvet smoothness.  You wonder what your skin feels like to him.  You grip his shoulders as he leans towards you.  He kisses your neck and his hair tickles your forehead. He pulls back and you let your tongue stretch towards him and he leans further forwards sucking it into the confines of his warm wet mouth.  Rodrigo then moves his mouth to your breasts, again kissing them insistently. You shiver as his warm mouth envelops your nipples, first one, slick wet saliva, a conduit for electric pleasure and then the other.  He worships your breasts.  His desire for them is palpable.

You close your eyes again and mutter "Please fuck me. Have me now".

He slides off you and grips your feet. You feel his hands slide up the insides of your thigh.

You draw breath as you feel his tongue wend its way towards your hot carnal core.  His tongue skirts the edges of your tamed bush.  Your hair had been trimmed close to the skin. It was almost not there; an acknowledgment of your womanhood.

Rodrigo brings his lips gently between your legs and follows a slippery trail that leads him to your hot, aching center. As his tongue teases your bud you cry out, such is the exquisite release.  He waits until you are panting, audibly begging for more, your insistent moans a chorus that is cheering him on.  Again his tongue darts and swirls around your pulsating clit before taking leave and exploring the puffy lips that encase it.  A slick river of your honey has soaked the inside of your legs, spilling from your cleft in a sticky tide.

You hold the sides of his head as he lavishes his tongue on your hot sex.  Your pussy is moist and tropic and it now aches for something more. Such sweet release is being promised and you feel the steady climb of your pulse that signals the need to come.  The attentions being lavished on you are making you squirm.  Your itch is being scratched and the resultant ache is a slow thudding pulse, an invisible shudder from your clit to your head.

Rodrigo is also loosening low moans in between thrusts of his tongue.  He is lapping at your secret flesh, consuming your lusty juices with unquenchable passion. He is teasing you, bringing you ever so slowly to the peak.  He slips a finger and thumb into you.  You are so very wet you almost don't feel them. Your pussy offers no resistance and you enjoy the feeling of being penetrated.  You wish he would use something with greater girth.  His hard cock for instance. His tongue is darting in and out, pistoning and bouncing off your clit.  His hands reach up and grasp your breasts. You are spread open, your whole body a glistening sheen of sweat as this hot man is treating you to the wildest cunnilingus of your life.  The pleasure is building in a heated wave that threatens to crash at any moment.  Rodrigo senses this. That he could read you made you whimper and your climax then builds until an agonizing crescendo boomed. Kapow! You cry out and gasp as waves of intense pleasure wash over you.  You are drowning until letting out a whimper, the final thrashes of orgasm fade from your body.  The afterglow is unlike any you have ever felt.

Rodrigo leans forward and kisses you as you feel the last contractions and shudders dissipate. He steps from behind the table and dresses, pulling what is still an engorged and sizable member back into the confines of his pants.  You watch, sated but with a need to return the favor.

 "Thank you Señorita, massage is finished" he says. His eyes  sparkle mischievously and he winks and pouts, bringing his left hand to his lips and blowing you a kiss. Even if a single air kiss could never convey it all, this one came so very close.

You slowly pull yourself together. The experience was unlike any previous. You luxuriate in the shower. The hot sting of the water in no way washing away the state of contentment and bliss that you feel.

* * *

##### You head back to the hotel. The post orgasmic bliss bomb has shaken you to the core and your body now demands rest. Tomorrow is a new day.

* * *

#####

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* * *
 You decide to leave the robe on.  The masseur has unsettled you.  You're just not sure what the normal way is to deport oneself in Spain in a subdued Tantric massage space.

You let your gaze travel to the masseur who is warming massage oil in his hands.  He has dark hair cut short, a fashionable crop of spiky brown.  You admire him; his fresh and flawless complexion; his stately build.  He is wearing loose flowing white pants and a T shirt of such crisp whiteness that in daylight it would dazzle you blind.

His eyes direct you toward the massage bench.

"You can disrobe now _Señorita_ " he says. His voice has a husky timbre to it, as though he had a misspent youth in smoky nightclubs to account for before embracing healthy living.

You think 'To hell with it, here goes' and loosen the belt that wraps around you, easing your robe off and letting it slide from your shoulders and crumple to the floor.

He is unabashed as he stares at you, eyes widening at your nakedness. You feel them travel down your naked body and note that he charts your curves and in a glance admires your breasts.  You feel a tiny surge of pleasure, a current of warmth that takes hold at your core.

You climb onto the massage bench and lie face down on the soft towel that stretches across it. Soft music begins to play as you feel warm oil pooling on your back.  Rodrigo spreads the oil out in a series of hand movements that sooth any minor apprehensions you have about disrobing.

 "Degustation massage. You want hard or soft?"

You find yourself sifting through these words, eager to extract their meaning while lingering too long on the allure of his deliciously accented English.

Despite wondering what the degustation bit means you say "soft"

A slow relax is what you are really after rather than a muscle shaking throttle.

Rodrigo's hands are supple coated in the slick oil and they slide and mold to the curves of your body, crest your shoulder blades and then softly knead your neck muscles. He explores your back, spreading a thin film of oil over your skin. His hands run down the sides of your body, fingers lightly touching your breasts which softly spill, partially flattened to the table.

You'd forgotten how much you enjoy a massage and struggle to suppress a moan.

Any aches you had were being soothed away with expert hands.  Time evaporates.  The background music and Rodrigo's expert ministrations lull you into a trance like bliss.  Here you are naked on a bench glistening with oil and loving every minute of it.

A deep caress of arm and long sweep of his hands along your calf has you giddy.  For long minutes you luxuriate in this feeling as a deep relaxation comes over you.

Every time Rodrigo stretches to cup his hands together and slide them the length of your calves you feel the press of his body.  You wonder if this straining to reach your limbs and the soft brush of his body against yours is deliberate.

These thoughts began to grow and crowd out the deep sense of contentment you feel. You still feel relaxed but now you are attuned to every touch from his hands.  You feel a rise and sense that your heart has started to pound.  Your breath which had been slow is becoming ragged.  It takes you a moment but you finally come to your senses and realize that you are being turned on by the movements of this calm hunk of a Spanish male.

Are you imagining the way his body touches yours?  It feels as though the contact is becoming more insistent.

You breath deeply and tell yourself to get a grip on it, sensing that your imagination is in overload and firing madly due to the supreme contentment you feel.  Being at the center of such a sensual experience is just bliss.  Despite this, you inwardly tremble.

"Turn over" Rodrigo says, a deep melodic whisper in your ear.

You roll over and shift into a comfortable position aware that your breasts and finely trimmed crotch are on display.   You look up at Rodrigo.  His cheeks are lightly reddened but he keeps a very measured face that seems to say professional at work.

He holds the bottle of oil above you and slowly upends it, letting a thin string of oil spin and unspool over your chest.  A warm golden trail gradually snakes over your body starting from your pubis and wends its way toward your face. You catch a glint in his eye and hold his gaze while he drizzles spirals  over your breasts. You gasp at his brazen suggestiveness.  Rodrigo seemed to be gazing in rapt attention at your breasts, still pert as you recline.  He reaches over and begins to spread the oil which had already started to spread, finding its own route along your contours.  You feel your nipples harden. They stiffen in a puckered arousal of which you had lost control.  Continuing to massage you, his hands explore and stroke.

His fingers slide around your breasts before he brushes the backs of them over your nipples sending an exquisite sensation coursing through your body.  By this time, you are sure Rodrigo is aware that your breath is coming out in irregular pants.  You are moaning audibly.   He is right beside you now. You can feel your body tremble, conscious of the flush of desire that is washing through you.

#####

Do you stop trying to control your impulses and act now, stroking those strong legs that have been pressing against you?

Or do you lie there and see if he will make the first move. He may be a consummate professional. Perhaps you should let him lead the way. If indeed there is a way.

* * *

##### Stroke those strong legs

* * *

##### Wait and see

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* * *
   She tells you that they can accommodate you straight away and directs you to the change room handing you a robe at the door. You are aware that the muscles of your neck and back are still a little tight from the train trip. The thought of some simple pampering has great appeal. The change room is empty and you set down the robe on the bench before slowly removing your shoes and letting your toes taste the air. There are a number of shower stalls and lockers here and a pile of neatly folded towels sit in an ornately carved timber shelving unit.

  Unbuttoning your blouse and slipping off your dress you hang them and your handbag in the locker. You reach for the light silk robe but not before you enjoy the brief sensation of being naked. There is apparently no one in the room, yet you can hear the sound of water bouncing off the floor, coming from a shower stall. You decide to wash after the massage. The lightness of the fabric feels magic. Its looseness is enchanting. The delicate satiny nature of it, soft and tender and plush. You love the feel of it on your bare skin. If only one could wear this all day every day. Without undergarments.

  You close your eyes and let your hands trace the outline of your body. You've got some winning curves. Caressing your skin, running your hands over the lustrous white silk, you savor the feeling. Gloriously soothing. You run your hands across your abdomen and let a finger curl an exploratory trail near your sex. Nice. The fragrant smells of jasmine and the lush orchids coming from the pots that are hung throughout the room float in the air. You sigh at the sensual nature of the experience. Your sense of smell is finely tuned. Thoughts roll like tumbleweed. All your hopes and dreams about Europe and Barcelona present themselves to you. You've spent so much time with the guide book it is almost as if you have already been here for days. Late night films in Spanish and French, all elegant haute couture or nothing at all. Sumptuous cities and sordid nights. Lovers. Spangled. Torn. Lusty tempestuous consummations. Vino swilled. Vino spilled.

   Caught in this minor reverie, you fail to hear the sound of the water splashing cease from the adjacent shower stall. Nor the door open and then close. It is only when you feel a soft damp hand on your shoulder that you open your eyes.

   "Hey. Sorry to disturb you. You seemed lost in the moment. But the masseuse has just signaled for you"

   A woman with a bob of neatly trimmed black hair is stood before you rubbing a fluffy white towel through it. She is shorter than you and coupled with the uniform white robe, she wears a broad smile.

   She points down the corridor to a line of small doors.

   "I can recommend the _denuda degustacion_ " she says with a wink.

   You thank her and stroll down the corridor to the room with the door open.

  The room has subdued lighting. You greet the masseuse with a smile and a tentative hello. She is patting down fresh white linen atop a massage table.

  The masseuse is so petite; you can't imagine that someone with hands so small could give a decent massage. She closes the door and moves to the corner of the room where a small table lined with bottles of massage oil and other exotic unguents sit. White flowers float in glass bowl, lilies in small ponds.

  " _Denuda degustacion_?" She asks.

   Denuda sounds like nude. Naked, is this what she means?

  You aren't really sure what to say but find yourself uttering a short " _Si_ " in agreement.

  She directs you to lie on the table. But before you do, you wonder if you should remove your robe.

Do you disrobe? Or do you leave the silk robe on for the time being and see what unfolds. Surely you'll be directed one way or other.  You don't want to offend anyone.

* * *

##### Disrobe

* * *

##### Stay covered

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* * *
  You head over to the bar. A sign baring a picture of a large black ram hangs outside, with the words "El be Negre"

   Your thirst has got the better of you, your throat needs attention and you hanker to feel the cool of a local beer slip down. That or the chill sensations of a Spanish wine, a fresh burst of light white to your tongue.

   You wander into the bar and are at once taken with its atmosphere of faded decadence. The place looks like it hasn't changed since early last century. Ornate chandeliers hang on high while walls lined with portraits of people long forgotten fade into the background beneath long accumulated layers of nicotine. A heavy patina of age has been allowed to linger. It is this that gives the place its charm. The bar is quiet. The clientele mixed. You can see that there are travelers here. Locals too. Some hip types, some less so. It's an easy mix and you immediately feel at home. It is still early. You know that night life kicks into gear late in the evening in Spain. Soft soul infused jazz whispers through the bar.

  Doors open onto a courtyard that borders a park. Candlelit tables surrounded by a motley assortment of chairs sit in a huddle. A few are taken by couples. Elegantly dressed women flirt with their men. You aim for the bar. The barman has hair that has been spiked into heavy tufts like a dinosaur spine.

Do you say?

* * *

##### _Una cerveza por favor?_ (One beer please)

* * *

##### _Uno blanco por favor_ (One white wine please)

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* * *

A cool glass of white is what you truly desire and this Catalan Vino Blanco hits all the buttons. You take yourself over to a red velvet armchair and dig into your bag for your Ipad. Wine and some dreaming about what tomorrow holds for you. You bring up the _Barcelona Rough guide_. Hmmm... you could quite fancy a bit of rough. But then a bit of smooth would also do just fine. The alcohol puts you in a relaxed mood.

   You sit and watch the comings and goings at the bar. A couple of young males, both tall and blond down beer in the corner. Their backpacks lean against the table legs. Some local businessmen are sipping at scotch, swirling the ice in their glasses and clinking them together in a great display of camaraderie. To their side sit a group of ten or so North Americans. You can overhear their chatter. They are comparing hotel experiences in Seville. Recounting the many splendors of the southern Spanish city and its enchanting Moorish heritage. They are a boisterous bunch but are barely drinking. Cokes and the odd small bottle of beer jostle for space on their table. The last thing you want to do on this trip is converse with your countrymen. Give me foreign men, give me exotic men, give me strange accents, and give me something new. You sense that you may be the subject of some muttering between the local businessmen and look their way only to catch them turn away. Guilty. You've certainly still got it. And you can get it. If you want it.

   You order some tapas - _Patata's brava_ and some grilled _Sardinas_. You wile away a good half hour getting to the bottom of a second glass.

   The combined effects of two glasses of wine put you in the mood for some sensual body contact.

* * *

##### A massage would be nice...

* * *

##### Perhaps you are tired and your hotel is what you desire. You could take yourself off to bed for an early night.

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* * *

  An Estrella it is then.

  The foam spills over the top of the glass, wetting your fingers as you set it down on a small table and prop yourself up on a swiveling bar stool.

  The table next to you is taken by two tall blond men whose backpacks are sprawled alongside them on the floor. They are young. Early twenties at the most. They are sipping from huge pitchers of beer and it is clear that they have had a few already. They sound Scandinavian. You'd once had a Danish boyfriend and you remember that there'd been great confusion between you in negotiating nights out. The guy had been so passive as to seem clueless to what you'd been after. He'd still not worked it out after you'd ditched him. But not before a handful of drink fueled rendezvous had made you swear off northern European males. His stamina was enough for the minutes you could count on both hands but anything more than this seemed too much to ask. These two were handsome but... you aren't going there. You spy the blue and yellow of the Swedish flag sewn onto one of their packs.

  The taller of the two wanders back to the bar to order another round. You see him say something to the barman who looks up and catches you looking his way. The barman whispers and the tall Swede glances back and stares at you. You drop your eyes to the table and take a sip of your beer.

  You check out the others in the bar. Some local businessmen are sipping fine Spanish brandy. A group of ten or so North Americans are talking among themselves. You can overhear their chatter. They are comparing hotel experiences in Portugal. Recounting exquisite meals. They are a boisterous bunch but are barely drinking. Cokes and the odd small bottle of beer jostle for space on their table.

  The exceptionally tall young Swede returns with fresh beers and smiles at you as he passes your table. The smile is coupled with a fairly brazen ogle of your chest. He slides the beers down on the table and perches on his stool.

   You are aware of them looking your way but you ignore the pull of their gaze.

   "Hello, hi there" one says, before his mate chimes "fancy a drink with us?"

   You turn, the swivel on your chair spinning faster than anticipated. You hadn't wanted to respond so immediately. Two young faces grin stupidly at you. Alcohol, the great enabler has lubed them up and they are now positively brimming with Dutch courage.

   "We'd love you to join us. Seeing as you're alone and drinking a beer and why not?" the shorter of the two says. Loose singlet stretched over a broad expanse of chest.

   You size them up. They are both as fit and healthy as two young males can be and truth be told, you don't really feel like eavesdropping on the tour group comparing humdrum travel stories.

* * *

##### Drag your stool over alongside them to be sociable

* * *

##### You really fancy a massage.

* * *

##### Take yourself off to bed for an early night.

* * *

* * *

**Please turn back a page**

* * *

* * *

**Please turn forward a page**

* * *
 You decide to throw caution to the wind and let the robe slide from your shoulders and crumple at your feet. _Denuda_ equals nude right? You turn your head to gaze at the masseuse who is warming massage oil in her hands. She has dark hair pulled tightly into a knot. Her skin is fresh and flawless. She is wearing loose flowing white pants and a shirt of light blue silk. She stares at you, eyes widening at your nakedness. You see her eyes travel down your naked body and note that she charts your curves and in a glance admires your breasts. You can't help but feel a tiny surge of pleasure from this gaze.

 You lie face down on the towel that stretches across the massage bench. Soft music begins to play and you feel the warm oil pooling on your back. The masseuse starts to spread the oil out in a series of hand movements that sooth any minor apprehensions you have about being so forthright disrobing.

  "I'm Ana" she says " _Degustacion_ massage. You want hard or soft?"

  You do wonder what the degustation bit means but say "soft" A slow relax is what you are really after, rather than a muscle shaking throttle.

  Ana's hands are warm and soft coated in the slick oil. She explores your back, spreading a thin film of oil over your skin. Her hands run down the sides of your body, fingers lightly touching the sides of your breasts which softly spill at your sides, partially flattened to the table.

  You'd forgotten how much you enjoyed a massage and struggle to suppress a moan.

  Any aches you had are being soothed away with expert hands. Time evaporates. The background music and Ana's expert ministrations lull you into a trance-like bliss. Here you are, naked on a bench glistening with oil and loving every minute of it.

  A deep caress of arm and long sweep of her hands along your calf has you moaning. For long minutes you luxuriate in this feeling as a deep relaxation comes over you.

  Every time Ana stretches to cup her hands together and slide them the length of your calves you can feel the press of her own body. You wonder if this straining to reach your limbs and the soft brush of her body against yours is deliberate.

  These thoughts begin to grow and crowd out the deep sense of contentment you feel. You still feel relaxed but now you are attuned to every touch from her hands. You feel a rise and sense that your heart has started to pound. Your breath, which had been to slow, begins to get ragged. It takes you a moment, but you finally come to your senses and realize that you are being turned on by the movements of this quiet and lissome Spanish woman.

  Are you imagining the way her body touches yours? It feels as though the contact is becoming more insistent.

  You breathe deeply and tell yourself to get a grip on it; your imagination is in overload, firing madly due to the supreme contentment you feel at being at the center of such a sensual experience. Despite this, you inwardly tremble.

  "Turn over" Ana says, a soft melodic whisper in your ear.

  You roll over and shift into a comfortable position, aware that your breasts and finely trimmed crotch are again on display. You look up at Ana. Her cheeks are lightly reddened but she keeps a very measured face that seems to say professional.

  She holds the bottle of warm oil above you and slowly upends it, letting a thin string of oil unspool over your chest. A warm trail gradually snakes over your body, starting from your pubis and wending its way towards your face. You catch a glint in her eye and hold her gaze while she drizzles spirals of oil over your breasts. You gasp at her brazen suggestiveness. Ana seems to be gazing in rapt attention at your breasts, still pert as you recline. She reaches over and begins to spread the oil which has already started to spread, finding its own route along your contours. You feel your nipples harden. They stiffen in a puckered arousal. Continuing to massage you, her hands explore and stroke. She massages your breasts, brushing the backs of her fingers over your nipples and sending an exquisite sensation coursing through your body.

  By this time, you are sure Ana is aware that your breath is irregular. You are starting to moan audibly. She is right beside you now. You can feel your body trembling, conscious of the flush of desire that is washing through you.

  A desire to reach out and touch Ana's leg grips you but you resist for a moment wondering if you have misread the situation.

* * *

#####  Do you stop trying to control your impulses and act now, stroking those gorgeous lithe legs that have been pressing against you?

* * *

##### Or do you lie there and see if she will make the first move. She may be a consummate professional. Perhaps you should let her lead the way. If indeed there is a way.

* * *

* * *

**Please turn back a page**

* * *

* * *

**Please turn forward a page**

* * *
 You decide to leave the robe on. The masseuse has unsettled you. You're not sure of the normal way to deport oneself in Spain, in a subdued Tantric massage space. Her silence seems considered. You gaze at her. She has still barely acknowledged your presence in the room. She has dark hair pulled tightly into a knot. Her skin is fresh and flawless. She is wearing loose flowing white pants and a shirt of light blue silk. As if sensing your gaze, she looks and smiles at you. It is a disarming smile. A little corner of her mouth curls upwards in a fashion that seems a little comic, ribald even.

   Her eyes direct you towards the massage bench.

   "You can disrobe now _Senora_ " she says. Her voice has a soft timbre to it, nightclub husky.

   You let the robe slide from your shoulders and crumple at your feet. You feel her eyes travel down your naked body and note how quickly she charts your curves and in a fleeting glance admires your breasts. You can't help but feel a tiny surge of pleasure from this gaze.

   You lie face down on the towel that stretches across the massage bench. Soft music begins to play and you feel the warm oil pooling on your back. The masseuse starts to spread the oil out in a series of hand movements that sooth any minor apprehensions you have about being so forthright disrobing.

   "I'm Ana" she says. "You want a _degustacion_ massage hard or soft?"

   You do wonder what the degustation bit involves but say "soft". A slow relax is what you are really after, rather than a muscle shaking throttle.

   Ana's hands are warm and soft, coated in the slick oil. She explores your back, spreading a thin film of oil over your skin. Her hands run down the sides of your body, fingers lightly touching the sides of your breasts which softly spill at your sides, partially flattened to the table.

   You'd forgotten how much you enjoy a massage and struggle to suppress a moan.

   Any aches you had are being soothed away with expert hands. Time evaporates. The background music and Ana's expert ministrations lull you into a trance like bliss. Here you are, naked on a bench, glistening with oil and loving every minute of it.

   A deep caress of arm and long sweep of her hands along your calf has you moaning. For long minutes you luxuriate in this feeling as a deep relaxation comes over you.

   Every time Ana stretches to cup her hands together and slide them the length of your calves you can feel the press of her own body. You wonder if this straining to reach your limbs and the soft brush of her body against yours is deliberate.

   These thoughts begin to grow and crowd out the deep sense of contentment you feel. You still feel relaxed, but now you are attuned to every touch from her hands. You feel a rise and sense that your heart has started to pound. Your breath, which had been to slow, begins to get ragged. It takes you a moment, but you finally come to your senses and realize that you are being turned on by the movements of this quiet and lissome woman.

   Are you imagining the way her body touches yours? It feels as though the contact is becoming more insistent.

  You breathe deeply and tell yourself to get a grip on it; your imagination is in overload, firing madly due to the supreme contentment you feel at being at the center of such a sensual experience. Despite this, you inwardly tremble.

   "Turn over" Ana says, a soft melodic whisper in your ear.

   You roll over and shift into a comfortable position aware that your breasts and finely trimmed crotch are again on display. You look up at Ana. Her cheeks are lightly reddened but she keeps a very measured face that seems to say professional.

   She holds the bottle of warm oil above you and slowly upends it, letting a thin string of oil spin and unspool over your chest. A warm golden trail gradually snakes over your body, starting from your pubis and wending its way towards your face. You catch a glint in her eye and hold her gaze while she drizzles spirals of oil over your breasts. You gasp at her brazen suggestiveness. Ana seems to be gazing in rapt attention at your breasts, still pert as you recline. She reaches over and begins to smooth the oil out, which had already started to spread, finding its own route along your contours. You feel your nipples harden and you lose control. Continuing to massage you, her hands explore and stroke. She massages your breasts, brushing the backs of her fingers over your nipples and sending an exquisite sensation coursing through your body.

   By this time you are sure Ana is aware that your breath is irregular. You are starting to moan audibly. She is right beside you now. You can feel your body trembling as you are conscious of the flush of desire that is washing through you.

   A desire to reach out and touch Ana's leg grips you but you resist for a moment, wondering if you have misread the situation.

* * *

##### Do you stop trying to control your impulses and act now, stroking those gorgeous lithe legs that have been pressing against you?

* * *

##### Or do you lie there and see if she will make the first move. She may be a consummate professional. Perhaps you should let her lead the way. If indeed there is a way.

* * *

* * *

**Please turn back a page**

* * *

* * *

**Please turn forward a page**

* * *
You are lying back watching Ana spread her hands softly over your body. Deciding that now is the moment; you reach out and bring your right hand up until you can feel Ana's leg. You caress it lightly through the thin fabric. For a brief moment there is silence as Ana stops massaging you. You feel her body tense. You count the seconds until her breath is released in a gasp. The anticipation has a delicious sweetness about it. Then, in a fashion that is sublimely slow, Ana moves. And it isn't away from you. Her hands, which had for a moment tensed and frozen against you, again start moving, ever so slowly caressing you. Her fingers chart supernovas, wending spirals of bliss over you. Teasing trails of aching pleasure, a cartographer charting new passages over cherished vellum.

   You move your hand along her thigh heading up and over the fabric of her pants. You are sensitive to the heat being released from her skin through the fabric. You keep your hand on Ana's firm inner thigh, fingers stepping over themselves as they climb an invisible ladder towards her sex. Ana holds your eyes, complicit in this dance. You know that your touch is teasing and enhanced by the glossy sheen of the silk.

     You watch as Ana slowly withdraws her hands, placing them along the hemline of her blue silken shirt. She grasps this hem and in a deft move pulls it up and over her head. You gaze at her breasts. Beautiful. They are gently rounded, fresh and ripe like late summer mangoes with tan nipples that stand and beg for the attention of the world. And they deserve the lusty gazes they surely draw, for they are amazing and you are in awe. You reach up to touch them but Ana grasps your hand. Her fingers entwine with yours like tendrils of an all-consuming vine. She then lets your finger ever so slightly graze the stiff little peaks of her nipples. You feel them respond, the soft swell of blood linked to that strongly beating heart.

   "I massage you" she whispers, placing both your entwined hands down on your left breast. Letting your hands uncouple, her hands slide south towards the sun, the source of all your heat. You're aware of the flush of dampness. Hot and humid. Like a hothouse flower, your petals are unfurling, exposing their sweet nectar to the air.

   Ana's eyes are feasting on you as her hand inches ever closer to your pussy. She is letting her eyes gorge, consuming all your delicious nakedness. Feasting on it like a glutton for pleasure. Your eyes are being drawn towards her fingers, which are on autopilot, charting a course that had seemingly been predetermined from the moment you entered the room.

   While she is contemplating, luxuriating in the moment, you let your eyes close in joyous anticipation for what you know is coming. You can feel it acutely. The tension is exquisite.

   Ana withdraws her hands from their course of moving towards your aching, sopping pussy. This has you moaning in dashed anticipation. Suddenly her mouth is lowered as she brings her lips to your breasts. She licks softy, the undersides, their swollen fullness. Then her tongue teases and tickles your nipples. She licks at them until they spring taut from teasing tongue. You are cooing now. The sheer wanton agony of the sensation. You are desperate to rip her pants from her asunder and feel her heat, feel the intense hot wet passion of her core. You are lifting your body from the massage table in order to push your breasts into the warm suck of her accommodating mouth. She seems to respond to your need, moving her mouth with purpose, finding succor in consuming your flesh. Her lips are feasting. She is using her tongue and her teeth to softly, ever so gently nibble you. You can feel your skin flush and it makes you let out one long slow moan. The pleasure of the moment is one of enrapture and you are halfway there. You are in Barcelona and you are halfway gone.

   Your hands do their best to remove Ana's pants. Your tugs are insistent and Ana gets the message and slips her pants off her delicious behind. As she is easing them off, you reach up and remove the hair clip that sets her hair in a tight knot. Her hair spills out in one long satiny cascade. Richly brown, it sparkles and shines.

   In a singular motion, she swings her leg over on top of you, draping it over the side of the table until she is mounted with her butt resting on your pubis. You reach up and let your fingers measure the flawless skin of her breasts. You've never felt skin as soft as hers. Not rough or hairy like a man's, but sheer and golden. It is exotic, her hue and its velvet smoothness. You wonder what your skin feels like to her. You cup her breasts as she leans towards you. Her hair hangs low, tickling your forehead. You let your tongue stretch towards her and she leans further forwards, sucking it into the confines of her warm wet mouth. Ana then moves her mouth to your breasts, again kissing them insistently. You shiver as her warm mouth envelops your nipples, first one, slick wet saliva, a conduit for electric pleasure and then the other. She worships your breasts. Her desire for them is palpable. You close your eyes again and mutter "Let me have you".

  But again, it is Ana pleasuring you. You draw breath as you feel her tongue wend its way towards your hot carnal core. Her tongue skirts the edges of your tamed bush. Your hair is trimmed, close to the skin. It is almost not there. An acknowledgment of your womanhood.

   Ana brings her lips gently between your legs. A slippery trail leads her to your hot, aching pink center. As her tongue teases your clit you cry out, such is the exquisite release. She waits until you are panting, audibly begging for more with insistent moans. Again her tongue darts and swirls around your pulsating clit before taking leave and exploring the puffy lips that encase it. A slick river of your honey soaks the inside of your legs, spilling from your cleft in a sticky tide, to be soaked up by the towel that covers the massage bench.

   You hold her hair, the sides of her head as she lavishes her tongue on your hot sex. Your pussy is moist and tropic and it now aches for something more. Such sweet release is being promised and you feel the steady climb of your pulse that signals the need to come. The attentions being lavished on you are making you squirm. Your itch is being scratched and the resultant ache is a slow thudding pulse, an invisible shudder from your pussy to your head.

   Ana is also loosening low moans in between thrusts of her tongue. She is lapping at your secret flesh, consuming your lusty juices with unquenchable passion. She is teasing you, bringing you ever so slowly to the peak. She slips a finger and thumb into you. You are so very wet you almost don't feel them. Your pussy offers no resistance and you enjoy the feeling of being penetrated. You wish she had something with greater girth. A strap-on for instance. Her tongue is darting in and out, pistoning and bouncing off your clit. Her hands reach up and grasp your breasts. You are spread open, your whole body a glistening sheen of sweat, as this woman who you have never before met is treating you to the wildest girl sex of your life. The pleasure is building in a heated wave that threatens to crash at any moment. Ana senses this. That she can read you so well makes you groan, and your climax builds until the agonizing crescendo booms. Kapow! You cry out and gasp as waves of intense pleasure wash over you. You are drowning until, letting out a whimper, the final thrashes of orgasm fade from your body. The afterglow is unlike any you have ever felt before.

   Ana leans forward and kisses you as you feel the last contractions and shudders dissipate. She steps from the table and dresses. You watch, sated but with a need to return the favor.

     "Thank you madam, degustacion massage is finish" she says. Her eyes sparkle mischievously and she winks and pouts, bringing her left hand to her lips and blowing you a kiss. Even if a single air kiss could never convey it all, this one comes so very close.

   You slowly pull yourself together. The experience was unlike any previous. You luxuriate in the shower. The hot sting of the water in no way washing away the state of contentment and bliss that you feel. You dress and head out.

* * *

##### You head back to the hotel. The post orgasmic bliss bomb has shaken you to the core and your body now demands rest. Tomorrow is a new day.

* * *

* * *

**Please turn back a page**

* * *

* * *

**Please turn forward a page**

* * *
 You lie back and watch Ana spread her hands softly over your body. You feel a rising urge to touch her but you falter, not wanting to break the spell. You are still unsure of the protocols in this situation. You want to test the waters but something pulls you back and you decide to refrain for the moment. It is not normal for you to rein in your desire to act. You've always been proactive in your pleasure seeking. Taking the initiative, taking the plunge, taking your hand and slipping it somewhere, an able scout and instrument in all your seductions. The pleasures of the massage are manifold. Perhaps you should content yourself with this state of exquisite arousal.

   Ana is ever so slowly massaging you. Her hands move in a fashion that is as tender as a caress. Her fingers are charting supernovas, wending spirals of bliss over you. She leaves teasing trails of pleasure, like a cartographer charting new passages over cherished vellum. You are a sensual being and this is bliss.

   Something happens. By accident or design, you're not sure. A course has been set and the future is shaken.

   Your right hand accidentally brushes against Ana's leg. Then, on impulse, you let the tips of your fingers caress it so very lightly through the thin fabric. The touch is over in an instant but for a brief moment there is silence as Ana stops. You feel her body tense and you count the seconds until her breath is released in a low gasp. Your anticipation for that moment had a delicious sweetness about it. Then, in a sublimely slow fashion, Ana moves. And it isn't away from you. Her hands, which had for a moment tensed and frozen against you, again started moving.

   You move your hand along her thigh heading up and over the fabric of her pants. You are sensitive to the heat being released from her skin through the fabric. You keep your hand on Ana's firm inner thigh, fingers stepping over themselves as they climb an invisible ladder towards her sex. Ana holds your eyes, complicit in this dance. You know that your touch is teasing and enhanced by the glossy sheen of the silk.

     You watch as Ana slowly withdraws her hands, placing them along the hemline of her blue silken shirt. She grasps this and in a deft move pulls it up and over her head. You gaze at her beautiful breasts. They are gently rounded, fresh and ripe like mangoes with tan nipples that stand and beg for the attention of the world. And they deserve the lusty gazes they surely draw, for they are amazing and you are in awe. You reach up to touch them but Ana grasps your hand. Her fingers entwine with yours like tendrils of an all-consuming vine. She then lets your fingers ever so slightly graze the stiff little peaks of her nipples. You feel them respond, the soft swell of blood linked to that strongly beating heart.

   "I massage you" she whispers, placing your entwined hands down on your left breast. Letting your hands uncouple, her hands slide south towards the sun. The source of all your heat. You are aware of the flush of dampness. Hot and humid, dewy, like a hothouse flower, your petals are unfurling, exposing their sweet nectar to the air.

   Ana's eyes are feasting on you as her hand inches ever closer to your pussy. She is letting her eyes gorge, consuming all your delicious nakedness. She is feasting on it, a glutton for pleasure. Your eyes are being drawn towards her fingers, which are on autopilot, for it seems the blueprint was predetermined the moment you entered the room.

   While she is contemplating, luxuriating in the moment, you let your eyes close in joyous anticipation for what you know is coming. You can feel it acutely. The tension is sublime.

  Ana withdraws her hands from their course of moving towards your aching, sopping pussy. This has you moaning in dashed anticipation. Suddenly her mouth is lowered as she brings her lips to your breasts. She licks softy, the undersides, the swollen fullness of your breasts. Then her tongue teases and tickles your nipples. She licks at them until they spring taut from teasing tongue. You are cooing now. The sheer wanton agony of the sensation. You are desperate to rip her pants from her asunder and feel her heat, feel the intense hot wet passion of her core. You are lifting your body from the massage table in order to push your breasts into the warm suck of her accommodating mouth. She seems to respond to your need, moving her mouth with purpose, finding succor in consuming your flesh. Her lips are feasting. She is using her tongue and her teeth to softly, ever so gently nibble you. You can feel your skin flush and it makes you let out one long slow moan. The pleasure of the moment is one of enrapture and you are halfway there. You are in Barcelona and you are halfway gone.

  Your hands do their best to remove Ana's pants. Your tugs are insistent and Ana gets the message and slips her pants off her delicious behind. As she is easing them off, you reach up and remove the hair clip that sets her hair in a tight knot. Her hair spills out in one long satiny cascade. Richly brown, it sparkles and shines.

  In a singular motion, she swings her leg over on top of you, draping it over the side of the table until she is mounted with her butt resting on your pubis. You reach up and let your fingers measure the flawless skin of her breasts. You've never felt skin as soft as hers. Not rough or hairy like a man's, but sheer and golden. It is exotic, her hue and its velvet smoothness. You wonder what your skin feels like to her. You cup her breasts as she leans towards you. Her hair hangs low, tickling your forehead. You let your tongue stretch towards her and she leans further forwards, sucking it into the confines of her warm wet mouth. Ana then moves her mouth to your breasts, again kissing them insistently. You shiver as her warm mouth envelops your nipples, first one, slick wet saliva, a conduit for electric pleasure and then the other. She worships your breasts. Her desire for them is palpable. You close your eyes again and mutter "Let me have you".

  But again, it is Ana pleasuring you. You draw breath as you feel her tongue wend its way towards your hot carnal core. Her tongue skirts the edges of your tamed bush. Your hair is trimmed, close to the skin. It is almost not there. An acknowledgment of your womanhood.

   Ana brings her lips gently between your legs. A slippery trail leads her to your hot, aching pink center. As her tongue teases your clit you cry out, such is the exquisite release. She waits until you are panting, audibly begging for more with insistent moans. Again her tongue darts and swirls around your pulsating clit before taking leave and exploring the puffy lips that encase it. A slick river of your honey soaks the inside of your legs, spilling from your cleft in a sticky tide, to be soaked up by the towel that covers the massage bench.

   You hold her hair, the sides of her head as she lavishes her tongue on your hot sex. Your pussy is moist and tropic and it now aches for something more. Such sweet release is being promised and you feel the steady climb of your pulse that signals the need to come. The attentions being lavished on you are making you squirm. Your itch is being scratched and the resultant ache is a slow thudding pulse, an invisible shudder from your pussy to your head.

   Ana is also loosening low moans in between thrusts of her tongue. She is lapping at your secret flesh, consuming your lusty juices with unquenchable passion. She is teasing you, bringing you ever so slowly to the peak. She slips a finger and thumb into you. You are so very wet you almost don't feel them. Your pussy offers no resistance and you enjoy the feeling of being penetrated. You wish she had something with greater girth. A strap-on for instance. Her tongue is darting in and out, pistoning and bouncing off your clit. Her hands reach up and grasp your breasts. You are spread open, your whole body a glistening sheen of sweat, as this woman who you have never before met is treating you to the wildest girl sex of your life. The pleasure is building in a heated wave that threatens to crash at any moment. Ana senses this. That she can read you so well makes you groan, and your climax builds until the agonizing crescendo booms. Kapow! You cry out and gasp as waves of intense pleasure wash over you. You are drowning until, letting out a whimper, the final thrashes of orgasm fade from your body. The afterglow is unlike any you have ever felt before.

  Ana leans forward and kisses you as you feel the last contractions and shudders dissipate. She steps from the table and dresses. You watch, sated but with a need to return the favor.

     "Thank you madam, _degustacion_ massage is finish" she says. Her eyes sparkle mischievously and she winks and pouts, bringing her left hand to her lips and blowing you a kiss. Even if a single air kiss could never convey it all, this one comes so very close.

   You slowly pull yourself together. The experience was unlike any previous. You luxuriate in the shower. The hot sting of the water in no way washing away the state of contentment and bliss that you feel. You dress and head out.

* * *

##### You head back to the hotel. The post orgasmic bliss bomb has shaken you to the core and your body now demands rest. Tomorrow is a new day.

* * *

* * *

**Please turn back a page**

* * *

* * *

**Please turn forward a page**

* * *
 Sven introduces Lars.

   And Lars says, pointing "And he's Sven"

   Lars asks you if you've seen the movie _Lars and the Real Girl_ and you nod in the affirmative. He says he likes real girls too, and by that it is clear he means living breathing versions, rather than the lifelike lifeless sex dolls featured in the movie.

   The only thing you liked about the movie was Ryan Gosling.

   It turns out that they are stuck in Barcelona after a flight cancellation. They are heading on to the Canary Islands, but mechanical failure has resulted in their flight being delayed for a few days.

   Lars lays out their ingenious plan to camp in the small park alongside this bar rather than spending cash on a budget hotel.

   You smile at their bravado and youthful zest for fun.

   "More money for beer" you say.

   And they both cheer.

   "And your tent, where will you peg it out?" you ask them, peering through the windows at a postage stamp sized patch of grass.

   "You'll just have to come and watch while we set it up" Sven says, winking at Lars.

   You wonder what they have in mind. Surely the police will be around in no time, ordering them to move on? Camping not permitted and all that. But there is no denying now that you are enjoying their attention and youthful easy charm.

   You all drink and banter for a good twenty minutes. You've relaxed into their easy company. When Lars stands up, Sven follows suit and they both smile a crazed leery beery grin. The drink has gone to your head too. You finish it and contemplate ordering another.

   "Coming to come see our camping spot?" asks Lars.

* * *

#####   Do you accept their offer, intrigued by their demented idea to set a tent up in the city park?

* * *

##### Alternately you could head back out and over to that Tantra Spa for a pamper.  The alcohol has you in a relaxed mood and one which you'd enjoy lying down and receiving the soothing attentions of massage.

* * *

* * *

**Please turn back a page**

* * *

* * *

**Please turn forward a page**

* * *
  The boys shoulder their backpacks and you rise from your seat. Your legs have the relaxed weakness brought on by drink.

   You smile at them both and say "Lead the way, boys"

   Pushing through the double swing doors out into the courtyard of the bar, you zig zag through a maze of chairs and tables. The crowd has increased since you arrived. The boys lift their backpacks high to avoid collision with other patrons and in a moment you're clear of the crowd and in a small leafy park. A small copse of trees surrounds a patch of grass the size of a picnic blanket. This is undoubtedly a hotly contested lunch spot during the day.

   Sven dumps his pack to the ground.

   Lars says "Do I have the tent or do you?"

   To which Sven grins and pulls a long rolled package from his pack.

   With a strap loosened and a deft shake, a tent of multiple shades of orange springs to life. An instant house. A cosy private space. It has an internal frame that stretches, defines and claims airspace in a moment.

   Lars is already blowing air into his inflatable mattress as Sven clambers inside.

   He pokes his head through the opening and says "Come in and have a look!"

   You stare at him for a moment, wondering what sort of invitation it is.

* * *

#####   Do you accept this blatant invitation for something more than a mere tour of their digs and crawl into the newly created space?

* * *

Or do you smile and bid them _adios_ , saluting their guile and front, after all, setting up a tent in a small public park in the middle of Barcelona is bound to get them into trouble with the local authorities.

* * *

#####  You feel like a pampering and the thought of squeezing into the tent with these boys suddenly doesn't seem like a thrilling proposition.  The Tantric massage center over the road has more appeal.

* * *

* * *

**Please turn back a page**

* * *

* * *

**Please turn forward a page**

* * *

You throw caution to the wind. You realize that the thought of climbing into the tent is exciting you.

Sven is reclining on his inflatable mattress. You crawl to a corner and sit cross legged. Lars squeezes in alongside you.

You wonder for a brief moment if you should take control of the situation. Decision made, you reach across and run your hand over Sven's leg. You feel another hand on your shoulder. It is Lars. It excites you when he removes your shirt and even more so when Sven undoes your bra. His hands rest for a moment on your breasts, making your nipples stiffen. Lars unclasps your skirt and slips it and then your panties down over your legs. You lean forward and undress Sven, pulling out his warm cock. Pulling it towards you, you feel a trace of wetness trail against your skin.

   The three of you sit cross legged facing each other on the small inflatable mattresses. You are all completely naked now. Lars starts to fondle your breasts. He presses your nipples gently in and then moves his hands to your knees, sliding his hands slowly along the insides of your thighs. He lets his fingers travel until they are so very close to your pussy when he stops.

   You laugh "Ooh...tease".

   You reach out for Sven's prick, pumping it, making it hard. Making it big. You run your thumb over its swollen tip and enjoy the moist stickiness. You feel Lars pressing a hand to your pussy, slipping a finger into your swollen cunt lips. Sven is kissing your breasts and neck. He kisses you down the length of your body, running his tongue over the hardness of your ribs and the softness of your belly. You lie back and he eats you. You feel a minor tremor of come, and shudder when his tongue explores deeply. He draws your clit slowly into his mouth. Softly sucking on it. You moan as he then runs his fingers along the soft folds of your now rather damp pussy.

   You leave Sven's prick and take Lars heavy thickness into your mouth. You feel a desperate urge to eat him. To suck his cock. You take his cock deep into your mouth, sucking it, jacking it off with your hand. He shivers and thrusts urgently into your mouth, his cock twitching against your tongue while you suck it even deeper into your throat. He is trembling. You are loving the taste of his young Scandinavian meat. You are giving him the best blow job you know how to give. You are aware of Sven's fingers probing deeply into your cunt. Lars is groaning in delight, so you stop, not wanting him to blow too early. You have other plans. Sven is still exploring, petting your pussy.

   Lars' body is lean and hard. He has prominent muscles and a defined rib cage. His skin is tanned from months in the sun, even his prick is a warm golden color. It's not the thickest cock you've ever seen but it makes up for that in length. You feel a tingle and twitch in your pussy as you admire him. His cock head is a bulbous plum, hard and glossy like unripe fruit. You want one of them to fuck you . Sven is still content, letting his mouth explore your whole body.

   Lars turns to face you and draws your knees back and up. Your pussy is spread, lips open wide and you can feel the wetness trickling out of it and anointing your inner thighs. You pull Lars golden prick toward you and rub it just a short way from your throbbing cunt. His balls are hanging heavy. Running your fingers along the underside of his cock, you stoke him, making his prick swell until it is so rigid it looks like it will explode in your face.

   Milky drops appear at its end and you lean down and taste them. It is a strong flavor but one you like. You are passionate about come.

   You say "I want one of you to screw me now"

   Sven says "What do you think about both of us at the same time?"

 You wonder what he has in mind.  You're more than happy to play with one of them while the other gives your aching pussy a right good seeing to.

"I was thinking of something else..." says Sven "Something pretty kinky.  But we don't have to go there."

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##### You just want to be fucked.

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##### Your curiosity is aroused, you want Sven to spell it out.

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By now both Sven and Lars are sitting in hushed anticipation.

   You say "I want you both but let's not go for the DP buster.   I want to be able to walk tomorrow.  And taking you two studs at once down there is a guaranteed recipe for aching nethers.  But, how about you take turns to fuck me while I suck the other..."

"No problemo" says Sven.

Both of their cocks look achingly stiff and hard at the prospect of fucking you.  You take one in each hand, jacking them off at the same time.

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##### "What are we waiting for boys?" you ask.

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"Don't be shy, let's have it then" you say.

"Well..." he replies, a little uncomfortably, eyebrows raised and teeth making an appearance.

"Um...arr... "  he mumbles before finally dropping a muted "DP?" into the hushed silence.

You wonder if you are hearing things.

Lars nudges Sven who winces a little and scowls.  Taking the reins he says "DP. DP." He's nodding his head vigorously and smiling at you like a simple clown.

"DP? What is DP?" you say, fearing the answer but wanting them to spell it out.  They've got be joking.  The innocent fools have obviously grown up thinking porno sex is real sex.

"You know? Double penetration. One up your whatsit and the other up your jacksy" says Lars.

 "You're not actually serious?" you splutter.

They nod in unison. Two sideshow clowns shirking their ball swallowing duties.

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##### You've got to be joking. We're not going there.

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##### You've always wanted to run away and become a circus contortionist plus you've sworn to try anything once. Give these two circus jesters marks for bravado.

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You've never been double penetrated and wonder if you can take it.  Sven has a thicker cock than Lars, so perhaps maybe if he exercises your pussy, Lars could...

 By now both Sven and Lars are sitting back up in awed delight. They are a little stunned that the suggestion has been taken up and both of their cocks look achingly stiff and hard at the prospect. You take one in each hand, jacking them off at the same time.

   "Do you really want to fuck me together?" you ask.

   They both smile at you like the cat and his best friend who have got the double cream.

   "Well then, how about Sven fucks my pussy while Lars fucks my ass. "

     "Alrighty," Lars said, with a little nod to Sven.

    Sven then lies back and holds his engorged knob so that it is straining skyward. You can see that he is almost quivering with desire for your hot pussy, his cock swollen with lusty blood. You then straddle his hips and ease yourself down on his upright cock. He slips easily into the heat of your slippery quim and you moan. The sensations course through you while your pussy tightly grips his pulsating rod.

     Then you spread your legs out behind you and lay down flat on him, your breasts pressing into his chest and your legs draped over the outside of his. Your nipples are hardening, passion seeping into them. When they collide with his chest, you are sensitive to the moment they graze his skin.

    Lars then positions himself on top of you, his cock angling down toward the slippery lips of your already cock-filled cunt. With his hands he spreads the warm cheeks of your ass and guides the bulbous head of his cock between them. You know that its thickness is not a worry but its length does make you wonder. Lars shoves his hips forward; then the helmet and entire column of his throbbing pike pops into your tight hole, spearing deep into your ass. You lay there, filled with more cock than you've ever experienced in your life. Sven's hard cock is buried in your superheated pussy and Lars' ram rod is crammed up your tight butt.

   You were a slow convert to anal sex. It'd taken a number of years and there were still many times you'd thought that it wasn't worth the pain and bother. But these last few years, an expert older lover skillfully initiated you, slowly guiding and guarding your passage, as it were, and suggesting that you "Push out against the cock". With consideration and concern he helped you develop a simple appreciation for it.

     "I'm going to burst, I'm so full of throbbing cock," you pant, initiating a slow rock between them to get the game rolling.

     Neither of them needs any encouragement and you're suddenly getting enthusiastically fucked. Sven is pumping from underneath, his cock ramming all the way up your sodden pussy. The slick hole of your quim is unusually tight because your ass is so filled up. The new thrill of double fucking is pushing you beyond the edge of ecstasy.

    Lars is plunging his cock as far as he could up your pulsating butt, his hips humping in a rhythmic blur. You love the feel of his raging cock in your ass. You pant and gasp, moaning in sheer unrivaled pleasure.

   There is no denying that the knowledge that you are in a tent in a very public park in the middle of Barcelona is turning you on - the forbidden nature of the experience so kinky, so brazen and so completely out of this world horny. You want to keep your moaning to a bare minimum but the enthusiasm the two boys are applying to the task has you relinquish all control over your utterances.

    You squirm and twist between them, your cunt and your ass being fucked intensely. Their cocks slide in and out of you, harder and harder, filling you with pleasures previously unknown.

    As your butt is being plumbed by Lars' cock you marvel at his athleticism. It is undeniable, this guy is a power thruster. The way he grips your hips, creating a powerful churning motion as he pulls you toward him, has you gasp each time he thrusts home.

    Sven is hugging you closely. His cock is moving with as much motion as he can muster. The sensation of his thrusting, twitching and jerking is doing wonders for your pussy.

   You are all a mess of sweat when you really let loose, starting to fuck both of them faster and harder than they are even fucking you. Your sweaty ass pinions Lars' thrusting cock. You are taking it as far up your ass as it will go. He is so jammed inside you, he couldn't escape if he have wanted to. Every time you pull away from Lars your pussy is being impaled further on Sven's unflaggingly rigid cock. The way you are slamming yourself down on it means that you are bottoming out, deep in your honey pot.

    The pace is frenetic. You look like some some sort of fleshy clockwork contraption. A steam powered pump. The groaning is growing louder. Sven and Lars have given up trying to keep the noise to a quiet whisper. The fact that you could all be hauled out and arrested doesn't really enter your heads. Or if it does, the excitement of that fear adds to the thrill of the moment. You are now working in a rhythm with one another. A semi-coordinated wild frenzied fuck festival.

    Sven suddenly starts twitching before he erupts with a gushing torrent of cum that explodes deep within your slippery pussy.  His cock jerks madly, a thrashing hose desperate to disgorge every last drop of his precious seed.  He expires with a whimper as the rush of orgasm drives a life shaking shudder throughout his body.

    Lars and you both start coming at the same time, your greedy pussy and ass enveloping both of their cocks in a determined push back thrust. This final motion hits home and, with a trembling shudder, you unleash an ecstatic whoop, so lust-drenched that it shakes the thin walls of the tent and echoes far across the park to the bar. You are so wrapped up in the ecstasy of the moment that the thought that your ecstatic whoop is barely contained within thin nylon walls doesn't enter your head.

     As if you'd given him permission with this howl, Lars' cock starts filling your sucking asshole with hot streams of cum, his cock pumping into your ass as fast as it can. He unleashes a guttural roar, an animal accompaniment to his spasming groin motions.

    Expended and sated, you all collapse, a pile of shuddering groans and gasps. There is a quick trade in illicit grins. It is clear that the three of you have got maximum pleasure from the encounter.

   You ease Lars' cock from your rear and slowly get up off Sven's and then you lay back between them with a tired sigh. Draping an arm over each of them you kiss them both individually. After enjoying a few quiet moments of post orgasmic bliss, you feel intensely satisfied but realize that it is definitely time to flee. You dig out your phone from your handbag and check it for the time.

   Blowing them both a kiss.  They lie there exhausted, the tent pungent with the unmistakable smell of sex.  You are certain they will never forget you or this day.  You pull on your clothing; straighten your hair and leave.  As you exit the tent you discover  two male park attendants leaning over their trolley gazing at you with faces contorted in a confusion of disgust and awe.

You bow and curtsy and dash off into the night, glad you aren't camping.

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##### You head back to the hotel. The post orgasmic bliss bomb that has shaken you to the core and your body now demands rest. Tomorrow is a new day.

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They smile at you, Cheshire cats both.  The cat and his best mate sharing the double cream.

 "Well then, how about Lars fucks my pussy while Sven slides his cock into my mouth."

   They both grin. Knowing, lascivious smirks are traded.

 "Alrighty," Lars said with a little nod of excitement to Sven.

 Lars then holds his engorged knob so that it is straining horizontally. You can see that he is almost quivering with desire, his cock swollen with lusty blood. You then back up to him and ease yourself onto on his rigid cock. He slips easily into the heat of your slippery quim and you moan.  The sensations course through you while your pussy tightly grips his pulsating rod.

   Sven then positions himself in front of you and directs his cock toward the greedy lips of your mouth.  Holding the sides of your face, he guides the violet head of his cock into your mouth.  You suck it. You slurp it. You take the big head of his prick into your mouth and vacuum it back.  You taste its heady sweetness as its thickness swells in the confines of your mouth.  Licking it passionately while he gives little involuntary thrusts of pleasure. You look up at his glazed eyes.  His penis slides from your mouth and you admire its beauty.  The skin so smooth and now glistening with the wetness from your mouth. You lick the tip and taste him. All the while you are sucking and teasing him with your mouth, his hands are stroking your head, clenching the sides in a movement that is both tender and urgent.

 While you slurp Sven's delicious cock, you love the feeling of Lars' golden prick rubbing on the walls of your pussy. You enjoy the slowly increasing rhythm of the push back and slide. Lars pace is building into a fury of rapid strokes.  He is a fit young man and built for this. You love the feeling of this new cock inside you. Every new cock brings a strange delight, shaped as they are in fascinating combinations of thickness, length and angle and poise.

   You are getting enthusiastically fucked. Sven is pumping softly into your mouth while you relish Lars fucking the slick hole of your quim.  The thrill of the attentions of two cocks is pushing you beyond the edge of ecstasy.  They are both plying their trade with considerable verve.

 Lars is plunging his cock as far as he can up your pulsating pussy, his hips humping in a rhythmic blur. You love the feel of his raging cock deep within you.  You are panting and gasping. Moaning in sheer unrivaled pleasure.

  There is no denying that the knowledge that you are in a tent in a small park in the middle of Barcelona is turning you on. The forbidden nature of the experience; so kinky, so brazen and so completely out of this world horny.  You want to keep your moaning to a bare minimum but the enthusiasm the two boys were applying to the task has you relinquish all control over your utterances.

 You squirm and twist between them. Their cocks slide in and out of you.  Being the center of this is bringing you pleasures previously unknown.  The insides of your thighs are being basted with lusty juices.  You rock and squirm.

  As your pussy is being plumbed by Lars' cock you marvel at his athleticism. It is undeniable, this guy is a power thruster.  The way he grips your hips, creating a powerful churning motion as he pulls you toward him, had you gasp each time he thrust home.

    Sven hugs your head closely.  His cock is moving with as much precision as he can muster but this thrusting, twitching and jerking still has your mouth and chin awash with mix of saliva and precum.

   You are all a mess of sweat and you really let loose then, starting to fuck and suck them both faster and harder than they were even fucking you.  Your pussy pinioned Lars' thrusting cock. You are taking it as far inside you as it would go.  Every time you pulled away from Lars you swallowed more of Sven's unflaggingly rigid cock.  The way you are slamming yourself down on it means that you are bottoming out, with it deep in your honey pot.

   The pace is frenetic.  You looked like some some sort of fleshy clockwork contraption.  Steam is being emitted by all of you. The groaning is growing louder.  Sven and Lars have given up trying to keep the noise to a quiet whisper.  The fact that you could all be hauled out and arrested didn't really enter your heads.  Or if it did, the excitement of that fear, added to the thrill of the moment.  You are now working in a rhythm with one another.  A semi coordinated wild frenzied fuck festival.

 Lars suddenly started twitching before he erupted with a gushing torrent of cum that exploded deep within your slippery pussy.  His cock is jerking madly, a thrashing hose desperate to disgorge every last drop of his precious seed.  He expires with a whimper as the rush of orgasm drives a life shaking shudder throughout his body.

 You start coming at the same time, your greedy pussy enveloping his cock in a determined push back thrust.  This final motion hit home and with a shudder, you unleash a ecstatic whoop, so lust drenched that it shakes the thin walls of the tent and echoes across the small park to the alfresco courtyard space of the bar.  You are so wrapped up in the ecstasy of the moment that the thought that your ecstatic whoop was barely contained within thin nylon walls didn't enter your head.

   As if you'd given him permission with this howl, Sven's cock starts filling your sucking mouth with hot streams of cum, his cock pumping as fast as it could. He too unleashes a guttural roar, an animal accompaniment to his spasming groin motions.  You swallow some of his salty superheated lust juice, but most of it spills out and dribbles down your chin.

    Expended and sated, you all collapse, a pile of shuddering groans and gasps.   There is a quick trade in illicit grins.  It is clear that the three of you had got maximum pleasure from the encounter.

    You lay back between them with a tired sigh, having let their now flagging cocks withdraw.  Draping an arm over each of them you kiss them both.

    You feel intensely satisfied but realize that it is definitely time to flee.  Young guys are hot but you don't actually want to hang around and talk to them.  You dig out your phone from your handbag and check it for the time.

   This prompts you to say "boys, hate to dash, but thanks for the fun times."

   Blowing them both a kiss.  They lie there exhausted, the tent pungent with the unmistakable smell of sex.  You are certain they will never forget you or this day.  You pull on your clothing; straighten your hair and leave.  As you exit the tent you discover two male park attendants leaning over their trolley gazing at you with faces contorted in a confusion of disgust and awe.

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##### You head back to the hotel. The post orgasmic bliss bomb that has shaken you to the core and your body now demands rest. Tomorrow is a new day.

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You wake up feeling full of excitement for what the day may bring.

   You couldn't have timed your arrival in Barcelona better.  It is April the 23rd and in Barcelona this means it is Saint Jordi's day, a day of celebrations and a public holiday with a passing resemblance to Valentines.  The manager of your hotel had primed you last night after you'd wandered downstairs having deposited your bags and freshened up after your arrival.

   "Welcome to Barcelona" she'd chimed "and on the cusp of the day of roses too.  You are bound to find love tomorrow but look out, for it may find you first".

   She was older than you, but not by much. Elegantly dressed and beautifully made up with deep brown eyes that conveyed genuine warmth and welcome.

   But you'd bristled a little at these words. At the time it had sounded a little too touristic and twee. A trite greeting laced with the oily fake sincerity that you'd hear from a hamburger outlet.  You know what you don't want. But what you want is still difficult to pin point. You aren't really in the market for long lasting love.  You want to taste it, sup from it, be dazzled by a smorgasbord offering of it, but then you want to be able to dash. To other cities, other sights and other men; who spoke other tongues.

   However, this morning she'd said much the same thing when you'd quizzed her on what the day would bring.  An elegant vase of roses sat fresh and fragrant on the counter. The petals splayed, cherry red and a luxuriant burgundy.

   The manager had smiled at them, seeing you looking, "From an unknown admirer..." she said.

   You'd slow whistled wow at this, exchanging delighted smiles.

   "All the men in Barcelona buy a rose or two today, you're bound to collect a few, _Estás bella_ as you are" she said.

   "It is a day of love and romance, of roses and of course of books. But take a leaf from the book of love" she cautioned, "don't linger over the written word today; indulge your senses."

   You were certain you were going to heed her words.  Memorable is what it is going to be.  An adventure of the senses.  A true carnal carnival if your body with all its lusty aches and tingles had its way.

   It is also _El dia del Llibre_ (The Day of the Book).  Roses and books, both of which are entwined in the celebrations of Sant Jordi's day, the patron Saint of Catalonia.  The only book you'd been reading with any seriousness recently is on your iPad and is a city guide.  You had taken a quick peek at _Hide this Spanish book for Lovers_ the previous evening but you'd given up memorizing its catalog of phrases at " _Eres muy sexy._ – You're very sexy".  You're not sure just how useful they'll be anyway, surrounded by hunky men who speak Catalan foremost and Castillian Spanish second.

   The manager had congratulated you on your sense to visit Barcelona to enjoy this most special of all days.  You'd quipped that while the glorious weather, history and atmosphere of the city drew you, there is something about the men that had you eager to get down to business.  You figure she took your meaning here, for she winked and blushed and wished you a _fantástico día_.

   Now here you are, fresh and alive and in Barcelona.  "IN Barcelona!" You'd repeated it to yourself over and over almost not believing what you are saying.  But the view from your hotel window this morning clarified it. It confirmed with a vision of the Gothic spire of the cathedral lording over the tiled rooftops and the labyrinthine alleyways of the _Barrio Gotico_ \- The Gothic Quarter and to the north you saw the distinctive twisting spires of the Sagrada Família, Gaudi's unfinished sculptural masterpiece.

    You are single, alone and happy and ready to wander around the city on this day of lovers.   You can feel some stirring within you, a yearning for the rich delights of the heart and the flesh.

   You are in the bustling alleyway outside your hotel and eager to discover what _El dia de la Rosa_ ( The Day of the Rose) has in store for you.  The neighborhood is a labyrinthine tangle of cobbled streets, some of which are so narrow you couldn't swing a cat.  The air is thick with the promise of a warm day.

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##### Do you head up the narrow street to your right?

Your map indicates that it comes out at Plaça Catalunya at the top end of Las Ramblas, the famous pedestrian avenue.

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##### Do you head deeper into the Barrio Gothic?  Exploring the labyrinthine alleyways could be fun.

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You ramble along Las Ramblas with a spring in your step.   You'd stopped for a coffee on the terrace of the old Cafe Zurich overlooking Plaça Catalunya.  Seeing your contentment, the waiter had suggested that you sip from the fountain within the park, the Font de Les Canalletes and drink the water that ensures that you will return.  You wander over to the fountain but can't quite get yourself to drink from the basin.  Silvery coins stare up at you like stunned sardines.  Watching a young girl take a gulp, you throw caution aside and take a mouthful.  It has an elemental purity tempered with a peaty taste of dissolved minerals. You feel like you are drinking fresh spring melt water piped straight from the Pyrenees.   You wonder if it does have magical properties or is merely a refreshing tonic that will do little more than stave off dehydration. The mercury is rising. You are thankful that it is not the height of summer.

   Las Ramblas is a place in which you can truly immerse yourself in the rich theater of life.  The famous avenue slopes softly downhill towards the seafront and you've reached the section that is primarily pedestrian thoroughfare.      The boulevard is flanked with two rows of lofty plane trees, their creamy piebald trunks stretching to the height of the rooftops.  Buildings are easily six storey's high, but no more.  Nothing is too lofty.   It is a built to a very human scale and you like it.  The arms of the trees stretch in-wards like participants in a wedding dance.  Grassy green leaves slow waltz above you to the soft salt breeze that comes in from the Mediterranean.  You gulp this breeze in and savor it.   The canopy provides a dappled shade under which streams a steady crowd.   Rose sellers abound.  Women walk around, many of them clutching either a rose or a book or both.  Men are the same.  You've never seen such an abundance of this one flower.

   Shoppers, idlers, workers, tourists, the hungry and the sated.  A vast human current and counter current swirls past the unbroken stretch of restaurants and cafes competing for custom.  The outdoor tables are uniformly resplendent in a sea of white table cloth.  Restaurateurs implore you to enter their domain.

 From what you see, the food looks enticing. Watching the bubbles surface from a glass of Estrella beer. What could be more pleasant? But you continue.  The day is still young and you aren't one for drinking before the afternoon.  Unless that is, the day starts with a champagne breakfast, croissant crumbs and crumpled linen.  And yours hadn't.

    The pavement sprouts huge colorful mosaics in primary colors, a shock of splendor and surrealism.  You recognize that these are the work of Miro.

   While the street is lined with temporary rose sellers and book stalls, permanent flower stalls are also common, offering such a proliferation of color that you find your vision saturated.  This is the fifth one that you've passed.  Every form of exotic flora seems to be up for sale here but none of it is being shifted today like the numbers of the rose.   The flower arrangements are gaudy and reflect the ceaseless parade of humanity that spills past them, all colors and fashions, hues and inclinations.

  Birds of every feather swing in small cages.  There are stalls hawking winged squawking exotica, macaws, parrots of every shade. A lonely toucan watches the milling parade, the observer rather than the observed.

   "Excuse me _señorita_ , you'd love to come and hear us play, wouldn't you?"

   You turn away from the birds and find yourself facing a couple of handsome males lugging guitar cases.

   The speaker's voice has a musicality that delights your ears.  His Spanish accent makes you weak in the knees. He holds forth a red flyer and you grasp it from him, his finger brushing your wrist in a fashion that is unlikely to have been accidental. You turn it over and read.  He watches you while twirling a tendril of hair from the shock of black that rests on his collar.

   His mate smiles at you, his mouth thin with a cynical cast to it, at odds with strong features that carry an unmistakable sensuality.  A few wisps of dark hair curled from the top of the tight white shirt that clung to him like he'd been born with it.  His chest, tightly defined in the T shirt is obviously home to a thick thatch of chest hair.  He is swinging his guitar case around and there is a restless energy to his movements.

    "We're playing at _La Pedrera_. This evening. You must come" he says. The words tumble slowly over themselves and you find yourself nodding in agreement before the last of them has faded.  You haven't even heard them play. They could be diabolical.  But they both exude something that you are hungry for.  If you are honest with yourself, you'd come to Barcelona for this and here it is.

  "I'm Inigo and this is Pablo" he says as his fingers curve under his chin.  His stubble is peppery and he strokes it while gazing at you.

   You tell him your name and he smiles.

  " _Ecantado_ " he says. "Enchanted"

  He is a charmer and it looks as if Pablo is thawing.

  "There will be Flamenco dancers" Inigo adds, as if to seal the deal.

  You flick an imaginary speck of dirt from your dress as you dwell for a brief moment on the response.

  "I'd be delighted to come and check you guys out" you say, glancing down at the flyer and then back up to meet the expectant face of Inigo. He smiles, still stroking his stubble and quietly assessing you.  His eyes sparkle in a fashion that is more than slightly cheeky.  Something is being offered here and it isn't in the brochure.  Inigo points off somewhere over the heads of the crowd.

  "It's over there a few blocks away in the Barrio Gothic but don't come until later on in the evening. It doesn't get going until 10 at the earliest."

  You thank them, quietly delighted that you have something mapped out for the late hours of the evening.

  Pablo shrugs his shoulders and nods toward the crowd.  "Enjoy your day. Hope to see you tonight"

  You could swear that he fired off a sneaky wink.  A little suggestive flutter of an eyelid and much is conveyed. You respond giving an almost imperceptible nod of assent, a brief grin teasing out some wickedness.  You really weren't sure which one of them is the most delicious.

  " _Vamos_. Let's go" he says, smiling but unable to shake the restlessness that has characterized the encounter.  He is almost dancing, skipping from one leg to the other, shaking the energy out through his toes.

   They wander off and your gaze trails them until they are lost among the throng.  They both have potential.  You can't decide which one you fancied the most.  Later girl...later.

   A couple of hipster males sporting hipster beards and clutching books and each other's hands stop to snap a photo.

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##### Walk this way

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 You've already passed a motley assortment of "human statues" anchored to their crates, bizarre and silent.   Sprayed, silver and gold, covered in foliage.  Mythical creatures, celebrities, imperial storm troopers, plastic soldiers, cowboys, and _La Muerte_ (Death).   There is a lot of competition among this carnival of the bizarre.  You watch the coins splash for Darth Vader while Pocahontas looks on forlorn.  A child stumbles forwards and drops some small change, one coin of which rolls slowly before teetering on its edge in front of _La Muerte_ who glowers while loosening his grip on his sickle.

  You know that you can't speak to them. You don't want to break the spell and you wander further down the Ramblas until a bronzed statue of Christopher Columbus catches your eye and you stop.  His body is poised resolute and proud.  His aquiline nose, a way-point on a long face bookended by sharp high cheekbones.  His eyes are talking, whispering at you and they betray him.  They are unflinching in their appraisal of you.  You feel them peeling away your layers and you shiver.  You cast your eyes elsewhere but the pull is too strong and again for a long intense second, you lock eyes with the great seafaring legend.   He then winks at you.  You pause, your gaze questioning, a faint smile shimmering in your expression.

  "Santa Maria!" he exclaims loudly, startling a group of elderly English matrons who titter for a moment while taking a photo.  They glance at you, aware and interested that it is you who has the statue's rapt attention.

   "Santa Maria!" he says again, but this time with real gusto.

  Breaking his stance with a sweeping bow, he grips the upturned brim of his soft hat and removes it with a flourish.  He kneels before you uttering the words " _Eres espectacular_ \- You are spectacular" and breaks into a broad grin.

  For a moment you don't know what to say or do.  But then a few suggestions spring to mind.

Do you say?

* * *

##### "How gallant of you senor Columbus.  Shall we grab a bite of lunch and discover each other?"

* * *

##### "How sweet of you, and I've always liked my men tall and bronzed too"

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 "How sweet of you, and I've always liked my men tall and bronzed too"

   Christopher kneels before you and bows.

   " _Reina_ Isabella" he says. "I am at your service"

   You are in on the joke.  He is pretending that you are Queen Isabella and he is still in character as the world famous explorer.

   "Lunch, _comida_ \- food?"  You say.

   But it seems _Senor_ Columbus is torn between returning to character and resuming his immobile observation of the crowds and taking the conversation further with you.

   He eventually says "The Boqueria".

  You wonder what he means.  The market?  For lunch?

* * *

##### A sucker for new experiences, you nod your head in agreement.

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"How gallant of you _Senor_ Columbus.  Shall we grab a bite of lunch and discover each other?"

   But it is immediately clear that there is a language disconnect here.  He smiles. You smile. He nods and splutters.  It's as though he can't communicate out of character.   Most of the milling passersby wander off.  The two hunky young men swinging guitars whom you spoke to a short while ago are chatting between themselves.  They cast glances your way, keen to see if you'll get entangled with this statuesque male.  You mime eating, moving your lips, chewing and pointing figuring that it should be a language he understands

   "Lunch, _comida_ \- food ?"  you say.

   But it seems _Senor_ Columbus is torn between returning to character and resuming his immobile observation of the crowds and taking the conversation further with you.

   He eventually says "The Boqueria".

   You wonder what he means. The market? For lunch?

* * *

##### A sucker for new experiences, you nod your head in agreement.

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"The Boqueria?" you say, tipping your face toward the shard of sunlight coming in golden through a gap in the leafy canopy above. The brilliant warmth of it catches you by surprise and you step backwards blinking.

    _Senor_ Columbus looks confused. Again you mime, eating. He shrugs and you are at a loss. You're almost on the verge of abandoning the idea when he sweeps it all away, hoisting an infectious grin and giving you a cheeky wink. Then he completely breaks character. His all-body bronze statue make-up crinkles around the eyes as he smiles. The wrinkles add interest to what is already an impressive face.

  "But I jest...I do speak English. I'm happy to take a break for an hour or so and need to grab some food from the Boqueria." His voice is resonant and impressive. He is a tall man. Larger than life.

  You are unsure now just what you've got into. Christopher is not Christopher. Nor is Christopher a statue. The parts of non-Christopher that aren't draped in weathered bronze colored clothing are completely covered in makeup. He is very expertly decorated. The tarnish of fake verdigris and turquoise has been so expertly applied that he could work in a museum or gallery. He could even auction himself at Sotheby's. He'd surely get more than what he is making catching tourist Euro cents in a hat.

  He truly looks like a statue that has been exposed to the elements for many centuries, right down to the pigeon splatter on his shoulders. Whoever has applied the make-up has given him a patina that is very convincing. All the up-facing surfaces of his hat and his forehead have been oxidized to a light blue color. In places, it looks as though he's been exposed to the rain for many years, thin rivulets of oxidation run unchecked the length of his body to his boots.

  Your lips tilt in wry amusement and you stroke your nose. You'd love to visit the Boqueria. Heck, you love food. But with this crazy character?

  "Christopher, do you have a name?" you ask. It sounds stupid.

  "Fernando" he says and with beckoning hands, invites you to walk with him.

* * *

##### Do you head to the Boqueria with Fernando?

* * *

##### Alternately, you could dial up that scooter tour that you'd read about. The blurb said that they would pick you up from anywhere.

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 You walk alongside Fernando, approaching the giant covered market of the Boqueria. The _Mercat of Sant Joseph de la Boqueria_ , or simply the Boqueria, stands on the edge of the Ramblas. It is a vast covered space and even before you have entered it, you can see that it is completely crammed. It is a cook's paradise. You pass great hinds of Jamon Serrano - hanging, salty, air cured mountain ham. Fresh green vegetables are stacked alongside fruits. It is a riotous assault of color. Mounds of oranges sit next to succulent peaches. Apricots spill into ornamental arrangements of plums. Great hanging garlands of chilli, garlic bulbs and dried cured sausage are everywhere.

  You reach the center of the market and come across a hundred thousand different types of seafood. Fish lie everywhere on glistening piles of ice while women in white coats wield sharp blades, descaling and deboning behind the counter. A gnarled old man watches them in silent amazement. The place is alive with the hue and cry of commerce. This is a temple of food. A daily pilgrimage spot for vast numbers of home cooks from all over the city. Cheese stalls, olive oils, enormous jars of anchovies, beans and herbs. You've never seen a market like this and it excites you. Fernando points to a large orange cooked lobster that rests on a bed of ice and promptly orders it, handing over a wad of notes.

    He turns to you with a cheeky smile and says "You like?"

    You nod slowly " _Si_ ". It's all rather lavish for a casual lunch, but who's complaining?

    Fernando has made it clear that he is buying produce to cook you lunch in his apartment. You had reservations about this while wandering into the marketplace however you are now so firmly entranced by the mountains of fresh produce, you'd have gone with him to the moon, if it meant preparing and eating some of this.

    Fernando has obviously got something planned; he assesses the figs for ripeness. They are a mix of pert green and darkly wrinkled. You've always enjoyed them with goats cheese and honey and make mention of this to him. He smiles. It is a smile of mystery and you can't help but wonder just what he has in mind.

    Your nose has just taken in a potpourri of smells from the fresh lemony, to the sickly pungency of papaya. Fernando has a few other things in a bag. None of the stall keepers gives any notice to the fact that it is a statue making the transaction. Perhaps he is a regular here at lunchtimes.

    You've watched him slide a couple of firm sausages of morcilla, a local blood sausage, into a shopping bag.

    "You like?" he asks, eyebrow raised in query. You again nod " _Si_ ". You're easy. You like everything. He drops these alongside a string of chorizo that looked like a collection of severed and wizened phallus'. Some slivers of Jamon Iberico are wrapped in paper and a small bucket of plump strawberries is upended into a plastic bag. Satisfied, Fernando insists that you follow him. You wander out through the crowds, clutching a bag a fresh produce.

    Fernando turns to you when you've left most of the milling shoppers of the Boqueria behind and says "Would you like to be the first or last course of lunch?

    You shake your head, unsure what you've just heard. You're certain that he isn't actually referring to any cannibalistic tendencies. Is he being confoundingly Catalan in his directness? There's normally some sort of dance involved before two able and consenting adults get down to business, isn't there? After all, you aren't a hooker, at least not yet.

    Perhaps you should give Fernando Columbus the flick. He does seem a little odd, even if his taste in fine produce is exemplary.

* * *

##### If you are comfortable with the way things are moving with Fernando then continue on with him to his apartment. He seems to know the way. And you could defer the decision to whether any part of you is edible until after lunch.

* * *

##### Alternately, you could dial up that scooter tour that you'd read about. The blurb said that they would pick you up from anywhere.

* * *

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The door to the apartment building is a huge lump of heavy glass with brass trim that needs the strength of a bull wrangler to heft open. Pushing mightily, Fernando lets it swing and crash into the wall. The thud sends divots of render crumbling to the floor. The building is old and without a lift, and the stairwell is ill lit; neither the automatic sensor nor the light switch works to illuminate it. Fernando shrugs and indicates for you to follow him. The stairs are worn and from what you can see in the gloom, the paint work faded. You traipse up the stairs in silence, Fernando turning every once in a while to give you a reassuring smile. You can't help but feel some trepidation wrapped up in this sense of mystery and excitement. You've never been in such an ancient apartment block before.

  The bags of groceries from the Boqueria rustle as they bounce against Fernando's leg. "One more floor" he says.

  You've reached the top of the stairs. A small security door blocks your passage and Fernando rummages for a key.

  "Welcome to America" he says jubilantly.

There is something endearing about his adherence to character that makes you laugh.

   He invites you to proceed and you climb cautiously up the final set of timber treads.

  Fernando points to the kitchen and heads towards it with the produce. You wonder what you should do and figure that giving him a hand preparing lunch could be fun.

  He stops and raises a finger. "Wait" he says.

  He indicates the door to the living room and says lunch will be a surprise.

  You're eager to explore his apartment and happy to be treated to a special lunch. You saunter over to the windows and find yourself gazing down at the life in the streets. You're in an apartment at the top of the building. It seems to be more penthouse than garret. Floors of beautifully polished age old timber meet walls covered to waist height with ornate tiles. You follow the geometric patterns of yellow, white and blue. In places the glaze has started to craze, a spiders web of lines making a jigsaw out of the tile surface. The crazing, a stamp of time, the tiles themselves from another time. The apartment is fresh and light and clean. Fernando Columbus is far from a slob. Bookcases stand tall. You peer at the titles and make out a number of English editions within the mix. Above the tiled walls are numerous paintings and prints. You move closer and discover that they are primarily international stars of the art world who have some local connection with Barcelona.

  Dour cubist Picasso's are enlivened alongside the swirling primary colored splendors of Joan Miro. You swivel and face a large cluster of erotically charged artworks. A whole wall has been completely given over to them. You're keen to take a closer look. Clearly they can't be originals. Fernando makes a living as a statue and therefore is surely not a wealthy man and yet... and yet evidently his apartment is not that of an impoverished street performer. You are face to face with a collection of Salvador Dali's work. Prints and photos clamor for equal attention, yet the theme that unites them is unquestionably erotic.

  Spicy lithographs depict women engorging on oversized protuberances. Cocks, thick with potential, wallop and plunge into hidden delights. You take in these images and cannot help feeling your pulse zing with the subject matter. The sheer outright peacockery on display, rigid cocks for the wanting. You feel the first little twang. Porn rarely has this effect on you. Yet this is not porn, these are sketches, erotic art. Your gaze travels to Rubenesque maidens disporting themselves entirely in the buff. They do so with such vim and abandon that you find yourself yearning to join them. Your pulse is soothed, viewing a selection of framed drawings displaying the ribald fonts of an entirely pornographic alphabet. But even these bawdy letters do a little to inflame you as you admire the artistry of the typography.

You take in a selection of photographs that show Dali complete with flamboyantly curled moustache, paired with naked women who have been posed with a lobster, tail curled just so, an orange veil of crustacean all there is between their pussies and modesty. It's as surreal as it is perverse, and you're enthralled. You can't help but wonder if the lobster Fernando has bought for lunch is in some way inspired by these pics. Coming to the last, you dwell on a selection of colored prints. They've been cut from some early 70's girly magazine like Playboy. Lithe naked blondes have been grouped draped over eggs, entwined with serpents or leaping for the sky, bare buttocks immortalized, grainy and washed out.

  "Love seafood. Those lobsters are surreal, kooky. Alien even. Dali was one kinky bastard," you say.

  Fernando has come into the room and he slides a plate of something that looks and smells just delectable onto a small tiled table that squats in front of an elegant blue linen sofa.

  "To him, lobster and sex... were how you say? Same" he says.

  "Interchangeable" you suggest.

  And it is like a light has been turned on and the dimmer switch quickly wound to full lumens. You now realize that you are in the mood to do something rash, something wild and unforgettable.

  "Grilled figs drizzled with Andalusian orange blossom honey, Jamon Iberico and Manchego" he says with a flourish. He's obviously proud of his creation. It's been lavishly arranged. A mix of whole and halved figs, accompanied with the finest cured Spanish ham and sheep's cheese.

  "Looks hellish" you say with a snort.

  He looks at you closely to make sure he is with your meaning. You run your eyes over him. His spray-on bronzed verdigris looks a little smudged around the edges. Without the hat and with the make-up smeared around his eyes, he looks a lot like a sci-fi film extra.

  He pours you both a glass of champagne. You sip and enjoy the bubbles that pummel the inside of your mouth. He takes a slow sip with his eyes closed.

  You are still wondering what he meant when he asked you earlier if you'd like to be the first or last course of lunch.

  "Lobster?" you say

  "Lobster" he says

  "Are we?" you say.

  "Figs" he says, glancing toward the splendid food waiting on the low table. He gestures towards the sofa. He's suggesting that you get comfortable but something compels you to take a leap into the unknown.

  You can't shake the thought for it has crept up and snaffled you. It's just like that pleasant dull throb that had started with a twang; it's now so consuming, you fear your knickers will shortly be in desperate need of a dehumidifier.

  Lunch looks delicious but to make it truly memorable you are roused to do something really wild.

Do you say;

* * *

##### "I once did some life modeling for art classes but they only wanted me butt naked. Not one of them ever had the cheek to pair me with a lobster."

* * *

##### "Figs and honey, what a sweet idea"

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 "I once did some life modeling for art classes but the simple sods only wanted me buff naked and stationary. Not one of them ever had the chutzpah to pair me with a lobster."

  Fernando stares at you with a look of unabashed animal longing more mammalian than crustacean. He's momentarily flabbergasted and you fear that he is about to drool. He then slowly pulls his jacket off and carefully drapes it over the back of a chair. The jacket is long with fluted tails that covered his body to his knees. Now removed, he's a sight to behold. His torso is long and lean and cloaked in a white t shirt notable for its tightness. Fernando is nicely built and the contours of his chest are outlined beneath the fabric for you to admire. And you do. After all, what's a tight t-shirt for? The bronze body paint on his neck stops before the shirt collar. The bronzed jacket has been hiding the underlying truth. It is only below his knees that his pants have been dipped in bronze. Well-muscled forearms end in hands that have bronze colored body paint covering them halfway to his elbow. It looks like he's let them stand and stew in a cauldron of the stuff.

  "Nude life modeling is kind of like what you do, Fernando. Earning money standing dead still while people stare and gawp. The only difference is the body paint. We've got a bit in common, you and I", you say with such assuredness it's as though you've planned the moment for years.

  Fernando nods dubiously.

  "Who does your make up? They're very good. It must take hours" you say.

  He lounges casually against the archway leading to the kitchen and shrugs. His shoulders seemed to deflect the question.

  "A friend" he says and when you nod, he adds "Mimi... she's French."

  It's not the time for wondering who Mimi might be or just what her connection with Fernando is. The truth is, you really don't give a damn.

  "Fernando. The lobster. We are having it for lunch aren't we?" you ask.

  Fernando comes toward you. His arms are tensed and you get the feeling that he is keen to embrace you. From this angle, his hands look as though he is wearing gloves. You can't help but wonder if the body paint will rub off at touch. The little twinkles of lust around his eyes are a giveaway and you feel that the air has stilled to watch and listen. Yet, you want him to play the game and to do this; his immediate desires will have to be put on hold.

  "Here's my camera phone. Now you get the lobster. We are going to take some photos before lunch," you say.

  It is his apartment yet you've taken control of the situation. The poor sod is getting rather turned on by the idea; you can see it in his uneven gait as he heads off to the kitchen. You could probably direct him to take the lobster for a walk or wear it perched on his shoulder in the street, such is the invisible lead with which you seem to have tethered him.

  He comes back with the lobster as you are peeling your dress over your head. You throw it over the blue linen couch and look around the room for the perfect place to pose. Sunlight spills in through one of the windows and you see the dust dance in its Mediterranean intensity. You're wearing a delicate lace bra that has an elegant rose design embroidered over the soft cups. You'd chosen it this morning, feeling that the rose theme had almost demanded that you wear it on this day of books and roses.

  You start to move with a bit of sway and sass, reaching out for the lobster.

  "I'll go over here and you take some photos, my dashing explorer. It'll be worth it. Trust me."

  The floor in the center of the room is covered in a beautiful oriental rug. You place the lobster on the polished timber flooring alongside it. It's cooked and cold and bright orange and it looks curiously out of place. You stand in the middle of the rug and turn away from Fernando, easing first the left strap of your bra down to your elbow, and then the right, before reaching around to undo the clasp at the back. You discard the bra, letting it fall to the floor in a fashion that is seductively calculating and yet seemingly so casual. Taking a slow glance over your shoulder you see Fernando, kneeling with your smart phone camera poised. He's looking at the screen and you and back again. You can see from the way he kneels that he is nursing a rather uncomfortable bulge in his pants.

  "Ooh gorgeous" he says tapping at the screen in excitement, and adjusting his crotch.

  You give him a come hither look but at this moment it is only for the camera.

  Turning around to face him, your hands are cradling your breasts. You feel the peaks of your nipples harden, knowing that his gaze will soon consume them. You slowly peel off your hands and let your breasts free. The warm air envelops them and you feel your skin tingle. They are barometers of your pleasure and you are sensitive to their swell.

  You throw him your most seductive, most provocative burlesque look. You are mouthing a silent song, straight from the risqué cabaret of the 1930's.

  You slide your thumbs behind the elasticized strap of your knickers and pull one side up and the other down. Your thumbs slide along the waistband, stretching the knickers out while you bend forwards and pout "Anything goes."

  You do a twirl. A pirouette while sliding the hem of your knickers down until one of your butt cheeks is flashing its bare skin at Fernando. Fernando is looking happy but uncomfortable. He is now sitting on the floor watching you and squirming. You fear that he has stopped taking photos. He is making no attempt to hide the bulge in his crotch.

  "Keep clicking, explorer boy" you chant.

  You can tease him no longer and you're keen to shed them, so you slowly peel your knickers down your legs and kick them off and into the air. It is a triumphant orchestrated moment. You are naked and loving it. Fernando groans and applauds. You chortle. Such power. Such simple power you possess. Your naked body is a showstopper; a bank account full of erotic capital and paying dividends. To have a grown man weak and drooling and motionless is an achievement. You haven't actually seen him drool from his mouth but for sure he is drooling in his pants. You can almost see a damp patch on the front there.

   You pick up the lobster, casting a glance at the photos on the wall.

* * *

##### You could start with copying the poses in the photos and perhaps even try something wilder

* * *

##### Or are you too horny for this and just keen to get down and boogie. The orange critter looks a bit spiky to play with anyway.

* * *

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**Please turn forward a page**

* * *

 "Figs and honey, what a sweet idea"

You've always been a sucker for sweetness and the fig is one of your favorite fruits. You yearn for them when they are out of season, you gorge on them when they are in and the honey just sounds heavenly.

You pick up a fig and bring it to your mouth.  The skin is soft and yielding and the ripe flesh has an intensity and richness that melds beautifully with the subtle scent of the orange blossom in the honey. You close your eyes and indulge in the sensations of flavor.   Then, washing it down with champagne, you wink at Fernando.

"Fantastic food. Just divine." you say.

The sensual nature of the food.  The suggestiveness of the fig. Ripe, pliable flesh, ready for consumption and the honey, such sweet sticky nectar, it just oozes sensuality and makes you horny. Hornier than you are already.

"Ever played naughty games with food, Fernando?" you ask, plucking the most seductive smile from your repertoire and trying it on for size.

Fernando stares at you with a look of unabashed animal longing. He's momentarily gob-smacked and you fear that he is about to drool. He nods and grins a bawdy leery grin light years from the gallant character he projects in costume as Christopher Columbus. He then slowly pulls his jacket off and carefully drapes it over the back of a chair.  The jacket is long with fluted tails that covered his body to his knees. Now removed, he's a sight to behold. His torso is long and lean and cloaked in a white t shirt notable for its tightness.  Fernando is nicely built and the contours of his chest are outlined beneath the fabric for you to admire. And you do. After all, what's a tight tee shirt for?  The bronze body paint on his neck stops before the shirt collar. The bronzed jacket had been hiding the underlying truth.  It is only below his knees that his pants have been dipped in bronze. Well muscled forearms end in hands that have bronze colored body paint covering them halfway to his elbow. It looks like he's let them stand and stew in a cauldron of the stuff.

"Shall I lead the way?" you ask, your voice rising from a low purr.

Fernando nods and comes toward you. His arms are tensed and you get the feeling that he is keen to embrace you.  From this angle, his hands look as though he is wearing gloves.  You can't help but wonder if the body paint will rub off at touch.  The little twinkles of lust around his eyes are a give away and you feel that the air has stilled to watch and listen. Yet, you've got something in mind.  You want him to play the game and to do this, his immediate desires will have to be put on hold.

"Do you have any whole figs left over?" you ask.

And you pause because the thought that has now lodged in your mind is a little on the kinky side and you're not sure how it will go down.  It is only a tiny moment of doubt because you then say as you intercept a hungry appraisal of your body and both your eyes lock.

"I've got something that I'd like to dip them into before eating, and it's not your honey pot" you say.

A slow smile takes hold of Fernando.  You can see the light go on, the gears revolve and click.  His eyes adopt the calculating look of a lion basking in the grass watching antelope graze.  The poor sod is getting rather turned on, you can see it in his uneven gait as he heads off to the kitchen, more new born Bambi than Simba.

He comes back with a plateful of figs just as you are peeling your dress over your head. You throw it over the blue linen couch and look around the room for the perfect place. Sunlight spills in through one of the windows and you see the dust dance in its Mediterranean intensity. You're wearing a delicate lace bra that has an elegant rose design embroidered over the soft cups. You'd chosen it this morning, feeling that the rose theme had almost demanded that you wear it on Saint Jordi's day.  Your knickers are racy and lacy.  Plain they are not.  They're not workaday wear unless you're a lunchtime stripper in a bar by the docks.

You start to move with a bit of sway and sass, waltzing forwards and plucking a ripe fig from the top of the pile.

"Sit" you direct him, casually pointing toward the blue couch. He does as he is bade and lopes over there, dropping down into its soft clutches and facing you with a look that fails to conceal a great anticipatory longing.

You throw him your most seductive, most provocative burlesque look. You are mouthing a silent song, straight from the risque cabaret of the 1930's.

You slowly slide your thumbs behind the elasticized strap of your knickers and ease one side up while hefting the other down. Your thumbs slide along the waistband stretching the knickers out while you bend forwards and pout, singing.

"In olden days a glimpse of stocking

Was looked on as something shocking,

But now, God knows."

You do a twirl. A pirouette while sliding the hem of your knickers down until one of your butt cheeks is flashing its bare skin at Fernando. Fernando is looking entranced but uncomfortable. He is now sitting on the floor watching you and squirming and he is making no attempt to hide the bulge in his crotch.

"Anything goes" you chant.

You can tease him no longer and you're keen to shed them so you slowly peel your knickers down your legs and kick them off and into the air. It is a triumphant orchestrated moment. Naked and loving it. Fernando groans and applauds. You guffaw. Such power. Such simple power you possess. Your naked body is a showstopper; an account full of erotic capital paying dividends. To have a grown man weak and drooling and motionless is an achievement. You haven't actually seen him drool from his mouth but for sure he is drooling in his pants.

The show has already started and you should stick to the script.  So you take the fig and slow rub it over the lips of your pussy. These gasp in anticipation for you've awoken them, alerted them to impending fun.  They gleefully unfurl and declare themselves open for business.  Your juices have begun to liquefy and run so you swirl the fig around until it is truly basted.  When you roll it over your clit, your cunt responds with such a rush of steaming hunger you feel weak to the knees.  Watching Fernando, you see that he is in pain. He is stroking his cock through the fabric of his pants and emitting agonized groans of lust.  Seeing how turned on he is getting, you carry on with the plan.

So with one swift move you push the fresh fig deep within your cunt and it disappears from view.  Your hungry pussy has consumed it. You leave it there for a moment, enjoying the feel and watching Fernando's face alight with astonishment and dreadful hunger. Then letting your muscles relax, you let it fall out into your hand and without warning yell.

"Catch"

Fernando is taken by surprise but he catches it nonetheless. He holds it up to the light, inhales deeply and then brings it to his lips and bites. Closing his eyes. His face is rapturous.  He then pops the fig in his mouth and munches giving you a look of unparalleled pleasure as he swallows.  The juices spill down over his chin.

You take another fig and skip the preliminaries now. Pushing it deep within, you want to feel it and then squeeze the life from it.  You squeeze and a flood of sticky juice runs down your leg. You take another fig and let it find the other. Squeeze. Sticky juices. Fig salad.

You turn away from Fernando and easing first the left strap of your bra down to your elbow, and then the right before reaching around to undo the clasp at the back. You discard it, letting it fall to the floor in a fashion that is so seductively calculating and yet seemingly so casual. Taking a slow glance over your shoulder you see that Fernando is loving it.

"Just gorgeous" he says, shifting uncomfortably on the couch while running his hand over his crotch.

Turning around to face him, your hands are cradling your breasts. You can feel the peaks of your nipples harden knowing that his gaze will soon consume them. You slowly peel off your hands and let your breasts free. The warm air envelops them and you feel your skin welcome the attention. They are barometers of your pleasure and you are sensitive to their swell.  You remove the figs from your pussy and hold them forth in offering.  Fernando makes to get up.

You deign to put the poor chump out of his misery and say "why don't we lose the pants Fernando, they look a bit constrictive"

Fernando undoes his belt buckle. You can almost hear his relief as his cock springs forth from the confines of his pants. He shakes his legs loose and stands proudly naked, his cock at full mast.

The lusty aches in your body are demanding that you act.

Do you say?

* * *

##### "Come and feast Fernando, I need a man with an insatiable hunger."

* * *

##### "My pussy has been fed but I desperately need to gorge on something meaty."

* * *

* * *

**Please turn back a page**

* * *

* * *

**Please turn forward a page**

* * *

"Come and feast Fernando, I need a man with an insatiable hunger".

"Fernando how about you get the honey" you say.  It comes out as a directive and Fernando is only to keen to comply. He dashes off to the kitchen and comes back with a large jar of honey.

You lie down on the floor and beckon to him.

"Drizzle me" you command.

Fernando clasps the honey jar and slowly upends it over you.  He gives you a look of unbridled carnality, as his hungry eyes swoop low over your bare flesh.  You feel the slow steady drip drip drip moving up your thighs and Fernando cackles and laughs at the fun and whimsy of the situation. A warm sticky trail snakes now from your toes to waist and your sparse and trimmed pubic hair glistens.  Above your pubis a pool of golden nectar forms in the lee of your stomach.  You feel your body warming the sticky liquid, increasing its viscosity. Your thighs begin to take on the texture of melted toffee.

Fernando traces a curious path, spiraling patterns drip a sticky trail over your chest and face. Imperfect zigzag designs now glisten over your breasts, your nipples sensitive to the slow cascade of molten gold anointing them. The drip of honey is itself almost frozen time, such was the languorous descent it made from the jar, an unguent as sticky as it was sweet.

A thin golden string trickles out from the jar, lowering itself until you feel it hit your tongue and slip down your throat. You swallow.  Lavishing your hunger on the glistening golden snake that now slithers its way into you until the jar is completely emptied.  Honey is slowly running down your cheeks and dripping to the floor.

Finding a thin skein of inspiration from somewhere deep within, you then say  "I'm going to close my eyes and I want you to surprise me".

Closing your eyes and concentrating wholly on your hearing.

Silence...

The warmth of a nearby body.

You hear him exhale. His breathing is rough, a misfiring car. He is trying to keep calm but fails. You feel his foot brush against yours and it startles you. And then something is nudging against your cheek. It's warm and a bit sticky and when you open your eyes, attached to Fernando.  He takes it and slides it around the honey that covers your breasts until it is completely basted.  There is so much honey covering his cock, it's starting to look a little like a toffee apple.  And toffee apples are good for one thing.

You begin by taking his cock into your mouth, wrapping your lips fully around it and slurping it back, sucking the honey from it. You suck it deeply and then run your tongue in circles around the head.  Fernando can't help himself and begins a slow pump into your mouth. You run your right hand around the base of his shaft, feeling the thin thatch of dark hairs that sprout here. You use the wetness from your mouth as lubrication to jack him off slowly. You trail your thumb along the underside of his cock all the way to his glands, massaging with the slickness of your saliva.  His purple helmet is hard and proud and you let your lips pop it out before again sucking him deep into your greedy mouth.

Your breasts are pushing against his thighs and sticky with honey, you find yourself gluing to him.  Your nipples are hard as buttons rubbing against his hot skin. Fernando bends down and sucks them clean. Long drawn out licks clean the sweet amber nectar from your skin.  His licks are slow and sensuous. You don't want him to cum yet however his thrusts and pumps keep increasing, as do his moans.

You stop sucking, wanting to prolong the moment.  His cock is rock hard rigid and it has a sweetness to it from the slow leak of his man nectar and honey from the rural backwoods of Spain.  You run your fingers along its length, feeling the stretched outer skin glossy from your mouth wetness. His cock is thick and long and beautiful. You lick the end of it and again taste a few drops of his life force, cottony silver threads cling to your tongue.  You feel Fernando straining against orgasm. Agonizing over wanting to pump it back into the warm wet waiting confines of your hungry mouth.  His will is strong, as is his control, yet you feel him wavering.

Fernando reaches down to tease your nipples with hands that look like something dredged from the deep.  The tarnished bronze color is actually close to kitchen mold green.  You flinch as one is pinched. "Ouch! bad boy" you chide.  The honey seems to be melting his body paint and taking on a green color. Perhaps it isn't so edible now.

Your pussy aches. All that sensual disrobing has created a throb that needs sating.  You feel a sopping dampness, something other than honey trickling down your inner thighs.  Your pussy is hungry for his meaty cock. You raise yourself up from the floor and press your body into his. Your tongues meet and entwine. He cups your breasts and you feel your nipples tighten.  Small smears of his bronzed body paint have started to appear over your body. The heat of the encounter mixed with the honey is making the body paint lose its grip.  You don't care.  It'll all come out in the wash. You feel the pressure building, the bellows being put to the fire. The exquisite ache of an impending orgasm.  You are lying on the rug facing each other. Tongues frantically jousting. Every time your tongue wraps around his, you shudder as a tremor of ecstasy thunders through your body.

You feel on the edge. Teetering. You want him inside you. You push him to the rug and straddle him, reaching for his cock and guiding it into your slippery cunt.  Your legs stick to his chest. It's as though you've been magnetized.  The forces of attraction are sweet.   In a moment you are totally connected. Your pussy is spasming from the pleasure of fullness.  The pressure builds. You lean forwards and drape your breasts into his mouth. His tongue is seeking, stretching, yearning to envelop them. It hungers for your lustrous nipples and you feed them to his eager mouth one by one and then back again.  You move your body slowly on his cock. He is so hard that when you lean forward and push yourself on top of him, your clit immediately screams more. The pressure and the rubbing and his pistoning cock, matching your slow rocking.

You're both beyond hope now. There is no turning back. Fernando is looking at you wide eyed. You can see from the way his eyes lack focus that he is about to blow. His breath is coming in pants and he has stepped up the momentum. His cock is a hydraulic ram and your pussy hungry for it. The feeling of it rubbing is intense. You are fucking with a sense of familiarity that feels like you've known each other for years. Yet, his is a new cock and you just ache and lust for the thrilling feelings of a strange new prick pumping inside you.  His strokes have increased in rapidity and you are both so very close to combustible.  Your pussy is stretching, accommodating, aching as the tension build becomes excruciating.  It has become outright ecstatic torture, yet you don't want it to end. You don't want to let go. Not just yet. Not this moment.

"Just keep fucking me" you implore, running your hands down the length of his arms and kissing him with as much lust drenched passion as you can muster.

His cock has become part of you. You want to feel it there forever. You want to feel it explode and shoot.

Fernando can read your mind. He totters and judders and his hands grip your butt, pulling you into him with one last ecstatic thrust. He detonates. The spasm shocks you and sends you over, the little earthquake tremors shaking through his body find their way to your clit and are just what you need to push you over the precipice. It's a rush. A starry, mind blowing, out of body orgasm. Kaboom. Your cunt spasms, contracting wildly, making you whimper and shudder. Your orgasm rocks you and you feel another ferment. You leap on it, embracing its inevitability.  Screaming out, you come again violently. You collapse on top of Fernando and ride the thrilling rush to its end. Fernando is mute and gasping. Poor sod. For someone with such an athletic body, he's bushed. As the pulsing slowly ebbs, a deep contentedness comes over you.  Fernando seems to have passed out. He's asleep. All his life force has momentarily drained out through his cock.

But you're feeling alive and roll off him, standing to admire his tranquil body in repose.  Such a handsome man. Such a satisfying conquest. But the day is still young and while you didn't get to lunch, now that the last throes of orgasm have leached away you are keen to be gone.

You slip into the bathroom and shower. His body paint is all over you. Your breasts look like they've been groped by a tribe of cavemen. You glance in the mirror and check out your butt. Mottled green hand prints sit there like some ancient cave art.  Paw prints that seem to say "Grunt or Ruff or Ugg was here 10,000 BC".  You lather up with soap but the body paint doesn't want to shift. Spying a clean white towel you drag it into the shower and scrub your body with it, wiping all traces of body-paint away.  Fernando won't mind.

You wander into the kitchen and spy a rose lying wrapped in some pink tissue paper.

You pick it up and taking a long sniff, inhale its enchanting perfume.

Blowing the slumbering explorer a kiss, you pick up a solitary fig and slip it into your mouth.  Yum.  You grab a slice of ham and then skip off down the stairs in search of further adventure. The delicious hum in your pussy is still there and is driving you on.

 You're a little weary after the aerobic session.  The scooter tour has real appeal.

* * *

##### You drag out your phone and dial the number.

* * *

* * *

**Please turn back a page**

* * *

* * *

**Please turn forward a page**

* * *

"My pussy has been fed but I desperately need to gorge on something meaty." you say.

Finding a thin skein of inspiration from somewhere deep within, you say  "I'm going to close my eyes and I want you to surprise me".

Closing your eyes and concentrating wholly on your hearing,  you feel rather than hear the soft vibrations of foot falls padding across the floorboards.   Silence. The warmth of a nearby body. You hear him exhale. His breathing is rough, a misfiring car. He is trying to keep calm but failing. You feel his foot brush against yours and it startles you. And then something is nudging against your cheek. It's warm and a bit sticky and when you open your eyes, attached to Fernando.

You begin by taking his cock into your mouth, wrapping your lips fully around it and slurping it back.  You suck deeply and then run your tongue in circles around the head.  Fernando can't help himself and begins a slow pump into your mouth. You run your right hand around the base of his shaft, feeling the thin thatch of dark hairs that sprout here. You are using the wetness from your mouth as lubrication to jack him off slowly. You trail your thumb along the underside of his cock all the way to his glands, massaging with the slickness of your saliva.  His purple helmet is hard and proud and you let your lips pop it out before again sucking him deep into your greedy mouth.

"Fig" he says. "Give me the figs"

You reach for them and he opens his mouth wide pushing his tongue far out to receive them. You push first one and then two inside, crushing them further into a sticky pulp with your fingers. Juices spill from his chin and you lean forward and let your tongue capture them.  You lick them and savor the sweet flavor. Essence of you and juices of fig. What could be more delectable?  Fernando swallows the masticated figs and groans.

"Oh for more figs" he says.

"What about the honey?" you ask.

He pauses and lets an evil grin get the better of him. Jumping up, he is back from the kitchen in a heartbeat, jar of honey gripped tightly in his green hand.  He positions himself back in front of you, cock out thrust and demanding your full attention.

Your breasts push forward against his thighs, nipples hard as buttons rubbing against his hot skin.  You take the head of his cock back into your mouth as he uncaps the jar and lets a slow thread of glistening honey anoint his cock just in front of your tongue.  A trail of the golden sticky stuff soon covers most of his cock and you eagerly slurp and suck it before it drips off.  The honey acts like a glue the moment you pull his cock into your mouth. This is dessert. Cock drenched in orange blossom honey.  You go slow, rolling and fluttering your eyes in a display of ecstatic abandon.  It's part show, part unbridled animal lust.  At this moment, you're not quite sure just what is pulling your strings.  He is loving it and his slow thrusts soon take on a steady urgency. Yet you don't want him to cum but his thrusting and pumping has increased, as have his moans.

You stop sucking, wanting to prolong the moment.  His cock is rock hard rigid and it has a glorious honeyed citrus sweetness that fuses with the saltiness coming from the slow leak of his man nectar.  You again run your fingers along its length, feeling the stretched outer skin glossily sticky. His cock is thick and long and beautiful. You lick the end of it and again taste a few drops of his life force, cottony gold and silver threads cling to your tongue.  You feel Fernando straining against orgasm. Agonizing over wanting to pump it back into the warm waiting confines of your hungry mouth.  His will is strong, as is his control, but you can feel him wavering.

Fernando reaches down to tease your nipples with hands that look like something dredged from the deep.  The tarnished bronze color is actually close to kitchen mold green.  You flinch as one is pinched.

"Ouch! bad boy" you chide.

He upends the jar again and lets a trail of honey snake over your breasts. Your golden orbs glimmer in the reflected sunlight.

Your pussy aches. You've got a throb that needs sating.  You feel a sopping dampness trickling down your inner thighs.  Fig juices and your juices. So delicious you should bottle them.  And now your breasts are coated with honey.  Your pussy is hungry for his meaty cock. You raise yourself up from the floor and press your body into his. Your tongues meet and entwine. He cups your breasts, hands immediately sticky with golden nectar and you feel your nipples tighten as sticky fingers wrap around them.  You feel the pressure building, the bellows being put to the fire. The exquisite and inevitable ache of an impending orgasm.  You are now both lying on the rug facing each other.  Tongues frantically jousting. Every time your tongue wraps around his, you shudder as a tremor of ecstasy thunders through your body.

You feel on the edge. Teetering. You want him inside you. You push him to the rug and straddle him, reaching for his cock and guiding it into your slippery cunt. The sticky juices of the fig drape his cock creating an extra glue that binds you.  In a moment you are totally connected. Your pussy is spasming from the pleasure of fullness.  Small smears of his bronzed body paint have started to appear over your body. The heat of the encounter is making the body paint lose its grip.  You don't care.  It'll all come out in the wash. The pressure is building, so you lean forwards and drape your breasts into his mouth. His tongue is seeking, stretching, yearning to envelop them. He licks and sucks at your honey coated breasts. Hungering for your lustrous nipples, you feed them to his eager mouth one by one and then back again until all the honey has been consumed.  You move your body slowly on his cock. He is so hard that when you lean forward and push yourself on top of him, your clit connects and immediately screams more. The pressure and the rubbing and his pistoning cock matching your slow rocking.

You're both beyond hope now. There is no turning back. Fernando is looking at you wide eyed. You can see from the way his eyes are not focusing properly that he is about to blow. His breath is coming in pants and he has stepped up the momentum. His cock is a hydraulic ram and your pussy hungry for it.  The feeling of it rubbing is intense. You are fucking with a sense of familiarity that feels like you've known each other for years.  Yet, his is a new cock and you just ache and lust for the thrilling feelings of a strange new prick pumping inside you.  His strokes have increased in rapidity and you are both so very close to combustible.  The tension building is excruciating.  It has become outright ecstatic torture, yet you don't want it to end. You don't want to let go. Not just yet. Not this moment.

"Just keep fucking me" you implore, running your hands down the length of his arms and kissing him with as much lust drenched passion as you can muster.

His cock has become part of you. You want to feel it there forever. You want to feel it rupture.

Fernando can read your mind. He totters and judders and his hands grip your butt, pulling you into him with one last ecstatic thrust. He detonates. The spasm shocks you and sends you over, the little earthquake tremors shaking through his body find their way to your clit and are just what you need to push you over the precipice. It's a rush. A starry, mind blowing, out of body orgasm. Kaboom. Your cunt spasms, contracting wildly, making you whimper and shudder. Your orgasm rocks you and you feel another ferment. You jump on it, embracing its inevitability.  Screaming out, you come again violently. You collapse on top of Fernando and ride the thrilling rush to its end. Fernando is mute and gasping. Poor sod. For someone with such an athletic body, he's bushed. As the pulsing slowly ebbs, a deep contentedness comes over you.  Fernando seems to have passed out. He's asleep. All his life force has momentarily drained out through his cock.

But you're feeling alive and roll off him, standing to admire his tranquil body in repose.  Such a handsome man. Such a satisfying conquest. But the day is still young and while you didn't get to lunch, now that the last throes of orgasm have leached away you are keen to be gone.

You slip into the bathroom and shower. His body paint is all over you. Your breasts look like they've been groped by a tribe of cavemen. You glance in the mirror and check out your butt. Mottled green hand prints sit there like some ancient cave art.  Paw prints that seem to say "Grunt or Ruff or Ugg was here 10,000 BC".  You lather up with soap but the body paint doesn't want to shift. Spying a clean white towel you drag it into the shower and scrub your body with it, wiping all traces of body-paint away.  Fernando won't mind.

You wander into the kitchen and spy a rose lying wrapped in some pink tissue paper.

You pick it up and taking a long sniff, inhale its enchanting perfume.

Blowing the slumbering explorer a kiss, you pick up a solitary fig and slip it into your mouth.  Yum.  You grab a slice of ham and then skip off down the stairs in search of further adventure. The delicious hum in your pussy is still there and is driving you on.

 You're a little weary after the aerobic session.  The scooter tour has real appeal.

* * *

##### You drag out your phone and dial the number.

* * *

* * *

**Please turn back a page**

* * *

* * *

**Please turn forward a page**

* * *

 It's going to be impossible to stand and pose with the lobster so you recline on the rug with your body angled towards Fernando. You place the lobster over your pussy and let its tail curl between your legs. A lobster tail has a fan like splay at its end and each side of this tickles your legs forcing you to push them apart a little. You can feel your pussy, moist and sticky, start to unfurl and loosen. It is still hidden from Fernando's view so you push your legs apart wider, letting them spread so that your pale inner thighs are bared. The lobster's two claws are now angled and resting either side of your pubic area while its legs scratch at your upper thighs. You're sure that you look ridiculous and you struggle to stifle a giggle. You've done some outlandish things in the past but this has to be up there. This has to rate.

   Fernando has crawled towards you with the camera in his hand, taking photos. His interest lies in your pussy and the cooked lobster that is resident there. You drag the lobster upwards and the tail creeps towards your pussy. You wonder what it will feel like against your clit. You spread your legs wider, throwing them out to each side. Fernando is panting. He has crawled further toward you and is now lying between your feet with the camera poised, waiting with baited breath for you to run the lobster tail over your clit.

  You drag it out slowly, pulling the lobster towards your sex. You can feel that your pussy has bloomed and opened from the heat of the moment. Fernando is watching with his mouth agape. You're pulling the lobsters claws towards your breasts. You grab one claw and squeeze it. Opening and closing the nipper you mock threaten your nipple with it. The tail is now resting against your pussy and if you jiggle it, it is sure to collide with your clit. You ease it backwards and forwards building up a soft rocking momentum. You feel that a tail end has nudged your folds and bared your love button to the world. You're controlling the lobster tail by gripping each claw, each talon with your hands and it's shucking your little oyster. It's a strange feeling when it connects. Your clit pings and the ringing sensation shudders through you like the urgent peal of a church bell. The beast's cool tail is basted in your hot cunt juices. Your silken lubrication makes it glide. The hard smooth surface of the tail is cool, so unlike any warmth of a finger or cock wielded by any previous lover. You're a little lost in the perverse surreal eroticism of the moment. You've closed your eyes.

  "Photos, Fernando" you whimper, as you increase the speed with which the lobster tail connects with your clit. The slippery sensation is unlike any you have ever felt. You open your eyes to feel something nudging against your cheek. It's warm and a bit sticky and attached to Fernando.

  "Let's lose the claw daddy" you say, before adding with a laugh, "He may need a quick bath before lunch"

  You toss the lobster to one side and take his cock into your mouth, wrapping your lips fully around it and slurping it back. You suck it deeply and then run your tongue in circles around the head. Fernando can't help himself and begins a slow pump into your mouth. You run your right hand around the base of his shaft, feeling the thin thatch of dark hairs that sprout here. You are using the wetness from your mouth as lubrication to jack him slowly off. You trail your thumb along the underside of his cock all the way to his glands, massaging with the slickness of your saliva. His purple helmet is hard and proud and you let your lips pop it out before again sucking him deep into your greedy mouth.

  Your breasts are pushing against his thighs, nipples hard as buttons rubbing against his hot skin. You don't want him to come but his thrusting and pumping has increased, as have his moans. You stop sucking, wanting to prolong the moment. His cock is rock hard rigid and it has a sweetness to it from the slow leak of his man nectar. You again run your fingers along its length, feeling the taut outer skin, glossy from your mouth wetness. His cock is thick and long and beautiful. You lick the end of it and again taste a few drops of his life force, silken silver threads clinging to your tongue. You can feel Fernando straining against orgasm. He is agonizing over wanting to pump it back into the warm wet waiting confines of your hungry mouth. His will is strong but you can feel him wavering.

  Fernando reaches down to tease your nipples with hands that look like something dredged from the deep. The tarnished bronze color is actually close to kitchen mold green. You flinch as one is pinched. "Ouch! Bad boy" you chide.

  Your pussy is aching. All that lobster play had created a throb that needed sating. You can feel a sopping dampness trickling down your inner thighs. Your pussy is hungry for his meaty cock. You raise yourself up from the floor and press your body into his. Your tongues meet and entwine. He again cups your breasts and you feel your nipples tighten. Small smears of his bronzed body paint have started to appear over your body. The heat of the encounter is making the body paint lose its grip. You don't care. It'll all come out in the wash. You can feel the pressure building, the bellows being put to the fire; the exquisite and inevitable ache of an impending orgasm. You are both lying on the rug facing each other. Your tongues are frantically exploring, jousting. Your tongue wraps around his and you shudder as a tremor of ecstasy thunders through your body.

  You feel on the edge. Teetering. You want him inside you. You push him to the rug and straddle him, reaching for his cock and guiding it into your slippery cunt. In a moment you are totally connected. Your pussy is spasming from the pleasure of fullness. The pressure is building, so you lean forwards and drape your breasts into his mouth. His tongue is seeking, stretching, yearning to envelop them. It hungers for your lustrous nipples and you feed them to his eager mouth one by one and then back again. You move your body slowly on his cock. He is so hard that when you lean forward and push yourself on top of him, your clit connects with him and immediately screams for more. The pressure and the rubbing and his pistoning cock match your slow rocking. You're both beyond hope now. There is no turning back.

Fernando is looking at you, wide eyed. You can see from the way his eyes lack focus that he is about to blow. His breath is coming in pants and he has stepped up the momentum. His cock is a hydraulic ram and your pussy is hungry for it. The feeling of it rubbing against the walls of your pussy is intense. You are fucking with a sense of familiarity that feels like you've known each other for years. Yet, his is a new cock and you just ache and lust for the thrilling feelings of a strange new prick pumping inside you. His strokes have increased in rapidity and you are both so very close to combustible. Your pussy is stretching, accommodating, aching as the tension build becomes excruciating. It has become outright ecstatic torture, yet you don't want it to end. You don't want to let go. Not just yet. Not this moment.

  "Just keep fucking me" you implore, running your hands down the length of his arms and kissing him with as much lust-drenched passion as you can muster.

  His cock has become part of you. You want to feel it there forever. You want to feel it explode and shoot.

  Fernando can read your mind. He shudders and his hands grip your butt, pulling you into him with one last ecstatic thrust. He detonates. The spasm shocks you and sends you over, the little earthquake tremors shaking through his body find their way to your clit and are just what you need to push you over the precipice. It's a rush. A starry, mind blowing, out of body orgasm. Kapow. Your cunt spasms, contracting wildly, making you groan and quiver.

You collapse on top of Fernando and ride the thrilling rush to its end. Fernando is mute and gasping. Poor sod. For someone with such an athletic body, he's bushed. As the pulsing slowly ebbs, a deep contentedness comes over you. Fernando seems to have passed out. He's asleep. All his life force has momentarily drained out through his cock. But you're feeling alive as you roll off him, standing to admire his tranquil body in repose. Such a handsome man, and such a satisfying conquest. But the day is still young and while you haven't yet eaten with Fernando, you've gone off the whole lobster idea now that the last throes of orgasm have leached away.

   You slip into the bathroom and shower. His body paint is all over you. Your breasts look like they've been groped by a tribe of cavemen. You glance in the mirror and check out your butt. Mottled green hand prints sit there like some ancient cave art. Paw prints that seem to say "Grunt or Ruff or Ugg was here 10,000 BC". You lather up with soap but the body paint doesn't want to shift. Spying a clean white towel you drag it into the shower and scrub your body with it, wiping all traces of body paint away. You're sure Fernando won't mind.

  You wander into the kitchen and spy a rose lying wrapped in some pink tissue paper.

  "Mimi won't be needing this," you mutter, picking it up and taking a long sniff to inhale the seductive aroma.

  Blowing the slumbering explorer a kiss, you pick up a solitary fig and slip it into your mouth. The skin is soft and yielding and the flesh has an intensity that makes you almost regret your decision to leave. Yum. You grab a slice of ham and then skip off down the stairs in search of further adventure. The delicious hum in your pussy is still there and it is driving you on.

  You're a little weary after the aerobic session.  The scooter tour has real appeal.

* * *

##### You drag out your phone and dial the number.

* * *

* * *

**Please turn back a page**

* * *

* * *

**Please turn forward a page**

* * *
"Let's forget the claw daddy" you say and toss the lobster to one side.

  Finding a thin skein of inspiration from somewhere deep within, you then say "I'm going to close my eyes and I want you to surprise me".

Closing your eyes and concentrating wholly on your hearing, you feel, rather than hear, the soft vibrations of foot falls padding across the floorboards. Silence. The warmth of a nearby body. You hear him exhale. His breathing is rough, a misfiring car. He is trying to keep calm but failing. You feel his foot brush against yours and it startles you. And then something is nudging against your cheek. It's warm and a bit sticky and when you open your eyes, you can see it is attached to Fernando.

    You begin by taking his cock into your mouth, wrapping your lips fully around it and slurping it back.  You suck it deeply and then run your tongue in circles around the head. Fernando can't help himself and begins a slow pump into your mouth. You run your right hand around the base of his shaft, feeling the thin thatch of dark hairs that sprout here. You are using the wetness from your mouth as lubrication to jack him slowly off. You trail your thumb along the underside of his cock all the way to his glands, massaging with the slickness of your saliva. His wine dark helmet is hard and proud and you let your lips pop it out before again sucking him deep into your greedy mouth.

  Your breasts are pushing against his thighs, nipples hard as buttons rubbing against his hot skin. You don't want him to come but his thrusting and pumping has increased, as have his moans. You stop sucking, wanting to prolong the moment. His cock is rock hard rigid and it has a sweetness to it from the slow leak of his man nectar. You again run your fingers along its length, feeling the taut outer skin, glossy from your mouth wetness. His cock is thick and long and beautiful. You lick the end of it and again taste a few drops of his life force, silken silver threads clinging to your tongue. You can feel Fernando straining against orgasm. He is agonizing over wanting to pump it back into the warm wet waiting confines of your hungry mouth. His will is strong but you can feel him wavering.

  Fernando reaches down to tease your nipples with hands that look like something dredged from the deep. The tarnished bronze color is actually close to kitchen mold green. You flinch as one is pinched. "Ouch! Bad boy" you chide.

  Your pussy is aching.  You've a throb that needs sating. You can feel a sopping dampness trickling down your inner thighs. Your pussy is hungry for his meaty cock. You raise yourself up from the floor and press your body into his. Your tongues meet and entwine. He again cups your breasts and you feel your nipples tighten. Small smears of his bronzed body paint have started to appear over your body. The heat of the encounter is making the body paint lose its grip. You don't care. It'll all come out in the wash. You can feel the pressure building, the bellows being put to the fire; the exquisite and inevitable ache of an impending orgasm. You are both lying on the rug facing each other. Your tongues are frantically exploring, jousting. Your tongue wraps around his and you shudder as a tremor of ecstasy thunders through your body.

  You feel on the edge. Teetering. You want him inside you. You push him to the rug and straddle him, reaching for his cock and guiding it into your slippery cunt. In a moment you are totally connected. Your pussy is spasming from the pleasure of fullness. The pressure is building, so you lean forwards and drape your breasts into his mouth. His tongue is seeking, stretching, yearning to envelop them. It hungers for your lustrous nipples and you feed them to his eager mouth one by one and then back again. You move your body slowly on his cock. He is so hard that when you lean forward and push yourself on top of him, your clit connects with him and immediately screams for more. The pressure and the rubbing and his pistoning cock match your slow rocking. You're both beyond hope now. There is no turning back. Fernando is looking at you, wide eyed. You can see from the way his eyes lack focus that he is about to blow. His breath is coming in pants and he has stepped up the momentum. His cock is a hydraulic ram and your pussy is hungry for it. The feeling of it rubbing against the walls of your pussy is intense. You are fucking with a sense of familiarity that feels like you've known each other for years. Yet, his is a new cock and you just ache and lust for the thrilling feelings of a strange new prick pumping inside you. His strokes have increased in rapidity and you are both so very close to combustible. Your pussy is stretching, accommodating, aching as the tension build becomes excruciating. It has become outright ecstatic torture, yet you don't want it to end. You don't want to let go. Not just yet. Not this moment.

  "Just keep fucking me" you implore, running your hands down the length of his arms and kissing him with as much lust-drenched passion as you can muster.

  His cock has become part of you. You want to feel it there forever. You want to feel it explode and shoot.

  Fernando can read your mind. He shudders and his hands grip your butt, pulling you into him with one last ecstatic thrust. He detonates. The spasm shocks you and sends you over, the little earthquake tremors shaking through his body find their way to your clit and are just what you need to push you over the precipice. It's a rush. A starry, mind blowing, out of body orgasm. Kapow. Your cunt spasms, contracting wildly, making you groan and quiver.

You collapse on top of Fernando and ride the thrilling rush to its end. Fernando is mute and gasping. Poor sod. For someone with such an athletic body, he's bushed. As the pulsing slowly ebbs, a deep contentedness comes over you. Fernando seems to have passed out. He's asleep. All his life force has momentarily drained out through his cock. But you're feeling alive as you roll off him, standing to admire his tranquil body in repose. Such a handsome man, and such a satisfying conquest. But the day is still young and while you haven't yet eaten with Fernando, you've gone off the whole lobster idea now that the last throes of orgasm have leached away.

   You slip into the bathroom and shower. His body paint is all over you. Your breasts look like they've been groped by a tribe of cavemen. You glance in the mirror and check out your butt. Mottled green hand prints sit there like some ancient cave art. Paw prints that seem to say "Grunt or Ruff or Ugg was here 10,000 BC". You lather up with soap but the body paint doesn't want to shift. Spying a clean white towel you drag it into the shower and scrub your body with it, wiping all traces of body paint away. You're sure Fernando won't mind.

  You wander into the kitchen and spy a rose lying wrapped in some pink tissue paper.

  "Mimi won't be needing this," you mutter, picking it up and taking a long sniff to inhale the seductive aroma.

  Blowing the slumbering explorer a kiss, you pick up a solitary fig and slip it into your mouth. The skin is soft and yielding and the flesh has an intensity that makes you almost regret your decision to leave. Yum. You grab a slice of ham and then skip off down the stairs in search of further adventure. The delicious hum in your pussy is still there and it is driving you on.

  You're a little weary after the aerobic session.  The scooter tour has real appeal.

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##### You drag out your phone and dial the number.

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 You bid Fernando Columbus good bye.  You've decided that his particular brand of male has lost a little luster. The attraction you'd felt had related to him in character. The mortal underneath all that make up is a far less interesting proposition.

    You make your excuses, muttering as you are already taking your leave. Something about places to go, people to meet, other people to seduce and be seduced by.

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##### The narrow pedestrian laneway that heads off to your right looks promising.

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##### You seek out the personalised scooter tour that you'd read and dreamt about. You ring the number. You'd saved it in your phone.

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  You find yourself in a narrow alleyway. You're still hell bent on the thrill of exploring an unknown city.

  From such a public space teeming with shoppers to a narrow gorge barely six feet wide. You love the tight closed nature of this public space, this hand built ravine that barely separates the buildings as they crowd in on themselves. It's as though they've reached a truce and come to a halt, reluctant to come to agreement over this thin gully of no man's land. You feel the cool of a space that rarely feels sunlight hit the paving stones. The alleyway is clean, it is quiet and it is empty. It looks like it has recently been hosed down. You feel no apprehension moving along it. You run your hands over the stone, letting your fingers follow etches of time. Cast iron lace railings guard windows high above you, custodians of private spaces where other lives are lived. Sunlight splashes over the top floors of the buildings but fails to penetrate to the canyon floor. You can see people at the far end of the alley. Motionless figures that are nothing but black silhouettes.

  The buildings that crowd on either side of you are of age burnished yellow sandstone. They rise sheer above and you gaze upwards, marveling. You pause for a moment, listening as from one of the apartments you hear a guitar being played. It is a fast captivating rhythm being passionately strummed. The notes and chords bounce along the laneway, leaping from a gypsy style lament to the musical equivalent of a bull fight. You keep moving. Roller doors that open onto the alley are all firmly shut. Many have been pasted with posters and decorated with graffiti that seems to have been inspired by the proliferation of mosaics found throughout the city. Ad hoc masterpieces of colorfully subversive street art. The brilliant guitar fades but the music has stirred something within you.

  You reach the end of the alley. The dark silhouettes have metamorphosed into women milling around a lane way junction. Your alley has spilt out into a narrow one way lane. A scooter whistles past. The rider, doubling his friend, yells something unintelligible as they scream along. You look at the other women, they hiss at the motorcyclist. A buxom woman, wearing a leopard skin top and ripped denim shorts a couple of sizes too small, wields a cigarette with studied attitude. They are skimpily dressed. Short shorts and revealing singlet tops. High sandals. The emphasis is flesh. Peroxide has been liberally employed. Darkened roots a fashion statement.

  Miss Tight Denim scowls something at you. You hear the word "territorio".

  You wonder what she means. They all look like prostitutes. Surely they can't have confused you for one. You look down over what you are dressed in. You realize that the extra care that you'd taken getting ready this morning may be confusing them. The dress you are draped in is hardly a hand towel. Yes, it enhances your curves. You chose it for its desirability. You look like a goddess in it. But it is not risqué evening wear and surely these ladies can see that.

  Another woman with jutting breasts and dark fiery eyes spits at the ground. The oyster rolls in the dust close to your feet.

  You wonder which way to turn.

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##### Do you strut your stuff right on past them.  Take attitude to attitude.

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##### You see a lone taxi approaching. You stick out your arm and wave it down asking the driver to take you to the Sagrada Família

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 "What do you suggest?" you say. You're not fussy. Anywhere would be fun. You love the park and its modernist artworks but you admit to yourself that somewhere new would be nice. Hunger has crept up on you.

  "The tour comes with lunch. There's a great bocadillo joint not far from here. We'll head there first and then on to the museum"

You are happy to be led. Happy to play tourist. Not so happy to get back on the scooter with racing Carmen.

  She manages to get you there in one piece. More or less. She again makes a point of sliding her butt back towards you and insisting that you wrap your arms around her tightly.

  A queue snakes out the door and the folk in it look on with barely disguised hunger as people depart with crusty baguettes stuffed with jamon. Dried salted spanish ham of the finest quality sandwiched with cheese. You spy a couple sharing a bocadillo stuffed with potato tortilla. Smells from roasting chickens, pork and what looks like salmon steaks tease you and you find that you can't decide what to order.

  Sensing your dilemma, Carmen says "I'll order for us both. We'll share. Is that okay?"

  You nod, happy to have the decision made for you.

  A short time later you are sitting at a small table tucking into grilled chicken laced with guacamole and wrapped in the finest Jamon Iberico.

  Carmen says "This is the finest ham and the finest Bocadillo joint in the city. Black mountain pigs, pata negra. Fantastic!"

  You are taken with how she pronounces the word "Boca dee ya". It rolls out. So Spanish. So delicious. You haven't quite got your tongue around the pronunciation but you've mastered taking decent bite sized tears from the ham and bread.

  "There's an interesting museum next stop on the tour. I'm sure you're going to love it"

  "What sort of museum?" you ask between mouthfuls.

  "Sex" she says as if that explains everything.

  You must have sniggered for she says in total seriousness.

  "The Barcelona Museum of Erotica. It's a proper museum. You'll learn something."

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#####    You can't deny that it sounds like fun.

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 You must have looked like you were wavering, so in a decisive motion, Carmen grasps your hand and pulls you into the park. You'd been staring at the park entrance, unsure whether to persist with Carmen. The red open topped tourist bus had come and gone. The posse of tourists that had cheered and hollered when you were on the back of the bike had disembarked and wandered into the park. A group of young lads whisper and point, chuckling among themselves at recognizing the two crazy gals on the motor scooter. You catch one of them sizing up Carmen. She sends them a death stare of such bone chilling rejection that they promptly turn tail and head into the park. You catch the eye of one of them, a red bandanna-wearing hunk who is strutting his stuff like a peacock. Poor kid, probably only just started shaving. You aren't ageist but these guys are barely out of high school.

  "Parc Güell." Carmen says. "An icon of the city, created by its most famous son. His university professor most famously said "We have given this academic title either to a fool or a genius. Only time will show." And hasn't time done just that. Look at this place!"

  Carmen stretches her arms wide and spins around on the spot. A slow pirouette that makes her hair catch the light and gleam like she's been possessed by divine light. Heads turn and other park visitors watch. She's got some speech that she wants to impart as part of the tour and the theatrics are part of the show. Her tight black leather pants are still drawing glances but her jacket is now slung in a casual fashion over her shoulder.

  "We'll get to his church later," she continues, "although no real rush. It won't be finished until 2027 or thereabouts"

  "He was run over by a tram while dressed in the robes of a beggar and before anyone realized who it was, he was gone. Dead as a door handle"

  "Knob," you say. "Doorknob".

  The place is amazing. It is every bit a place of world heritage. You are thrilled to be here. It's like nothing you've ever experienced.

  You wander through the gates between the two gatehouses. These are ornate buildings, life size gingerbread houses composed of sculptural forms that make them look like they've been shaped by aeon's of wind and wave. Curved, rounded and inset with stone work arranged in elaborate ornamental patterns and each capped with something that looks like a toadstool garden. They are the border posts, the guard houses that lead into a strange and exotic land. It isn't quite real and yet here you are. A tall fence surrounds the park. This is covered in a broken ceramic tile mosaic in a multitude of colors. The arrangements are dazzling and you find them exceedingly beautiful. Carmen smiles, seeing you running your hand over the glazed surfaces.  She points out some medallions set into the mosaics that bear the inscription 'Parc" and "Güell".

  "An ancient style of tiling. From the Moors," she says.

  Carmen squeezes your hand. "Come and look at the dragon."

  You give in to her tug but unclasp her hand when you reach it. You appreciate the attentive personal nature of the tour but the way that Carmen is gripping your hand is almost possessive and heck, you've only just met the girl.

    At the base of a giant staircase leading up the hill to a great covered portico is a serpent dragon created from a mix of blue and yellow tiles in a cleverly arranged mosaic. Water, rather than fire, spills from its mouth. An elemental fountain. It's a happy looking dragon and it buoys your spirits.

  Carmen cups the water that flows from its mouth and then lets it go, flowing down through her fingers. "So spiritual" she says, as her eyes glimmer.

  She points to the top of the stairway. A great acropolis of columns sits atop a hill like some ancient temple that has somehow survived centuries of rape and pillage. You can see people on top of them, peering over the edge, gazing at the great expanse of view that stretches all the way over a thousand dusty rooftops to the sea.

  "Let's go up there" Carmen says. "The miradors. You can look out at all of Barcelona from the top of the world"

  You climb the stairs. The park is full of trees, palms and giant figs sprawl around you. You come upon a forest of columns. Hexagonal pillars of hard stone support a stupendous roof.

  "Gaudi. A genius huh?" Carmen says with her hands wrapped around a column, head tilted skyward.

  You can't disagree. The sentiment is spot on. You're soaking up the atmosphere of the place. All manner of people are enjoying the park on this day. Perhaps it is busier than most, being the day of roses and books. And lovers.

  From among the Doric columns in the distance you spy the red bandanna wearer, hard at work on his phone.

  Then your phone vibrates. You at first discount any relationship between the vibratory alert and the bandanna wearer. It's just not possible. But after another few seconds of buzzing you give in. You can't help yourself and, signaling to Carmen that you will catch up with her, you swipe the screen of your phone. Lothario Scenario, the latest hook up app recommended by Sally, your oldest school friend. Married for years and still married but now flirting with outside fun. She insisted you trial it on your trip. "Everyone's on it, darling" she'd chirped. So you succumbed and installed it. And now it is beeping. For the very first time.

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#####  Do you want to respond?

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##### Ignore your phone and continue with the tour and see what Carmen has in store for you.

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The view from the mirador is just stupendous, even if Barcelona is now blanketed in haze from the heat of the day. You run your hand over the brightly glazed mosaic tiles that adorn each seating area, and troop around the perimeter wall taking in the view from each angle. Back where you started, you find Carmen gazing wistfully out over the rooftops, lost in thought. A cigarette droops, forgotten in her hand, it's smoke dragged sideways in the warm breeze that wafts up the hill. You wander over to join her but falter, a little reluctant to intrude on her moment. She is perched on a mosaic-tiled seat, glossy from a thousand behinds. There is room for two or three but no more. You sit down alongside her and she turns to you, dimples deepening, mouth curling in some mysterious approximation of a smile.

  Thin rivulets of sweat trace faint trails down your neck. Between your cleavage a drip slides. The day is warming. Perhaps that is why Carmen is half crazy, half baked.

  You take in the view and make out both the tower of the Gothic cathedral and the Sagrada Família, and, away in the distance, the cable car that stretches from the port to Montjuïc hill.

Carmen says "Lunch?"

Do you answer;

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##### "I'm not really hungry"

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##### "I'm starving, lunch sounds perfect. Lead on"

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 You can't help yourself and pull out your phone.

  First things first, let's look at the photo. And look who it isn't. There isn't a bandanna in the picture but certainly the guy is hot. He looks a little familiar too. You look up at the young guy with the bandanna leaning against the column. He's still concentrating intensely on the screen of his phone. The moment of recognition hits you. It is him. You look down at your screen and find that his nickname is Dangerous Dan.

  Well, do you swipe left to ignore or right to initiate? It could be fun. You'd have to give Carmen the slip. You are already tingling at the possibility. Yet you waver. A short time ago you dismissed the young guys in the group as impossibly young, yet now you realize that they are older than you first thought. Early to mid-twenties. In their prime. You scroll through Dangerous Dan's details. He's backpacking and keen on a good time. Australian. From Sydney of all places. You'd like to go there one day. It is on the list. Do you fancy a dalliance with a young Aussie?  It's not really what you came to Spain for but...

  Carmen has traipsed off up the stairs, signaling that she'll meet you up on top when you're ready.

  Do you want to linger and have a word with Dangerous Dan? After all, it seems an encounter has already been engendered. Unwittingly, your smart phone has linked you to the hunkiest young man wandering through Parc Güell at this moment. You did have a hand in it. You installed the app. But to call yourself "Scarlett Hornblower"? Mmm... hmmm, perhaps that was taking things a little too far.

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#####  You linger. Dangerous Dan has got your attention, for now

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##### You climb the stairs after Carmen. The opportunity to flirt with hot men will surely present itself later on in the evening.

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  You decide to dally instead of dash, and you look up to see Dangerous Dan, his face given over to an infectious grin. He holds his phone up and waggles it. You nod. He walks over to you. His body is as upstanding as a street pole, his forearms a river delta of prominent veins. You find yourself admiring them, transfixed by how his musculature could be so developed. Is he a sportsman? A tradesman? He looks fine. He looks fit. You find yourself quickly shelving your earlier misapprehensions.

  "So, how surprising... a Lothario in person. I never thought this app would work. What a laugh" you say, unable to resist letting a coquettish smile escape and slide his way.

  "I'm not really called Dangerous Dan" says Dangerous Dan. "It's just a name my mates dreamed up. Honest, I only installed the app two days ago."

  "And you're Scarlett?" he says, pausing before adding a little cautiously "Hornblower?"

He tries to suppress a little giggle before adding, with a laugh, "I love that name!"

  His accent is broad and different. He has a deep masculine growl, deeper than his years.  In fact his voice does sound dangerous. And that undeniably holds some allure, as does his accent. This young man has an accent that makes you ache. It made you think of exotic lands, wild creatures, beaches and impossibly athletic men. It yanks and tugs at you - a familiar language spoken through an unfamiliar prism.

  He was unable to miss your smile. You've had some practice over the years, and have the formula down pat. It's tried and true and seemingly irresistible.

  You decide from the outset to stick to your stage name and wear your saucy nickname, rather than divulge the real you. Heck, Scarlett Hornblower sounds like quite a gal.

  "Yes, elementary, Detective Dan" you say with mock seriousness.

  He goes on: "I was lying in my hostel bed and some lucky sod was getting amorous with a local girl in the bunk above me when a friend messaged me and recommended that I install this app to put me out of my misery. To be honest," and he gave a little serious cough, "I really haven't seen the point of dating apps until now. But this one seemed like a bit of fun and there are lots of users in Europe and enough of them in Barcelona to give it a shot."

  "How about you?" he asks, smiling in a goofy fashion. "I saw you on that scooter with that crazy chick and now here you are. Amazing! We were all stunned at her riding. She's got some sort of bypass death pass I reckon. So what are you doing here? Are you a tourist?"

  You decide to play this part of it truthfully and quickly tell him that it is your first day in the city and that the scooter tour seemed like a good idea at the time. But you don't quite feel that you are as impervious to the imprecations of mortality as Carmen seems to be, and the thought of getting back on the scooter makes you tremble.

  "What do you think of the park, Not Dangerous Dan?" you ask, your voice a melody of playful notes.

  "Ah" he says, "Sorry, yes. My name is actually Sam. I'm not really sure where the Dangerous Dan came from. I like danger, but I like simpler pleasures too," and he returns your suggestive smirk with an orchestrated wink of deliberate slowness that, had his eye been a camera lens, the shot would have been a blur of overexposure.

  Aside from the red bandanna tied around his head, Dangerous Dan, aka Sam, is wearing a black t-shirt that has a number of strange words printed over it, all linked with arrows. Barkeno -> Barcino -> Barchinona  -> Barshiluna...all of which seem a little familiar. He sees you looking at it and spins around, showing you Barcelona printed on the back.

  "The history of the city name" he says "from the museum. Cool hey?"

  You do think this is a nifty design for a t-shirt and it does seem nicely matched to the mid length pants he is wearing, a light denim that looks well-travelled. There is no denying it, Dangerous Dan looks like he's stepped straight out of a commercial, advertising whatever coolest hippest product would have the younger generation drooling at the moment.

  "What about you? What do you like?" he says, shifting his weight from one leg to the other and segueing straight into the immediate trap of a conversation laced with double meaning.

  You introduce yourself, saying that Scarlett is your real name but that horn blowing is a hobby, and you run through a brief spiel, most of which is a close enough variant on the truth for you not to feel too guilty.

  You're sure he gets the meaning regarding horn blowing and hobbies, for he again struggles to stifle a little giggle. He is still a young man and one who must find all manner of sexual innuendo laced banter so overly amusing as to be almost embarrassed by it.

  Your imagination is running wild with possible outcomes of this scenario. Your heart is acting like it is over caffeinated.

  You wonder what you should do;

Surefire death can only come from jumping back on the scooter with Carmen. It doesn't matter how many years of video game training she's had in motorcycle riding. You're looking for an out and this is it.

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##### You decide to ask if he'd fancy a coffee right now.

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#####  You'll stick with Carmen for now and see out the tour, you do feel some attraction to her feisty character.

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You've decided to exit stage left and leave Carmen to her own devices. You can catch up with her later if you really want to. For the moment Dangerous Dan has some strange intoxicating appeal and you want to make the most of things. You decide to call him Dangerous Dan, rather than just plain and simple Sam, and stick to the heightened allure of his seductive pen name. It is likely that your name has got his pulse racing too. It really leaves little to the imagination as to where your specialties lie. Scarlett Hornblower. Where did that come from?

   The Parc Güell restaurant has a few outside tables and chairs, set underneath age old palm trees. Dangerous Dan slides easily into one of the seats, having first pulled one out for you. You appreciate the gesture even if it does feel impossibly old fashioned.

   A waiter wanders over with two coffees. You ordered a cafe con leche and Dan had followed suit.

  Dan seems to be making a comic point of stirring such a mountain of sugar into his coffee that it can't possibly all dissolve. He takes a tiny sip from the spoon and then utters an exaggerated "ah... "

  "Can I have a little coffee to flavor my sugar please?" you say, half in jest, half in horror.

  Dangerous Dan rolls his eyes and giggles. For a guy with such deep masculine growl, he has quite a noncy giggle.

  You look on, bemused as he takes a sip. There is so much sugar in his cup it'd turn into coffee toffee if the right temperature was applied.

  "Any other interesting hobbies?" he asks "or is horn blowing your first and only passion?"

  You pull a face, mouth agape, until you realize that you're probably only advertising your talents further with your mouth drawn in such an oblong oh. But then you came here to flirt and it seems you are doing just fine.

  You've just met with a hook up app, and it wasn't really created to enable like minds to get together and compare the finer details of advanced basket weaving, after all.

  "I can blow a horn hard" you say, letting your tongue do a slow slide of licking the milky froth from your upper lip, before adding "I played French horn in my college band"

  "French?" he says, amused. "That would have made you popular."

  It seems the imagery has got to him, for then he says "I'd really like to hear you make music" before shifting a little uncomfortably in his seat. Something has popped up. And for a moment you can see that he has lost focus.

  "Have you wandered among the wooded section of the park yet?" you ask, as if you aren't hatching some sort of naughty plan. You throw a look up toward the heights of the park. Above the central monument section lies a vast undiscovered park full of stone grottoes, isolated pathways and trees. And, you hope, some sort of privacy, if only for a short time.

  Dangerous Dan is in on your connivance even before the shake of his head.

   "I'm feeling Cafe con lecherous," he says with a wink.

  You and me both, you think.

  Quietly finishing your coffee, you realize that a wordless compact has been reached. Leaving, you climb some stairs behind the restaurant, avoiding the mirador area because you don't want to run into Carmen. You're both wearing a variation on a naughty little smile. You glance at Dan and note that he looks as furtive as a crossdresser caught napping in his wife's brassiere, on hearing a key turn in the front door.

  Dangerous Dan quietly pads along beside you. Neither of you has yet done anything naughty. However, the promise of it is there, swirling about, and because of this the air between you is laden with heavy expectation. There is a little stiff leggedness to Dan's gait and a palpable excitement written large over his face. He stops for a breather and wipes his brow. Beads of sweat cluster on his forehead and with the heat and this moment of stillness he looks impossibly masculine; the very definition of a hunky sex god. A couple of thousand years ago they would have been carving marble statues of his likeness. You imagine the Lothario Scenario profile of Dan as a statue. Attributes - hard, stiff and silent. Desirable qualities in any male, you muse.

  The pathways through the park are dusty and you've left most of the crowds behind. The gardens are really lovely, however, your appreciation of them takes a back seat to your quest for a little out of the way place to demonstrate your horn-blowing prowess. Herbs heavy with pungent fragrances line the pathways you wander, searching in increasing desperation for "the spot". A plane flies overhead, trailing clouded streamers as it descends into Barcelona airport. For a moment, the noise rattles you. You take this trail and that and still fail to discover anywhere to do the deed that won't get both of you locked up for public indecency.

  The suspense between you is building and the need to do the deed overwhelming. You had to run with the decision made and now it seems irreversible. Dangerous Dan is looking far from dangerous, but not a little desperate. Desperate Dan is beginning to look a little flustered.

  "I'm staying in a hostel and most of my mates are out and about..." he says, offering an easy solution to the privacy conundrum that is entangling you both. But these words wash over you and you don't pause to let them find purchase. Parc Güell is the place. If not here, then nowhere.

  You turn a corner and spy a stone grotto lying in the shade of some conifer trees. Grabbing Dan by the hand you quickly lead him off the path and into the secluded space. This is the place.

  "Let's be quick," you say. You are hungering for a taste of his cock. The thought of sucking him in a semipublic space is making you more than aroused, and now that you've found the space, you feel the wetness start to seep. A soft throb pulses through you, the beginnings of a desperate ache that won't let up until you've had your fill.

  The stone grotto provides some shade, while the cool of the stone columns that hold up its roof provide a ready respite from the heat of the day. Pulling Dan into the space and looking around for other park wanderers, you determine that you have the little place all to yourselves.

  You move toward Dan and plant a kiss hard on his lips, while letting your hand tangle with his belt.

  "If you'd like to sample my horn blowing skills, you'll have to lose these, darling," you moan, blowing hot air into his ear.

  The poor sod is rigid with excitement, and his cock strains against the denim. The thrill of being outside, hidden but in a public space, is making him ache. Your hand traces the outline of his rock hard member and in moments he has dropped his pants and released what is a sizable cock from the confines of his jeans. His cock is a toy soldier standing to attention, awaiting its first command. It has a regal bulbous head that is flushed an exotic shade of red. Private Parts looks happy to breathe the fresh air and take a gander at the view with his singular sleepy eye. Twitching in peremptory excitement, you marvel at its elegant form and beauty. A thick blueish vein runs the length of his cock, itself swollen with the crimson life force pumping through it.

  You take Dangerous Dan's hard cock in your hands and run your fingers along its length. Your fingers are calipers, measuring his girth, calculating his length. You could be the hangman calculating his weight, or a dairy farmer his worth in cream. You concentrate like an engineer. Like a physician. Like a musician. You want Dangerous Dan to appreciate all the aspects of your professionalism. You then, as if easing yourself into the slow introduction to a symphony, begin to jack him off. Dangerous Dan shuts his eyes for a moment and gasps.

  He leans back against the stone pillar of the grotto, hidden from the view of casual walkers in the park, and his hand reaches out and squeezes one of your tits. His fingers pull at your nipple, still soft beneath the top of your blouse.

   Squatting down, you take his cock deep in your mouth, sucking on it while you continue to wank him off. You summon extra wetness into your mouth and with your tongue, you run it all around his cock-head and begin working your hand along his shaft. Danger boy can't help himself and starts pushing his cock in little spasmodic thrusts into your mouth. Little twitches that begin to increase in momentum. Little spasms that seem to make him shudder and groan. He eases his cock backwards and forwards into your mouth, enjoying the silken massage of your soft lips and the glide from your saliva. His hips are hard up against your face. He is fucking you in the mouth as you blow him. Your hand picks up the pace and you know it won't be long before he is shooting creamy wads all over the place. His cock grows larger and wider in your sucking mouth, his blue vein now pulses an exotic purple. You hornblow him with everything you have. All your powers have coalesced and your head is now bobbing with a metronomic frenzy.

  Changing tack, you suddenly pop the head of his cock out of your mouth and with urgent hunger run your tongue quickly up and down his entire beautiful length. Danger boy trembles with a soft gasp, his hips shuddering and bouncing off the stone column. You are still jacking him off, your hand really moving fast. You lick his balls, neatly trimmed baubles, your tongue darting all over them. Finally you lick up along the twitching shaft of his cock and suck the head back into your mouth. Dangerous Dan trembles even more, pushing himself forward so his quivering cock slips a long way down your throat. You keep sucking him, your determination as firm as his cock. You are going to see this through until the sticky end. Suddenly he jerks and a hot eruption of come explodes from his cock, filling your mouth. His come is viscous. Its thick and sticky juices spill from your lips as you suck even harder. Your hunger for his cock, his beautiful manly horn, knows no end. More juices pump from it and you swallow what you can.

   He pushes hard back against the stone column with a groan, shaking all over, and you manage to suck still another little dribble of cum from the head of his cock. It runs down your throat slowly, the sweet taste of it still on your lips. It is the sweetest cum you've ever tasted. And you are someone who appreciates savory things with equal passion.

   You sit up and say "How'd you like that? Was that a blast?"

   "It was great!" he says, with another high giggle. "I loved it. Especially coming in your mouth. You're some expert horn blower, I'll tell you. A maestro!"

  You can hear the woof of a dog and its owner calling. It is time to move on. Dangerous Dan will have to return the favor another time.

  "Dan, you owe me," you say, slipping a hand beneath the elastic of your knickers and almost touching off an incendiary explosion. You're as wet as a summer thunderstorm but there is something delicious about leaving that little ache for later fulfillment.

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#####    You decide to call Carmen and apologise, hoping to resume the tour.

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You ring Carmen.  Once her exasperation subsides she tells you that she is sitting in the shade back in the mirador area having spent fifteen long minutes wandering Parc Güell trying to find you.  She'd just been about to leave having become resigned to the fact that you had been waylaid.

  "Pleasantly waylaid" you murmur, but not quite laid.

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#####  You find your way back to the mirador area.

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The view from the mirador is just stupendous even if Barcelona is now blanketed in a haze from the heat of the day.  Carmen is gazing wistfully out over the rooftops, lost in thought. A cigarette droops forgotten in her hand, its smoke dragged sideways in the warm breeze that wafts up the hill.  You wander over to join her but falter, a little reluctant to intrude on her moment.  She is perched on a brightly mosaic tiled seat. You sit down alongside her and she turns to you and smiles.

   "And the boy?" she says looking at you directly, her glint containing both a hint of the mischievous and a dash of steely seriousness.

   Just how she knew that you were waylaid weighing up the individual attractiveness of a man surprises you.

   "He's a mere babe in the woods" you say "Not my type"

   You find yourself reluctant to explain yourself further and deign to draw the conversation elsewhere.

   Thin rivulets of sweat trace faint trails down your neck. Between your cleavage a drip slides.  The day is warming. Perhaps that is why Carmen is half crazy, half baked.

   You'd detected what felt like a tiny smidgen of jealousy. Perhaps it was an irritation that she couldn't always be front and center stage. You felt that Carmen had a personality like that.  Larger than life and impervious to the day to day miseries of ordinary mortals.

   You take in the view and make out both the tower of the Gothic cathedral and the Sagrada Família.  You look forward to checking them out later on. To climbing the fantasy towers of the Sagrada Família. Gaudi's masterpiece.

   Carmen says "Lunch?"

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##### I'm not really hungry

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##### I'm starving, lunch sounds fab. Lead on

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The view from the mirador is just stupendous even if Barcelona is now blanketed in haze from the heat of the day.  You run your hand over the brightly glazed mosaic tiles that adorn each seating area and troop around the perimeter wall taking in the view from each angle.  Back at where you started, you find Carmen gazing wistfully out over the rooftops, lost in thought.  A cigarette droops forgotten in her hand, its smoke dragged sideways in the warm breeze that wafts up the hill.  You wander over to join her but falter, a little reluctant to intrude on her moment.  She is perched on a mosaic tiled seat, glossy from a thousand behinds. There is room for two or three but no more. You sit down alongside her and she turns to you, dimples deepening, mouth curling in some mysterious approximation of a smile before she shakes her head a few times.

   "I thought you abandon tour. And why, I ask?" she says giving you her best amateur theatrics impression of a jilted bride.

   You ponder mentioning the rollercoaster scooter ride but say nothing.

   "And the boy?" she says looking at you directly, her glint containing both a hint of the mischievous and a dash of steely seriousness.

   Just how she knew that you had your attentions wrested from the tour by a man surprises you.

  "He's a mere babe in the woods" you say "Not my type"

   You find yourself reluctant to explain yourself further and deign to draw the conversation elsewhere.

   Thin rivulets of sweat trace faint trails down your neck. Between your cleavage a drip slides.  The day is warming. Perhaps that is why Carmen is half crazy, half baked.

   You'd detected what felt like a tiny smidgen of jealousy. Perhaps it was an irritation that she couldn't always be front and center stage. You felt that Carmen had a personality like that; larger than life and impervious to the day to day miseries of ordinary mortals.

   You take in the view and make out both the tower of the Gothic cathedral and the Sagrada Família.  You look forward to checking them out later on. To climbing the fantasy towers of the Sagrada Família, Gaudi's masterpiece.

   Carmen says "Lunch?"

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##### I'm not really hungry

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##### I'm starving, lunch sounds fab

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#####

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  The taxi driver is a balding older man who drives so slowly and cautiously that you wonder if you should have opted for the tram or just plain walked.

   He nods when you say " _Sagrada Família_ " and spirits the taxi away at a slow crawl. To be fair, the traffic in front of you is caught in a mind numbingly slow progression.  The city, like many others in Europe has not been designed for the sheer volume of traffic the 21st century is throwing at it.

  "Everybody go to the _Sagrada Família_ today" the taxi driver says ruefully, looking over his shoulder.

  He fumbles around and then offers you a small card.

  "Museu del Perfum?" he says and you read as much in embossed gold print.

  A museum of perfume. You are partial to fragrances and why not? It seems the driver is offering a solution to the traffic jam.  You nod, an easy decision.

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#####  " _Si_ , Perfume. Take me there"

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 "Well then" she says "I'm fine with that. There's an interesting museum next stop on the tour. I'm sure you're going to love it"

"What sort of museum?" you ask.

"Sex" she says as if that explains everything.

You must have sniggered for she says in total seriousness.

"The Barcelona Museum of Erotica. It's a proper museum. You'll learn something."

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##### You can't deny that it sounds like fun

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 You scroll through the numbers and dial. The conversation is short. The woman on the phone knows exactly where you are when you only give her the slightest of descriptions. She says, in lightly accented English, that she knows Barcelona backwards, no problems at all and that your guide will be there within ten minutes. You lean back against the cool of a stone wall and let your eyes wander. You send them a quick selfie with your smart phone. 'Simplest way for us to find you in the crowd,' the woman had said. The crowd that mills around you is undeniably cheery. Women wander past clutching a rose, their partner or both. A number of men are strolling with books in hand. All are enjoying the sunshine and clear skies. The scent of four million roses lends the air a glorious fragrance and you take a moment to let yourself savor it.

  Before you know it, a zippy motor scooter whizzes up beside you and comes to a halt. You'd had dreams of hunky male tour guides astride red Vespas. Well, this scooter is white and its rider is definitely not male. The woman dismounts and removes her helmet. Long trusses of hair spill from its confines and she shakes these out over her shoulders, brushing them back behind her ears before glancing around. Finding you looking her way, she strides toward you and with hand outstretched introduces herself.

  "I'm Carmen, lovely to meet you." she says. You can't help noticing that her shades aren't dark enough to render her eyes entirely anonymous, and you watch them charting your curves, from top to toe.

  "You look even more attractive than the selfie you sent," she says with a smile that curls and slinks until all the letters in the silent thought bubble attached to it line up and spell "Tasty". You aren't sure whether to thank her or blush, or both. You feel your cheeks flush red. It's been a while since you've received such blatant flirtation from a woman.

  "We'll have fun" she says, sliding her glasses to the tip of her nose. Her eyes are the color of an expensive chocolate, so rich in cocoa as to have health benefits. There is an undisguised friskiness and sparkle to these and holding her gaze, she makes sure that you understand where she is at.

  This woman is young and tall and lithe. She wears a tight black leather motorcycle jacket that is well scuffed and black leather pants that aren't. They are so glossy, in fact, that you need sun glasses to temper the reflection that dazzles from them. Brandishing a whip, she would look right at home in an S and M dungeon. Dark olive skin and hair so honeyed and brown it could be caramelized and added to a desert. She turns heads. She probably turns them inside out. You are aware of the glances she is drawing but you note that many of the appreciative glances fall equally on you.

  "Where are we heading first Carmen?" you ask, after she directs you to climb aboard. You're perched behind her and pressed hard up against the warmth of her back. The black leather has absorbed the heat of the day and some of this is radiating through to you.

   "Arms around me" she says. "Hang on tight."

   You do as bade and she mutters "Nice."

   She then slides her butt backwards on the seat, connecting with you.

   "Perfect" she says.

   You are pressed up hard against her. You can feel the leather from her pants through your skirt. You can feel her soft supple body beneath this thin black, glossy skin. You start to feel something else.

   "Gaudi, you know him? Famous architect. Crazy church here and buildings to see but his park is a marvel and we should head there first."

   Carmen is no shrinking violet when it comes to playing in the traffic. Very soon you're hanging on for your life. She's obviously immortal, because she'd surely already be well dead otherwise. This girl dallies with buses, gives the finger to cantankerous cars and scoots right down the center of the tram tracks, taking a short cut past stalled traffic.

   A crowd of tourists in an open top red tour bus lean out from the roof and holler and wave as the tram comes whistling along and tooting behind you. Carmen gives the engine a short burst and veers through a gap in the oncoming traffic. A loud chorus of toots is trumpeted and the screeches and honks sound like they've been pulled from a Hollywood soundtrack. You're a bit player in some comic farce and all around you are stunt drivers doing as directed. Making a lot of noise but the crunching metal will be added with a computer later. Carmen again careens in front of the oncoming traffic, before darting the wrong way down a one-way alley.

   You wish your finger nails could grow faster. You need some talons so that you can jab her in the sides and get her to slow down. It isn't only Barcelona that is flashing past you at speed; it is your life.

   "I learned how to ride from playing video games on my brother's console," she says in a misguided attempt to calm you down, having first admonished you for crushing her ribs.

   Is she saying this to rile you? To stir you? It can't possibly be true. You're wondering how to get her to slow down enough so that you can leap off to safety when she slows the bike.

   "Park Güell," she says, having stopped the bike within two feet of the entrance gates. The park attendant glowers at you in disbelief but when Carmen barks something at him in rapid fire Catalan he backs away, chastened, and resumes his stance, perched on a small black stool in the shade. He looks the other way as you stand at the entrance gates, gazing up the hill and into the park.

   Carmen is obviously crazy. She's sure as hell a psycho driver and who knows what madness she's got up her sleeve for the rest of the tour.

   Do you want to stay with her, she's got gall and character and you can't deny that there is some sort of frisson developing between you.

* * *

##### Carmen has got something. You could hang around and see how this plays out.

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##### Alternately you could grab a taxi. There's bound to be one along soon.

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  Carmen negotiates the maze of back streets with the scooter purring along slowly. You know the drill by now and you wrap your arms around her midriff to hang on.  Her butt that looked so tight in the skintight leather, felt soft and pliable when pressed up against it.  She'd being riding the little white scooter in such a spirited fashion earlier that it seems strange that she is now content to let it barely roll. You can't figure the girl.

A thought enters your head and lodges there. Every once in a while Carmen shifts position on the seat. You'd first dismissed these little wriggles as incidental to riding the scooter, natural movements in response to motion, but now you are starting to feel that there is some other reason for them at play here. Just now she pushes against you again. She grinds her butt backwards and slides it sideways, bouncing off the clasp of your thighs and then directing a straight grind into your crotch. It feels good. It feels so very good. You groan. For a moment that feeling of full pressure against you makes you ache. You bite into your lip and wince, swallowing back a gasp. She seems to be making a conscious wriggle with her behind while your knees are still pressed tightly against the sides of her thighs. You glance at her reflection in the right mirror but her eyes are firmly on the road and there is nothing but a concentrated expression on her face as she weaves slowly down these quieter streets.

  The close proximity of her body is giving rise to arousing thoughts and these are demanding some sort of action. There is no denying it - the purr of the engine is playing havoc with your undercarriage, and in combination with the subtle pressure from Carmen, is beginning to drive you to distraction. Carmen must be attuned to your state of arousal and is teasing you. Her riding so slowly is a devilish plan to gradually build your levels of excitement. You love a slow burn arousal. The thought that you are being deliberately turned on and that there is only one possible outcome is already bringing you to a level of exquisite excitement. Is her plan to bring you to a combustible point before leaving you gagging for it, leading into the museum?

Again she eases off the throttle and pushes her ass slowly back, doing that little grind. The engine revs are just right and combined with the increasing pressure from Carmen's leather clad behind you feel your pulse race as the revs hit your sweet spot. Sighing, you catch a glimpse of Carmen in the mirror. She's biting down hard on her bottom lip and looking like she is trying hard to contain a grin that threatens to fracture her otherwise impassive face. She accelerates, glancing quickly in the mirror before passing a taxi that has been blocking the lane in front of you. Catching your gaze, her eyes betray her and all of a sudden the game is up. One guilty twinkle of an eye and then with a little naughty grin you agree to collude with her.

  Your friend Sally has been raving about threesomes and swingers clubs and the delights of making love to someone that knows just where to touch, and had the smarts to know when the pressure was just so. She was a convert and now refused to define herself. Fluid is the closest she came to putting a label on it. You admire her sass and wonder if you could approach life in the same fashion. You'd firmly decided to let your whims take you on this trip, and let feelings drive your decision making, rather than letting yourself get stuck in the trap of conforming to societal expectations. You are in a foreign land. No one knows you. You have the opportunity to mold a new you. It is one of the true delights of traveling on your lonesome.

  The Erotic Museum of Barcelona is located off the Ramblas and near the Boqueria food markets. Marilyn Monroe is looking down at you, modeling a look of effervescent sexuality, a smile of timeless insouciance set on her face. Her dress is billowing out, giving everyone a glimpse of her upper thighs. She's perched on a small veranda overlooking the street. It's her classic pose and the recreation with a life like store manikin has been artfully staged. Billowing is not quite apt, for the dress is as static as if Marilyn is frozen time herself. Forever youthful.  She died far too young. You wonder how she would feel about her likeness advertising a museum of erotica. You'd read once that the poor girl hadn't had an orgasm until the last year of her life. First orgasm at 36; it's a travesty.

  A young woman is handing out advertising flyers by the doorway. Carmen whispers something to her as they kiss and greet each other. Three kisses, left, right, left. The woman nods and smiles and ushers you inside. It seems certain they have a connection but its exact nature is impossible to fathom. Does Carmen take all of her scooter tourists through the museum? You let Carmen steer you up the stairs and into this artful display of the world of sex. It is a museum and not a sex shop, and as such feels racy rather than seedy. Spicily charged quotes from the world of literature have been plucked from their chapters, framed and now line the stairwell for you to contemplate as you climb. You like this one - "Flirting is a promise of sexual intercourse without a guarantee".

  You wander through the rooms, taking stock of the erotica drawn from down the ages. If you can take anything away from it, it is that sex and love are the foremost of all our activities as human beings. The thing that makes obsessive demands of our frontal lobe has dictated our movements down through our days. Carmen squeezes your shoulder, leading you to the Kama Sutra room, with its statues modeling all the positions to make the love of the ancient Hindu text. It is an incredible exercise in the documentation of sexual positions. Without being aware of it, you've tried all the popular ones but have never before come across their names. 'The union of the elephant' and the 'Glowing juniper' are two that make you reminisce.

Moving onto other displays, Carmen seems more interested in the stuff from the early twentieth century and the vast collection of phallic objects from all ages and parts of the world. "The greatest collection of dildos ever" Carmen chimes, her voice an up-tempo show tune.

  The museum has a sizable crowd. It is the day for it. The statues modeling the various poses in the Kama Sutra room attract the most attention. Locals, tourists, couples and newlyweds gawp and snicker and then take photos for inspiration later in the evening. Once in while Carmen tugs at your hand and you feel her thumb press into your palm and rub and swirl.

Standing in front of a reclining nude, her hand trails down your back, soft fingertips tracing streamer trails that dangle at the base of your spine. You marvel at the brush strokes, those consummate daubs of color that combine to create the masterpiece in front of you. The woman's skin has a pearlescent luster that sets off a pudendum covered in a soft thatch of black. An innocence seeps from her nakedness and you wonder if there was hunger in the painter's eye.

  "Were they lovers, the artist and this girl?" you ask Carmen, glancing sideways at your tour guide. Carmen is looking intently at the painting, her shoulder against yours. She turns towards you, wearing an expression of deep learning.

  "Undoubtedly," she says "They were rampant," before giving you a wink and flicking her eyes toward the exit.

   "Let's go to the red room". She nods her head in the direction of the exit.

  "You'll like this one," she says as she elbows her way past a couple intent on becoming temporary exhibits, tongues entwined in desperate hunger, rose and book cast aside.

   "The red room?" you ask. "What's that?"

   "Essen Emm" she murmurs.

   She has adopted the steely resolve of a professional dominatrix. You can hear the leather of her pants squeak as she moves. She's got something in mind. Her movements are quick and decisive. She strides over to the door leading to the red room and quickly casts a glance inside. You follow at close quarters, wondering what the rush is.

   "We've got to close this one for the afternoon cleaning," she says to a couple of older men looking intently at the gearing on a strange looking machine.

   "You turn it on here," says one.

   "It's really only for women, Stephan" counters his mate.

   "I'd stretch to giving it a ride," says Stephan. "It looks like Günther modeled for it"

   Carmen snorts and adopts a voice of authority. "The red room will reopen in an hour gentlemen. Until then please enjoy all the art works the museum has for you. I can recommend the Erotic Garden if you need to rest your feet."

   And with that she holds the door open and ushers them out.

   "Come," she says. "Quickly, before someone else wanders by."

   You stand on the threshold of a room that is painted a richly crimson red. It is the red of post boxes, fire engines, and bordellos. Headless torsos modeling tight black leather corsets are wired to the wall, alongside what could only be a collection of sexual restraint devices. Tassels hang from them like whips. Steel girdles for either sex hang here too, padlocks closing off easy access routes. Steel shackles and manacles adorn the room. It looks like a medieval torture chamber. Your eyes do the rounds of the room, cataloging each and every exhibit. They are uniformly black or steel, or both.

   Whipping a "Closed" sign out from somewhere unknown, Carmen props it up next to the door and then pulls it firmly shut. The door clicks and she locks it. You're both alone in the red room and Carmen is now brandishing a cheeky grin.

   "Want to have some fun?" she says, glee surfacing, eyes sparkling with mischief. Her voice has the playfulness of a teenager, throwing off parental shackles for a weekend of fast food and dirty dancing with the boys.

   "See the chair of pleasure?" she asks, as if it were possible that you hadn't yet noticed.

   You feign vagueness. "Huh?"

   In the corner of the room sits a strange looking chair or bike like hybrid machine. It has a number of knobs and dials and is made from steel that in places displays a shine from what you guess was regular use. It is designed like a chair and has two shackles for where one would rest their feet and two that would trap the wrists. Below the seat a number of pulleys and belts connect to a box and these put you in mind of a bike. In the middle of the seat rises a stupendous lifelike cock. It is of hard black steel and you wince at thought of it.

  On a stand next to the machine stand three rubber cocks of varying girth and length. They are all hollow and it quickly becomes apparent that these are sheaths of a sort to slide over the steel phallus that is attached to the gearing below.

   Carmen selects the rubber cock that most resembles an actual penis and slips it over the steel dong.

   She then moves over alongside a small panel that is just out of reach of the chair and flicks a switch. The motor starts with a whir and the pulleys and belts begin spinning. Your eyes are transfixed on the cock, which like some strange automaton has come to life and is now thrusting and bucking at a steady pace into the empty space of the seat of the chair.

   You raise a hand to your mouth in surprise and amusement.

   Carmen comes over to you. Her manner is forthright. She leans forwards and kisses you smack on your lips. Pouting, her lips feel hard and determined, hungry even. You think to take a step backwards but Carmen slips one arm around you and pushes her other hand up your skirt. Her fingers are deft at finding your sweet spot and soon your knickers have already reached saturation point. They were already dewy from the scooter ride. She pushes an easy finger into you and you gasp at the penetration. She then swirls her thumb over your clit, which sees any apprehension about the encounter vanish in an instant. You find yourself returning her kiss as passionately if not more so than her. Her thumb swirls, soft pressure on your clit mixed with sticky juices that are flowing richly from your cunt.

   She pulls away from you for a moment but leaves her hand massaging your pussy. You grasp her arm and hold it in place. The pleasure is too intense for it to end.

   "Do you want to try the pleasure chair now?" she says, voice a husky whisper. She seems very turned on.

   "Or shall I let it fuck me first?" she says.

   You can't even guess which would be her preferred course of events.

   The chair is getting into the mood and doing its own thing, fucking away in a soft whir of jolts, jerks and thrusts.

* * *

#####  Take a ride on the cock.

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##### Watch Carmen have a go first.

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 Carmen reaches for the switch and powers down the infinite fucking machine. It offers infernal pleasures and can go all night. It can go all week. It's indifferent to reciprocal pleasure. It just gets you off. Again. And again. And again.

  "I really think you need it more than me, baby" she whispers into your ear as her tongue runs the length of your neck. You arch to one side, letting her lap it right up. The feel of her tongue is taking the exquisite ache that is now throbbing through your pussy and making you teeter on that cliff, ready to tip over in complete abandonment to the sensual world.

  You nod in agreement.

  "Okay," you say as you slide out of your dress and let it pool on the waxed timber of the floor.

  "I don't think you need these either" says Carmen, unclasping your bra. She cups your breasts, letting her fingers trace spiraling supernovas around your nipples, which, startled by the attention, start to stretch and stiffen.

  " _Hermosa mujer_ " she mutters "Beautiful woman", unable to resist letting her tongue tease your budding nipples.

  You discard your knickers, kicking them off and into the air. They hit the wall opposite and lodge on the clasp of a particularly serious looking chastity belt. The belt has been fashioned out of ribbons of thick steel, and features an oversize bronze padlock. Everything about it screams "don't fuck with me".

  "All aboard. Toot toot" says Carmen, as you straddle the machine, letting your feet slide into position and watching as she clicks home the shackles that now pin your legs in place. The seat of the chair is cold to your bare skin and you feel a flush of goose prickles break out and then slowly dissipate.

  "Arms" Carmen directs, lifting your right arm until it is resting against the manacle and before you know it, trapped in place as she clicks the lock shut. She then does the same thing to the left and then oh my oh gosh, you are completely trapped.

  You feel exposed and incredibly turned on. Naked, locked to a fucking machine in a museum of erotica.

  You look down at the cock. Carmen is pretending to wank it, running her hands along its length, feeling its latex contours and moaning in a feat worthy of a porno voice over track.

  She tilts it toward your lips and runs the head of it over your clit. The feel of it makes you lurch and tremble.

  You want it inside you. The ache is immense. She is teasing you now, letting the head of the cock nudge you and bounce away. Each time she does this, you groan. Your cunt is dewy with anticipation and has fully unfurled, awaiting penetration.

  "Give it to me" you pant, begging her. "Turn it on. Let it fuck me. I need it fucking me now".

You are a woman possessed. Sexual demons have taken control of your body. You willingly abandon it to them.

  Carmen eases the head of the cock into your pussy. Your back arches and your arms start to ache from not being able to move them. You are feeling powerless, but if anything it is making you feel hotter than ever before.

  Carmen moves around to the switch and, gripping the dial, turns it to one. With a thunk and a burr the machine comes alive and you are being fucked. One moment the cock fucks you with a short fast thrust and the next it is a slow deep pow that truly rams home. It feels fantastic. It's a rhythm but it isn't predictable. The gearing on the machine has some randomness to the way the thrusts are applied and this element of the unknown makes it even better.

  Your arms sink into the restraints and you let yourself be fucked. Shutting your eyes to it, you feel each thrust slide the length of your velvet cunt before pulling slowly out and then coming back for some more.

  With your eyes shut, you let your imagination wander. A man, a demi god, a machine is fucking you. An insatiable machine that won't let up. Won't ever let up. Won't let up until Carmen flicks the switch. And it this thought that has you open your eyes and catch Carmen's gaze. While you are sunk in a fug of bliss with your eyes shut, Carmen has lost her own clothing. Her leather pants are folded in a small pile, topped by her jacket. She's wearing black crotch-less knickers. Are they PVC or leather or silk? You can't tell. But you can see that her pussy has been completely denuded. You'd imagined pubic hair on her like the woman in the painting but Carmen has none of it.

She slips a finger inside herself and rubs slowly, watching as the machine whirs on and on, fucking you. It's fucking you and you're in another world, lost completely to sensation. Your clit is screaming, bellowing for release. You want to come but can't. The rubber cock is fucking you but from this position it is hardly connecting with your clit. Every fourth or fifth thrust hits home and causes you to buck and moan and struggle against the restraints.

  "Fuck me! Fuck me!!" you cry, tears loosening and running down your cheeks.

It's all too much. The pleasure and the restraint. You want Carmen to rub your clit. You want her to bring you off. You want her to bring you off now. You are desperate for it.

  "Please release me," you beg. "I have to come... no longer... I can't stand it"

  Carmen removes her slick finger from her bald quim. You watch as her labial lips squeeze closed, framed by the crotch-less knickers. She steps forwards and pushes her finger into your mouth and you suck it. You suck it hard, tasting her savory tang.

Licking your lips, you demand "More please."

And she obliges, immediately pushing two fingers and then three inside her cunt and withdrawing them before sliding them one by one into your gasping, waiting mouth.

  You suck back her juices... anything...anything to please her. Just touch me, you want to scream. Make me explode. I want to see stars. I want that exquisite release. I am bound. Please release me... Carmen kisses your neck, sliding her hands over your breasts, moistened from sweat. Her fingers size them, assessing their roundness, their fullness, pert and ripe like glossy fruit at the top of the display pile. She's teasing you. She smiles. It's a naughty smile that commands your attention; it says "I am in command".

She leans back, swinging her arm over to the switch and turning it to three. You can see from the dial that six is the maximum, but from the increase in fucking momentum from the cock, you wonder if you could take it at any greater pace. The cock is like a hydraulic ram, its movement, now that it has been turned up a notch, is much more syncopated. The randomness of the thrusts have been lost to a steady pounding rhythm. The pace and fury of the fucking is driving you wild. You shake your head, hair flailing about, sticking to your lips. Your panting increases and for a moment you drool, silvery saliva snaking over your left nipple as your tongue lolls during one particularly prolonged moan. Your cunt is the Nile river on its annual inundation. You, a temple nymph to Cleopatra, your queen.

  "Do you want it?" she says, with all the power in the world waving from her fingertips.

  You struggle to pant a slow tortured "Yes".

The torture is that of sheer pleasure. You've never had a male with such staying power, such verve and thrust. Yet the increased momentum from the stunt cock has not resulted in your clit being worshiped. Lest the fuck machine be accused of idolatry; it is most certainly worshiping your hungry, weeping cunt, but at the same time it is neglecting your throbbing clit. It's a strange oversight in a fucking machine. At this moment, you can't come for want of fucking.

  Carmen reaches into her bag and extracts a pair of long black PVC gloves. She makes a great show of pulling these on and snaps them into place up near her elbows. Her breasts are uncovered and sit tightly on her chest. They are smaller than yours, pertly perfect and classically symmetrical. Her nipples are proud, her aureoles a deep maroon that looks scrumptious against her olive skin. Once in while she gives them a little hard squeeze that makes her whole body react in a momentary shiver.

  "Beg me," she commands.

  "Beg me and I'll take you there," she says, reveling in her delicious position of power. She is getting off on it, sliding a finger into herself, nudging hard against her bud until she shakes and shudders and jerks.

  Watching, you'd think she'd already come a number of times.

  You're powerless and the frustration and weakness you feel is going to continue until you plead with Carmen.

* * *

##### Do you order her to stop the fuck machine?

* * *

##### Do you beg her, plead with her, please Carmen make me cum?

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**Please turn back a page**

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**Please turn forward a page**

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"Please, please rub me, rub me, bring me off" you beg, with agonized sobs that could easily be confused with pain yet are something else, something you've never quite experienced before.

  Carmen brings her hand down to your crotch and lets her fingers slide over the sides of the cock as it penetrates you.

  "I think I'd better slow it down," she says.

  The moment she shifts it down to one, you exhale. The pumping slows and you can breathe. She rubs her fingers over the seat, taking your juices that have completely basted the metal in savory pussy flavored stock. When she touches your clit your heart leaps, spasming into your throat. There is an instant little kapow of a minor explosion. You are so close. You are so very, very close.

  Carmen brings her fingers, saturated with your nectar, to her lips and licks them clean in the slowest, most drawn out erotic lick you've ever seen.

  She then says "mmm mmm, don't we taste nice"

  Putting her hand above your pussy and letting her fingers rest on either side of your vulva, she does a slow slide with one finger toward your clit. Your clit is standing up loud and proud. "Look at me" it exclaims. Touching you again, she provokes another reaction, it's like the detonator has been pressed too early and has become stuck halfway down. You are coming. You are coming in great screaming shudders. Weeping from the relief of it, a wave of extraordinary pleasure and release sweeps through you.

  Carmen looks triumphant.

  And then you hear the first knock at the door. At first a casual knock.

   "Hello, Is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me. Is there any one at home?"

  You decide to hold your tongue. Nodding would have got you nowhere. The door is solid, and unless there's a hidden security cam somewhere, you are in a private space. And no one can see you nod in a private space.

  Carmen casually flicks off the switch to the fuck monster and it grinds down to silence and you breathe. You take a series of deep gasps, sucking in the air of the room which with the door locked shut has started to get a little stifling and muggy. The urge to get out of the chair is there but you are still in that flush of relaxation and you are content to watch as Carmen proceeds to give herself a determined frigging; bucking and swaying as her fingers, two, three at a time, work her pussy, thrusting and tweaking until moments later she is struggling to contain a long wail of pleasure that threatens to seep from every atom of her being. She puts her hand to her mouth to swallow it and then lets out a long laugh of satisfaction.

  The knocking on the door has died away. But you are certain that your time is up and the sooner you are out of the chair and dressed, the better you will feel.

  Her body is still flushing with the afterglow of an intense orgasm and you watch as the blood moves through her, clouds doing triple time across a sheltering sky. She touches a finger to her lips before reaching forwards and anointing your forehead with a slow stroke across your eyebrows.

  "Such pleasure, lover." she says. "Thank you for the show"

  "And you. I loved it but I'm ready to be released now" you say.

  There is a rattle of a door handle being shaken. You hear the percussive tap of someone knocking hard on wood.

  Dressing, you both quickly adopt a professional air. The thin glaze that covers you both could be put down to the lack of decent air con in the room; the messed hair, a hurried departure from home that morning. Opening the door, Carmen squeals.

  One of the men she'd banished from the room is head down, eye glued to the key hole.

  He straightens up and gives you both such a knowing naughty smile that you can't hope to hold it together. You can feel a flush of embarrassment and struggle to appear normal.

  "It's our turn now" says Stephan with a wink. "You girls surely know how to partay!"

  And with that you make for the exit and scamper down the stairs. It's only back at street level that you allow yourself to giggle.

  Carmen embraces you. Kisses on cheeks, left right left, then another smack hard on the lips.

  "Babe" she says. "Your next tour is on me. And I mean literally. I've got another booking but... I'll call you. You're traveling, hey? I've got some hot cities to recommend..." and with a wink she waves, bids you good day and scurries off.

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##### Walk this way

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**Please turn back a page**

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**Please turn forward a page**

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You can't take it and Carmen, bless her, can see that.

 "I think I'd better slow it down" she says.

The pumping slows and you can breathe. She rubs her fingers over the seat, taking your juices that have completely basted the metal in savory pussy flavored stock. When she touches your clit your heart leaps, spasming into your throat. There is an instant little kapow of a minor explosion. You are so close. You are so very, very close.

 Carmen brings her fingers, saturated with your nectar, to her lips and licks them clean in the slowest, most drawn out erotic lick you've ever seen.

 She then says "mmm mmm, don't we taste nice"

Putting her hand above your pussy and letting her fingers rest on either side of your vulva, she does a slow slide with one finger toward your clit. Your clit is standing up loud and proud. "Look at me" it exclaims. Touching you again, she provokes another reaction, it's like the detonator has been pressed too early and has become stuck halfway down. You are coming. You are coming in great screaming shudders. Weeping from the relief of it, a wave of extraordinary pleasure and release sweeps through you.

  Carmen looks triumphant.

  And then you hear the first knock at the door. At first a casual knock.

   "Hello, Is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me. Is there any one at home?"

  You decide to hold your tongue. Nodding would have got you nowhere. The door is solid, and unless there's a hidden security cam somewhere, you are in a private space. And no one can see you nod in a private space.

  Carmen casually flicks off the switch to the fuck monster and it grinds down to silence and you breathe. You take a series of deep gasps, sucking in the air of the room which with the door locked shut has started to get a little stifling and muggy. The urge to get out of the chair is there but you are still in that flush of relaxation and you are content to watch as Carmen proceeds to give herself a determined frigging; bucking and swaying as her fingers, two, three at a time, work her pussy, thrusting and tweaking until moments later she is struggling to contain a long wail of pleasure that threatens to seep from every atom of her being. She puts her hand to her mouth to swallow it and then lets out a long laugh of satisfaction.

  The knocking on the door has died away. But you are certain that your time is up and the sooner you are out of the chair and dressed, the better you will feel.

  Her body is still flushing with the afterglow of an intense orgasm and you watch as the blood moves through her, clouds doing triple time across a sheltering sky. She touches a finger to her lips before reaching forwards and anointing your forehead with a slow stroke across your eyebrows.

  "Such pleasure, lover." she says. "Thank you for the show"

  "And you. I loved it but I'm ready to be released now" you say.

  There is a rattle of a door handle being shaken. You hear the percussive tap of someone knocking hard on wood.

  Dressing, you both quickly adopt a professional air. The thin glaze that covers you both could be put down to the lack of decent air con in the room; the messed hair, a hurried departure from home that morning. Opening the door, Carmen squeals.

  One of the men she'd banished from the room is head down, eye glued to the key hole.

  He straightens up and gives you both such a knowing naughty smile that you can't hope to hold it together. You can feel a flush of embarrassment and struggle to appear normal.

  "It's our turn now" says Stephan with a wink. "You girls surely know how to partay!"

  And with that you make for the exit and scamper down the stairs. It's only back at street level that you allow yourself to giggle.

  Carmen embraces you. Kisses on cheeks, left right left, then another smack hard on the lips.

  "Babe" she says. "Your next tour is on me. And I mean literally. I've got another booking but... I'll call you. You're traveling, hey? I've got some hot cities to recommend..." and with a wink she waves, bids you good day and scurries off.

* * *

##### Walk this way

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**Please turn back a page**

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**Please turn forward a page**

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 Carmen reaches for the switch and powers down the infinite fucking machine. It offers infernal pleasures and can go all night. It could go all week if you could cope with such a prolonged seeing to and didn't have to field the electricity bill.It is indifferent to reciprocal pleasure. It just gets you off. Again. And again. And again. At least you hope that is what it does. So what if you'd end up walking like a cowgirl who'd been a week in the saddle, there are surely worse things on the road to sexual fulfilment.

  "I really think you need it more than me, baby" she whispers into your ear as her tongue runs the length of your neck. You arch to one side letting her lap it right up. The feel of her tongue is taking the exquisite ache that is now throbbing through your groin and making you teeter on that cliff, ready to tip over in complete abandonment to the sensual world.

  However, you decide that you'd prefer to teeter for just a moment longer. The chair of pleasure looks a little freaky. You're not sure if you can completely trust Carmen. Realistically, you barely know the girl and those shackles and manacles that will lock your legs and arms in place look brutal. You like the scary jolt a good horror movie provides but you don't feel like starring in one. This device looks too much like the real thing than the works of the props department; too much steel, not enough styrofoam.

  "No?" says Carmen. "Let me show you how it works then." And with that she slips her jacket over a chair, sits on top of it, and proceeds to pull her legs out of the tight black leather that sticks to them like snake skin.

  "Give me a hand, will you?" she asks, flustered at having wriggled them most of the way down her calves only to have them lodge around her ankles. It really is a two person job.

  You grab hold of the waistband and give it a tug, peeling the leather slowly over her ankles. It's like peeling a banana. Moments later you are standing triumphant with her pants in your hand, gazing down at her ripe fruit.

   She's wearing black crotch-less knickers.  Silk?  You can't tell. You see that her pussy has been completely denuded.  You'd imagined pubic hair on her like the woman in the painting. But Carmen is having none of it.  She slips a finger inside herself and rubs slowly, easing it out so that it flicks her clit just so and she shudders with a small tremor that brings on a slow whistled groan through pursed lips.

 Her mind is made up. She discards her knickers, kicking them off and into the air, hitting the wall opposite and lodging on the clasp of a serious looking chastity belt.  The belt has been fashioned out of ribbons of thick steel and features an oversize bronze padlock. Everything about it screams "don't fuck with me".

 She lifts a wispy white shirt over her head.  Bra less, her breasts are uncovered and sit tightly on her chest. They are smaller than yours, pertly perfect and classically symmetrical.  Her nipples are proud, aureoles a deep maroon that contrasts beautifully with her olive skin.  Seeing you admiring them, she gives them a little hard squeeze that makes her whole body react in a momentary shiver.

"All aboard" says Carmen as she straddles the machine, letting her feet slide into position. You watch as she clicks home the shackles and her legs become locked in place.

  "Arms" Carmen says, lifting her right arm and then the left until they are resting against the manacles.

  "Lock me down" she says, motioning for you to slip the clasp over the lock. Once trapped in place her eyes gleam and she wields an impish grin. She is already enjoying herself.

  "Now position the cock properly for me honey, err... mistress" she directs. You can see her squirming on the seat in anticipation.

  You look down at the cock. You grasp it and pretend to wank it, running your hands along its length, feeling its latex contours.

  "Stick it in me" she says. And she's almost begging. The hard clip that she used to get the men to leave the room has left her voice and in its place is something softly subservient. She then starts moaning, coming in as a low growl. It's a moan of desperation and as it gets louder you wonder if she's putting it on. For very soon it becomes a feat worthy of a porno voiceover track.

  "Please put it in me" she says "... mistress," tossing her head back against the black leather of the headrest.

  She makes to push her legs further apart, which is difficult to do in her situation. Her pussy is glistening and you can see its folds slick with the dampness of desire. You tilt the cock forwards until it is just jostling, teasing her lips, slipping over them and then bouncing out again. You run the head of it over her clit and she jolts forward with a lurch.

  "Yeah... do it. Please let it fuck me". She's actually begging you now. Her eyes are doing what her hands can't.

  A stream of incomprehensible Spanish comes from her mouth. An utterance, the cadence of which is so mournfully pleading you can't help but act.

  You're starting to feel incredibly turned on. You've never played these sorts of games with women before. Heck, you've never played these sorts of games full stop, and you're starting to feel that you want it inside you. She can't have all the fun. The ache in your cunt is immense. You keep teasing her, letting the head of the cock nudge and bounce away. Each time you do this, she groans. Her cunt is dewy with anticipation and has fully unfurled, awaiting penetration. You suspect that yours is much the same. You look around the room. It's just the two of you.

   You slide out of your dress and let it pool on the waxed timber of the floor. Unclasping your bra, you cup your breasts, letting your fingers trace spiraling supernovas around your nipples which, startled by the attention, start to stretch and stiffen.

  "Give it to me," she pants begging you for relief. "Turn it on. Let it fuck me. I need it fucking me now."

  You ease the head of the cock into her pussy and her back arches in anticipation and pleasure. Having the power in your hands is if anything making you feel hotter than ever before.

  You move around to the switch and, gripping the dial, turn it to one. With a thunk and a burr the machine comes alive and Carmen is being fucked. One moment the cock fucks her with a short fast thrust and the next it is a slow deep kapow that truly rams home. It surely must feel fantastic for Carmen's eyes have rolled back in her head and she's lost in another place; a land of infinite pleasures. Watching the stupendous cock fuck Carmen, you chart its rhythm. The gearing on the machine has some randomness to the way the thrusts are applied. You can't predict the speed or depth of a thrust. You marvel, such a clever piece of engineering.

  Carmen's arms sink into the restraints and she lets herself be fucked. Shutting her eyes to it, you watch each thrust slide the length of her silken cunt before pulling out slowly and then coming back for some more.

  Watching this writhing moaning vision splendid, your fingers are gliding, soaring over the folds of your pussy. When they connect with your clit, it howls and throbs, bellows for release.

  You remove a slick finger from your quim. Carmen is watching you closely, her eyes trailing from your face to your pussy and back again. They touch down for a moment on your breasts and she unleashes another guttural moan of sheer and unadulterated longing.  You step towards her and push a finger into her mouth, letting it slide around her silken tongue. She is craving it and sucking it; moistened lips like a puppy to a teat. She sucks it hard, tasting your savory tang.

  Licking her lips, she begs "More please"

  And you oblige her, immediately pushing two fingers and then three inside your cunt and withdrawing them before sliding them one by one into her eager, waiting mouth.

  You come around alongside her and kiss her neck, sliding your hands over her breasts, moistened from sweat. Your fingers size them, assessing their roundness, their fullness, pert and ripe like glossy fruit at the top of the display pile. Sending a smile her way that is more racy than lacy you then let it slide sideways so that it looks pasted on. She registers the change, a cloud has just blocked out the sun.

  You bring forth the best steely glint you can muster and, with a piercing stare, say "I am in command".

  The game demands it.

  You lean back, swinging your arm over to the switch and turn it to three. Six is the maximum on the dial but from the increase in fucking momentum from the cock, you wonder if she could take it at any greater pace. The cock is like a hydraulic ram, its movement now that it has been turned up a notch is more syncopated. The randomness of the thrusts has been lost to a steady pounding rhythm. The pace and fury of the fucking is driving Carmen wild. She shakes her head, hair flailing about, sticking to her lips. Her panting has increased and for a moment she drools, silvery saliva snaking over her left nipple as her tongue lolls during one particularly prolonged moan. Her cunt is the Nile river on its annual inundation. She's a temple nymph to you, Cleopatra, her queen.

  "Better than any male," she pants.

  You can see that despite the increased momentum from the stunt cock, her clit is not being satisfied. It seems that the fucking machine has been deliberately designed to neglect that part of the anatomy that pulses most pleasurably. It's a strange oversight in a fucking machine. Carmen is now writhing in sheer agony from the ecstasy of the machine. But it's an ecstasy that knows no end. She can't come for want of fucking.

  "Please... in my bag. The gloves." she says, the words coming out as though she is blowing up an air bed.

  You follow her eyes. Her bag is by the chair. You take a quick step over to it and rifle through her possessions, pulling out some handcuffs and an ordinary looking silver vibrator of small to medium girth. You wave it at her, tutting, like a headmistress who's just discovered some contraband.

  "The side pocket. Put them on" she says. It comes out as a whimper.

  "How do you ask properly?" you say, feet glued and holding the tip of the vibrator to your tongue.

  "Please, miss" she says.

  You can tell it's a struggle, almost as though she is used to being the one in command.

  You had already spied the gloves in the side pocket. You just wanted to ramp up the suspense, to draw it out and tease her a little.

  "I have to put this naughty little vibrator somewhere" you say, eyebrows curving as your shoulders rise.

  She peers at you with a look halfway between confusion and fear.

  "No I wasn't thinking that" you say.

* * *

##### Were you contemplating inserting it deep in your own warm well?

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##### Or would you like to use it to tease her pulsing bud until she detonates?

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**Please turn back a page**

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**Please turn forward a page**

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You decide to bring her off. She's combustible and if you don't do something she'll surely melt.

  You extract the long black PVC gloves and hold them up before making a great show of pulling them on and snapping them into place up near your elbows.

  "Do you want it?" you ask, with all the power in the world waving from your fingertips. The vibrator is perched between your thumb and forefinger and you're rocking it like a windscreen wiper in a squall.

  Carmen struggles to pant a slow tortured "Yes". The torture is that of sheer pleasure and willing submission.

  "Beg me," you command.

  "Beg me and I'll take you there," you say, reveling in your delicious position of power. You're getting off on it and you can't help sliding a finger into yourself, nudging hard against your swollen bud until you shake and shudder and jerk.  You almost come, a minor quake before the rapture.

  The machine whirs on, in and out, in and out, in and in and out. Carmen has collapsed into a state to total bliss. A fine sheen of sweat covers her body.

  A long unbroken stream of "ahhhhhhhhhhs" comes from her mouth. She's flushed and ready to come. You can see the pressure that has built. Unseen forces beneath the surface threaten to bubble over. You just have to apply the magic. The magic finger wielding the silver vibrator.

  You lean across her, draping a nipple into her mouth. She sucks softly and coos. "More" she pleads "The other one..."

  While she lavishes your nipples with looping swirls from her tongue, you slide the now vibrating silver bullet down her abdomen until it rests just above her bare mound.

  Watching from this angle, you're impressed with the unceasing rhythm of the cock. Her pussy has a soggy case of fuckmeitis, her jube oozing from around the cock each time it hits home.

  You feel her teeth on your nipple. A little love nip. You let the vibrator roll slowly over her clit. From side to side, it rocks and rolls. Her panting increases until it is out pacing the stunt cock.

  Once in a while the head of the vibrator bounces off the shaft of the power thruster; a glancing blow, two artificial cocks going for it head to head.

  Her mouth is hungry now. Your left breast is hanging above her tongue and she is lashing it like a punching bag. She sucks it into the wet confines of her mouth. Muted moans. You roll the vibrator back over her clit, letting it softly buzz and bounce. She's ready to pop.

  Her mouth sucks, inhaling your nipple, and with one almighty shudder she orgasms. Her body is a landscape riven with erotic quakes and tremors. You flick the switch and power down the machine. It slowly grinds to a halt, the latex penis stills and the room is silent. There is a short muffled chorus of relieved pants coming from Carmen. She looks exhausted. Happy. Satisfied but exhausted.

  You are aching. Your own pussy is in need of attention. You liked what she did with her tongue. An idea forms. Perhaps she could put it to work in more tropical climes. Carmen still can't really move but seeing her trapped there makes you spot an opening. The opening is yours and it's dripping with lusty juices.

  "Lick me," you say, not quite sure if you should still play the dominant role now that she has come. It's almost a question.

  Her eyes are glazed but you can still see a glimmer of that animal hunger there. You climb onto the chair, putting your feet on the sides of the rear steel legs and reaching up to the wall, gripping the rods that protrude either side of a strange looking device that would lock around someone's neck. At the end of each of these rods is a cuff designed to lock hands at neck level. It looks like something from the barbaric days of the slave trade. Pulling your body forwards and letting the slave manacle take some of your weight you inch your pussy forwards and meet Carmen's waiting tongue. This is beckoning you closer with a slow lick that stretches out and up towards her nose. 'Come come come' it calls. You push your pussy, grinding it into her mouth and take her tongue deep into your lubricious cunt. She buries it there, tastes you, swirling with a desperate hunger back and up over your clit. It rasps and polishes, dancing around either side of your throbbing bud.

      You can feel the pressure building, the steady climb of unrelenting pleasure. You've been almost there for ages. She's a maestro conducting an orchestra of one, a concerted flick of the tongue, and kapow, crescendo. Your legs are dashed to jelly as you choke back a sob of delight. Shuddering, you slide down her body until your legs are wrapped either side of her. You unlock her arm manacles and she embraces you, holding your cheeks and giving you a kiss of such feeling that your heart lurches and you melt into the moment. That is until you register the rattle of the door handle and hear the percussive tap of someone knocking hard on wood.

Dressing, you both quickly adopt a professional air.  The thin glaze that covers you both could be put down to the lack of decent air con in the room, the messed hair, a hurried departure from home that morning.  Opening the door, Carmen squeals.

         One of the men she'd banished from the room is head down eye glued to the key hole.

 He straightens up and gives you both such a knowing naughty smile that you can't hope to hold it together. You can feel a flush of embarrassment and struggle to appear normal.

  "It's our turn now" says Stephan with a wink.  "You girls surely know how to partay!"

  And with that you make for the exit and scamper down the stairs.   It's only back at street level that you allow yourself to giggle.

  Carmen embraces you. Kisses on cheeks, left right left, then another smack hard on the lips.

  "Babe" she says.  "Your next tour is on me. And I mean literally.  I've got another booking but...  I'll call you.  You're traveling hey? I've got some hot cities to recommend" and with a wink she waves, bids you good day and scurries off.

* * *

##### Walk this way

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**Please turn back a page**

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**Please turn forward a page**

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  You've got to do something about yourself. The silver bullet would take you there but to be honest, you really feel like body contact. The ache in your nethers has gone from a barely there throb to a persistent tingle that is spreading throughout your body like some sexual plague. Carmen still can't really move but seeing her trapped there makes you think of an opening. The opening is yours and it's dripping with lusty juices.

  "Lick me" you say, it's almost a question for you haven't quite got the bossy bit down pat.

  Her eyes are glazed but you see a glimmer of that animal hunger there.  You climb onto the chair, putting your feet on the sides of the rear steel legs and reaching up to the wall, grip the rods that protrude either side of a strange looking device that would surely lock around someone's neck.  At the end of each of these rods is a cuff designed to lock hands at neck level.   It looks like something from the barbaric days of the slave trade.   Pulling your body forwards and letting the slave manacle take some of your weight you inch your pussy forwards and meet Carmen's waiting tongue.  This is beckoning you closer with a slow lick that stretches out and up towards her nose. 'Come come come' it calls.  You push your pussy, grinding it into her mouth and take her tongue deep into your lubricious cunt. She buries it there, tastes you, swirling with a desperate hunger back and up over your clit.  It rasps and polishes, pirouetting around either side of your throbbing bud.

   The machine whirs on, in and out, in and out, in and in and out.  Carmen's body has collapsed into a state of total bliss as she puts all her energies into lapping at you with her tongue. A fine sheen of sweat covers her body.

   You can feel the pressure building, the steady climb of unrelenting pleasure. You'd been almost there for ages.  She's a maestro conducting an orchestra of one, a concerted flick of the tongue, and kapow.  Crescendo. Stars are being born, a planetarium struggles with the sheer luminousness of all this starlight.  Planets jostle, the universe realigns.  Your legs are dashed to jelly as you choke back a sob of delight.  Shuddering, you slide down her body until your legs are wrapped either side of her.  You unlock her arm manacles and she embraces you, holding your cheeks and giving you kiss of such feeling that your heart lurches and you melt into the moment.

 Your breasts feel hot against hers.  Your skin is slippery and your nipples kiss. There is an unmistakable essence of sex in the air.  It's a museum for all the senses. A true 21st century museum with hands on interaction.  You've learned something about yourself and your Tripadvisor review is going to be glowing.

  She is so hot as to be inflammable.

  If you don't do something she'll surely melt.

   You climb off her and grab the vibrator.

   "Do you want it?" you say, with all the power in the world waving from your fingertips.  The vibrator is perched between your thumb and forefinger and you're rocking it like a windscreen wiper in a squall.

   Carmen struggles to pant a slow tortured "Yes".  The torture is that of sheer pleasure and willing submission.

   "Beg me" you command.

   "Beg me and I'll take you there" you say reveling in your delicious position of power.  You nudge the vibrator hard against her swollen bud until she shakes and shudders and jerks.   You can see that she almost came. A minor quake before the rapture.

   A long unbroken stream of "ahhhhhhhhhhs" comes from her mouth. She's flushed and ready to come. You can see the pressure that has built.  Unseen forces beneath the surface threaten to bubble over. You just have to apply the magic; the magic finger wielding the silver vibrator.

   You lean across her, draping a nipple into her mouth. She sucks softly and coos. "More" she pleads "The other one..."

   While she lavishes your nipples with looping swirls from her tongue you slide the now vibrating silver bullet down her abdomen until it rests just above her bare mound.

   Watching from this angle, you're impressed with the unceasing rhythm of the cock.  Her pussy has a soggy case of fuckmeitis, her jube oozing from around the cock each time it hits home.

   You feel her teeth on your nipple. A little love nip.  You let the vibrator roll slowly over her clit. From side to side, it rocks and rolls.  Her panting increases until it is out pacing the stunt cock.

   Once in a while the head of the vibrator bounces off the shaft of the power thruster; a glancing blow, two artificial cocks going for it head to head.

   Her mouth is hungry now. Your left breast is hanging above her tongue and she is lashing it like a punching bag.  She sucks it into the wet confines of her mouth.  Muted moans.  You roll the vibrator back over her clit, letting it softly buzz and bounce.  She's ready to pop.

   Her mouth sucks, inhaling your nipple and with one almighty shudder she orgasms.  Her body is a landscape riven with erotic quakes and tremors. You flick the switch and power down the machine.  It slowly grinds to a halt, the latex penis stills and the room is silent. There is a short muffled chorus of relieved pants coming from Carmen.  She looks exhausted. Happy. Satisfied but exhausted.

   You both seek peace in the afterglow and for a moment the only noise is the rise and fall of your breathing.

   There is a rattle of a door handle being shaken.  The silent golden moment is broken. You hear the percussive tap of someone knocking hard on wood.

   Dressing, you both quickly adopt a professional air.  The thin glaze that covers you both could be put down to the lack of decent air con in the room, the messed hair, a hurried departure from home that morning.  Opening the door, Carmen squeals.

   One of the men she'd banished from the room is head down eye glued to the key hole.

   He straightens up and gives you both such a knowing naughty smile that you can't hope to hold it together. You can feel a flush of embarrassment and struggle to appear normal.

   "It's our turn now" says Stephan with a wink.  "You girls surely know how to partay!"

   And with that you make for the exit and scamper down the stairs.   It's only back at street level that you allow yourself to giggle.

   Carmen embraces you. Kisses on cheeks, left right left then another smack hard on the lips.

   "Babe" she says.  "Your next tour is on me. And I mean literally.  I've got another booking but...  I'll call you.  You're traveling hey? I've got some hot cities to recommend" and with a wink she waves, bids you good day and scurries off.

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##### Walk this way

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You wake and pull yourself out of bed. Brushing sleep from your eyes you stand before the mirror, reveling in the delicious luxury of allowing yourself a siesta. A remnant of your _Churros con Chocolate_ afternoon treat underscores your nose. Your comic chocolate mustache has a touch of Salvador Dali to it that makes you smile. After all the excitement of the day, you'd grabbed a _Churros con Chocolate_ on the way back to your hotel room and immersed yourself in its destruction. The churros had been dipped in a rich chocolate. You'd wondered how it was that a simple fried pastry dipped in chocolate could be so sublime. You lick a finger and rub the chocolate away before heading for the bathroom and splashing water on your face.

 It's a little after 9pm, the night is just beginning. After a day of bodily delights you find that you have an overwhelming desire to head out and discover what the night may bring. Your body still has that warm tingling glow that a day spent engaged in sensual exploration brings. Yet you ache for some more and it's gripping you like a guilty addiction.

  _La Pedrera_ , here I come. The Barrio Gothic is the place of clubs and bars and tonight's show at _La Pedrera_ should be just the thing.

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##### You gather your things and head out into the evening.

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  You wake and pull yourself out of bed. Brushing sleep from your eyes you stand before the mirror, reveling in the delicious luxury of allowing yourself a siesta. A remnant of your _Churros con Chocolate_ afternoon treat underscores your nose. Your comic chocolate mustache has a touch of Salvador Dali to it that makes you smile. After all the excitement of the day, you'd grabbed a _Churros con Chocolate_ on the way back to your hotel room and immersed yourself in its destruction. The churros had been dipped in a rich chocolate. You'd wondered how it was that a simple fried pastry dipped in chocolate could be so sublime. You lick a finger and rub the chocolate away before heading for the bathroom and splashing water on your face.

 It's a little after 9pm, the night is just beginning. After a day of bodily delights you find that you have an overwhelming desire to head out and discover what the night may bring. Your body still has that tingling warm glow that a day spent engaged in sensual exploration brings. Yet you ache for some more and it's gripping you like a guilty addiction.     _La Pedrera_ , here I come. The Barrio Gothic is the place of clubs and bars and tonight's show at _La Pedrera_ should be just the thing.

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##### You gather your things and head out into the evening.

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 You're plumb tuckered out. Well and truly sated.  So far so good Barcelona. You decide to head back to your hotel for a siesta. Further sensual adventures will undoubtedly unfold later in the evening, but for now rest beckons.

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##### ZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzz....

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 You have decided that the Museo de Purfum could be a perfect diversion. You love perfume and have always had a finely attuned sense of smell. It's got you into trouble at times, times when the initial promise of heady pheromones eventually give way to other more grounded odors, odors particular to the male of the species, and specifically malodorous ones. The last male you'd ejected from your bed had sworn and cursed and suggested in parting, moments before slamming the door, that you'd be well placed for a job as a drug sniffer dog in airport customs.

   You spend a little time in the museum, sampling the rich assortment of fragrances. You then head to the museum shop. It's a supermarket of exotic essences. A maze of display cabinets and shelves filled with expensive fragrances invite you to wend through them. You're not quite sure what you seek; something new and something spicy, heady and vibrant, an essence that will accompany your time in Spain. A perfume that you'd enjoy wearing as much in the bustle of an old market, but equally suitable for a feather bed, white linen of quality strewn amongst your discarded underwear; or a dining room table, emptied and hastily fashioned as a platform for sating other appetites.

  Ornamental towers of boxed expensive scent sit in gilded hope. But all that glistens is not gold. Other women wander through the stacks, sampling nose to wrist, the pleasure and delight and, rarely, disgust. You sample their musky floral essences that quickly dissipate into the lofty ceilings of the space. A number of finely manicured women flit along the aisles in their uniforms, quietly attentive to the needs of prospective customers.

  You find yourself in front of a shelf of _Te Adoro_ and linger, having been drawn to the thinly veiled promise of the Spanish name. This will be the one. You dampen the underside of your wrist and bring it to your nose. Hints of mandarin, wild berries, jasmine and sandalwood meld together, enchanting you. Shutting your eyes in order to focus your senses, you pause to savor the moment. A hint of vanilla bean finishes and you think to yourself I am not vanilla, but it is an approach to life and not a scent, to which you refer.

  You turn and meet the eye of a man who has just wandered into your row. He has watched you sample the scent and his eyes tell you that he'd like to sample the scent not from his wrist but from yours.

  On impulse you smile at him. He is handsome in an unconventional way. A broad face with a few creases that hint at a life lived more outdoors than in. You watch as he moves slowly down the aisle until he stands right next to you. You detect an almost imperceptible movement from the hairs on your arms, like a rumor running through a crowd they bristle electric. He takes a box from the shelf and studies it intently before turning and saying, with a lopsided grin, "For my wife".

 He has large lived-in hands, hands that have been on first names terms with work. You feel at once that there is a disconnect between these hands and the sharply cut suit he is clad in. You can't help but notice the veins that ripple across their surface, a living topography. You catch his eyes and for a moment time slows. Something makes you wonder if that old adage would be true about hands having a proportional relationship to another appendage.

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##### Do you offer your wrist to him, silently inviting him to sample the perfume that you've only just applied?

##### After all you did seek something that would drive men mad with lust and this handsome specimen could be your first victim .

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##### Or would you prefer to cut the encounter short, you could  purchase the Te Adoro and then take a stroll through the streets back to your hotel and siesta the afternoon away.

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 You move towards him, arm outstretched, palm and wrist bent upwards. He smiles and bends forward, inhaling the scent you've only just freshly applied.

  "I can smell the vanilla" he says, giving you a look that on the surface conveys a seriousness of intent but within which you detect a splash of humor radiating from around his eyes.

  "It is a disguise" you say "The real me is obsessed by the smell of tuberose."

  "Hmmm" he says "don't know it"

  "Well, the Victorians feared it would lead to spontaneous orgasms in girls and so forbade them from inhaling it"

  "Perhaps we should seek some out" he says with a laugh, and immediately casts a glance down the aisle.

  A store attendant happens to hover into view and he hails her, drawing her near in an instant.

   "My friend here is seeking a tuberose scented perfume, where would we find some?" He asks.

   You decide to indulge him, placing the _Te Adoro_ back on the shelf. You wander along behind them as they set off through the maze of displays.

   "Here Sir, Madam, We have _The Carnal Flower_."

   You find yourself smiling conspiratorially with this man. There is something about his lived-in angular face that has you intrigued. His cheeks are like mountain bluffs, resolute and weathered.

   He says simply "I'll have one of them too" and reaches for the shelf to take another small green bottle, while handing you the first bottle the shop assistant had prised from the shelf.

   "Jorge" he says, by way of introduction "I was going to be dining alone... I don't suppose you fancy joining me. Even just for a drink?"

   "Your wife will like that" you say nodding toward the perfume.

   "Hmmm" he says

   "So, dinner? Or just a drink? No harm in that, hey?"

 You consider your options;

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##### Do you take him up on his offer of a drink?

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##### You could nod your goodbye and take a stroll through the streets back to your hotel and siesta the afternoon away.

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 You agree to a drink with Jorge and after a short stroll down cobbled streets arrive at what looks to be an upmarket bar. A vast array of food is lined up for your delectation. The variety of tapas on offer makes your mouth water. Succulent olives beg to make the leap from bowl to mouth.

  "Champagne?" he asks as you stroll towards a lounge area. Plush suede chairs arranged in 2s 3s and 4s sit overlooking a vast square. Jorge brushes your arm, indicating a particular pair with a view of the Gothic Cathedral and the rooftops of the Barrio Gothic. You shiver at his touch and smile in assent, your arm tingling. What a universe of possibility a single touch opens up.

  A waiter clad in a tan suit of suave perfection brings a bottle over. Jorge makes a small show of studying the label and you both watch as the waiter uncorks it in a spectacular performance. The cork pops and despite your anticipation, it makes you jump. You sense your nervousness and take a quick first gulp from your flute. The bubbles bounce and explode on the roof of your mouth. You absorb their effervescence and feel it spread in an easy tingle from your nose to your toes.

  Your conversation moves quickly through his business trip. European capitals, he says. He is in travel and has been visiting partners and clients. He asks you what you are up to and you wonder if he is referring to the immediate moment. You give him a brief snapshot of your travel plans and hopes. He too likes Barcelona. Loves the Spanish approach to life. In the next lifetime he'll be wholly Spanish he says. And Seville, Granada and Madrid. You just have to visit these places. While he talks you take a frank and admiring look at him, studying his face, feature by feature. "My mother was Spanish" he says "but from the south, Andalusia, Cordoba or thereabouts." You had detected a faint Latinate edge to his looks and he's now put a nail on it for you.

  He is heading home tomorrow to London. He has a place in north London. Somewhere called Crouching End. You wonder if he's making it up - it sounds like a position in a sex manual.

  "My wife is holding the fort back in London" he says and then stops, looking at you, making sure you have got his meaning.

  It is a clear message. I may be married but I'm all alone in this city and only here for one night.

  You are enjoying his company. He makes for easy companionship.

  The waiter wanders by and pours you another glass. The bubbles are making you feel light-headed. You feel more than a little entranced by Jorge. It doesn't seem to be anything in particular that he is saying but rather that his combination of winning smiles and enthusiasm for your journey is making you pleased that you've met him.

  His gaze has a directness to it. But his tactility is something else. Throughout the course of the conversation he's managed to touch your knee three times. Each with an exclamation "OH... you MUST do this!" There's no denying that you are warming to these attentions.

  Jorge pins you with a look that has a hypnotic effect.

His eyes soften and he turns his smile up a notch saying "I was intending to visit the Sagrada Família. One of my clients has given me a key to what she termed a "thinking" chamber built high up among the spires. It's the bell ringer's room. Care to check it out with me? It sounds magic"

  You are caught in this inescapable beam. His words are saying one thing, but the mischievous glint in his eyes is telling you something else.

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##### Where can you go from here? You'd wanted to visit the Sagrada Familia and here you are being offered special access to an off limits area.

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  You're awe struck by the sheer monumental bulk of Gaudi's temple. Like a medieval cathedral, the spires soar skywards, swelling and encrusted with a tangle and swirl of sculptural stone. The most visited site in Spain is busy on Saint Jordi's day. You note the different types of stone. The way the colors shift. Wandering into the center, you find yourself dancing in the mottled beams of colored sunlight that have broken through the stained glass and the sculptural branches that hold it in place and penetrated what is meant to be a quiet and holy space.

  Despite the public holiday, building work here is still ongoing, as it had been for well over 100 years. A small swarm of muscled workers guide a crate being hoisted way up by a crane. You catch the eye of a particularly sexy and lean looking hunk, all hard hat, boots and shirt that can barely contain what you know is a tightly muscled chest. He moves with a nonchalant virility, his shoulders broad and powerful, and sinews stretching from shoulder to elbow. He is comfortably aware of his sexuality and allure. He holds your gaze, a dark eyebrow arching as if questioning your choice of companion, while at the same time sending you a disarming smile.

  You see him nudge one of his fellow workers who then turns and sizes you up. His friend is equally hot; smaller boned and sturdy, of medium height with a darkly Mediterranean complexion that sets off a body that is classically and beautifully proportioned. He in turn sends you an irresistibly devastating grin. You can't quite help but you find yourself feeling giddy.

  It does make you pause and for a moment you are vexed. Jorge is quite attractive but then these two men, these two hunks are the business.

  Feeling a hand on your shoulder, you let Jorge steer you towards the elevators. Casting a backwards glance, you catch the two hunky workers whispering and smiling and looking your way. Seeing you again checking them out, they blow you an air kiss and bow before laughing madly and falling about while grasping each other's shoulders. Before you turn away, you make sure they see you smile.

  The feeling is mutual.

  You climb to the top of the tower. Jorge winks and says "I think this is it. Each tower has a giant tubular bell. This little secret room was designed as a waiting room for the bell ringer"

  He inserts a small key into a door that has been molded into a section of ornately shaped wall. It looks like a giant eye or a snails shell with a spiral that winds inward to the center of the door.

  The door clicks open and Jorge leans into the space and sprays a couple of pumps of _A Carnal Flower_ within.

  "Wow, that is heady stuff" he says, "get a whiff of that"

  You inhale, closing your eyes to savor the fragrance. It evokes a creamy citrus orchard overrun with the sweetly exotic breeze of springtime. There is no denying that it has a dirty note to it too, and that this musty, earthy smell has a rich carnality.

  "I think the Victorians may have worried more than necessary about its sensual powers over women," you say "although orgasming spontaneously does have a certain appeal."

  "So it's not having that effect on you then?" says Jorge, his otherwise cheerful face riven with a look of mock disappointment.

   "I generally prefer to be brought to that in a slow and drawn out fashion," you laugh. "Isn't the anticipation and journey as delicious as the destination?"

  "Well we've arrived at this destination. Are you coming in to check it out?" Jorge says, his voice all gravel and honey, a bassoon note thrum with a richly convincing burr.

  You can't deny that you are tempted. You do have an adventurous streak that bubbles along barely beneath the surface, ready to emerge at opportune moments. And if this isn't one of those moments then you are not the adventurous gal you thought you were.

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#####  Enter the bell ringers "thinking" chamber with Jorge. He's a lovely guy and you do feel some undeniable attraction despite it wavering a few moments ago when the two hunky builders were flirting with you.

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##### You'd really like to take another look at those two muscly workers. Jorge is nice but... You feel a pull and it is dragging you elsewhere

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  The thinking chamber consists of a wall to wall bed and a window with a stupendous view of all of Barcelona. You gaze out in awe, feeling weak to your knees. A secret thinking chamber, designed for a private siesta.

  You let the door softly close behind you.

  Jorge climbs on and beckons for you to follow.  Climbing onto the bed, your knees sink into the soft bounce of the mattress. You sit at opposite ends of the bed and for a brief moment wonder who'll make the first move. Jorge is a model of cool.  He is giving off such a relaxed vibe you feel totally at ease.  You decide to take the plunge.

You lean forwards and run your hand over his crotch and delight in the immediate response and swell. He unbuttons his fly and a meaty cock springs forth. He is handsomely endowed and you admire it as it begins to come to life and swell and stiffen. You edge forward and lean towards it.

  Jorge says "Oh yeah, baby"

  You take the big head of his cock into your mouth. Consuming it. You are kneeling between his legs and your breasts are pressing hard against the sides of his thighs. You cup his balls in your hands, heavy and laden. Jorge has a thicker-than-most cock, and at the moment its thickness is straining at the confines of skin, such is his erection. Your mouth is full of penis and you are lavishing passionate tongue swirls over it. A mouthful of sweet cock. You move your hand up and under his shirt, which has yet to come off. The man is bare until his midriff and then a thicket of chest hair sprouts and your fingers weave their way through it. Your hands then run the length of his thighs and you savor the pleasure in the groan that he emits. He sports a trim and muscular stomach and you trace a line over it with your tongue. You take his cock again in your mouth, giving it a quick soft suck and squeeze, letting the softness of your lips and the slick lubrication of your saliva treat him to moments of agony and bliss.

  You then let his cock go from your sucking embrace and admire its beauty, running your fingers from its base to its head. Stroking it, you watch as a few tiny drops of precum emerge, glistening. You lean forward and lick them, enjoying the taste, the salty essence of his life force. You again take the length of his shaft into your mouth and enjoy the way it fills your mouth. Jorge is squirming and giving tiny thrusts that push his cock deep into the recesses of your throat. You increase the suction and realize that your pussy is aching but neglected. You know you are wet. The insides of your thighs are drenched from a steady cascade of your juices. Jorge is shuddering and he suddenly pulls his cock from your mouth muttering "Oh stop, stop. I'm about to blow!"

  Part of you longs to take his explosion in your mouth, to capture his seed, to contain the ecstatic moment of pleasure.

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##### If you'd prefer to keep sucking and drive Jorge over the edge, he is on the cliff top ready to jump.

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##### If you'd prefer to prolong the moment, after all your pussy is hungry for his cock and you can't let him end it all so soon.  You let his cock slide from your mouth.

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 Jorge looks saddened.

  "But why?" he asks as you shrug your shoulders and step away.

  "Wait" he begs, reaching for your wrist, the spray jar of The Carnal Flower in his other hand. He puffs a mist of perfume on the insides of both of your wrists. You tilt your neck and he wraps a misty scarf around your shoulders. Divine. You kiss him on each cheek, thank him for his company, and bid him farewell.

  The look of dejection that he wears is equal to that of an Everest climber pinned down by a life sapping blizzard, a stone's throw from the summit.

  You generally aren't one to pass up an opportunity. It's just that if you dally with Jorge you might be passing up an even greater opportunity with the two hunks of spunks working down at ground level.

  Scurrying off and down the narrow stairs that lead to the viewing platform, you nudge through the milling tourists and make your way into the elevator.

  You will it to descend quickly, not yet knowing what you are going to do if you find the two workers again.

  Stepping out from the lift you quickly make your way to where you first saw the two hunky lads. They are nowhere to be seen. Asking around, you discover that they were all working a short shift because of Saint Jordi's day, and they have headed off home.

  You're a little peeved and decide that a siesta is in order. Surely the night will be more promising. You walk back to your hotel, a little frustrated that you've got no hot hunks to share your bed with this afternoon.

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##### ZZZZZzzzzzz....

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  You take Jorge's thick cock from your mouth and you begin to slowly jack him off. You hunger to see him erupt. See him explode. He is lying back, watching you, panting. His hands are massaging and squeezing your tits. He fingers your nipples softly, running a circular motion over them that sends shivers down your spine. You groan and feel a rush of wetness seep from you.

  You again take his cock into your mouth. You suck on it deeply while jacking him off, running your fingers from the soft skin at the base of his balls up the shaft to meet your lips. Your hands slide faster and faster and your tongue traces spirals over his pulsating cock head. You lavish silken wetness over it, teasing him. Sucking him like a lollypop. He is leaking now, little spurts of cum ooze into your mouth and you let them add to the slippery lubrication that is driving him wild. His cock is at maximum girth. It couldn't possibly get any bigger in your sucking lusting mouth. Your head is bobbing up and down on his cock and you are lost in the motion and the moment. He is now thrusting with serious urgency into your mouth. The back of your throat is taking a pounding. You abandon it for a moment and he trembles. Running your tongue along the length of the shaft, you suck and lick his balls, sucking one completely into your mouth in a fashion that has him groan.

  He is gasping now. His hips are spasmodic and lifting up from the bed. Your tongue is darting all over his throbbing man meat when you relent and suck the head of his cock back into your mouth. His cock is twitching and bucking. You know what is coming. Jorge has abandoned all control over his groin. He is at your exquisite mercy, so that when you suddenly apply a swirl of tongue and some serious suction to the head of his cock, it is all too much.

  His cock suddenly erupts and a volcanic spurt of cum fills your mouth. You gasp, your mouth swamped with hot sticky juice, thick and viscous. You swallow it all and crave more as his cock spasms and jerks with the last drops of come, the final shakes of a killer orgasm.

  His cock begins to lose its hardness and it slips from your mouth, allowing a fine thread of cum to drip down your chin and spill over your breasts. The salty taste is on your lips, lining your mouth as you fling your tongue around your mouth to savor it.

  "That was the best blow job I've ever had!" he says, his voice ragged, the words coming out in pants.

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#####  Jorge says  "Lie back now" If you fancy having your pussy licked you say YES please.

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##### If you figure you'd like to be fucked, it may take sometime for Jorge to rise to the occasion.

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  You slip Jorge's throbbing twitching cock from the embrace of your mouth letting it press hard against your cheek. You can feel that Jorge is resisting, desperately trying to delay this rush of pleasure at the very moment that he seeks it.  You look at his face, eyes clamped shut in a minor tremor of ecstatic agony as another few drops of precum ooze from his cockhead.  You lick them away and feel his hardness diminish slightly.

He then asks "Shall I return the favor?"

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##### If you'd like him to eat you, you moan a soft "yes please"

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##### If you'd prefer he just got down to business and fucked you hard, you could lead the way, grab his throbber and lead it toward your pussy.

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 You remove your shirt and let your breasts out in the air. Hanging free, they have an unusual relationship to gravity; they neither defer to it nor challenge it, but rather possess a firmness and slow roll and bounce that lend them an air of self-assuredness. You look down at your stomach. It is flat and glistening with sweat. Your hair swings over your forehead and you brush it to the side before reclining and letting him slide his tongue in a circuitous route across your tummy. He eases your knickers down. Thumb under the waist band, they peel slowly, rolling down your thighs like a tobacco leaf being made into a cigar. They are a giveaway for your arousal. Dewy with the juices of your lust, removing them is the only thing possible in the situation.

  You are silent as his hands cup your breasts, weighing each, as if sizing up their contribution to the world. Laden with erotic potential. You are thrilled by his touch as his hands wend their way across your abdomen and caress your inner thighs. A couple of fingers rest in what little there is of your hair.

  "You have an elegant pussy," he says, caught up somewhere between bliss and delight at his new discovery.

  His lips and tongue touch down. He is kneeling and his tongue is hungry for you. The anticipation is making you writhe. When his licking begins it makes you shudder and squirm. You can feel your pussy take on extra wetness from the movements of his mouth. It feels like molten fire. You are tingling and your body is alive to the rush of sensation.

  You feel his tongue slowly explore you. A traveler seeking treasure. His fingers hold the slippery lips of your cunt open as he sucks on it with a passion. Tracking the contours and folds of your velvet cunt, you feel his tongue thrust and dart. You grab his head and pull him forwards, and the motion encourages him to push deeply within your pussy. His face is buried in it and he is lapping at your ambrosial juices. The deeper he goes, the more you writhe and squirm. Your body is slick with the sweat of excitement as your thoughts cluster on the fantastic licking this man is giving you. Clutching him hard, you savor the lapping of his tongue over your clit. Softly and slowly, his tongue scrapes and tastes your bud. He is teasing you and you feel your pulse race and your body dance to the tune of your thumping pulse and his rhythmic thrusting. You are loving him eating you and sense the rise and impending release of a small come. You are thrilled in the moment and you can't get enough. Your pussy is lightly spasming with each lap of his tongue and your body is seeking release.

  You pull your legs back until they rest on your chest, trapping your breasts in place while giving him greater access. His tongue is frantic now, tangoing and waltzing around your pussy. You've never been acquainted with such an accomplished cunnilinguist. This guy is a master, a conductor of a symphony of such exquisite pleasure that your blood is throbbing in a fashion previously unknown. He stops and comes forward and kisses you, and you taste your muskiness on his tongue.

Do you say?

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##### "I'd like you to keep licking me, bring me off, I can't get enough of your tongue"

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##### "I'm aching for your cock, fuck me please, slip your beautiful cock deep inside me and just fuck me"

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 He keeps at it until the first spasms of a pussy rocking orgasm rock you. It hits you sideways. You are thrashing and howling, twisting and moaning, as a convulsive climax ripples through you. Jorge keeps on sucking your pussy and you can feel another orgasm build before the spasms from the first have died down. You struggle to catch your breath as the next wave threatens to dislodge you.

  "OH fuck oh fuck oh fucking fuck," you moan, a guttural roar of sheer ecstasy and joyous release.

  You rest. Sated. Shattered. Your body has that warm contentment and buzz that only a decent orgasm can bring. You needed that.

  After a time you get up, drag your dress on, and blow his slumbering body a kiss. Your day has been memorable but tiring. Your carnal appetite has been met. You've gorged on Jorge.

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##### You climb down from the bell ringers thinking chamber high in the Sagrada Familia's spire, leaving Jorge enjoying his sweet dreams and post coital siesta.

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 "What do you need?" he asks.

  "Your cock will do," you say "as long as it's good and hard."

  "Oh it is, and it's yours."

  Jorge pushes himself hard against the closed wall of the "thinking space", allowing you the space to recline. The space is cramped, not quite cattle class on a plane, but it does still involve more creative contortions than a twister game. He climbs over your naked body and props himself up, legs between your naked thighs. You reach out and stroke his cock, which is as hard as the legs of your grandmother's table. You pull it toward you until you feel it part your slippery lips, its swollen purple head immediately plunging deeply inside you. The fullness you feel is intensely satisfying.

  "Ahhh," he groans. "You are steaming, baby"

  He gives a quick thrust that buries his cock to the hilt and you moan with the complete wholeness of his stuffing you. He begins a slow rhythmic pump, a speed that ensures pleasure but that also promises further flights of ecstatic abandon when he shifts up a gear.

  "You're completely filling me," you gasp "and I love it!"

  He is driving his cock faster now. Ramming it with speed, getting carried away with it. The serious expression on his face has you giggle. Pistoning with fluid urgency, his cock is being willfully shoved up your snatch, each thrust harder than the previous. Your clit is being pummeled. Your lips are pink and swollen. His hands slip down under your ass and pull it up from the bed. An exploratory finger roams, traveling the length of your bottom, exploring its damp darkness. He finds what he is after and with soft pressure lets his finger swirl and trace the puckered lips of your ass. Your butt cheeks are writhing as you feel him explore. His fucking is driving you wild. He squeezes your ass cheeks and it makes you involuntarily grip his cock with your pussy muscles, holding him for a moment tightly within you. His finger now begins a tentative exploration, its small tip probing slightly inside your ass. This is turning him on. It is turning you on too. His thrusts are getting erratic. His cock is pistoning and jerking. It twitches and spasms in a fashion that makes you sure he is close to orgasm. The jerky movements of his pelvis and cock, pushing and bouncing against your clit are driving you wild. You can feel the steady rise of orgasm within you. Your nethers are all a tingle with its approach. Your mind is drowning in erotic sensation. The kinky nature of sex, high above Barcelona in a hidden chamber, surrounded by other tourists milling around with their cameras and water bottles, is driving you wild.

  He seems a little hesitant to slip his finger further within your asshole.

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##### Would you like to encourage him to delve further?

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##### Alternately you are happy that he isn't pushing the boundaries with his fingers.  You like a bit of anal play but would prefer that he concentrated on your aching sopping needy pussy rather than tested your resistance to butt exploration.

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  You reach down and hold the wrist that cups your ass. The one with the finger doing a soft reconnoiter of your ass you grip and push in-wards. You think he gets the message, for his finger immediately slips deeply within you and begins probing deeply in your asshole. You beg him to stick more fingers up there. The tension, the fullness, the stretching is as exquisite as it is sweetly painful. You raise your legs up behind him, allowing him ease of thrust with his cock and access to your asshole with his fingers. He is fucking you with a fury now and you hook your legs behind his head. His cock is withdrawing and plummeting hard into you with such force, the wind almost gets knocked out of you. Your lubricious pussy is now as wide open as it can be. He pushes three fingers into your asshole and the feeling drives you wild, spurring you on to an enormous orgasm. He must be close to popping too. No man could keep at it like this without losing his way. You are so superheated as to be combustible. They'll have to hose you both down with fire extinguishers when the airport alarms sound. The lewdness of the moment with the use of the bell ringer's waiting room as a fuck chamber is turning you on. You doubt that it was designed as a den of iniquity.

  Your push back thrusts are meeting his with ever increasing urgency and the minor spasms that signal the impending onset of an explosion have started shimmering through you. Jorge must have sensed this, as he immediately picks up his speed. His cock is bottoming out and each time creating a percussive explosion of lust on your clit. His fingers are fucking your asshole, rubbing against the thrusting stiffness of his cock through the soft wall inside you. You are on fire and your legs tighten around his neck, squeezing him close, almost causing him to pause. Your pussy is spasming. Your juices flood the bed sheet as the first tremors of actual orgasm shake through you.

  He is suddenly unleashing his cum, shooting great creamy wads deep into your core. You are filling with the liquid evidence of his lust as violent explosions shake him as much as they shake you. Hot sperm is lashing your cunt. You lurch and shake as your own orgasm takes hold and thrashes over you. Pleasure radiates out from your pussy and you collapse, sated, exhausted with Jorge dipping and flopping on top of you. Eventually you both lie there, too tired to move.

  After a time, you get up drag your dress on and blow his slumbering body a kiss. Your day has been memorable but tiring. Your carnal appetite has been met. You've gorged on Jorge.

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##### You climb down from the bell ringers thinking chamber high in the spire, leaving Jorge enjoying his post coital siesta.

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 You are happy that he isn't pushing the boundaries with his fingers.  It's not that you don't like a bit of anal play, it's just that at this moment you'd prefer that he concentrated on your aching sopping needy pussy rather than tested your resistance to butt exploration.

   You reach down and hold the wrist that cups your ass. Jorge gets the message and removes the fingers that are doing a soft reconnoiter of your ass.  He turns his attentions to the speed at which he is plunging his cock into you and you hook your legs behind his head.  His cock is withdrawing and plummeting with such force; the wind almost comes out of you.  Your lubricious pussy is now as wide open as it could be. The feeling is driving you wild and spurring you on to an enormous orgasm.  He too must be close to popping.  No man could keep at it like this without losing his way.  You are so superheated as to be combustible.  They'll have to hose you both down with fire extinguishers when the fire alarms sound.

  Your push back thrusts are meeting his with ever increasing urgency and the minor spasms that signal the impending onset of an explosion have started shimmering through you.  Jorge must have sensed this, for he immediately picks up his speed.  His cock is bottoming out and each time creating a percussive explosion of lust on your clit.  His fingers massage your breasts, teasing your nipples until the sensations when coupled with what is going on elsewhere brings you teetering on the brink, your pussy loving the thrusting stiffness of his cock. You are on fire. Your legs tighten around his neck squeezing him close, almost causing him to pause.  Your pussy spasms and your juices flood the bed sheet as the first tremors of impending orgasm shake you.

   He is suddenly unleashing his cum into you, shooting great creamy wads deep into your core.  You fill with the liquid evidence of his lust, violent explosions that shake him as much as they shake you.  Hot sperm is lashing your cunt. You lurch and quiver as your own orgasm takes hold and thrashes over you.  Pleasure radiates out from your pussy and you collapse sated and exhausted with Jorge dipping and flopping on top of you. You both lie there, too tired to move.

   After a time, you get up, drag your dress on and blow his slumbering body a kiss.  Your day has been memorable but tiring. Your carnal appetite has been met. You've gorged on Jorge.

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##### You climb down from the bell ringers thinking chamber high in the Sagrada Familia's spire, leaving Jorge enjoying his sweet dreams and post coital siesta.

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You're no hooker and you ain't trespassing on anyone's turf. So you hoist your dress a little up your leg, bolster your inner fortitude and twirl on your heels. No amount of spit festooned cobblestone is going to stop you in your tracks. These harlots can take a running jump off the docks. You're going to head back in the direction of Las Ramblas, and no posse of pros is going to steer you from this course.

  A cigarette butt explodes at your feet. You casually step over it and march towards them with your eyes firmly fixed on the road ahead.

  " _Puta_!" comes at you in a low growl. Tight denim is making a stand. Her left hand is on her hip while her right is crooked, shaking at you, waving in the direction she wants you gone. Her severe fringe accentuates the leering malice she is broadcasting.

  She's in a right fury and spouting " _Puta, puta, puta_ ".

  A mad peroxided teapot, wearing a leopard skin pot warmer.

  "That's a bit rich coming from you, teapot calling the kettle black," you mutter, sticking to your guns.

  The other women scowl as you pass them, their tight shorts and t-shirts advertising the only wares for sale in this street. They shuffle on their heels, the exaggerated looks of disgust and anger coming from a limited repertoire. Pleasure and pain, pleasure and pain.

  You steel yourself and keep walking. Your pace picks up, as does your determination. You can hear the clatter of footfalls behind you but you resist turning around.

  A car is coming along slowly behind you at a slow amble. You can hear its rich burble, the purr of something expensive softly rattling over the cobblestoned pavement. Perhaps it's a curb crawler, assessing the women. You determine to put distance between you and these women. It's their game and they can have it. You're after something different and you're pretty sure you won't find it in a car in this alley.

  A number of buildings are boarded up. However, even the ones that aren't are covered in graffiti tags. Lurid scrawls of spray can art. Like it or lump it.

  You watch as a scraggy cat makes a dash for a gap in the wall. Another howls somewhere nearby. There is a loud wail and hissing and a thump that signals an impending brawl. You're not the only one in disputed territory. You march onward, aware from the steady murmur of the car that it is now directly behind you and keeping up with your determined strides.

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##### Do you give into temptation and look over your shoulder to see exactly what is happening and who is following you?

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##### Keep walking fast and jump in the first taxi you see.

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  You glance over your shoulder.  A Mercedes coated a sheen of luxuriant red creeps slowly along behind you. It has stopped and you stare at the driver. He has you in his sights for your eyes lock and for a split second you cannot find it within yourself to pull away. The windscreen reflects a lot of daylight but your polarized sunglasses enable you to see that he is older than you. You are guessing mid to late 40's, perhaps early 50's.  Even through the glass you can see nicely coiffured hair that speaks of expensive personalized hairdressing. You watch amused as the side window glides down and is consumed by the door. It is apparent that he wants to have a word with you.  You cast your eyes back towards Miss Tight Denim Shorts with the severe fringe and jolt when you see that she is heading towards you apace. She is shaking her arm and is obviously in a lather.  She thinks you are stealing a customer.

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#####  Do you increase your step and get the heck out of there? You could make a dash and find a taxi.

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##### Or do you feel intrigued enough by the gentlemen in the Merc to wander over and lean in through his window. You'll deal with Miss Denim when she arrives.

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 The taxi driver is a balding older man who drives so slowly and cautiously that you wonder if you should have opted for the tram or just plain walked.

   He nodded when you said " _Sagrada Família_ " and spirited the taxi away at a slow crawl. To be fair, the traffic in front of you is caught in a mind numbingly slow progression.  The city, like many others in Europe has not been designed for the sheer volume of traffic the 21st century is throwing at it.

  "Everybody go to the Sagrada Família today" the taxi driver says ruefully, looking over his shoulder.

  He fumbles around and then offers you a small card.

   "Museu del Perfum?" he says and you read as much in embossed gold print.

  A museum of perfume.  You are partial to fragrances and why not? It seems the driver is offering a solution to the traffic jam.  You nod, an easy decision.

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##### _ _ _Si_ , Perfume. Take me there

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You find yourself leaning in through the window. The car is decked out with expensive leather and an unmistakable smell of newness wafts from it. Silverylocks is assessing you from the driver's seat. He looks relaxed and in command, his vehicle an accoutrement of the man he wishes to be; perhaps already is. His peppery eyebrows arch mischievously, highlighting a fine web of lines that wrinkle around his eyes and betray what could only be lascivious thoughts.

  You have but a brief moment to consider your gambit. After all, Miss Tight Denim Shorts is approaching at great speed. You can hear her curses and foul bespittled slang rattle off the boarded up shop fronts.

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##### Do you play hooker?

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##### Do you play lost tourist in need of assistance?

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A couple of words is all it takes for him to switch to English. He certainly has you pegged for a hooker. The cheeky glint in his eyes says as much. This guy is so cool, you feel certain that he's not a stranger to this game. Although it could also be the air conditioning in the car, which is set to such a chill that he could sell ice cream from the back seat. You briefly glance sideways and see that Miss Tight Denim is almost upon you. You fight the impulse to dash. Your eyes implore the man to make a decision and let you inside the car.

  You shrug off his initial inquiry of "how much?" saying that you are open to anything and negotiable. You are just keen to get within the safe confines of the car.

  Mild panic must have registered in your eyes for the man clicks the unlock mechanism and beckons that you get in. You maintain whatever cool you can muster and slide into the leather seat. Its plush cream softness promises so much besides initial safety. The window slides swiftly back into the door frame, tinted glass only going a little way toward hiding the furious glare framed on the face of Miss Tight Denim Shorts. She goes to spit at the car but the guy behind the wheel has already eased his foot onto the accelerator and you glide off, leaving the cartel of hookers alone on their beat.

  "It's unusual to find an English speaking hooker in these parts. Are you new to Barcelona?" he asks.

  You wonder how much you should tell him. Should you spill the beans and tell him the complete and honest truth? His English is expensively accented and you guess he has spent time abroad. His voice is a mellow baritone with ragged edges. You guess that these few rasps betray a smoker or frequenter of smoky bars. You glance across at him. He isn't a tall man but you discern a powerfully muscled body in that compact frame. He doesn't smell like a smoker. His left hand bounces on his knee while his right swings the wheel, negotiating the tight lane ways that, if your inbuilt compass serves you right, lead back towards Las Ramblas. He is clad in classy casual wear; a pressed pinstripe shirt tucked into jeans whose navy blue crispness seem a perfect contrast for the creamy leather seat of the car.

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##### Do you shatter his illusions, after all, you're not a hooker are you?

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##### Or do you play along with the misconception, it could be fun and you are under no obligation to take it all the way?

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"Hi there, can you help me?" you say, voice quavering as you watch the steady approach of Miss Tight Denim Shorts. She's coming towards you like an out of control truck and you can't fake your apprehension.

  The man in car looks resolute. You can see that he doesn't want to be involved in a cat fight turf war.

  You plead "I'm lost and these women are threatening me."

  "And despite what you are thinking, I'm not a hooker," you add with a measure of desperation.

  These few words are all it takes for him to switch to English. You can't help feeling that he still has you pegged for a hooker. The cheeky glint in his eyes says as much. This guy is so cool, you feel certain that he's not a stranger to this game. Although it could also be the air conditioning in the car which is set to such a chill that he could sell ice cream from the back seat. You glance sideways and see that Miss Tight Denim Shorts is almost upon you. You fight the impulse to dash. Your eyes implore the man to make a decision and let you inside the car.

  Mild panic must have registered in your eyes for the man clicks the unlock mechanism and beckons that you get in. You maintain whatever cool you can muster and slide into the leather seat. Its plush cream softness promises so much besides initial safety. The window slides swiftly back into the door frame, tinted glass only going a little way toward hiding the furious glare framed on the face of Miss Tight Denim Shorts. She goes to spit at the car but the guy behind the wheel has already eased his foot onto the accelerator, and you glide off, leaving the cartel of hookers alone on their beat.

  You glance across at him. He isn't a tall man but you discern a powerfully muscled body in that compact frame. He doesn't smell like a smoker. His left hand bounces on his knee while his right swings the wheel, negotiating the tight lane ways that, if your inbuilt compass serves you right, lead back towards Las Ramblas. He is clad in classy casual wear, a pressed pinstripe shirt tucked into jeans whose navy blue crispness seemed a perfect contrast for the creamy leather of the car.

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#####   You introduce yourself

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"I'd like an escort for a couple of hours," he says.

  You are quick to agree on the fee. Pocketing it, you introduce yourself.

  "Carlos," he says, flashing a smile that curls sideways and makes no bones about what he'd really like out of the encounter.

   " _Encantado_ " he says, with wry amusement. His voice has an enchanting burr to it and you feel a prickle somewhere deep within. Deep and melodious, it reminds you of a cello playing something bittersweet.

  You let a flicker of amusement escape, for here is a most attractive man cruising alleyways for hookers. You can't help but be intrigued as to his motivations. Surely this man can dally with the best and most beautiful, gratis. "You" for instance.

  The Mercedes is now stuck in traffic. A roundabout along the waterfront is choked. It looks like a bus has broken down and drivers are fuming. Carlos lets the window down and the salt tinged breeze mingles with the fumes of fifty stuck cars and buses. The diesel fumes that waft in make you cough. Resigned to the situation, he lets the window slot back into place and turns to look you over. His eyes gleam, and with a smile that was as unreadable as it was slight, he says "I hope you don't mind me saying, you have a perfect hooker name. Such allure and such promise. Do you mind if I ask by what means you came by it?"

  "Parents with a sense of humor" you say, riffing. "My father saw too many James Bond movies, my mom once said. He loved smutty names like Pussy Galore, or Holly Goodhead."

  Carlos chokes back a small laugh and his eyes grow openly amused.

  "Hmmm. I'm trying to recall what they were called in Spanish," he says, voice trailing off. "

  Carlos is tapping his fingers on his knees while he waits for the traffic to wake from its stupor.

  You wonder what he has in mind.

  Caught in stalled traffic, he turns to you and says.

  "Lets abandon the car near here. The traffic is not going anywhere. The cable car to Montjuïc leaves from just over there, and there's no better way to get a bird's eye view of Barcelona."

  You gaze across the harbor and spy a tall steel girder tower, from where your eyes trace the movement of tiny red cabins strung out along a long length of steel cable that seems to touch down on a hill, not too far distant.

  He pulls the car out into the oncoming lane and stops traffic in a blare of horns before perfecting a U turn that has the car then dash along a near empty road alongside the port. He pulls into a car park near the base of the steel tower. You can see that a lift spirits people up to the top of the tower and from there they climb aboard a cable car that crawls across an expanse of harbor, high above the sea gulls that bob in the clear waters below. Rows of palm trees stretch towards the base of the tower and, not for the first time, you feel the exotic nature of this city. You are basking on the shores of the Mediterranean and Africa is but a boat ride over to the distant shore opposite.

    Of course, you don't have to go with Carlos; you could give him his money back. You are a free agent and this is your day. But the cable car ride would be a perfect way to get a bird's eye view over the city and while the sun is not yet high and the day is still young, it could be fun.

  If you'd prefer to wander off alone for a stroll along the seafront, you can thank Carlos, withdraw from the deal, refund him and bid him farewell. A sea front promenade stretches off in the distance and it is still a pleasant enough temperature for a stroll.

  Alternatively, you can let his little tour unfold. After all, he is a confident attractive man and you do admire his form. You're in town for adventure and it seems to have landed in your lap. Why not let it unspool - it could be fun.

* * *

##### Walk along the sea front promenade

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##### Cable car to Montjuïc with Carlos

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The elevator rattles as it eases to a halt. You step out, high above the port, and enter the gondola station. Carlos shrugs his shoulders when you ask him about the restaurant on the top floor. Whether he knows anything about it or just doesn't want to say is unclear, for he just smiles enigmatically. You are unsure whether you should be frustrated by this air of mystery. He stands confidently, a hand casually running through his salt and pepper hair. He motions for you to come to the side and take stock of the view.

  The _Torre Sant Sebastia_ towers over Barcelona, looking for all the world like a marooned alien from War of the Worlds. From four legs that are firmly tethered to the ground, an angular lacework of riveted steel strains skywards, enclosing two creaky lifts that drag people from sea level to the semi enclosed gondola station and the restaurant above that. First open in 1930, it has an undeniable old world visitor attraction charm. From its lofty heights, you find yourself gazing with awe at the city, laid out before you. A distant mosaic of pastel oranges, reds and white buildings sprawl in a jumble until they meet the green hills, distant in the haze. Behind you, the timeless azure expanse of the Mediterranean Sea stretches out to the horizon.

   Carlos is at your side and for a brief moment his arm brushes against yours as he seeks to point out some of the obvious attractions. Your eyes touch upon the ornate spires of Gaudi's Sagrada Familia. You spy the needles that strive to pierce the firmament, rising from the somber mass of the Gothic Cathedral. In small swarming groups, glass and steel phallic towers cluster and conspire to reinvent the old low rise city. The slight, almost accidental nature of this touch spooks you and sends a shiver coursing through your body. You hadn't felt particularly needy in that sense when you woke up, but rubbing shoulders with an attractive Spanish male, the possibilities for naughtiness now feel very real and well within grasp. In fact you are greedy for more. You watch as a gondola car swings slowly and does an about turn, winding through the gondola station and heading back to where it came from. An attendant ushers the waiting people inside, glancing over to you both as if to say hurry up, are you coming?

  Carlos, it seems, is in no rush to leave your side or the sightseeing, despite the fact that the view will be even better from the confines of the cable car. You almost miss him giving the attendant a wink but you do detect an almost surreptitious nod of understanding or assent in reply. What is he conspiring? A gondola to yourselves? It could only be this. The realization makes your heart race.

  "And back that way you see the line of plane trees that mark the Ramblas, and somewhere over there is my apartment"

  You follow the line of his arm and wonder where this man lives. What secrets this man's life holds. You can't determine which out of thousands of apartments could be his, but you nod and smile as though you see it.

  No further visitors have arrived since the last gondola left and the tourists recently departed are a small red speck. There is a great distance between gondola cars. If the streets below were like this, the city would feel bereft of people. In fact there are so few gondola cars and passengers, you wonder how the operation makes any money.

  Then a gondola car clatters into the station and its speed slows as it goes into the turn.  The door opens and the attendant directs you to enter. Carlos stands back, motioning for you to go first.

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#####  You climb aboard. Theres a good chance that Carlos is promising more than a gondola ride. After all, he hasn't paid you to just hold your hand.

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Carlos jumps in and takes a seat next to you. The gondola car picks up speed as it leaves the station and in moments you are traversing Barcelona harbor. You have the sensation of flying and of floating. The view is spectacular, the city laid out below in miniature. Your toes tingle when you imagine the drop to the water beneath you. Away in the distance another stranded Martian stands as midpoint on the gondola run.

  Carlos laughs. "Look at all the cars jammed up. That bus is dead"

  You turn your gaze and realize you are feeling light headed. The air is thick and soupy, and combined with the soft sway of the gondola car you find your immediate impulse is to want to shed clothing. Yet you've really got nothing that could be removed without stripping down to your underwear. What is a girl to do?

  Carlos must have noticed. He removes his jacket and lays it carefully over the seat opposite. He loosens his tie and pops his top shirt button too. It's a look that you like. Casual dishevelment. Fashionable stubble, tousled hair, and jeans with a back story.

   "Are you okay?" he asks. "you look a little flushed".

  Standing up, he says "Hang on a moment, I'll open the windows".

  You get up. The gondola car sways only ever so slightly and it is easy to walk around within it. You take deep gulps of the sea air that flows in. Carlos has opened most of the windows in the cabin and the change in atmosphere is dramatic. Yet the air that flows in, while being refreshing, still carries the warmth of the day with it. You can bask in its radiant energy. Its movement is making you frisky.

  You glance at Carlos and find that he is already looking your way. His eyes are unwavering, direct and penetrating. You suspect he is speaking the same language, for his left eye betrays a mischievous glint that makes a lie of the innocence of his words.

  The thought of removing clothing has sent your pulse racing and you pause to consider what you should do.

* * *

#####  Do you say "I'm still a little hot" and move towards him with some sway and some sass?

* * *

##### Or do you start peeling off your tight little dress?

* * *

* * *

**Please turn back a page**

* * *

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**Please turn forward a page**

* * *

"I'm still a little hot," you say moving towards him.

  You catch Carlos taking an extended glance at your legs. There is an unquestionable look of lust in his eyes and seeing this you find your legs liquefy and you are overcome by a desperate urge to sit down and wrap your pussy around something hard. Carlos' cock for instance. But he is still standing. The salt breeze that wafts in is so warm it sooths and embalms you in the same breath. You see Carlos gasp as you stand before him. There must be some sign in your eyes.  You guess they are clear as to their intent.

  You're before him now, looking at his chest. Greying hairs spill from where he has loosened a button. He's not really much taller than you. You admire his whiskers and give in to the urge to run your fingers over them. The bristles are surprisingly soft. Not the coarse stubble you've suffered with other men. He smells good. There is some other scent aside from a good cologne and it enriches the appeal of this man. You briefly catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window. Your hair is wildly teased in the heat and you look like a woman on a mission. A mild puff of breeze buffets the gondola car and it sways and rocks for a moment. You almost lose your balance and your legs struggle with what looks like an ill-timed dance move. Carlos quickly reaches out to steady you, his hands gripping your hips. His touch brings an instant response, maverick fingers hungry for exploration. The current that had been loosened in a zither is recharged and set free, and now courses with crazy abandon through your nervous system. You feel the humidity rise as beads of moisture dampen your knickers. You bring your left hand up and let it rest on his chest, feeling it tense and rise as time is stood on end. You play with his shirt buttons, making to undo more of them. Carlos slides his right hand down your leg, letting it rest on the hem of your skirt. Your own hand is a daring one and likes to make definite demonstrations of intent. It is brazen and drops quickly to Carlos' crotch in a stratagem designed to get things moving. There was already something happening but your touch hardens Carlos resolve, and you feel giddy as his hand climbs beneath your dress and makes its way for your crotch.

  While your hand tests the contents of Carlos' pants for pliability, you follow with interest the movements of his hand that has now reached under your skirt and is doing its best to ease your knickers down your legs. His other hand has slipped around and cupped your ass and you grin as he squeezes it.

  You do your best to unfasten his belt buckle and tangle with his fly. His pants loosen and slide down his thighs, crumpling at his feet. He shakes his legs out of them. He is wearing tight black boxer briefs that fail to conceal his arousal. He has managed to pull your knickers halfway down your legs; however, you are going to have to stop teasing his crotch before he can completely lower them. He runs a finger in a slow swipe through your slit, connecting at once and making you grind into his hand. Your knickers are like leg cuffs, denying his fingers further passage. They are frustrating his intentions, the elastic spread so taut over your knees that they cannot move either up or down your legs. You shake them down your legs, kicking your shoes off as they approach, and step out of them, eager to give him the ranch. The tower that signals the middle of the passage over the harbor fast approaches. You look behind and note that your embarkation point has shrunk.

  His fingers find your wetness. Your hand encircles his cock. You manage to unbutton more of his shirt before being stopped by him.

  "Leave it" he says, "Let's fuck. We've only got five minutes until the end."

  His cock is standing there, poking out beneath his pinstripe shirt. He reaches for his wallet and draws out some protection, and, tearing it open with his teeth, he hands it to you in silent expectation. You crouch down on your knees and slip it over his helmet, royally purple and proud.

  The middle tower is fast approaching so you slide your mouth down over his cock and draw the condom down over his trunk. It stretches tightly and contains him. Carlos is a powder keg and he has a handsome cock with some real meat to its girth. You can feel that he is exerting great self-control not to pump wildly in your mouth. You hear him gasp and his breath stop as you slide your mouth slowly up and down his shaft in a tease. You love the feel of cock in your mouth, but time is of the essence and for you at this moment, the essence of a fuck is copulation. You want him inside you, and now.

  The gondola approaches the halfway tower and the cable starts to rattle, sending a vibration through the car as it makes its way through the wheels. You motion for Carlos to sit down on the seat and when he does so, you immediately straddle him and guide his cock inside you. He fills you completely and you take a moment to enjoy that fullness. Then you push your mouth to his and your lips meet. It is a full on, hungry assault. Nibbles give way to bites. You are bouncing now, lifting yourself up and then dropping down hard on him, your ass bouncing off his thighs so that his thrusts hit home.

  With a swift move, he peels your dress over your head and buries his face in your breasts. You can hear him whimper at the sheer pleasure of it. You push them together so that he can feast. Your nipples ripe for attention. His hands are around your back, steadying you. There is a sheen of sweat that you share. You are fucking with furious energy. The arousal you feel is threatening to engulf you. Carlos is pumping you with a semi steady rhythm, and his pants and gasps and groans are a medley of carnality played to an upbeat time signature.

  Out of the corner of your eye you see another cable car approaching from the other direction. You are too consumed by the moment to care if there is anyone on board and what they will see. You feel an orgasm approaching at a similar speed. You want it but you want to deny it. You hadn't realized you were so hot, for one. You can feel Carlos begin to build up steam. He has no hope but then neither do you. It is a quick fuck and a quick fuck can still spell quality.

  The other gondola car is almost upon you.

  Carlos sees it and exclaims "Showtime!"

   A number of tourists gather at its windows, admiring the view. You see a man grab the shoulder of his wife, raising his hand to his mouth in surprise. The other people in the gondola car jostle to get a look. Time slows. They are all watching. Disgust, laughter, surprise, delight.  On with the show. A young man waves his arm out the window. In his hand is a camera phone and he yells something that could only be construed as encouraging. Perhaps you've invented a new sport. Then suddenly it is gone, heading for where you came from. Carlos lifts you off him and pushes you sideways on the bench, his cock missing the tight warmth of you immediately, a situation that he intends to rectify. He kneels and pulls you towards him. Your pussy is welcoming. Its silken folds open for business. He slides back inside you with a pronounced groan. You welcome him with a shudder. You can feel that pressure is building. Carlos is in a lather. His face is red beneath his stubble, and his ears are glowing. He pumps and pumps and it is pushing you over. He has the momentum of a steam engine, his cock has such determination, it's as though he's operating to a timetable. Wait a minute; he is operating to a timetable. You can now see that the Montjuïc summit Miramar terminal is fast approaching. Your clit is taking such a pummeling so that with each thrust an aching current is sent adrift, pulsing to your core. You feel it building. Each thrust adding to it. It's like a roller coaster making that slow climb to the top, except the car has started to accelerate and you fear that it is out of control. Getting there is half the fun but the destination is rushing up to meet you. You are panting loudly. Carlos has his arms wrapped around your head and you joust in a flurry of tongues. The sensation set off by this tongue twining is all that it takes to take you there.

  "Fuck me fuck me fuck me," you scream, gleefully coming hard and gripping him tightly. You shake and thrash and shudder as it takes you away in exultant waves that shimmer off over the azure sea below.  You find yourself momentarily weeping; such is agony of this pleasure.  Carlos bucks, overwhelmed by your blinding climax, and unleashes a cascading torrent of come in an orgasm that shakes the gondola car. It swings wildly for a moment and you grip each other in blissful silence.

  The moment is over because the terminal is upon you. You look at Carlos as he struggles to pull his clothes back on, and laugh at your naughtiness. Pulling your dress back on, you straighten yourself up just as the attendant opens the door.

  Stepping out, you realize that your legs are a little wobbly and you lurch for the assistants arm to steady you.

  " _Piernas de mar_ ," he says. "Sea legs"

  You nod and say " _Si_ ," sending Carlos a secret wink.

  Your pussy is throbbing with that pleasant vibe that comes on after a vigorous fucking. It'll stay with you for an hour or two and until it completely dissipates you'll be walking slowly, letting a sweet little smile surface once in a while to let people know that you've been hard at it on this day of love.

  "I've got to attend to work now, but I'd love a repeat booking sometime," says Carlos.

* * *

#####   You smile and kiss him on both cheeks. "You know where to find me" you say, taking your leave.

* * *

* * *

**Please turn back a page**

* * *

* * *

**Please turn forward a page**

* * *

You give the hem of your dress a swift tug, lifting it over your head in a move of startling fluidity. It billows up like a parachute. You raise an arm high, holding the dress aloft and twirling it like a toreador teasing a bull. Carlos looks for a moment like he has swallowed a mouthful of bees. You stand with your legs apart and give him a look of absolute mastery until you misjudge the twirling dress and get blindsided by a mouthful of it.

  "Pah!" you say, tossing it aside.

  You're sure you look quite a sight. Knickers and bra, fine lace and bare skin.

  You catch Carlos taking an extended glance at your legs. There is an unquestionable look of lust in his eyes and seeing this you find your legs liquefy and you are overcome by a desperate urge to sit down and wrap your pussy around something hard. Carlos' cock for instance. But he is still standing. The salt breeze that wafts in is so warm it sooths and embalms you in the same breath. You see Carlos gasp as you stand before him. There must be some sign in your eyes.  You guess they are clear as to their intent.

  You're before him now, looking at his chest. Greying hairs spill from where he has loosened a button. He's not really much taller than you. You admire his whiskers and give in to the urge to run your fingers over them. The bristles are surprisingly soft. Not the coarse stubble you've suffered with other men. He smells good. There is some other scent aside from a good cologne and it enriches the appeal of this man. You briefly catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window. Your hair is wildly teased in the heat and you look like a woman on a mission. A mild puff of breeze buffets the gondola car and it sways and rocks for a moment. You almost lose your balance and your legs struggle with what looks like an ill-timed dance move. Carlos quickly reaches out to steady you, his hands gripping your hips. His touch brings an instant response, maverick fingers hungry for exploration. The current that had been loosened in a zither is recharged and set free, and now courses with crazy abandon through your nervous system. You feel the humidity rise as beads of moisture dampen your knickers. You bring your left hand up and let it rest on his chest, feeling it tense and rise as time is stood on end. You play with his shirt buttons, making to undo more of them. Carlos slides his right hand down your leg, letting it rest on the hem of your skirt. Your own hand is a daring one and likes to make definite demonstrations of intent. It is brazen and drops quickly to Carlos' crotch in a stratagem designed to get things moving. There was already something happening but your touch hardens Carlos resolve, and you feel giddy as his hand climbs beneath your dress and makes its way for your crotch.

While your hand tests the contents of Carlos' pants for pliability, you follow with interest the movements of his hand that has now reached under your skirt and is doing its best to ease your knickers down your legs. His other hand has slipped around and cupped your ass and you grin as he squeezes it.

You do your best to unfasten his belt buckle and tangle with his fly. His pants loosen and slide down his thighs, crumpling at his feet. He shakes his legs out of them. He is wearing tight black boxer briefs that fail to conceal his arousal. He has managed to pull your knickers halfway down your legs; however, you are going to have to stop teasing his crotch before he can completely lower them. He runs a finger in a slow swipe through your slit, connecting at once and making you grind into his hand. Your knickers are like leg cuffs, denying his fingers further passage. They are frustrating his intentions, the elastic spread so taut over your knees that they cannot move either up or down your legs. You shake them down your legs, kicking your shoes off as they approach, and step out of them, eager to give him the ranch. The tower that signals the middle of the passage over the harbor fast approaches. You look behind and note that your embarkation point has shrunk.

  His fingers find your wetness. Your hand encircles his cock. You manage to unbutton more of his shirt before being stopped by him.

  "Leave it" he says, "Let's fuck. We've only got five minutes until the end."

   His cock is standing there, poking out beneath his pinstripe shirt. He reaches for his wallet and draws out some protection, and, tearing it open with his teeth, he hands it to you in silent expectation. You crouch down on your knees and slip it over his helmet, royally purple and proud.

  The middle tower is fast approaching so you slide your mouth down over his cock and draw the condom down over his trunk. It stretches tightly and contains him. Carlos is a powder keg and he has a handsome cock with some real meat to its girth. You can feel that he is exerting great self-control not to pump wildly in your mouth. You hear him gasp and his breath stop as you slide your mouth slowly up and down his shaft in a tease. You love the feel of cock in your mouth, but time is of the essence and for you at this moment, the essence of a fuck is copulation. You want him inside you, and now.

  The gondola approaches the halfway tower and the cable starts to rattle, sending a vibration through the car as it makes its way through the wheels. You motion for Carlos to sit down on the seat and when he does so, you immediately straddle him and guide his cock inside you. He fills you completely and you take a moment to enjoy that fullness. Then you push your mouth to his and your lips meet. It is a full on, hungry assault. Nibbles give way to bites. You are bouncing now, lifting yourself up and then dropping down hard on him, your ass bouncing off his thighs so that his thrusts hit home.

With a swift move, he peels your dress over your head and buries his face in your breasts. You can hear him whimper at the sheer pleasure of it. You push them together so that he can feast. Your nipples ripe for attention. His hands are around your back, steadying you. There is a sheen of sweat that you share. You are fucking with furious energy. The arousal you feel is threatening to engulf you. Carlos is pumping you with a semi steady rhythm, and his pants and gasps and groans are a medley of carnality played to an upbeat time signature.

 Out of the corner of your eye you see another cable car approaching from the other direction. You are too consumed by the moment to care if there is anyone on board and what they will see. You feel an orgasm approaching at a similar speed. You want it but you want to deny it. You hadn't realized you were so hot, for one. You can feel Carlos begin to build up steam. He has no hope but then neither do you. It is a quick fuck and a quick fuck can still spell quality.

  The other gondola car is almost upon you.

  Carlos sees it and exclaims "Showtime!"

 A number of tourists gather at its windows, admiring the view. You see a man grab the shoulder of his wife, raising his hand to his mouth in surprise. The other people in the gondola car jostle to get a look. Time slows. They are all watching. Disgust, laughter, surprise, delight.  On with the show. A young man waves his arm out the window. In his hand is a camera phone and he yells something that could only be construed as encouraging. Perhaps you've invented a new sport. Then suddenly it is gone, heading for where you came from. Carlos lifts you off him and pushes you sideways on the bench, his cock missing the tight warmth of you immediately, a situation that he intends to rectify. He kneels and pulls you towards him. Your pussy is welcoming. Its silken folds open for business. He slides back inside you with a pronounced groan. You welcome him with a shudder. You can feel that pressure is building. Carlos is in a lather. His face is red beneath his stubble, and his ears are glowing. He pumps and pumps and it is pushing you over. He has the momentum of a steam engine, his cock has such determination, it's as though he's operating to a timetable. Wait a minute; he is operating to a timetable. You can now see that the Montjuïc summit Miramar terminal is fast approaching. Your clit is taking such a pummeling so that with each thrust an aching current is sent adrift, pulsing to your core. You feel it building. Each thrust adding to it. It's like a roller coaster making that slow climb to the top, except the car has started to accelerate and you fear that it is out of control. Getting there is half the fun but the destination is rushing up to meet you. You are panting loudly. Carlos has his arms wrapped around your head and you joust in a flurry of tongues. The sensation set off by this tongue twining is all that it takes to take you there.

 "Fuck me fuck me fuck me," you scream, gleefully coming hard and gripping him tightly. You shake and thrash and shudder as it takes you away in exultant waves that shimmer off over the azure sea below.  You find yourself momentarily weeping; such is agony of this pleasure.  Carlos bucks, overwhelmed by your blinding climax, and unleashes a cascading torrent of come in an orgasm that shakes the gondola car. It swings wildly for a moment and you grip each other in blissful silence.

The moment is over because the terminal is upon you. You look at Carlos as he struggles to pull his clothes back on, and laugh at your naughtiness. Pulling your dress back on, you straighten yourself up just as the attendant opens the door.

 Stepping out, you realize that your legs are a little wobbly and you lurch for the assistants arm to steady you.

  " _Piernas de mar_ ," he says. "Sea legs"

  You nod and say " _Si_ ," sending Carlos a secret wink.

 Your pussy is throbbing with that pleasant vibe that comes on after a vigorous fucking. It'll stay with you for an hour or two and until it completely dissipates you'll be walking slowly, letting a sweet little smile surface once in a while to let people know that you've been hard at it on this day of love.

  "I've got to attend to work now, but I'd love a repeat booking sometime," says Carlos.

* * *

##### You smile and kiss him on both cheeks. "You know where to find me" you say, taking your leave.

* * *

* * *

**Please turn back a page**

* * *

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**Please turn forward a page**

* * *
 "Wait, wait" he says "Take my number."

  "I don't think so" you say. "It was a one off"

  He looks a little pained but soon nods and kisses you quickly on each cheek before leaping back aboard the returning gondola and disappearing off across the harbor.  The day is still warming and you look for a moment at the bright blue backdrop of azure sea and sky.  At some point on the horizon they meet, but as the sea haze shimmers you fail to pinpoint it.

* * *

##### You decide to hop it across town in a taxi to the Sagrada Familia, Gaudi's world famous unfinished church.

* * *

##### You could seek out that scooter tour. The blurb you read promised to pick you up from anywhere in Barcelona and whisk you off on an hours spirited tour of the must see highlights along with a few gems not on the well trod tourist trail.

* * *

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**Please turn back a page**

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**Please turn forward a page**

* * *
  You introduce yourself feeling confident that this is the best way to approach the situation.

   "Carlos" he says flashing a smile that curled sideways and hinted at what he'd really like out of the encounter.

   " _Encantado_ " he says with wry amusement.  His voice has a enchanting burr to it and you feel this prickle somewhere deep within.  Deep and melodious, it reminds you of a cello playing something bittersweet.

   You let a flicker of amusement escape, for here is a most attractive man cruising alleyways for hookers. You can't help but be intrigued as to his motivations. Surely, this man can dally with the best and most beautiful gratis.  "You" for instance.

   The Mercedes is now stuck in traffic. A roundabout along the waterfront is choked. It looks like a bus has broken down and drivers are fuming.  Carlos lets the window down and the salt tinged breeze mingles with the fumes of a fifty stuck cars and buses. The diesel fumes that waft in make you cough.  Resigned to the situation he lets the window slot back into place and turns and looks you over. His eyes gleam and with a smile that was as unreadable as it was slight, he said.

   "For someone who is not a hooker, I hope you don't mind me saying, you have a perfect hooker name.   Do you mind if I ask by what means you came by it?"

   You are amused for your name has never aroused such a response in the past although you could see how it could be interpreted as such by someone from somewhere else.

   "Parents with a sense of humor" you say. "My father had seen too many James Bond movies, my mom once said.  He loved smutty names like Pussy Galore or Holly Goodhead."

   Carlos choked back a small laugh and his eyes grew openly amused.

   "Hmmm. I'm trying to recall what they were called in Spanish" he says, voice trailing off."

   "Listen" you say "despite my supposedly suggestive name, I'm most definitely not a hooker. I just happened to be in that alleyway by accident. I'm exploring Barcelona and this is my first day. Honest..."

   Carlos is tapping his fingers on his knees and silently appraising you.  You decide to keep talking.

   "Look" you say "you actually saved me back there. Those women, those hookers, they thought I was an upstart taking over their turf. God knows why, surely I don't look local. Do I?"

   You don't wait for an answer before continuing but see that he raises an eyebrow questioning your credulity.  He's certainly a little confused.

   You're doubtful that he believes you and part of you begins to feel that you should be somewhere else.

   "I don't mind where you drop me, here will do. Thanks again. I really appreciate the lift"

   A blast of cool air from the air con adds chill to your words.

   "But if you are new to Barcelona, why don't you let me show you around the city.  I've got an hour to kill. Let me show you some of my favorite sights." he says in a soft growl that melts some of your apprehension.

   "Let's abandon the car near here. The traffic is not going anywhere.  The cable car to Montjuïc leaves from just over there and there's no better way to get a birds eye view of Barcelona"

   You gaze across the harbor and spy a tall steel girder tower from where your eyes trace the movement of tiny red cabins strung out along a long length of steel cable that seems to touch down on a hill not too far distant.

   "It goes to Montjuïc; it's called the _Transbodador Aeri del Port_. And it's a perfect introduction to Barcelona.  You haven't done it yet have you?" he says.

   He must have been confident as to your answer for he pulls the car out into the oncoming lane and stops traffic in a blare of horns before perfecting a U turn that has the car then dash along a near empty road alongside the port.  He pulls into the car park near the base of the steel tower.  You can see that a lift spirits people up to the top of the tower and from there they climb aboard a cable car that crawls across an expanse of harbor high above the sea gulls that bob in the clear waters below.  Rows of palm trees stretch towards the base of the tower and not for the first time you feel the exotic nature of this city.  You were basking on the shores of the Mediterranean and Africa is but a boat ride over to the distant shore opposite.

      Of course you don't have to go with Carlos.  You are a free agent and this is your day. Yet the cable car ride would be a perfect way to get a bird's eye view back over the city and while the sun is not yet high and the day is still young, it could be fun.

   If you'd prefer to wander off alone for a stroll along the seafront, you can thank Carlos for the offer and the lift and bid him farewell. A sea front promenade stretches off in the distance and it is still a pleasant enough temperature for a stroll.

  Alternately, you let his little tour unfold, after all he is a confident attractive man and you do admire his form. You're in town for adventure and it seems to have landed in your lap. Why not let it unspool, it could be fun.

* * *

##### Cable car to Montjuïc with Carlos

* * *

##### Walk along the sea front promenade

* * *

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**Please turn back a page**

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**Please turn forward a page**

* * *

The elevator rattles as it eases to a halt. You step out, high above the port, and enter the gondola station. Carlos shrugs his shoulders when you ask him about the restaurant on the top floor. Whether he knows anything about it or just doesn't want to say is unclear, for he just smiles enigmatically. You are unsure whether you should be frustrated by this air of mystery. He stands confidently, a hand casually running through his salt and pepper hair. He motions for you to come to the side and take stock of the view.

The Torre Sant Sebastia towers over Barcelona, looking for all the world like a marooned alien from War of the Worlds. From four legs that are firmly tethered to the ground, an angular lacework of riveted steel strains skywards, enclosing two creaky lifts that drag people from sea level to the semi enclosed gondola station and the restaurant above that. First open in 1930, it has an undeniable old world visitor attraction charm. From its lofty heights, you find yourself gazing with awe at the city, laid out before you. A distant mosaic of pastel oranges, reds and white buildings sprawl in a jumble until they meet the green hills, distant in the haze. Behind you, the timeless azure expanse of the Mediterranean Sea stretches out to the horizon.

   Carlos is at your side and for a brief moment his arm brushes against yours as he seeks to point out some of the obvious attractions. Your eyes touch upon the ornate spires of Gaudi's Sagrada Familia. You spy the needles that strive to pierce the firmament, rising from the somber mass of the Gothic Cathedral. In small swarming groups, glass and steel phallic towers cluster and conspire to reinvent the old low rise city. The slight, almost accidental nature of this touch spooks you and sends a shiver coursing through your body. You hadn't felt particularly needy in that sense when you woke up, but rubbing shoulders with an attractive Spanish male, the possibilities for naughtiness now feel very real and well within grasp. In fact you are greedy for more. You watch as a gondola car swings slowly and does an about turn, winding through the gondola station and heading back to where it came from. An attendant ushers the waiting people inside, glancing over to you both as if to say hurry up, are you coming?

  Carlos, it seems, is in no rush to leave your side or the sightseeing, despite the fact that the view will be even better from the confines of the cable car. You almost miss him giving the attendant a wink but you do detect an almost surreptitious nod of understanding or assent in reply. What is he conspiring? A gondola to yourselves? It could only be this. The realization makes your heart race.

  "And back that way you see the line of plane trees that mark the Ramblas, and somewhere over there is my apartment"

  You follow the line of his arm and wonder where this man lives. What secrets this man's life holds. You can't determine which out of thousands of apartments could be his, but you nod and smile as though you see it.

  No further visitors have arrived since the last gondola left and the tourists recently departed are a small red speck. There is a great distance between gondola cars. If the streets below were like this, the city would feel bereft of people. In fact there are so few gondola cars and passengers, you wonder how the operation makes any money.

  Then a gondola car clatters into the station and its speed slows as it goes into the turn.  The door opens and the attendant directs you to enter. Carlos stands back, motioning for you to go first.

* * *

##### Do you climb aboard? Theres a good chance that Carlos is promising more than a gondola ride.

* * *

##### Do you change your mind and decide on walk along the seafront promenade? Alone in a gondola with Carlos. Is that a good idea?

* * *

* * *

**Please turn back a page**

* * *

* * *

**Please turn forward a page**

* * *
  The sea front promenade looks hot and shadeless.  You wander along it a short way as sweat starts to trickle down your back.  The beach has a crowd but the thought of picking through the sunbeds and umbrellas doesn't appeal to you.  You didn't come to Barcelona to lie on a beach. There is a whole city to explore.

* * *

##### You could try the scooter tour. They promise to pick you up from anywhere in Barcelona.

* * *

##### You could hail a taxi and head to the Sagrada Familia church

* * *

* * *

**Please turn back a page**

* * *

* * *

**Please turn forward a page**

* * *

Carlos jumps in and takes a seat next to you. The gondola car picks up speed as it leaves the station and in moments you are traversing Barcelona harbor. You have the sensation of flying and of floating. The view is spectacular, the city laid out below in miniature. Your toes tingle when you imagine the drop to the water beneath you. Away in the distance another stranded Martian stands as midpoint on the gondola run.

  Carlos laughs. "Look at all the cars jammed up. That bus is dead"

  You turn your gaze and realize you are feeling light headed. The air is thick and soupy, and combined with the soft sway of the gondola car you find your immediate impulse is to want to shed clothing. Yet you've really got nothing that could be removed without stripping down to your underwear. What is a girl to do?

  Carlos must have noticed. He removes his jacket and lays it carefully over the seat opposite. He loosens his tie and pops his top shirt button too. It's a look that you like. Casual dishevelment. Fashionable stubble, tousled hair, and jeans with a back story.

   "Are you okay?" he asks. "you look a little flushed".

  Standing up, he says "Hang on a moment, I'll open the windows".

  You get up. The gondola car sways only ever so slightly and it is easy to walk around within it. You take deep gulps of the sea air that flows in. Carlos has opened most of the windows in the cabin and the change in atmosphere is dramatic. Yet the air that flows in, while being refreshing, still carries the warmth of the day with it. You can bask in its radiant energy. Its movement is making you frisky.

  You glance at Carlos and find that he is already looking your way. His eyes are unwavering, direct and penetrating. You suspect he is speaking the same language, for his left eye betrays a mischievous glint that makes a lie of the innocence of his words.

  The thought of removing clothing has sent your pulse racing and you pause to consider what you should do.

* * *

#####  Do you say "I'm still a little hot" and move towards him with some sway and some sass?

* * *

##### Or do you do what any self respecting nymphomaniac would do and start peeling off your tight little dress? No one is about and you're confident Carlos won't blush.

* * *

* * *

**Please turn back a page**

* * *

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**Please turn forward a page**

* * *

You give the hem of your dress a swift tug, lifting it over your head in a move of startling fluidity. It billows up like a parachute. You raise an arm high, holding the dress aloft and twirling it like a toreador teasing a bull. Carlos looks for a moment like he has swallowed a mouthful of bees. You stand with your legs apart and give him a look of absolute mastery until you misjudge the twirling dress and get blindsided by a mouthful of it.

  "Pah!" you say, tossing it aside.

  You're sure you look quite a sight. Knickers and bra, fine lace and bare skin.

  You catch Carlos taking an extended glance at your legs. There is an unquestionable look of lust in his eyes and seeing this you find your legs liquefy and you are overcome by a desperate urge to sit down and wrap your pussy around something hard. Carlos' cock for instance. But he is still standing. The salt breeze that wafts in is so warm it sooths and embalms you in the same breath. You see Carlos gasp as you stand before him. There must be some sign in your eyes.  You guess they are clear as to their intent.

  You're before him now, looking at his chest. Greying hairs spill from where he has loosened a button. He's not really much taller than you. You admire his whiskers and give in to the urge to run your fingers over them. The bristles are surprisingly soft. Not the coarse stubble you've suffered with other men. He smells good. There is some other scent aside from a good cologne and it enriches the appeal of this man. You briefly catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window. Your hair is wildly teased in the heat and you look like a woman on a mission. A mild puff of breeze buffets the gondola car and it sways and rocks for a moment. You almost lose your balance and your legs struggle with what looks like an ill-timed dance move. Carlos quickly reaches out to steady you, his hands gripping your hips. His touch brings an instant response, maverick fingers hungry for exploration. The current that had been loosened in a zither is recharged and set free, and now courses with crazy abandon through your nervous system. You feel the humidity rise as beads of moisture dampen your knickers. You bring your left hand up and let it rest on his chest, feeling it tense and rise as time is stood on end. You play with his shirt buttons, making to undo more of them. Carlos slides his right hand down your leg, letting it rest on the hem of your skirt. Your own hand is a daring one and likes to make definite demonstrations of intent. It is brazen and drops quickly to Carlos' crotch in a stratagem designed to get things moving. There was already something happening but your touch hardens Carlos resolve, and you feel giddy as his hand climbs beneath your dress and makes its way for your crotch.

While your hand tests the contents of Carlos' pants for pliability, you follow with interest the movements of his hand that has now reached under your skirt and is doing its best to ease your knickers down your legs. His other hand has slipped around and cupped your ass and you grin as he squeezes it.

You do your best to unfasten his belt buckle and tangle with his fly. His pants loosen and slide down his thighs, crumpling at his feet. He shakes his legs out of them. He is wearing tight black boxer briefs that fail to conceal his arousal. He has managed to pull your knickers halfway down your legs; however, you are going to have to stop teasing his crotch before he can completely lower them. He runs a finger in a slow swipe through your slit, connecting at once and making you grind into his hand. Your knickers are like leg cuffs, denying his fingers further passage. They are frustrating his intentions, the elastic spread so taut over your knees that they cannot move either up or down your legs. You shake them down your legs, kicking your shoes off as they approach, and step out of them, eager to give him the ranch. The tower that signals the middle of the passage over the harbor fast approaches. You look behind and note that your embarkation point has shrunk.

 His fingers find your wetness. Your hand encircles his cock. You manage to unbutton more of his shirt before being stopped by him.

 "Leave it" he says, "Let's fuck. We've only got five minutes until the end."

 His cock is standing there, poking out beneath his pinstripe shirt. He reaches for his wallet and draws out some protection, and, tearing it open with his teeth, he hands it to you in silent expectation. You crouch down on your knees and slip it over his helmet, royally purple and proud.

  The middle tower is fast approaching so you slide your mouth down over his cock and draw the condom down over his trunk. It stretches tightly and contains him. Carlos is a powder keg and he has a handsome cock with some real meat to its girth. You can feel that he is exerting great self-control not to pump wildly in your mouth. You hear him gasp and his breath stop as you slide your mouth slowly up and down his shaft in a tease. You love the feel of cock in your mouth, but time is of the essence and for you at this moment, the essence of a fuck is copulation. You want him inside you, and now.

 The gondola approaches the halfway tower and the cable starts to rattle, sending a vibration through the car as it makes its way through the wheels. You motion for Carlos to sit down on the seat and when he does so, you immediately straddle him and guide his cock inside you. He fills you completely and you take a moment to enjoy that fullness. Then you push your mouth to his and your lips meet. It is a full on, hungry assault. Nibbles give way to bites. You are bouncing now, lifting yourself up and then dropping down hard on him, your ass bouncing off his thighs so that his thrusts hit home.

With a swift move, he peels your dress over your head and buries his face in your breasts. You can hear him whimper at the sheer pleasure of it. You push them together so that he can feast. Your nipples ripe for attention. His hands are around your back, steadying you. There is a sheen of sweat that you share. You are fucking with furious energy. The arousal you feel is threatening to engulf you. Carlos is pumping you with a semi steady rhythm, and his pants and gasps and groans are a medley of carnality played to an upbeat time signature.

 Out of the corner of your eye you see another cable car approaching from the other direction. You are too consumed by the moment to care if there is anyone on board and what they will see. You feel an orgasm approaching at a similar speed. You want it but you want to deny it. You hadn't realized you were so hot, for one. You can feel Carlos begin to build up steam. He has no hope but then neither do you. It is a quick fuck and a quick fuck can still spell quality.

 The other gondola car is almost upon you.

  Carlos sees it and exclaims "Showtime!"

 A number of tourists gather at its windows, admiring the view. You see a man grab the shoulder of his wife, raising his hand to his mouth in surprise. The other people in the gondola car jostle to get a look. Time slows. They are all watching. Disgust, laughter, surprise, delight.  On with the show. A young man waves his arm out the window. In his hand is a camera phone and he yells something that could only be construed as encouraging. Perhaps you've invented a new sport. Then suddenly it is gone, heading for where you came from. Carlos lifts you off him and pushes you sideways on the bench, his cock missing the tight warmth of you immediately, a situation that he intends to rectify. He kneels and pulls you towards him. Your pussy is welcoming. Its silken folds open for business. He slides back inside you with a pronounced groan. You welcome him with a shudder. You can feel that pressure is building. Carlos is in a lather. His face is red beneath his stubble, and his ears are glowing. He pumps and pumps and it is pushing you over. He has the momentum of a steam engine, his cock has such determination, it's as though he's operating to a timetable. Wait a minute; he is operating to a timetable. You can now see that the Montjuïc summit Miramar terminal is fast approaching. Your clit is taking such a pummeling so that with each thrust an aching current is sent adrift, pulsing to your core. You feel it building. Each thrust adding to it. It's like a roller coaster making that slow climb to the top, except the car has started to accelerate and you fear that it is out of control. Getting there is half the fun but the destination is rushing up to meet you. You are panting loudly. Carlos has his arms wrapped around your head and you joust in a flurry of tongues. The sensation set off by this tongue twining is all that it takes to take you there.

 "Fuck me fuck me fuck me," you scream, gleefully coming hard and gripping him tightly. You shake and thrash and shudder as it takes you away in exultant waves that shimmer off over the azure sea below.  You find yourself momentarily weeping; such is agony of this pleasure.  Carlos bucks, overwhelmed by your blinding climax, and unleashes a cascading torrent of come in an orgasm that shakes the gondola car. It swings wildly for a moment and you grip each other in blissful silence.

The moment is over because the terminal is upon you. You look at Carlos as he struggles to pull his clothes back on, and laugh at your naughtiness. Pulling your dress back on, you straighten yourself up just as the attendant opens the door.

 Stepping out, you realize that your legs are a little wobbly and you lurch for the assistants arm to steady you.

  " _Piernas de mar_ ," he says. "Sea legs"

  You nod and say " _Si_ ," sending Carlos a secret wink.

 Your pussy is throbbing with that pleasant vibe that comes on after a vigorous fucking. It'll stay with you for an hour or two and until it completely dissipates you'll be walking slowly, letting a sweet little smile surface once in a while to let people know that you've been hard at it on this day of love.

 "I've got to attend to work now, but I'd love a repeat booking sometime," says Carlos.

Do you say;

* * *

##### "I've got other plans, perhaps another time", thinking of your desire for new experiences and Aunt Lucy's maxim 'Love but don't linger'.

* * *

##### Or do you ask for his number saying "I'd like an encore and dinner sounds fabulous"

* * *

* * *

**Please turn back a page**

* * *

* * *

**Please turn forward a page**

* * *
 You throw caution to the breeze and give the hem of your dress a swift tug lifting it over your head in a move of startling fluidity.  It billows up like a parachute.  You raise an arm high holding the dress aloft and twirl it like a toreador teasing a bull.  Carlos looks for a moment like he has swallowed a mouthful of bees.  You stand with your legs apart and give him a look of absolute mastery until you misjudge the twirling dress and get blindsided by a mouthful of it.

  "Pah!" you say, tossing it aside.

  You're sure you look quite a sight.  Knickers and bra, fine lace and bare skin.

   You catch Carlos taking an extended glance at your legs.  It's more of a leer and caught up in all that lechery is a lazy grin that cauterizes any doubts you may have had.  There is an unquestionable look of lust in his eyes and seeing this you find your legs liquefy and you are overcome by a desperate urge to sit down and wrap your pussy around something.  Carlos' cock for instance.  But he is still standing.  The salt breeze that wafts in is so warm it sooths and embalms you in the same breath.  You see Carlos gasp as you stand before him.  There must be some sign in your eyes.  You guess they are clear as to their intent although the dramatic unveiling should have done the trick.

   You're before him now looking at his chest.  Greying hairs spill from where he has loosened a button.  He's not really much taller than you.  You admire his whiskers and give in to the urge to run your fingers over them.  The bristles are surprisingly soft.  Not the coarse stubble you've suffered with other men.  He smells good. There is some other scent aside from good cologne and it enriches the appeal of this man.  You catch a glimpse of your reflection in the window.  Your hair is wildly teased in the heat and you look like a woman on a mission.  A mild puff of breeze buffets the gondola car and it sways and rocks for a moment.  You almost lose your balance and your legs struggle with what looks like an ill-timed dance move.  Carlos quickly reaches out to steady you, his hands gripping your hips.  His touching you brings an instant response, maverick fingers hungry for exploration.  The current that had been loosened in a zither is recharged and set free and now courses with crazy abandon through your nervous system.  You feel the humidity rise as beads of moisture dampen your knickers.  You bring your left hand up and let it rest on his chest feeling it tense and rise as time is stood on end.  You play with his shirt buttons, making to undo them.  Carlos slides his right hand down your bare leg. Your own hand is a daring one and likes to make definite demonstrations of intent.  It is brazen and drops quickly to Carlos' crotch in a stratagem designed to get things moving.   There was already something happening but your touch hardens Carlos resolve and you feel giddy as his hand glides gloriously north and the temperature raises a notch.

   While your hand tests the contents of Carlos' pants for pliability, you follow with interest the movements of his hand which is now doing its best to ease your knickers down your legs.  His other hand has slipped around and cups your ass and you grin as he squeezes it.

   "Not a hooker" he says. Is it a question? You don't really care at this point.

   You do your best to unfasten his belt buckle and tangle with his fly.  His pants loosen and slide down his thighs, crumpling at his feet.  He shakes his legs out of them.  He is wearing tight black boxer briefs that fail to conceal his arousal.  He has managed to pull your knickers halfway down your legs, however you are going to have to stop teasing his crotch before he can completely lower them.  He runs a finger in a slow swipe through your slit connecting at once and making you grind into his hand. Your knickers are like leg cuffs denying his fingers further passage.  They are frustrating his intentions, the elastic spread so taut over your knees that they cannot move either up or down your legs.  You shake them down your legs, kicking your shoes off as they approach and step out of them, eager to give him the ranch.  The tower that signals the middle of the passage over the harbor fast approaches.  You look behind and note that your embarkation point has shrunk.

 His fingers find your wetness.  Your hand encircles his cock.  You manage to unbutton some of his shirt before being stopped by him.

  "Leave it" he says, "Let's fuck. We've only got five minutes until the end"

  His cock is standing there poking out beneath his pinstripe shirt.  He reaches for his wallet and draws out some protection, tearing it open with his teeth, he hands it to you in silent expectation.  You crouch down on your knees and slip it over his helmet, royally purple and proud.

 The middle tower is fast approaching so you slide your mouth down over his cock and draw the condom down over his trunk.  It stretches tightly and contains him.  Carlos is a powder keg and he has a handsome cock with some real meat to its girth.  You can feel that he is exerting great self-control not to pump wildly in your mouth.  You hear him gasp and his breath stop as you slide your mouth slowly up and down his shaft in a tease.  You love the feel of cock in your mouth but time is of the essence and for you at this moment, the essence of a fuck is copulation.  You want him inside you and now.

   The gondola approaches the halfway tower and the cable starts to rattle sending a vibration through the car as it makes its way through the wheels.  You motion for Carlos to sit down on the seat and when he does so, you immediately straddle him and guide his cock inside you.  He fills you completely and you take a moment to enjoy that fullness.  You push your mouth to his and your lips meet.  It is a full on hungry assault.  Nibbles give way to tongues.  You are bouncing now.  Lifting yourself up and then dropping down hard on him, your ass bouncing off his thighs so that his thrusts hit home.

  He buries his face in your breasts.  You can hear him whimper at the sheer pleasure of it. You push them together so that he can feast, your nipples ripe for attention.  His hands are around your back steadying you. There is a sheen of sweat that you share.  You are fucking with furious energy.  The arousal you feel is threatening to engulf you.  Carlos is pumping you with a semi steady rhythm and his pants and gasps and groans are a medley of carnality played to an upbeat time signature.

  Out of the corner of your eye you can see another cable car approaching from the other direction.  You are too consumed by the moment to care if there is anyone on board and what they will see.   You can feel an orgasm approaching at a similar speed.  You want it but you want to deny it.  You hadn't realized you were so hot for one.  You can feel Carlos begin to build up steam.  He has no hope but then neither do you.  It is a quick fuck and a quick fuck can still spell quality.

  The other gondola car is almost upon you.

  Carlos sees it and exclaims "Showtime!"

    A number of tourists gather at its windows admiring the view.  You see a man grab the shoulder of his wife, raising his hand to his mouth in surprise.  The other people in the gondola car jostle to get a look.  Time slows.  They are all watching.  Disgust, laughter, surprise, delight.  On with the show.  A young man waves his arm out the window.  In his hand is a camera phone and he yells something that could only be construed as encouraging.  Perhaps you've invented a new sport.  And no sooner is it gone, heading for where you came from.  Carlos lifts you off him and pushes you sideways on the bench, his cock missing the tight warmth of you immediately, a situation that he intends to rectify.  He kneels and pulls you towards him.  Your pussy is welcoming.  Its silken folds open for business.  He slides back inside you with a pronounced groan.  You welcome him with a shudder.  You can feel that pressure is building.  Carlos is in a lather.  His face is red beneath his stubble and his ears glowing.  He pumps and pumps and it is pushing you over.  He has the momentum of a steam engine, his cock has such determination, it's as though he's operating to a timetable.  Wait a minute; he is operating to a timetable. You can now see that the Montjuïc summit Miramar terminal fast approaches.  Your clit is taking such a pummeling so that with each thrust, an aching current is sent adrift, pulsing to your core.  You can feel it building.  Each thrust adding to it.  It's like a roller coaster making that slow climb to the top except the car has started to accelerate and you fear that it is out of control.  Getting there is half the fun but the destination is rushing up to meet you.  You are panting loudly.  Carlos wraps his arms around your head and you joust in a flurry of tongues.  The sensation set off by this tongue twining is all that it takes to get you there.

  "Fuck me fuck me fuck me" you scream, gleefully coming hard and gripping him tightly.  You shake and thrash and shudder as it takes you away in exultant waves that shimmer off over the azure sea below.   You find yourself momentarily weeping, such is agony of this pleasure.   Carlos, overwhelmed by your blinding climax, bucks, unleashing a cascading torrent of cum in an orgasm that shakes the gondola car.  It swings wildly for a moment and you grip each other in blissful silence.

  The moment is over because the terminal is upon you. You look at Carlos as he struggles to pull his clothes back on and laugh at your naughtiness.  Pulling your dress back on you straighten yourself up just as the attendant opens the door.

  Stepping out, you realize that your legs are a little wobbly and you lurch for the assistants arm to steady you.

  " _Piernas de mar_ " he says "Sea legs"

  You nod and say " _Si_ " sending Carlos a conspiratorial wink.

   You pussy is throbbing with that pleasant vibe that comes on after a vigorous fucking.  It'll stay with you for an hour or two and until it completely dissipates you'll be walking slowly, letting a sweet little smile surface once in a while to let people know that you've been at it hard on this day of love.

  "I've got to attend to work now, but I'd love a repeat performance" says Carlos. "What are you doing later? I've got a regular booking at a restaurant you must try and I don't yet have a date"

* * *

#####  Do you say;"I've got other plans, perhaps another time", thinking of your desire for new experiences and Lucy's maxim 'Love but don't linger'

* * *

##### Or do you ask for his number saying "I'd like an encore and dinner sounds like fabulous "

* * *

* * *

**Please turn back a page**

* * *

* * *

**Please turn forward a page**

* * *
  You enter his number into your phone, promising to SMS him yours.

   "I'll let you know for certain later on in the day if that's okay?" you tell him.

   He looks a little pained but nods and kisses you quickly on each cheek before leaping back aboard the returning gondola and disappearing off across the harbor.  The day is still warming and you look for a moment at the bright blue backdrop of azure sea and sky.  At some point on the horizon they meet, but as the sea haze shimmers you fail to detect it.

* * *

##### You've decide to hop it across town in a taxi to the Sagrada Familia, Gaudi's world famous unfinished church.

* * *

* * *

**Please turn back a page**

* * *

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**Please turn forward a page**

* * *
 You feel a little guilty at not being receptive to his offer for while you had a sweet ride across the harbor in the gondola with Carlos, you are still in search of the authentic Barcelona experience and at the moment that means that you're content with doing all the fancy legwork discovering it yourself.

* * *

##### You decide to hop it across town in a taxi to the Sagrada Familia, Gaudi's world famous unfinished church.

* * *

* * *

**Please turn back a page**

* * *

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**Please turn forward a page**

* * *
 "What do you need?" he asks.

  "Your cock will do," you say "as long as it's good and hard."

  "Oh it soon will be and when it is it's all yours." he says with a wink.

  Jorge pushes himself against the closed wall of the "thinking space", allowing you the space to recline. The space is cramped, not quite cattle class on a plane, but it does still involve more creative contortions than a twister game. He climbs over your naked body and props himself up, legs between your naked thighs. You reach out and stroke his cock, which is in the process of becoming as hard as the legs of your grandmother's table. You pull it toward you until you feel it part your slippery lips, its swollen purple head immediately plunging deeply inside you. The fullness you feel is complete and intense.

  "Ahhh," he groans. "You are steaming, baby"

  He gives a quick thrust that buries his cock to the hilt and you moan with the complete wholeness of his stuffing you. He begins a slow rhythmic pump, a speed that ensures pleasure but that also promises further flights of ecstatic abandon when he shifts up a gear.

  "You're completely filling me," you gasp "and I love it!"

  He is driving his cock faster now. Ramming it with speed, getting carried away with it. The serious expression on his face has you giggle. Pistoning with fluid urgency, his cock is being willfully shoved up your snatch, each thrust harder than the previous. Your clit is being pummeled. Your lips are pink and swollen. His hands slip down under your ass and pull it up from the bed. An exploratory finger roams, traveling the length of your bottom, exploring its damp darkness. He finds what he is after and with soft pressure lets his finger swirl and trace the puckered lips of your ass. Your butt cheeks are writhing as you feel him explore. His fucking is driving you wild. He squeezes your ass cheeks and it makes you involuntarily grip his cock with your pussy muscles, holding him for a moment tightly within you. His finger now begins a tentative exploration, its small tip probing slightly inside your ass. This is turning him on. It is turning you on too. His thrusts are getting erratic. His cock is pistoning and jerking. It twitches and spasms in a fashion that makes you sure he is close to orgasm. The jerky movements of his pelvis and cock, pushing and bouncing against your clit are driving you wild. You can feel the steady rise of orgasm within you. Your nethers are all a tingle with its approach. Your mind is drowning in erotic sensation. The kinky nature of sex, high above Barcelona in a hidden chamber, surrounded by other tourists milling around with their cameras and water bottles, is driving you wild.

  He seems a little hesitant to push on.

* * *

##### Would you like to encourage him to delve further?

* * *

##### No ifs or buttholes.

* * *

* * *

**Please turn back a page**

* * *

* * *

**Please turn forward a page**

* * *

    You wander into the Barrio Gothic. Within moments you are immersed in a medieval maze of cobbled lane ways, lined with small shops and boutiques. There is something organic about the place. It would be easy to lose your bearings. The lanes twist and turn and you find yourself in a peaceful square surrounded by stone walls so richly ancient they exude history in a way no book can hope to. Bits of the old Roman Barcelona surface, old temples and marble columns, old city walls. The bustle of people is pedestrian and moped. The scooter riders putt along slowly, weaving through the foot traffic.

  The _Placa_ , a broad square, is lined with restaurants and cafes. You stand outside a charcuteria in which hangs large hinds of cured Spanish Jamon and garlands of garlic and onion. From one of the bars you hear guitars being furiously strummed. The sound is coming from the far side of the square. A short stroll across the square is a bookshop doing a brisk trade.

  You head for the bookshop. It is swollen with women all with the same intent.  The queue at the register looks like a train dance, and not one of those tiny two-carriage metro trains; this is a Trans-Iberian express with more carriages than you can count. They all clutch books. Books that they will later exchange for roses and perhaps, once transacted, something else.

  The smell of all the paperbacks makes you long for a quiet space to savor a book. You are spoiled for choice here if you happen to read Spanish.

You find a pile of books sitting neglected in the corner. It's in the English section and most of the traffic is centered around the Spanish bestseller piles. 'Hide this Spanish book for Lovers' is on sale. But you've already got a copy and hopefully the local men already know the lingo, so you don't need that.

   You spy a special display stand with some new releases. The covers are alluring. You browse through them. It's the Hot in the City series with new titles - _Seduced by Sydney, Provocative in Prague, Passion in Paris, Lustful in Lisbon_ and _Risqué in Rome_. You pick up a copy of _Infatuated in Istanbul_ and turn it over to read the blurb. The books place you at the center of your own richly erotic adventure. As the reader, you let your whims guide you with choices that suit the moment. These are all cities you plan to visit on your trip. Perhaps you should buy the set? You vow to return before you leave the city, although you can't help feeling that you are already living a real life version of one of these books.

  Peering over the book stands, you can't help but note that a woman you'd earlier spied, wandering out of a small boutique in one of the many narrow cobbled lanes, is now crouched low and browsing the bottom shelf of a stand near you. She is wearing the most beautiful traditional flamenco dress and has it hitched up so that it doesn't brush the floor. You can't help admiring her calves. Her legs are the tightly toned legs of a dancer, and her skin, the color of burnt sienna, sets off the red of the dress beautifully.

  She must have sensed your attention, for she turns and peers over at you.

  Busted.

"Hola," you say, "I hope you don't mind but I was just admiring your dress." You try hard to think of something else to add, before blurting out "I was wondering if you were a dancer?"

  The women straightens up and says "Oh!"

  You obviously startled her and her surprise has you on the back foot.

"The dress, it is a Flamenco dancers dress, isn't it?" you ask, and she nods.

  You are struck by the fact that she is exceedingly attractive. Winged cheek bones define a thin flawless face that draws you into eyes of the purest amber. You can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy at her good fortune. It's not that you don't turn heads, but this woman would bring down governments.

  "I am a dancer. That is true. You? Dance?" she asks.

  You shake your head. "I love to, but never Flamenco," you reply.

  She steps towards you, reaching into her bag. She hands you a red flyer. You read it. It's advertising a pair of guitarists called Inigo and Pablo, playing at a bar called La Pedrera tonight.

  She exclaims "It is where I dance. These are my musicians. You must come!"

  She smiles, pushing hair the color of rich cocoa back behind her ear.

  She says "I'm Lala, Lala Montez. I've got to dash but I hope to see you tonight."

  You introduce yourself and promise to come to the bar later to catch the performance.

* * *

#####   You wonder if you should call up the scooter tour. The blurb said that they would pick you up from anywhere.

* * *

##### Alternately, the cool alleyway over there looks intriguing. Step this way

* * *

* * *

**Please turn back a page**

* * *

* * *

**Please turn forward a page**

* * *

 You scroll through the numbers and dial. The conversation is short. The woman on the phone knows exactly where you are when you only give her the slightest of descriptions. She says, in lightly accented English, that she knows Barcelona backwards, no problems at all and that your guide will be there within ten minutes. You lean back against the cool of a stone wall and let your eyes wander. You send them a quick selfie with your smart phone. 'Simplest way for us to find you in the crowd,' the woman had said. The crowd that mills around you is undeniably cheery. Women wander past clutching a rose, their partner or both. A number of men are strolling with books in hand. All are enjoying the sunshine and clear skies. The scent of four million roses lends the air a glorious fragrance and you take a moment to let yourself savor it.

  Before you know it, a zippy motor scooter whizzes up beside you and comes to a halt. You'd had dreams of hunky male tour guides astride red Vespas. Well, this scooter is white and its rider is definitely not male. The woman dismounts and removes her helmet. Long trusses of hair spill from its confines and she shakes these out over her shoulders, brushing them back behind her ears before glancing around. Finding you looking her way, she strides toward you and with hand outstretched introduces herself.

  "I'm Carmen, lovely to meet you." she says. You can't help noticing that her shades aren't dark enough to render her eyes entirely anonymous, and you watch them charting your curves, from top to toe.

  "You look even more attractive than the selfie you sent," she says with a smile that curls and slinks until all the letters in the silent thought bubble attached to it line up and spell "Tasty". You aren't sure whether to thank her or blush, or both. You feel your cheeks flush red. It's been a while since you've received such blatant flirtation from a woman.

  "We'll have fun" she says, sliding her glasses to the tip of her nose. Her eyes are the color of an expensive chocolate, so rich in cocoa as to have health benefits. There is an undisguised friskiness and sparkle to these and holding her gaze, she makes sure that you understand where she is at.

  This woman is young and tall and lithe. She wears a tight black leather motorcycle jacket that is well scuffed and black leather pants that aren't. They are so glossy, in fact, that you need sun glasses to temper the reflection that dazzles from them. Brandishing a whip, she would look right at home in an S and M dungeon. Dark olive skin and hair so honeyed and brown it could be caramelized and added to a desert. She turns heads. She probably turns them inside out. You are aware of the glances she is drawing but you note that many of the appreciative glances fall equally on you.

  "Where are we heading first Carmen?" you ask, after she directs you to climb aboard. You're perched behind her and pressed hard up against the warmth of her back. The black leather has absorbed the heat of the day and some of this is radiating through to you.

   "Arms around me" she says. "Hang on tight."

   You do as bade and she mutters "Nice."

   She then slides her butt backwards on the seat, connecting with you.

   "Perfect" she says.

   You are pressed up hard against her. You can feel the leather from her pants through your skirt. You can feel her soft supple body beneath this thin black, glossy skin. You start to feel something else.

   "Gaudi, you know him? Famous architect. Crazy church here and buildings to see but his park is a marvel and we should head there first."

   Carmen is no shrinking violet when it comes to playing in the traffic. Very soon you're hanging on for your life. She's obviously immortal, because she'd surely already be well dead otherwise. This girl dallies with buses, gives the finger to cantankerous cars and scoots right down the center of the tram tracks, taking a short cut past stalled traffic.

   A crowd of tourists in an open top red tour bus lean out from the roof and holler and wave as the tram comes whistling along and tooting behind you. Carmen gives the engine a short burst and veers through a gap in the oncoming traffic. A loud chorus of toots is trumpeted and the screeches and honks sound like they've been pulled from a Hollywood soundtrack. You're a bit player in some comic farce and all around you are stunt drivers doing as directed. Making a lot of noise but the crunching metal will be added with a computer later. Carmen again careens in front of the oncoming traffic, before darting the wrong way down a one-way alley.

   You wish your finger nails could grow faster. You need some talons so that you can jab her in the sides and get her to slow down. It isn't only Barcelona that is flashing past you at speed; it is your life.

   "I learned how to ride from playing video games on my brother's console," she says in a misguided attempt to calm you down, having first admonished you for crushing her ribs.

   Is she saying this to rile you? To stir you? It can't possibly be true. You are wondering how to get her to slow down enough so that you can leap off to safety when she slows the bike.

   "Park Güell," she says, having stopped the bike within two feet of the entrance gates. The park attendant glowers at you in disbelief but when Carmen barks something at him in rapid fire Catalan he backs away, chastened, and resumes his stance, perched on a small black stool in the shade. He looks the other way as you stand at the entrance gates, gazing up the hill and into the park.

   Carmen is obviously crazy. She's sure as hell a psycho driver and who knows what madness she's got up her sleeve for the rest of the tour.

   Do you want to stay with her, she's got gall and character and you can't deny that there is some sort of frisson developing between you.

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##### Carmen has got something. You could hang around and see how this plays out.

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##### Alternately you could grab a taxi. There's bound to be one along soon.

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  You must have looked like you were wavering, so in a decisive motion, Carmen grasps your hand and pulls you into the park. You'd been staring at the park entrance, unsure whether to persist with Carmen. The red open topped tourist bus had come and gone. The posse of tourists that had cheered and hollered when you were on the back of the bike had disembarked and wandered into the park. A group of young lads whisper and point, chuckling among themselves at recognizing the two crazy gals on the motor scooter. You catch one of them sizing up Carmen. She sends them a death stare of such bone chilling rejection that they promptly turn tail and head into the park. You catch the eye of one of them, a red bandanna-wearing hunk who is strutting his stuff like a peacock. Poor kid, probably only just started shaving. You aren't ageist but these guys are barely out of high school.

  "Parc Güell." Carmen says. "An icon of the city, created by its most famous son. His university professor most famously said "We have given this academic title either to a fool or a genius. Only time will show." And hasn't time done just that. Look at this place!"

  Carmen stretches her arms wide and spins around on the spot. A slow pirouette that makes her hair catch the light and gleam like she's been possessed by divine light. Heads turn and other park visitors watch. She's got some spiel that she wants to impart as part of the tour and the theatrics are part of the show. Her tight black leather pants are still drawing glances but her jacket is now slung in a casual fashion over her shoulder.

  "We'll get to his church later," she continues, "although no real rush. It won't be finished until 2027 or thereabouts"

  "He was run over by a tram while dressed in the robes of a beggar and before anyone realized who it was, he was gone. Dead as a door handle"

  "Knob," you say. "Doorknob".

  The place is amazing. It is every bit a place of world heritage. You are thrilled to be here. It's like nothing you've ever experienced.

  You wander through the gates between the two gatehouses. These are ornate buildings, life size gingerbread houses composed of sculptural forms that make them look like they've been shaped by aeon's of wind and wave. Curved, rounded and inset with stone work arranged in elaborate ornamental patterns and each capped with something that looks like a toadstool garden. They are the border posts, the guard houses that lead into a strange and exotic land. It isn't quite real and yet here you are. A tall fence surrounds the park. This is covered in a broken ceramic tile mosaic in a multitude of colors. The arrangements are dazzling and you find them exceedingly beautiful. Carmen smiles, seeing you running your hand over the glazed surfaces.  She points out some medallions set into the mosaics that bear the inscription 'Parc" and "Güell".

  "An ancient style of tiling. From the Moors," she says.

  Carmen squeezes your hand. "Come and look at the dragon."

  You give in to her tug but unclasp her hand when you reach it. You appreciate the attentive personal nature of the tour but the way that Carmen is gripping your hand is almost possessive and heck, you've only just met the girl.

    At the base of a giant staircase leading up the hill to a great covered portico is a serpent dragon created from a mix of blue and yellow tiles in a cleverly arranged mosaic. Water, rather than fire, spills from its mouth. An elemental fountain. It's a happy looking dragon and it buoys your spirits.

  Carmen cups the water that flows from its mouth and then lets it go, flowing down through her fingers. "So spiritual" she says, as her eyes glimmer.

  She points to the top of the stairway. A great acropolis of columns sits atop a hill like some ancient temple that has somehow survived centuries of rape and pillage. You can see people on top of them, peering over the edge, gazing at the great expanse of view that stretches all the way over a thousand dusty rooftops to the sea.

  "Let's go up there" Carmen says. "The miradors. You can look out at all of Barcelona from the top of the world"

  You climb the stairs. The park is full of trees, palms and giant figs sprawl around you. You come upon a forest of columns. Hexagonal pillars of hard stone support a stupendous roof.

  "Gaudi. A genius huh?" Carmen says with her hands wrapped around a column, head tilted skyward.

  You can't disagree. The sentiment is spot on. You're soaking up the atmosphere of the place. All manner of people are enjoying the park on this day. Perhaps it is busier than most, being the day of roses and books. And lovers.

  From among the Doric columns in the distance you spy the red bandanna wearer, hard at work on his phone.

  Then your phone vibrates. You at first discount any relationship between the vibratory alert and the bandanna wearer. It's just not possible. But after another few seconds of buzzing you give in. You can't help yourself and, signaling to Carmen that you will catch up with her, you swipe the screen of your phone. Lothario Scenario, the latest hook up app recommended by Sally, your oldest school friend. Married for years and still married but now flirting with outside fun. She insisted you trial it on your trip. "Everyone's on it, darling" she'd chirped. So you succumbed and installed it. And now it is beeping. For the very first time.

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##### Do you want to respond?

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##### Ignore your phone and continue with the tour and see what Carmen has in store for you.

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#####

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  You can't help yourself and pull out your phone.

  First things first, let's look at the photo. And look who it isn't. There isn't a bandanna in the picture but certainly the guy is hot. He looks a little familiar too. You look up at the young guy with the bandanna leaning against the column. He's still concentrating intensely on the screen of his phone. The moment of recognition hits you. It is him. You look down at your screen and find that his nickname is Dangerous Dan.

  Well, do you swipe left to ignore or right to initiate? It could be fun. You'd have to give Carmen the slip. You are already tingling at the possibility. Yet you waver. A short time ago you dismissed the young guys in the group as impossibly young, yet now you realize that they are older than you first thought. Early to mid-twenties. In their prime. You scroll through Dangerous Dan's details. He's backpacking and keen on a good time. Australian. From Sydney of all places. You'd like to go there one day. It is on the list. Do you fancy a dalliance with a young Aussie?  It's not really what you came to Spain for but...

  Carmen has traipsed off up the stairs, signaling that she'll meet you up on top when you're ready.

  Do you want to linger and have a word with Dangerous Dan? After all, it seems an encounter has already been engendered. Unwittingly, your smart phone has linked you to the hunkiest young man wandering through Parc Güell at this moment. You did have a hand in it. You installed the app. But to call yourself "Scarlett Hornblower"? Mmm... hmmm, perhaps that was taking things a little too far.

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##### You linger. Dangerous Dan has got your attention, for now

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##### You climb the stairs after Carmen. The opportunity to flirt with hot men will surely present itself later on in the evening.

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The view from the mirador is just stupendous, even if Barcelona is now blanketed in haze from the heat of the day. You run your hand over the brightly glazed mosaic tiles that adorn each seating area, and troop around the perimeter wall taking in the view from each angle. Back where you started, you find Carmen gazing wistfully out over the rooftops, lost in thought. A cigarette droops, forgotten in her hand, it's smoke dragged sideways in the warm breeze that wafts up the hill. You wander over to join her but falter, a little reluctant to intrude on her moment. She is perched on a mosaic-tiled seat, glossy from a thousand behinds. There is room for two or three but no more. You sit down alongside her and she turns to you, dimples deepening, mouth curling in some mysterious approximation of a smile.

Thin rivulets of sweat trace faint trails down your neck. Between your cleavage a drip slides. The day is warming. Perhaps that is why Carmen is half crazy, half baked.

  You take in the view and make out both the tower of the Gothic cathedral and the Sagrada Família, and, away in the distance, the cable car that stretches from the port to Montjuïc hill.

Carmen says "Lunch?"

Do you answer;

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##### I'm not really hungry

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##### I'm starving, lunch sounds perfect. Lead on

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* * *
 You decide to dally instead of dash, and you look up to see Dangerous Dan, his face given over to an infectious grin. He holds his phone up and waggles it. You nod. He walks over to you. His body is as upstanding as a street pole, his forearms a river delta of prominent veins. You find yourself admiring them, transfixed by how his musculature could be so developed. Is he a sportsman? A tradesman? He looks fine. He looks fit. You find yourself quickly shelving your earlier misapprehensions.

  "So, how surprising... a Lothario in person. I never thought this app would work. What a laugh" you say, unable to resist letting a coquettish smile escape and slide his way.

  "I'm not really called Dangerous Dan" says Dangerous Dan. "It's just a name my mates dreamed up. Honest, I only installed the app two days ago."

  "And you're Scarlett?" he says, pausing before adding a little cautiously "Hornblower?"

He tries to suppress a little giggle before adding, with a laugh, "I love that name!"

  His accent is broad and different. He has a deep masculine growl, deeper than his years.  In fact his voice does sound dangerous. And that undeniably holds some allure, as does his accent. This young man has an accent that makes you ache. It made you think of exotic lands, wild creatures, beaches and impossibly athletic men. It yanks and tugs at you - a familiar language spoken through an unfamiliar prism.

  He was unable to miss your smile. You've had some practice over the years, and have the formula down pat. It's tried and true and seemingly irresistible.

  You decide from the outset to stick to your stage name and wear your saucy nickname, rather than divulge the real you. Heck, Scarlett Hornblower sounds like quite a gal.

  "Yes, elementary, Detective Dan" you say with mock seriousness.

  He goes on: "I was lying in my hostel bed and some lucky sod was getting amorous with a local girl in the bunk above me when a friend messaged me and recommended that I install this app to put me out of my misery. To be honest," and he gave a little serious cough, "I really haven't seen the point of dating apps until now. But this one seemed like a bit of fun and there are lots of users in Europe and enough of them in Barcelona to give it a shot."

  "How about you?" he asks, smiling in a goofy fashion. "I saw you on that scooter with that crazy chick and now here you are. Amazing! We were all stunned at her riding. She's got some sort of bypass death pass I reckon. So what are you doing here? Are you a tourist?"

  You decide to play this part of it truthfully and quickly tell him that it is your first day in the city and that the scooter tour seemed like a good idea at the time. But you don't quite feel that you are as impervious to the imprecations of mortality as Carmen seems to be, and the thought of getting back on the scooter makes you tremble.

  "What do you think of the park, Not Dangerous Dan?" you ask, your voice a melody of playful notes.

  "Ah" he says, "Sorry, yes. My name is actually Sam. I'm not really sure where the Dangerous Dan came from. I like danger, but I like simpler pleasures too," and he returns your suggestive smirk with an orchestrated wink of deliberate slowness that, had his eye been a camera lens, the shot would have been a blur of overexposure.

  Aside from the red bandanna tied around his head, Dangerous Dan, aka Sam, is wearing a black t-shirt that has a number of strange words printed over it, all linked with arrows. Barkeno -> Barcino -> Barchinona  -> Barshiluna...all of which seem a little familiar. He sees you looking at it and spins around, showing you Barcelona printed on the back.

  "The history of the city name" he says "from the museum. Cool hey?"

  You do think this is a nifty design for a t-shirt and it does seem nicely matched to the mid length pants he is wearing, a light denim that looks well-travelled. There is no denying it, Dangerous Dan looks like he's stepped straight out of a commercial, advertising whatever coolest hippest product would have the younger generation drooling at the moment.

  "What about you? What do you like?" he says, shifting his weight from one leg to the other and segueing straight into the immediate trap of a conversation laced with double meaning.

  You introduce yourself, saying that Scarlett is your real name but that horn blowing is a hobby, and you run through a brief spiel, most of which is a close enough variant on the truth for you not to feel too guilty.

  You're sure he gets the meaning regarding horn blowing and hobbies, for he again struggles to stifle a little giggle. He is still a young man and one who must find all manner of sexual innuendo laced banter so overly amusing as to be almost embarrassed by it.

  Your imagination is running wild with possible outcomes of this scenario. Your heart is acting like it is over caffeinated.

  You wonder what you should do;

Surefire death can only come from jumping back on the scooter with Carmen. It doesn't matter how many years of video game training she's had in motorcycle riding. You're looking for an out and this is it.

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##### You decide to ask if he'd fancy a coffee right now.

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#####  You'll stick with Carmen for now and see out the tour, you do feel some attraction to her feisty character.

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You've decided to exit stage left and leave Carmen to her own devices. You can catch up with her later if you really want to. For the moment Dangerous Dan has some strange intoxicating appeal and you want to make the most of things. You decide to call him Dangerous Dan, rather than just plain and simple Sam, and stick to the heightened allure of his seductive pen name. It is likely that your name has got his pulse racing too. It really leaves little to the imagination as to where your specialties lie. Scarlett Hornblower. Where did that come from?

   The Parc Güell restaurant has a few outside tables and chairs, set underneath age old palm trees. Dangerous Dan slides easily into one of the seats, having first pulled one out for you. You appreciate the gesture even if it does feel impossibly old fashioned.

   A waiter wanders over with two coffees. You ordered a cafe con leche and Dan had followed suit.

  Dan seems to be making a comic point of stirring such a mountain of sugar into his coffee that it can't possibly all dissolve. He takes a tiny sip from the spoon and then utters an exaggerated "ah... "

  "Can I have a little coffee to flavor my sugar please?" you say, half in jest, half in horror.

  Dangerous Dan rolls his eyes and giggles. For a guy with such deep masculine growl, he has quite a high giggle.

  You look on, bemused as he takes a sip. There is so much sugar in his cup it'd turn into coffee toffee if the right temperature was applied.

  "Any other interesting hobbies?" he asks "or is horn blowing your first and only passion?"

  You pull a face, mouth agape, until you realize that you're probably only advertising your talents further with your mouth drawn in such an oblong oh. But then you came here to flirt and it seems you are doing just fine.

  You've just met with a hook up app, and it wasn't really created to enable like minds to get together and compare the finer details of advanced basket weaving, after all.

  "I can blow a horn hard" you say, letting your tongue do a slow slide of licking the milky froth from your upper lip, before adding "I played French horn in my college band"

  "French?" he says, amused. "That would have made you popular."

  It seems the imagery has got to him, for then he says "I'd really like to hear you make music" before shifting a little uncomfortably in his seat. Something has popped up. And for a moment you can see that he has lost focus.

  "Have you wandered among the wooded section of the park yet?" you ask, as if you aren't hatching some sort of naughty plan. You throw a look up toward the heights of the park. Above the central monument section lies a vast undiscovered park full of stone grottoes, isolated pathways and trees. And, you hope, some sort of privacy, if only for a short time.

  Dangerous Dan is in on your connivance even before the shake of his head.

   "I'm feeling Cafe con lecherous," he says with a wink.

  You and me both, you think.

  Quietly finishing your coffee, you realize that a wordless compact has been reached. Leaving, you climb some stairs behind the restaurant, avoiding the mirador area because you don't want to run into Carmen. You're both wearing a variation on a naughty little smile. You glance at Dan and note that he looks as furtive as a crossdresser caught napping in his wife's brassiere, on hearing a key turn in the front door.

  Dangerous Dan quietly pads along beside you. Neither of you has yet done anything naughty. However, the promise of it is there, swirling about, and because of this the air between you is laden with heavy expectation. There is a little stiff leggedness to Dan's gait and a palpable excitement written large over his face. He stops for a breather and wipes his brow. Beads of sweat cluster on his forehead and with the heat and this moment of stillness he looks impossibly masculine; the very definition of a hunky sex god. A couple of thousand years ago they would have been carving marble statues of his likeness. You imagine the Lothario Scenario profile of Dan as a statue. Attributes - hard, stiff and silent. Desirable qualities in any male, you muse.

  The pathways through the park are dusty and you've left most of the crowds behind. The gardens are really lovely, however, your appreciation of them takes a back seat to your quest for a little out of the way place to demonstrate your horn-blowing prowess. Herbs heavy with pungent fragrances line the pathways you wander, searching in increasing desperation for "the spot". A plane flies overhead, trailing clouded streamers as it descends into Barcelona airport. For a moment, the noise rattles you. You take this trail and that and still fail to discover anywhere to do the deed that won't get both of you locked up for public indecency.

  The suspense between you is building and the need to do the deed overwhelming. You had to run with the decision made and now it seems irreversible. Dangerous Dan is looking far from dangerous, but not a little desperate. Desperate Dan is beginning to look a little flustered.

  "I'm staying in a hostel and most of my mates are out and about..." he says, offering an easy solution to the privacy conundrum that is entangling you both. But these words wash over you and you don't pause to let them find purchase. Parc Güell is the place. If not here, then nowhere.

  You turn a corner and spy a stone grotto lying in the shade of some conifer trees. Grabbing Dan by the hand you quickly lead him off the path and into the secluded space. This is the place.

 "Let's be quick," you say. You are hungering for a taste of his cock. The thought of sucking him in a semipublic space is making you more than aroused, and now that you've found the space, you feel the wetness start to seep. A soft throb pulses through you, the beginnings of a desperate ache that won't let up until you've had your fill.

  The stone grotto provides some shade, while the cool of the stone columns that hold up its roof provide a ready respite from the heat of the day. Pulling Dan into the space and looking around for other park wanderers, you determine that you have the little place all to yourselves.

  You move toward Dan and plant a kiss hard on his lips, while letting your hand tangle with his belt.

  "If you'd like to sample my horn blowing skills, you'll have to lose these, darling," you moan, blowing hot air into his ear.

  The poor sod is rigid with excitement, and his cock strains against the denim. The thrill of being outside, hidden but in a public space, is making him ache. Your hand traces the outline of his rock hard member and in moments he has dropped his pants and released what is a sizable cock from the confines of his jeans. His cock is a toy soldier standing to attention, awaiting its first command. It has a regal bulbous head that is flushed an exotic shade of red. Private Parts looks happy to breathe the fresh air and take a gander at the view with his singular sleepy eye. Twitching in peremptory excitement, you marvel at its elegant form and beauty. A thick blueish vein runs the length of his cock, itself swollen with the crimson life force pumping through it.

  You take Dangerous Dan's hard cock in your hands and run your fingers along its length. Your fingers are calipers, measuring his girth, calculating his length. You could be the hangman calculating his weight, or a dairy farmer his worth in cream. You concentrate like an engineer. Like a physician. Like a musician. You want Dangerous Dan to appreciate all the aspects of your professionalism. You then, as if easing yourself into the slow introduction to a symphony, begin to jack him off. Dangerous Dan shuts his eyes for a moment and gasps.

  He leans back against the stone pillar of the grotto, hidden from the view of casual walkers in the park, and his hand reaches out and squeezes one of your tits. His fingers pull at your nipple, still soft beneath the top of your blouse.

   Squatting down, you take his cock deep in your mouth, sucking on it while you continue to wank him off. You summon extra wetness into your mouth and with your tongue, you run it all around his cock-head and begin working your hand along his shaft. Danger boy can't help himself and starts pushing his cock in little spasmodic thrusts into your mouth. Little twitches that begin to increase in momentum. Little spasms that seem to make him shudder and groan. He eases his cock backwards and forwards into your mouth, enjoying the silken massage of your soft lips and the glide from your saliva. His hips are hard up against your face. He is fucking you in the mouth as you blow him. Your hand picks up the pace and you know it won't be long before he is shooting creamy wads all over the place. His cock grows larger and wider in your sucking mouth, his blue vein now pulses an exotic purple. You hornblow him with everything you have. All your powers have coalesced and your head is now bobbing with a metronomic frenzy.

  Changing tack, you suddenly pop the head of his cock out of your mouth and with urgent hunger run your tongue quickly up and down his entire beautiful length. Danger boy trembles with a soft gasp, his hips shuddering and bouncing off the stone column. You are still jacking him off, your hand really moving fast. You lick his balls, neatly trimmed baubles, your tongue darting all over them. Finally you lick up along the twitching shaft of his cock and suck the head back into your mouth. Dangerous Dan trembles even more, pushing himself forward so his quivering cock slips a long way down your throat. You keep sucking him, your determination as firm as his cock. You are going to see this through until the sticky end. Suddenly he jerks and a hot eruption of come explodes from his cock, filling your mouth. His come is viscous. Its thick and sticky juices spill from your lips as you suck even harder. Your hunger for his cock, his beautiful manly horn, knows no end. More juices pump from it and you swallow what you can.

   He pushes hard back against the stone column with a groan, shaking all over, and you manage to suck still another little dribble of cum from the head of his cock. It runs down your throat slowly, the sweet taste of it still on your lips. It is the sweetest cum you've ever tasted. And you are someone who appreciates savory things with equal passion.

   You sit up and say "How'd you like that? Was that a blast?"

   "It was great!" he says, with another high giggle. "I loved it. Especially coming in your mouth. You're some expert horn blower, I'll tell you. A maestro!"

  You can hear the woof of a dog and its owner calling. It is time to move on. Dangerous Dan will have to return the favor another time.

  "Dan, you owe me," you say, slipping a hand beneath the elastic of your knickers and almost touching off an incendiary explosion. You're as wet as a summer thunderstorm but there is something delicious about leaving that little ache for later fulfillment.

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##### You decide to call Carmen and apologise, hoping to resume the tour.

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 "What do you suggest?" you say. You're not fussy. Anywhere would be fun. You love the park and its modernist artworks but you admit to yourself that somewhere new would be nice. Hunger has crept up on you.

  "The tour comes with lunch. There's a great bocadillo joint not far from here. We'll head there first and then on to the museum"

You are happy to be led. Happy to play tourist. Not so happy to get back on the scooter with racing Carmen.

  She manages to get you there in one piece. More or less. She again makes a point of sliding her butt back towards you and insisting that you wrap your arms around her tightly.

  A queue snakes out the door and the folk in it look on with barely disguised hunger as people depart with crusty baguettes stuffed with jamon. Dried salted spanish ham of the finest quality sandwiched with cheese. You spy a couple sharing a bocadillo stuffed with potato tortilla. Smells from roasting chickens, pork and what looks like salmon steaks tease you and you find that you can't decide what to order.

  Sensing your dilemma, Carmen says "I'll order for us both. We'll share. Is that okay?"

  You nod, happy to have the decision made for you.

  A short time later you are sitting at a small table tucking into grilled chicken laced with guacamole and wrapped in the finest Jamon Iberico.

  Carmen says "This is the finest ham and the finest Bocadillo joint in the city. Black mountain pigs, pata negra. Fantastic!"

  You are taken with how she pronounces the word "Boca dee ya". It rolls out. So Spanish. So delicious. You haven't quite got your tongue around the pronunciation but you've mastered taking decent bite sized tears from the ham and bread.

  "There's an interesting museum next stop on the tour. I'm sure you're going to love it"

  "What sort of museum?" you ask between mouthfuls.

  "Sex" she says as if that explains everything.

  You must have sniggered for she says in total seriousness.

  "The Barcelona Museum of Erotica. It's a proper museum. You'll learn something."

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##### You can't deny that it sounds like fun.

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  You ring Carmen.  Once her exasperation subsides she tells you that she is sitting in the shade back in the mirador area having spent fifteen long minutes wandering the Parc Güell trying to find you.  She'd been about to leave having become resigned to the fact that you had been waylaid.

"Pleasantly waylaid" you murmur, but not quite laid.

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##### You find your way back to the mirador area.

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The view from the mirador is just stupendous even if Barcelona is now blanketed in a haze from the heat of the day.  Carmen is gazing wistfully out over the rooftops, lost in thought. A cigarette droops forgotten in her hand, its smoke dragged sideways in the warm breeze that wafts up the hill.  You wander over to join her but falter, a little reluctant to intrude on her moment.  She is perched on a brightly mosaic tiled seat. You sit down alongside her and she turns to you and smiles.

  "And the boy?" she says looking at you directly, her glint containing both a hint of the mischievous and a dash of steely seriousness.

  Just how she knew that you were waylaid weighing up the individual attractiveness of a man surprises you.

  "He's a mere babe in the woods" you say "Not my type"

  You find yourself reluctant to explain yourself further and deign to draw the conversation elsewhere.

  Thin rivulets of sweat trace faint trails down your neck. Between your cleavage a drip slides.  The day is warming. Perhaps that is why Carmen is half crazy, half baked.

  You'd detected what felt like a tiny smidgen of jealousy. Perhaps it was an irritation that she couldn't always be front and center stage. You felt that Carmen had a personality like that.  Larger than life and impervious to the day to day miseries of ordinary mortals.

  You take in the view and make out both the tower of the Gothic cathedral and the Sagrada Família.  You look forward to checking them out later on. To climbing the fantasy towers of the Sagrada Família. Gaudi's masterpiece.

  Carmen says "Lunch?"

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##### I'm not really hungry" you say.

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##### You say "I'm starving, lunch sounds fab. Lead on

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The view from the mirador is just stupendous even if Barcelona is now blanketed in  haze from the heat of the day.  You run your hand over the brightly glazed mosaic tiles that adorn each seating area and troop around the perimeter wall taking in the view from each angle.  Back at where you started, you find Carmen gazing wistfully out over the rooftops, lost in thought.  A cigarette droops forgotten in her hand, its smoke dragged sideways in the warm breeze that wafts up the hill.  You wander over to join her but falter, a little reluctant to intrude on her moment.  She is perched on a mosaic tiled seat, glossy from a thousand behinds. There is room for two or three but no more. You sit down alongside her and she turns to you, dimples deepening, mouth curling in some mysterious approximation of a smile before she shakes her head a few times.

  "I thought you abandon tour. And why, I ask?" she says giving you her best amateur theatrics impression of a jilted bride.

  You ponder mentioning the rollercoaster scooter ride but say nothing.

  "And the boy?" she says looking at you directly, her glint containing both a hint of the mischievous and a dash of steely seriousness.

  Just how she knew that you had your attentions wrested from the tour by a man surprises you.

  "He's a mere babe in the woods" you say "Not my type"

  You find yourself reluctant to explain yourself further and deign to draw the conversation elsewhere.

  Thin rivulets of sweat trace faint trails down your neck. Between your cleavage a drip slides.  The day is warming. Perhaps that is why Carmen is half crazy, half baked.

  You'd detected what felt like a tiny smidgen of jealousy. Perhaps it was an irritation that she couldn't always be front and center stage. You felt that Carmen had a personality like that; larger than life and impervious to the day to day miseries of ordinary mortals.

  You take in the view and make out both the tower of the Gothic cathedral and the Sagrada Família.  You look forward to checking them out later on. To climbing the fantasy towers of the Sagrada Família, Gaudi's masterpiece.

  Carmen says "Lunch?"

* * *

##### I'm not really hungry" you say.

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##### You say "I'm starving, lunch sounds fab. Lead on

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**Please turn back a page**

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**Please turn forward a page**

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 "Well then" she says "I'm fine with that. There's an interesting museum next stop on the tour. I'm sure you're going to love it"

"What sort of museum?" you ask.

"Sex" she says as if that explains everything.

You must have sniggered for she says in total seriousness.

"The Barcelona Museum of Erotica. It's a proper museum. You'll learn something."

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##### You can't deny that it sounds like fun

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   Carmen negotiates the maze of back streets with the scooter purring along slowly. You know the drill by now and you wrap your arms around her midriff to hang on.  Her butt that looked so tight in the skintight leather, felt soft and pliable when pressed up against it.  She'd being riding the little white scooter in such a spirited fashion earlier that it seems strange that she is now content to let it barely roll. You can't figure the girl. A thought enters your head and lodges there. Every once in a while Carmen shifts position on the seat. You'd first dismissed these little wriggles as incidental to riding the scooter, natural movements in response to motion, but now you are starting to feel that there is some other reason for them at play here. Just now she pushes against you again. She grinds her butt backwards and slides it sideways, bouncing off the clasp of your thighs and then directing a straight grind into your crotch. It feels good. It feels so very good. You groan. For a moment that feeling of full pressure against you makes you ache. You bite into your lip and wince, swallowing back a gasp. She seems to be making a conscious wriggle with her behind while your knees are still pressed tightly against the sides of her thighs. You glance at her reflection in the right mirror but her eyes are firmly on the road and there is nothing but a concentrated expression on her face as she weaves slowly down these quieter streets.

  The close proximity of her body is giving rise to arousing thoughts and these are demanding some sort of action. There is no denying it - the purr of the engine is playing havoc with your undercarriage, and in combination with the subtle pressure from Carmen, is beginning to drive you to distraction. Carmen must be attuned to your state of arousal and is teasing you. Her riding so slowly is a devilish plan to gradually build your levels of excitement. You love a slow burn arousal. The thought that you are being deliberately turned on and that there is only one possible outcome is already bringing you to a level of exquisite excitement. Is her plan to bring you to a combustible point before leaving you gagging for it, leading into the museum? Again she eases off the throttle and pushes her ass slowly back, doing that little grind. The engine revs are just right and combined with the increasing pressure from Carmen's leather clad behind you feel your pulse race as the revs hit your sweet spot. Sighing, you catch a glimpse of Carmen in the mirror. She's biting down hard on her bottom lip and looking like she is trying hard to contain a grin that threatens to fracture her otherwise impassive face. She accelerates, glancing quickly in the mirror before passing a taxi that has been blocking the lane in front of you. Catching your gaze, her eyes betray her and all of a sudden the game is up. One guilty twinkle of an eye and then with a little naughty grin you agree to collude with her.

  Your friend Sally has been raving about threesomes and swingers clubs and the delights of making love to someone that knows just where to touch, and had the smarts to know when the pressure was just so. She was a convert and now refused to define herself. Fluid is the closest she came to putting a label on it. You admire her sass and wonder if you could approach life in the same fashion. You'd firmly decided to let your whims take you on this trip, and let feelings drive your decision making, rather than letting yourself get stuck in the trap of conforming to societal expectations. You are in a foreign land. No one knows you. You have the opportunity to mold a new you. It is one of the true delights of traveling on your lonesome.

  The Erotic Museum of Barcelona is located off the Ramblas and near the Boqueria food markets. Marilyn Monroe is looking down at you, modeling a look of effervescent sexuality, a smile of timeless insouciance set on her face. Her dress is billowing out, giving everyone a glimpse of her upper thighs. She's perched on a small veranda overlooking the street. It's her classic pose and the recreation with a life like store manikin has been artfully staged. Billowing is not quite apt, for the dress is as static as if Marilyn is frozen time herself. Forever youthful.  She died far too young. You wonder how she would feel about her likeness advertising a museum of erotica. You'd read once that the poor girl hadn't had an orgasm until the last year of her life. First orgasm at 36; it's a travesty.

  A young woman is handing out advertising flyers by the doorway. Carmen whispers something to her as they kiss and greet each other. Three kisses, left, right, left. The woman nods and smiles and ushers you inside. It seems certain they have a connection but its exact nature is impossible to fathom. Does Carmen take all of her scooter tourists through the museum? You let Carmen steer you up the stairs and into this artful display of the world of sex. It is a museum and not a sex shop, and as such feels racy rather than seedy. Spicily charged quotes from the world of literature have been plucked from their chapters, framed and now line the stairwell for you to contemplate as you climb. You like this one - "Flirting is a promise of sexual intercourse without a guarantee".

  You wander through the rooms, taking stock of the erotica drawn from down the ages. If you can take anything away from it, it is that sex and love are the foremost of all our activities as human beings. The thing that makes obsessive demands of our frontal lobe has dictated our movements down through our days. Carmen squeezes your shoulder, leading you to the Kama Sutra room, with its statues modeling all the positions to make the love of the ancient Hindu text. It is an incredible exercise in the documentation of sexual positions. Without being aware of it, you've tried all the popular ones but have never before come across their names. 'The union of the elephant' and the 'Glowing juniper' are two that make you reminisce. Moving onto other displays, Carmen seems more interested in the stuff from the early twentieth century and the vast collection of phallic objects from all ages and parts of the world. "The greatest collection of dildos ever" Carmen chimes, her voice an up-tempo show tune.

  The museum has a sizable crowd. It is the day for it. The statues modeling the various poses in the Kama Sutra room attract the most attention. Locals, tourists, couples and newlyweds gawp and snicker and then take photos for inspiration later in the evening. Once in while Carmen tugs at your hand and you feel her thumb press into your palm and rub and swirl. Standing in front of a reclining nude, her hand trails down your back, soft fingertips tracing streamer trails that dangle at the base of your spine. You marvel at the brush strokes, those consummate daubs of color that combine to create the masterpiece in front of you. The woman's skin has a pearlescent luster that sets off a pudendum covered in a soft thatch of black. An innocence seeps from her nakedness and you wonder if there was hunger in the painter's eye.

  "Were they lovers, the artist and this girl?" you ask Carmen, glancing sideways at your tour guide. Carmen is looking intently at the painting, her shoulder against yours. She turns towards you, wearing an expression of deep learning.

  "Undoubtedly," she says "They were rampant," before giving you a wink and flicking her eyes toward the exit.

   "Let's go to the red room". She nods her head in the direction of the exit.

  "You'll like this one," she says as she elbows her way past a couple intent on becoming temporary exhibits, tongues entwined in desperate hunger, rose and book cast aside.

   "The red room?" you ask. "What's that?"

   "Essen Emm" she murmurs.

   She has adopted the steely resolve of a professional dominatrix. You can hear the leather of her pants squeak as she moves. She's got something in mind. Her movements are quick and decisive. She strides over to the door leading to the red room and quickly casts a glance inside. You follow at close quarters, wondering what the rush is.

   "We've got to close this one for the afternoon cleaning," she says to a couple of older men looking intently at the gearing on a strange looking machine.

   "You turn it on here," says one.

   "It's really only for women, Stephan" counters his mate.

   "I'd stretch to giving it a ride," says Stephan. "It looks like Günther modeled for it"

   Carmen snorts and adopts a voice of authority. "The red room will reopen in an hour gentlemen. Until then please enjoy all the art works the museum has for you. I can recommend the Erotic Garden if you need to rest your feet."

   And with that she holds the door open and ushers them out.

   "Come," she says. "Quickly, before someone else wanders by."

   You stand on the threshold of a room that is painted a richly crimson red. It is the red of post boxes, fire engines, and bordellos. Headless torsos modeling tight black leather corsets are wired to the wall, alongside what could only be a collection of sexual restraint devices. Tassels hang from them like whips. Steel girdles for either sex hang here too, padlocks closing off easy access routes. Steel shackles and manacles adorn the room. It looks like a medieval torture chamber. Your eyes do the rounds of the room, cataloging each and every exhibit. They are uniformly black or steel, or both.

   Whipping a "Closed" sign out from somewhere unknown, Carmen props it up next to the door and then pulls it firmly shut. The door clicks and she locks it. You're both alone in the red room and Carmen is now brandishing a cheeky grin.

   "Want to have some fun?" she says, glee surfacing, eyes sparkling with mischief. Her voice has the playfulness of a teenager, throwing off parental shackles for a weekend of fast food and dirty dancing with the boys.

   "See the chair of pleasure?" she asks, as if it were possible that you hadn't yet noticed.

   You feign vagueness. "Huh?"

   In the corner of the room sits a strange looking chair or bike like hybrid machine. It has a number of knobs and dials and is made from steel that in places displays a shine from what you guess was regular use. It is designed like a chair and has two shackles for where one would rest their feet and two that would trap the wrists. Below the seat a number of pulleys and belts connect to a box and these put you in mind of a bike. In the middle of the seat rises a stupendous lifelike cock. It is of hard black steel and you wince at thought of it.

  On a stand next to the machine stand three rubber cocks of varying girth and length. They are all hollow and it quickly becomes apparent that these are sheaths of a sort to slide over the steel phallus that is attached to the gearing below.

   Carmen selects the rubber cock that most resembles an actual penis and slips it over the steel dong.

   She then moves over alongside a small panel that is just out of reach of the chair and flicks a switch. The motor starts with a whir and the pulleys and belts begin spinning. Your eyes are transfixed on the cock, which like some strange automaton has come to life and is now thrusting and bucking at a steady pace into the empty space of the seat of the chair.

   You raise a hand to your mouth in surprise and amusement.

   Carmen comes over to you. Her manner is forthright. She leans forwards and kisses you smack on your lips. Pouting, her lips feel hard and determined, hungry even. You think to take a step backwards but Carmen slips one arm around you and pushes her other hand up your skirt. Her fingers are deft at finding your sweet spot and soon your knickers have already reached saturation point. They were already dewy from the scooter ride. She pushes an easy finger into you and you gasp at the penetration. She then swirls her thumb over your clit, which sees any apprehension about the encounter vanish in an instant. You find yourself returning her kiss as passionately if not more so than her. Her thumb swirls, soft pressure on your clit mixed with sticky juices that are flowing richly from your cunt.

   She pulls away from you for a moment but leaves her hand massaging your pussy. You grasp her arm and hold it in place. The pleasure is too intense for it to end.

   "Do you want to try the pleasure chair now?" she says, voice a husky whisper. She seems very turned on.

   "Or shall I let it fuck me first?" she says.

   You can't even guess which would be her preferred course of events.

   The chair is getting into the mood and doing its own thing, fucking away in a soft whir of jolts, jerks and thrusts.

* * *

##### Take a ride on the automaton cock.

* * *

##### Watch Carmen have a go first.

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Carmen reaches for the switch and powers down the infinite fucking machine. It offers infernal pleasures and can go all night. It can go all week. It's indifferent to reciprocal pleasure. It just gets you off. Again. And again. And again.

  "I really think you need it more than me, baby" she whispers into your ear as her tongue runs the length of your neck. You arch to one side, letting her lap it right up. The feel of her tongue is taking the exquisite ache that is now throbbing through your pussy and making you teeter on that cliff, ready to tip over in complete abandonment to the sensual world.

  You nod in agreement.

  "Okay," you say as you slide out of your dress and let it pool on the waxed timber of the floor.

  "I don't think you need these either" says Carmen, unclasping your bra. She cups your breasts, letting her fingers trace spiraling supernovas around your nipples, which, startled by the attention, start to stretch and stiffen.

  " _Hermosa mujer_ " she mutters "Beautiful woman", unable to resist letting her tongue tease your budding nipples.

  You discard your knickers, kicking them off and into the air. They hit the wall opposite and lodge on the clasp of a particularly serious looking chastity belt. The belt has been fashioned out of ribbons of thick steel, and features an oversize bronze padlock. Everything about it screams "don't fuck with me".

  "All aboard. Toot toot" says Carmen, as you straddle the machine, letting your feet slide into position and watching as she clicks home the shackles that now pin your legs in place. The seat of the chair is cold to your bare skin and you feel a flush of goose prickles break out and then slowly dissipate.

  "Arms" Carmen directs, lifting your right arm until it is resting against the manacle and before you know it, trapped in place as she clicks the lock shut. She then does the same thing to the left and then oh m,y oh gosh, you are completely trapped.

  You feel exposed and incredibly turned on. Naked, locked to a fucking machine in a museum of erotica.

  You look down at the cock. Carmen is pretending to wank it, running her hands along its length, feeling its latex contours and moaning in a feat worthy of a porno voice over track.

  She tilts it toward your lips and runs the head of it over your clit. The feel of it makes you lurch and tremble.

  You want it inside you. The ache is immense. She is teasing you now, letting the head of the cock nudge you and bounce away. Each time she does this, you groan. Your cunt is dewy with anticipation and has fully unfurled, awaiting penetration.

  "Give it to me" you pant, begging her. "Turn it on. Let it fuck me. I need it fucking me now".

You are a woman possessed. Sexual demons have taken control of your body. You willingly abandon it to them.

  Carmen eases the head of the cock into your pussy. Your back arches and your arms start to ache from not being able to move them. You are feeling powerless, but if anything it is making you feel hotter than ever before.

  Carmen moves around to the switch and, gripping the dial, turns it to one. With a thunk and a burr the machine comes alive and you are being fucked. One moment the cock fucks you with a short fast thrust and the next it is a slow deep pow that truly rams home. It feels fantastic. It's a rhythm but it isn't predictable. The gearing on the machine has some randomness to the way the thrusts are applied and this element of the unknown makes it even better.

  Your arms sink into the restraints and you let yourself be fucked. Shutting your eyes to it, you feel each thrust slide the length of your velvet cunt before pulling slowly out and then coming back for some more.

  With your eyes shut, you let your imagination wander. A man, a demi god, a machine is fucking you. An insatiable machine that won't let up. Won't ever let up. Won't let up until Carmen flicks the switch. And it this thought that has you open your eyes and catch Carmen's gaze. While you are sunk in a fug of bliss with your eyes shut, Carmen has lost her own clothing. Her leather pants are folded in a small pile, topped by her jacket. She's wearing black crotch-less knickers. Are they PVC or leather or silk? You can't tell. But you can see that her pussy has been completely denuded. You'd imagined pubic hair on her like the woman in the painting but Carmen has none of it. She slips a finger inside herself and rubs slowly, watching as the machine whirs on and on, fucking you. It's fucking you and you're in another world, lost completely to sensation. Your clit is screaming, bellowing for release. You want to come but can't. The rubber cock is fucking you but from this position it is hardly connecting with your clit. Every fourth or fifth thrust hits home and causes you to buck and moan and struggle against the restraints.

  "Fuck me! Fuck me!!" you cry, tears loosening and running down your cheeks.

It's all too much. The pleasure and the restraint. You want Carmen to rub your clit. You want her to bring you off. You want her to bring you off now. You are desperate for it.

  "Please release me," you beg. "I have to come... no longer... I can't stand it"

  Carmen removes her slick finger from her bald quim. You watch as her labial lips squeeze closed, framed by the crotch-less knickers. She steps forwards and pushes her finger into your mouth and you suck it. You suck it hard, tasting her savory tang.

Licking your lips, you demand "More please."

And she obliges, immediately pushing two fingers and then three inside her cunt and withdrawing them before sliding them one by one into your gasping, waiting mouth.

  You suck back her juices... anything...anything to please her. Just touch me, you want to scream. Make me explode. I want to see stars. I want that exquisite release. I am bound. Please release me... Carmen kisses your neck, sliding her hands over your breasts, moistened from sweat. Her fingers size them, assessing their roundness, their fullness, pert and ripe like glossy fruit at the top of the display pile. She's teasing you. She smiles. It's a naughty smile that commands your attention; it says "I am in command". She leans back, swinging her arm over to the switch and turning it to three. You can see from the dial that six is the maximum, but from the increase in fucking momentum from the cock, you wonder if you could take it at any greater pace. The cock is like a hydraulic ram, its movement, now that it has been turned up a notch, is much more syncopated. The randomness of the thrusts have been lost to a steady pounding rhythm. The pace and fury of the fucking is driving you wild. You shake your head, hair flailing about, sticking to your lips. Your panting increases and for a moment you drool, silvery saliva snaking over your left nipple as your tongue lolls during one particularly prolonged moan. Your cunt is the Nile river on its annual inundation. You, a temple nymph to Cleopatra, your queen.

  "Do you want it?" she says, with all the power in the world waving from her fingertips.

  You struggle to pant a slow tortured "Yes".

The torture is that of sheer pleasure. You've never had a male with such staying power, such verve and thrust. Yet the increased momentum from the stunt cock has not resulted in your clit being worshiped. Lest the fuck machine be accused of idolatry; it is most certainly worshiping your hungry, weeping cunt, but at the same time it is neglecting your throbbing clit. It's a strange oversight in a fucking machine. At this moment, you can't come for want of fucking.

  Carmen reaches into her bag and extracts a pair of long black PVC gloves. She makes a great show of pulling these on and snaps them into place up near her elbows. Her breasts are uncovered and sit tightly on her chest. They are smaller than yours, pertly perfect and classically symmetrical. Her nipples are proud, her aureoles a deep maroon that looks scrumptious against her olive skin. Once in while she gives them a little hard squeeze that makes her whole body react in a momentary shiver.

  "Beg me," she commands.

  "Beg me and I'll take you there," she says, reveling in her delicious position of power. She is getting off on it, sliding a finger into herself, nudging hard against her bud until she shakes and shudders and jerks.

  Watching, you'd think she'd already come a number of times.

  You're powerless and the frustration and weakness you feel is going to continue until you plead with Carmen.

* * *

##### Do you order her to stop the fuck machine?

* * *

##### Do you beg her, plead with her, please Carmen make me cum?

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**Please turn back a page**

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**Please turn forward a page**

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Carmen reaches for the switch and powers down the infinite fucking machine. It offers infernal pleasures and can go all night. It could go all week if you could cope with such a prolonged seeing to and didn't have to field the electricity bill. It is indifferent to reciprocal pleasure. It just gets you off. Again. And again. And again. At least you hope that is what it does. So what if you'd end up walking like a cowgirl who'd been a week in the saddle, there are surely worse things on the road to sexual fulfilment.

  "I really think you need it more than me, baby" she whispers into your ear as her tongue runs the length of your neck. You arch to one side letting her lap it right up. The feel of her tongue is taking the exquisite ache that is now throbbing through your groin and making you teeter on that cliff, ready to tip over in complete abandonment to the sensual world.

  However, you decide that you'd prefer to teeter for just a moment longer. The chair of pleasure looks a little freaky. You're not sure if you can completely trust Carmen. Realistically, you barely know the girl and those shackles and manacles that will lock your legs and arms in place look brutal. You like the scary jolt a good horror movie provides but you don't feel like starring in one. This device looks too much like the real thing than the works of the props department; too much steel, not enough styrofoam.

  "No?" says Carmen. "Let me show you how it works then." And with that she slips her jacket over a chair, sits on top of it, and proceeds to pull her legs out of the tight black leather that sticks to them like snake skin.

  "Give me a hand, will you?" she asks, flustered at having wriggled them most of the way down her calves only to have them lodge around her ankles. It really is a two person job.

  You grab hold of the waistband and give it a tug, peeling the leather slowly over her ankles. It's like peeling a banana. Moments later you are standing triumphant with her pants in your hand, gazing down at her ripe fruit.

   She's wearing black crotch-less knickers.  Silk?  You can't tell. You see that her pussy has been completely denuded.  You'd imagined pubic hair on her like the woman in the painting. But Carmen is having none of it.  She slips a finger inside herself and rubs slowly, easing it out so that it flicks her clit just so and she shudders with a small tremor that brings on a slow whistled groan through pursed lips.

 Her mind is made up. She discards her knickers, kicking them off and into the air, hitting the wall opposite and lodging on the clasp of a serious looking chastity belt.  The belt has been fashioned out of ribbons of thick steel and features an oversize bronze padlock. Everything about it screams "don't fuck with me".

 She lifts a wispy white shirt over her head.  Bra less, her breasts are uncovered and sit tightly on her chest. They are smaller than yours, pertly perfect and classically symmetrical.  Her nipples are proud, aureoles a deep maroon that contrasts beautifully with her olive skin.  Seeing you admiring them, she gives them a little hard squeeze that makes her whole body react in a momentary shiver.

"All aboard" says Carmen as she straddles the machine, letting her feet slide into position. You watch as she clicks home the shackles and her legs become locked in place.

  "Arms" Carmen says, lifting her right arm and then the left until they are resting against the manacles.

  "Lock me down" she says, motioning for you to slip the clasp over the lock. Once trapped in place her eyes gleam and she wields an impish grin. She is already enjoying herself.

  "Now position the cock properly for me honey, err... mistress" she directs. You can see her squirming on the seat in anticipation.

  You look down at the cock. You grasp it and pretend to wank it, running your hands along its length, feeling its latex contours.

  "Stick it in me" she says. And she's almost begging. The hard clip that she used to get the men to leave the room has left her voice and in its place is something softly subservient. She then starts moaning, coming in as a low growl. It's a moan of desperation and as it gets louder you wonder if she's putting it on. For very soon it becomes a feat worthy of a porno voiceover track.

  "Please put it in me" she says "... mistress," tossing her head back against the black leather of the headrest.

  She makes to push her legs further apart, which is difficult to do in her situation. Her pussy is glistening and you can see its folds slick with the dampness of desire. You tilt the cock forwards until it is just jostling, teasing her lips, slipping over them and then bouncing out again. You run the head of it over her clit and she jolts forward with a lurch.

  "Yeah... do it. Please let it fuck me". She's actually begging you now. Her eyes are doing what her hands can't.

  A stream of incomprehensible Spanish comes from her mouth. An utterance, the cadence of which is so mournfully pleading you can't help but act.

  You're starting to feel incredibly turned on. You've never played these sorts of games with women before. Heck, you've never played these sorts of games full stop, and you're starting to feel that you want it inside you. She can't have all the fun. The ache in your cunt is immense. You keep teasing her, letting the head of the cock nudge and bounce away. Each time you do this, she groans. Her cunt is dewy with anticipation and has fully unfurled, awaiting penetration. You suspect that yours is much the same. You look around the room. It's just the two of you.

   You slide out of your dress and let it pool on the waxed timber of the floor. Unclasping your bra, you cup your breasts, letting your fingers trace spiraling supernovas around your nipples which, startled by the attention, start to stretch and stiffen.

  "Give it to me," she pants begging you for relief. "Turn it on. Let it fuck me. I need it fucking me now."

  You ease the head of the cock into her pussy and her back arches in anticipation and pleasure. Having the power in your hands is if anything making you feel hotter than ever before.

  You move around to the switch and, gripping the dial, turn it to one. With a thunk and a burr the machine comes alive and Carmen is being fucked. One moment the cock fucks her with a short fast thrust and the next it is a slow deep kapow that truly rams home. It surely must feel fantastic for Carmen's eyes have rolled back in her head and she's lost in another place; a land of infinite pleasures. Watching the stupendous cock fuck Carmen, you chart its rhythm. The gearing on the machine has some randomness to the way the thrusts are applied. You can't predict the speed or depth of a thrust. You marvel, such a clever piece of engineering.

  Carmen's arms sink into the restraints and she lets herself be fucked. Shutting her eyes to it, you watch each thrust slide the length of her silken cunt before pulling out slowly and then coming back for some more.

  Watching this writhing moaning vision splendid, your fingers are gliding, soaring over the folds of your pussy. When they connect with your clit, it howls and throbs, bellows for release.

  You remove a slick finger from your quim. Carmen is watching you closely, her eyes trailing from your face to your pussy and back again. They touch down for a moment on your breasts and she unleashes another guttural moan of sheer and unadulterated longing.  You step towards her and push a finger into her mouth, letting it slide around her silken tongue. She is craving it and sucking it; moistened lips like a puppy to a teat. She sucks it hard, tasting your savory tang.

  Licking her lips, she begs "More please"

  And you oblige her, immediately pushing two fingers and then three inside your cunt and withdrawing them before sliding them one by one into her eager, waiting mouth.

  You come around alongside her and kiss her neck, sliding your hands over her breasts, moistened from sweat. Your fingers size them, assessing their roundness, their fullness, pert and ripe like glossy fruit at the top of the display pile. Sending a smile her way that is more racy than lacy you then let it slide sideways so that it looks pasted on. She registers the change, a cloud has just blocked out the sun.

  You bring forth the best steely glint you can muster and, with a piercing stare, say "I am in command".

  The game demands it.

  You lean back, swinging your arm over to the switch and turn it to three. Six is the maximum on the dial but from the increase in fucking momentum from the cock, you wonder if she could take it at any greater pace. The cock is like a hydraulic ram, its movement now that it has been turned up a notch is more syncopated. The randomness of the thrusts has been lost to a steady pounding rhythm. The pace and fury of the fucking is driving Carmen wild. She shakes her head, hair flailing about, sticking to her lips. Her panting has increased and for a moment she drools, silvery saliva snaking over her left nipple as her tongue lolls during one particularly prolonged moan. Her cunt is the Nile river on its annual inundation. She's a temple nymph to you, Cleopatra, her queen.

  "Better than any male," she pants.

  You can see that despite the increased momentum from the stunt cock, her clit is not being satisfied. It seems that the fucking machine has been deliberately designed to neglect that part of the anatomy that pulses most pleasurably. It's a strange oversight in a fucking machine. Carmen is now writhing in sheer agony from the ecstasy of the machine. But it's an ecstasy that knows no end. She can't come for want of fucking.

  "Please... in my bag. The gloves." she says, the words coming out as though she is blowing up an air bed.

  You follow her eyes. Her bag is by the chair. You take a quick step over to it and rifle through her possessions, pulling out some handcuffs and an ordinary looking silver vibrator of small to medium girth. You wave it at her, tutting, like a headmistress who's just discovered some contraband.

  "The side pocket. Put them on" she says. It comes out as a whimper.

  "How do you ask properly?" you say, feet glued and holding the tip of the vibrator to your tongue.

  "Please, miss" she says.

  You can tell it's a struggle, almost as though she is used to being the one in command.

  You had already spied the gloves in the side pocket. You just wanted to ramp up the suspense, to draw it out and tease her a little.

  "I have to put this naughty little vibrator somewhere" you say, eyebrows curving as your shoulders rise.

  She peers at you with a look halfway between confusion and fear.

  "No I wasn't thinking that" you say.

* * *

##### Were you contemplating inserting it deep in your own warm well?

* * *

##### Or would you like to use it to tease her pulsing bud until she detonates?

* * *

* * *

**Please turn back a page**

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**Please turn forward a page**

* * *
"Please, please rub me, rub me, bring me off" you beg, with agonized sobs that could easily be confused with pain yet are something else, something you've never quite experienced before.

  Carmen brings her hand down to your crotch and lets her fingers slide over the sides of the cock as it penetrates you.

  "I think I'd better slow it down," she says.

  The moment she shifts it down to one, you exhale. The pumping slows and you can breathe. She rubs her fingers over the seat, taking your juices that have completely basted the metal in savory pussy flavored stock. When she touches your clit your heart leaps, spasming into your throat. There is an instant little kapow of a minor explosion. You are so close. You are so very, very close.

  Carmen brings her fingers, saturated with your nectar, to her lips and licks them clean in the slowest, most drawn out erotic lick you've ever seen.

  She then says "mmm mmm, don't we taste nice"

  Putting her hand above your pussy and letting her fingers rest on either side of your vulva, she does a slow slide with one finger toward your clit. Your clit is standing up loud and proud. "Look at me" it exclaims. Touching you again, she provokes another reaction, it's like the detonator has been pressed too early and has become stuck halfway down. You are coming. You are coming in great screaming shudders. Weeping from the relief of it, a wave of extraordinary pleasure and release sweeps through you.

  Carmen looks triumphant.

  And then you hear the first knock at the door. At first a casual knock.

   "Hello, Is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me. Is there any one at home?"

  You decide to hold your tongue. Nodding would have got you nowhere. The door is solid, and unless there's a hidden security cam somewhere, you are in a private space. And no one can see you nod in a private space.

  Carmen casually flicks off the switch to the fuck monster and it grinds down to silence and you breathe. You take a series of deep gasps, sucking in the air of the room which with the door locked shut has started to get a little stifling and muggy. The urge to get out of the chair is there but you are still in that flush of relaxation and you are content to watch as Carmen proceeds to give herself a determined frigging; bucking and swaying as her fingers, two, three at a time, work her pussy, thrusting and tweaking until moments later she is struggling to contain a long wail of pleasure that threatens to seep from every atom of her being. She puts her hand to her mouth to swallow it and then lets out a long laugh of satisfaction.

  The knocking on the door has died away. But you are certain that your time is up and the sooner you are out of the chair and dressed, the better you will feel.

  Her body is still flushing with the afterglow of an intense orgasm and you watch as the blood moves through her, clouds doing triple time across a sheltering sky. She touches a finger to her lips before reaching forwards and anointing your forehead with a slow stroke across your eyebrows.

  "Such pleasure, lover." she says. "Thank you for the show"

  "And you. I loved it but I'm ready to be released now" you say.

  There is a rattle of a door handle being shaken. You hear the percussive tap of someone knocking hard on wood.

  Dressing, you both quickly adopt a professional air. The thin glaze that covers you both could be put down to the lack of decent air con in the room; the messed hair, a hurried departure from home that morning. Opening the door, Carmen squeals.

  One of the men she'd banished from the room is head down, eye glued to the key hole.

  He straightens up and gives you both such a knowing naughty smile that you can't hope to hold it together. You can feel a flush of embarrassment and struggle to appear normal.

  "It's our turn now" says Stephan with wink. "You girls surely know how to partay!"

  And with that you make for the exit and scurry down the stairs. It's only back at street level that you allow yourself to giggle.

  Carmen embraces you. Kisses on cheeks, left right left, then another smack hard on the lips.

  "Babe" she says. "Your next tour is on me. And I mean literally. I've got another booking but... I'll call you. You're traveling, hey? I've got some hot cities to recommend..." and with a wink she waves, bids you good day and scurries off.

* * *

#####  You look around for a taxi and within moments find yourself hailing one.

* * *

* * *

**Please turn back a page**

* * *

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**Please turn forward a page**

* * *
 You can't take it and Carmen, bless her, can see that.

 "I think I'd better slow it down" she says.

The pumping slows and you can breathe. She rubs her fingers over the seat, taking your juices that have completely basted the metal in savory pussy flavored stock. When she touches your clit your heart leaps, spasming into your throat. There is an instant little kapow of a minor explosion. You are so close. You are so very, very close.

 Carmen brings her fingers, saturated with your nectar, to her lips and licks them clean in the slowest, most drawn out erotic lick you've ever seen.

 She then says "mmm mmm, don't we taste nice"

Putting her hand above your pussy and letting her fingers rest on either side of your vulva, she does a slow slide with one finger toward your clit. Your clit is standing up loud and proud. "Look at me" it exclaims. Touching you again, she provokes another reaction, it's like the detonator has been pressed too early and has become stuck halfway down. You are coming. You are coming in great screaming shudders. Weeping from the relief of it, a wave of extraordinary pleasure and release sweeps through you.

  Carmen looks triumphant.

  And then you hear the first knock at the door. At first a casual knock.

   "Hello, Is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me. Is there any one at home?"

  You decide to hold your tongue. Nodding would have got you nowhere. The door is solid, and unless there's a hidden security cam somewhere, you are in a private space. And no one can see you nod in a private space.

  Carmen casually flicks off the switch to the fuck monster and it grinds down to silence and you breathe. You take a series of deep gasps, sucking in the air of the room which with the door locked shut has started to get a little stifling and muggy. The urge to get out of the chair is there but you are still in that flush of relaxation and you are content to watch as Carmen proceeds to give herself a determined frigging; bucking and swaying as her fingers, two, three at a time, work her pussy, thrusting and tweaking until moments later she is struggling to contain a long wail of pleasure that threatens to seep from every atom of her being. She puts her hand to her mouth to swallow it and then lets out a long laugh of satisfaction.

  The knocking on the door has died away. But you are certain that your time is up and the sooner you are out of the chair and dressed, the better you will feel.

  Her body is still flushing with the afterglow of an intense orgasm and you watch as the blood moves through her, clouds doing triple time across a sheltering sky. She touches a finger to her lips before reaching forwards and anointing your forehead with a slow stroke across your eyebrows.

  "Such pleasure, lover." she says. "Thank you for the show"

  "And you. I loved it but I'm ready to be released now" you say.

  There is a rattle of a door handle being shaken. You hear the percussive tap of someone knocking hard on wood.

  Dressing, you both quickly adopt a professional air. The thin glaze that covers you both could be put down to the lack of decent air con in the room; the messed hair, a hurried departure from home that morning. Opening the door, Carmen squeals.

  One of the men she'd banished from the room is head down, eye glued to the key hole.

  He straightens up and gives you both such a knowing naughty smile that you can't hope to hold it together. You can feel a flush of embarrassment and struggle to appear normal.

  "It's our turn now" says Stephan with wink. "You girls surely know how to partay!"

  And with that you make for the exit and scurry down the stairs. It's only back at street level that you allow yourself to giggle.

  Carmen embraces you. Kisses on cheeks, left right left, then another smack hard on the lips.

  "Babe" she says. "Your next tour is on me. And I mean literally. I've got another booking but... I'll call you. You're traveling, hey? I've got some hot cities to recommend..." and with a wink she waves, bids you good day and scurries off.

* * *

##### You look around for a taxi and within moments find yourself hailing one.

* * *

* * *

**Please turn back a page**

* * *

* * *

**Please turn forward a page**

* * *
You decide to bring her off. She's combustible and if you don't do something she'll surely melt.

  You extract the long black PVC gloves and hold them up before making a great show of pulling them on and snapping them into place up near your elbows.

  "Do you want it?" you ask, with all the power in the world waving from your fingertips. The vibrator is perched between your thumb and forefinger and you're rocking it like a windscreen wiper in a squall.

  Carmen struggles to pant a slow tortured "Yes". The torture is that of sheer pleasure and willing submission.

  "Beg me," you command.

  "Beg me and I'll take you there," you say, reveling in your delicious position of power. You're getting off on it and you can't help sliding a finger into yourself, nudging hard against your swollen bud until you shake and shudder and jerk.  You almost come, a minor quake before the rapture.

  The machine whirs on, in and out, in and out, in and in and out. Carmen has collapsed into a state to total bliss. A fine sheen of sweat covers her body.

  A long unbroken stream of "ahhhhhhhhhhs" comes from her mouth. She's flushed and ready to come. You can see the pressure that has built. Unseen forces beneath the surface threaten to bubble over. You just have to apply the magic. The magic finger wielding the silver vibrator.

  You lean across her, draping a nipple into her mouth. She sucks softly and coos. "More" she pleads "The other one..."

  While she lavishes your nipples with looping swirls from her tongue, you slide the now vibrating silver bullet down her abdomen until it rests just above her bare mound.

  Watching from this angle, you're impressed with the unceasing rhythm of the cock. Her pussy has a soggy case of fuckmeitis, her jube oozing from around the cock each time it hits home.

  You feel her teeth on your nipple. A little love nip. You let the vibrator roll slowly over her clit. From side to side, it rocks and rolls. Her panting increases until it is out pacing the stunt cock.

  Once in a while the head of the vibrator bounces off the shaft of the power thruster; a glancing blow, two artificial cocks going for it head to head.

  Her mouth is hungry now. Your left breast is hanging above her tongue and she is lashing it like a punching bag. She sucks it into the wet confines of her mouth. Muted moans. You roll the vibrator back over her clit, letting it softly buzz and bounce. She's ready to pop.

  Her mouth sucks, inhaling your nipple, and with one almighty shudder she orgasms. Her body is a landscape riven with erotic quakes and tremors. You flick the switch and power down the machine. It slowly grinds to a halt, the latex penis stills and the room is silent. There is a short muffled chorus of relieved pants coming from Carmen. She looks exhausted. Happy. Satisfied but exhausted.

  You are aching. Your own pussy is in need of attention. You liked what she did with her tongue. An idea forms. Perhaps she could put it to work in more tropical climes. Carmen still can't really move but seeing her trapped there makes you spot an opening. The opening is yours and it's dripping with lusty juices.

  "Lick me," you say, not quite sure if you should still play the dominant role now that she has come. It's almost a question.

  Her eyes are glazed but you can still see a glimmer of that animal hunger there. You climb onto the chair, putting your feet on the sides of the rear steel legs and reaching up to the wall, gripping the rods that protrude either side of a strange looking device that would lock around someone's neck. At the end of each of these rods is a cuff designed to lock hands at neck level. It looks like something from the barbaric days of the slave trade. Pulling your body forwards and letting the slave manacle take some of your weight you inch your pussy forwards and meet Carmen's waiting tongue. This is beckoning you closer with a slow lick that stretches out and up towards her nose. 'Come come come' it calls. You push your pussy, grinding it into her mouth and take her tongue deep into your lubricious cunt. She buries it there, tastes you, swirling with a desperate hunger back and up over your clit. It rasps and polishes, dancing around either side of your throbbing bud

You can feel the pressure building, the steady climb of unrelenting pleasure. You've been almost there for ages. She's a maestro conducting an orchestra of one, a concerted flick of the tongue, and kapow, crescendo. Your legs are dashed to jelly as you choke back a sob of delight. Shuddering, you slide down her body until your legs are wrapped either side of her. You unlock her arm manacles and she embraces you, holding your cheeks and giving you a kiss of such feeling that your heart lurches and you melt into the moment. That is until you register the rattle of the door handle and hear the percussive tap of someone knocking hard on wood.

Dressing, you both quickly adopt a professional air.  The thin glaze that covers you both could be put down to the lack of decent air con in the room, the messed hair, a hurried departure from home that morning.  Opening the door, Carmen squeals.

         One of the men she'd banished from the room is head down eye glued to the key hole.

  He straightens up and gives you both such a knowing naughty smile that you can't hope to hold it together. You can feel a flush of embarrassment and struggle to appear normal.

  "It's our turn now" says Stephan with wink.  "You girls surely know how to partay!"

  And with that you make for the exit and scurry down the stairs.   It's only back at street level that you allow yourself to giggle.

  Carmen embraces you. Kisses on cheeks, left right left, then another smack hard on the lips.

  "Babe" she says.  "Your next tour is on me. And I mean literally.  I've got another booking but...  I'll call you.  You're traveling hey? I've got some hot cities to recommend" and with a wink she waves, bids you good day and scurries off.

* * *

##### You look around for a taxi and within moments find yourself hailing one.

* * *

* * *

**Please turn back a page**

* * *

* * *

**Please turn forward a page**

* * *
 You've got to do something about yourself. The silver bullet would take you there but to be honest, you really feel like body contact. The ache in your nethers has gone from a barely there throb to a persistent tingle that is spreading throughout your body like some sexual plague. Carmen still can't really move but seeing her trapped there makes you think of an opening. The opening is yours and it's dripping with lusty juices.

  "Lick me" you say, it's almost a question for you haven't quite got the bossy bit down pat.

  Her eyes are glazed but you see a glimmer of that animal hunger there.  You climb onto the chair, putting your feet on the sides of the rear steel legs and reaching up to the wall, grip the rods that protrude either side of a strange looking device that would surely lock around someone's neck.  At the end of each of these rods is a cuff designed to lock hands at neck level.   It looks like something from the barbaric days of the slave trade.   Pulling your body forwards and letting the slave manacle take some of your weight you inch your pussy forwards and meet Carmen's waiting tongue.  This is beckoning you closer with a slow lick that stretches out and up towards her nose. 'Come come come' it calls.  You push your pussy, grinding it into her mouth and take her tongue deep into your lubricious cunt. She buries it there, tastes you, swirling with a desperate hunger back and up over your clit.  It rasps and polishes, pirouetting around either side of your throbbing bud.

   The machine whirs on, in and out, in and out, in and in and out.  Carmen's body has collapsed into a state of total bliss as she puts all her energies into lapping at you with her tongue. A fine sheen of sweat covers her body.

   You can feel the pressure building, the steady climb of unrelenting pleasure. You'd been almost there for ages.  She's a maestro conducting an orchestra of one, a concerted flick of the tongue, and kapow.  Crescendo. Stars are being born, a planetarium struggles with the sheer luminousness of all this starlight.  Planets jostle, the universe realigns.  You're legs are dashed to jelly as you choke back a sob of delight.  Shuddering, you slide down her body until your legs are wrapped either side of her.  You unlock her arm manacles and she embraces you, holding your cheeks and giving you kiss of such feeling that you heart lurches and you melt into the moment.

 Your breasts feel hot against hers.  Your skin is slippery and your nipples kiss. There is an unmistakable essence of sex in the air.  It's a museum for all the senses. A true 21st century museum.  Hands on interaction.  You've learned something about yourself and your Tripadvisor review is going to be glowing.

   She is so hot as to be combustible.  If you don't do something she'll surely melt.

   You climb off her and grab the vibrator.

   "Do you want it?" you say, with all the power in the world waving from your fingertips.  The vibrator is perched between your thumb and forefinger and you're rocking it like a windscreen wiper in a squall.

   Carmen struggles to pant a slow tortured "Yes".  The torture is that of sheer pleasure and willing submission.

   "Beg me" you command.

   "Beg me and I'll take you there" you say reveling in your delicious position of power.  You nudge the vibrator hard against her swollen bud until she shakes and shudders and jerks.   You can see that she almost came. A minor quake before the rapture.

   A long unbroken stream of "ahhhhhhhhhhs" comes from her mouth. She's flushed and ready to cum. You can see the pressure that has built.  Unseen forces beneath the surface threaten to bubble over. You just have to apply the magic; the magic finger wielding the silver vibrator.

   You lean across her, draping a nipple into her mouth. She sucks softly and coos. "More" she pleads "The other one..."

   While she lavishes your nipples with looping swirls from her tongue you slide the now vibrating silver bullet down her abdomen until it rests just above her bare mound.

   Watching from this angle, you're impressed with the unceasing rhythm of the cock.  Her pussy has a soggy case of fuckmeitis, her jube oozing from around the cock each time it hits home.

   You feel her teeth on your nipple. A little love nip.  You let the vibrator roll slowly over her clit. From side to side, it rocks and rolls.  Her panting increases until it is out pacing the stunt cock.

   Once in a while the head of the vibrator bounces off the shaft of the power thruster; a glancing blow, two artificial cocks going for it head to head.

   Her mouth is hungry now. Your left breast is hanging above her tongue and she is lashing it like a punching bag.  She sucks it into the wet confines of her mouth.  Muted moans.  You roll the vibrator back over her clit, letting it softly buzz and bounce.  She's ready to pop.

   Her mouth sucks, inhaling your nipple and with one almighty shudder she orgasms.  Her body is a landscape riven with erotic quakes and tremors. You flick the switch and power down the machine.  It slowly grinds to a halt, the latex penis stills and the room is silent. There is a short muffled chorus of relieved pants coming from Carmen.  She looks exhausted. Happy. Satisfied but exhausted.

   You both seek peace in the afterglow and for a moment the only noise is the rise and fall of your breathing.

   There is a rattle of a door handle being shaken.  The silent golden moment is broken. You hear the percussive tap of someone knocking hard on wood.

   Dressing, you both quickly adopt a professional air.  The thin glaze that covers you both could be put down to the lack of decent air con in the room, the messed hair, a hurried departure from home that morning.  Opening the door, Carmen squeals.

   One of the men she'd banished from the room is head down eye glued to the key hole.

   He straightens up and gives you both such a knowing naughty smile that you can't hope to hold it together. You can feel a flush of embarrassment and struggle to appear normal.

   "It's our turn now" says Stephan with wink.  "You girls surely know how to partay!"

   And with that you make for the exit and scurry down the stairs.   It's only back at street level that you allow yourself to giggle.

   Carmen embraces you. Kisses on cheeks, left right left then another smack hard on the lips.

   "Babe" she says.  "Your next tour is on me. And I mean literally.  I've got another booking but...  I'll call you.  You're traveling hey? I've got some hot cities to recommend" and with a wink she waves, bids you good day and scurries off.

* * *

##### You look around for a taxi and within moments find yourself hailing one.

* * *

* * *

**Please turn back a page**

* * *

* * *

**Please turn forward a page**

* * *

 It's just gone ten pm when you make your way into La Pedrera.  The place is humming.  There is a groove going down.  The night is sultry, soupy with something in the air.  You find your way through the crowd and squeeze into a gap that emerges between a group of young women drinking from a large jug of Sangria and a well groomed couple who are nuzzling each other so passionately you want to applaud.    A rose lies discarded at their feet, its petals trampled flat into the tiles.

   Lala is at the bar and spies you arrive, and in moments has found you a table and brought you a bottle of cava.

   "Sit sit, enjoy" she says as she pours a bubbly stream of Spanish sparkling wine into your glass.

   "I must go, we are due on stage very soon."

   And with this she threads her way through the crowd, leaving you seated alone at a table with an excellent view of the stage.

   A lone guitarist picks away at a mournful song, his voice deep and resonant, expertly channeling whatever sorrows the words are imbued with.  You don't need to understand the lyrics, the plaintive guitar and soft hollow moan of his voice take you there.   A hush has fallen on the crowd.  At your best guess the song is a melancholy lament to a lost love.  You are bewitched by the singers voice.   People sit in rapt enjoyment.  When the song finishes, the bar erupts in foot stomping applause.  The guitarist rises, bows and leaves the stage to raucous cheers.

   To a whistle of delight, a loose limbed hunk dances onto stage and grabs the microphone " _Hola, Buenas noches_!  I'm Inigo and this is Pablo and the gorgeous Lala"

   Inigo beams at the crowd, eyes gleaming in a cheeky fashion.  His face is a study in the allure of peppery stubble as a fashion statement.

   There are cheers of applause from the crowd as Pablo and Lala bound on stage.  Pablo is one handsome specimen too.  Your gaze runs back over Inigo.  A few wisps of dark hair curled from the top of the tight white shirt that clung to him like he'd been born with it.  His chest, tightly defined in the T shirt was obviously home to a thick thatch of chest hair.  Pablo displays the same barely contained restless energy of Inigo, bouncing from foot to foot and embracing Lala, squeezing her shoulders, grasping her hand.

   They leap for their guitars and in moments the show is on with a wildly unrestrained barrage of virtuoso guitar picking.  A raw gypsy style of flamenco is being played on the fly.  Pablo is driving a lively rhythmic tune while Inigo brings a thumping percussive energy to his playing. The combination is explosive and when Lala begins dancing with a clattering of shoes and a twirl of her arms, the bar erupts in shouts of wild encouragement.  The atmosphere is electric.  The girls drinking Sangria beside you are transfixed.   It is not surprising that the two guitarists have attracted admirers.  You see them all whispering to each other, eyes glued to the stage.  It looks like a debate over the relative merits of the two musicians.  The girls are scoring them, trading jibes about who'd be the best lover and who would have the biggest cock.  After a particular comment you watch them laugh and point.  You follow the direction of their gaze and see that it rests in Inigo's crotch. Inigo is singing. His voice is scorching. Notes crack and jive.  And it looks like he is packing something impressive in his pants.

   You are swept up in the energy of it. Your gaze leaping from Inigo to Pablo and back again via Lala. She dances with an intoxicating grace, channeling the music into something that is the artistic embodiment of combustible sensual energy.  They're a very attractive threesome.  You can't help tapping your legs.  The energy coming from the stage is electric and very soon the atmosphere in the bar has stepped up a notch.

   Time blurs in a hypnotic trance.  You've managed to down most of the bottle of cava when the show comes to a close.

   You stand up.  Lala is beckoning you to join them.  They're huddled in a small group by the front of the stage.  The spotlights have dimmed and the stage is empty.  There is a break between performers.  You leave the table, sending a gleefully mischievous smile to the girls beside you who had mistakenly thought Lala's invite had been for them.  Daggers of envy are lobbed at you from eyes dulled from a nights drinking.  The jug of Sangria has been refilled and emptied more times than you could count.

   "Would you like to come backstage?" says Pablo.

   "We're having a small private party in the dressing room. We'd love you to join us" adds Inigo.

   Lala slips her arm through yours, brushing your ear with a soft whispering kiss.

  "Come darling" she says.

   You let yourself be led up the stairs and over the stage.  The lighting is subdued and you push your way through the velvet curtain at the side of the stage in semi darkness.  A small corridor leads to a door with a large silver star painted on it.  Once inside the room, Inigo pushes the door closed and with a casual turn of the key locks it.  You wonder where this is leading.

   "Private party" he says smiling and tapping the side of his nose "we don't want to be disturbed do we?

   There is a large clothes rack with a collection of fine flamenco dresses hanging from it.

Pablo is opening a bottle of wine.

   " _Vino Tinto_ " he says handing you a glass.  You take a long slow sip and thank him, smiling appreciatively.

   Inigo lounges on a small brown sofa, kicks his shoes off and loosens his shirt. He swallows down a deep mouthful from his wine glass, having swirled it around and then tipped it back in one fluid movement before waving it at Pablo and loudly calling for a refill.

   He is behaving expansively, throwing his body around, claiming space.  It's an act that can't fail to draw attention his way.  You feel like indulging him and the smile you send his way is as flirtatious as it is genuine.  He is a hunk and his virtuoso musicianship has amply turned you on. You felt pearls of subtropical dampness line your knickers during the performance.  These have now coalesced to moisten your inner thighs.  Despite, or perhaps because of it, you can't ignore the pleasant ache that throbs throughout your body.  That calm satisfied feeling brought on by a serious sating of sexual need.  You've had a good go at appeasing it today but it is forever restless and in need of further satisfaction.

   You run your hand over the fine fabric of the dresses.   You slide them back and forth on the rack until finding one that is richly crimson with a fine lacy filigreed bustier.  It's a stunning dress.  You can't help yourself and yearn to try it on.

   Inigo has been watching you closely. His stubble has grown into a heavy five o'clock shadow accentuating what was already a winning look of irresistible brooding masculinity.  Pablo and Lala are sitting in the corner.  Lala climbs onto Pablo's lap and rests her glass of red wine on the dressing table.  She places her hands on Pablo's cheeks and kisses him.  He responds, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into a passionate embrace.  You catch a glimpse of them, tongues entwined in the dressing room mirror.

   "Try the dress on" urges Inigo.  "Please..."

   He runs his hand over your shoulder and down your arm until it rests near your elbow.

   You don't need much convincing.  Looking around before thinking to hell with it, you ease your arms out of your dress and let it crumple down and pool at your feet. Your corporeal self has abandoned its outer casement.  Stepping out of it you reach down and remove the clasps of your high heel shoes and kicking them off, they tumble and slide across the floor.

   Inigo gasps.  His eyes feast on you.  You'd gone to extra lengths tonight.  Stockings and suspenders, your favorite knickers and a bra that was so well suited to your bust that you wore it like a second skin.

   "You'd look amazing in the dress, but you look a million dollars out of it" he says, eyes widened by barefaced lust.

   He comes toward you running a hand through your hair.  He kisses you, cradling your breasts lightly, letting his fingers and thumbs trace the scrolls of lace that border each cup.  He is so casual and confident.  All the cava has brought you to a really relaxed state and you tilt your neck to receive his kiss.  You've completely bewitched him. As his lips slide along the nape of your neck, you feel a flush of goose buttps rise and prickle down your arms.

   You glance in the mirror and see that Lala has let her dress slide from her shoulders. Pablo has his face buried in her breasts.  Lala is laughing and sipping at her wine.  He is lavishing desperate tongue swirls over her nipples.  She holds the breast he is suckling, feeding it into his mouth.  It turns you on. You forget putting on the gorgeous Flamenco dress and instead run your finger between your legs. Touching your aching nub makes you jerk and blink and reach for Inigo.

   He wears a sharply pressed shirt and your fingers play with the buttons, easing each one undone and exposing his chest.  Your fingers tease his chest hair. You let your hands travel the length of his chest while your fingernails tangle with the luxuriant thatch he has growing in the upper part of his chest.

   Glancing again at the mirror your eyes boggle when you see Pablo's cock being felated by Lala. She has completely stepped out of her dress and peeled off her bra.  Her black lace knickers are highly cut and accentuate the soft curve of her thighs. She has a small tattoo of a rose on her left buttock and a small tattoo of a book on her right.  She is sliding her mouth down his shaft ever so slowly and it glistens with the slick nature of her saliva.  Pablo is pushed back in a chair, his cock out thrust from his pants and his eyes lolling in ecstatic accompaniment.  Lala frigs herself with one hand as she feasts on his straining cock. You turn catching Inigo's eye. He wants to go there and is already loosening his belt, letting his pants drop. You grasp his package, hard through his underpants, already straining to be relieved of its confines.

   Lala is very attractive.  Her butt curves handsomely and jiggles as she lavishes lustful licks on Pablo's cock.

   You give Inigo's cock a squeeze and pull it free, letting him shake his pants down his thighs and step out of them.  He holds your shoulders as he does this giving you a look that is vital and intense.  The hunger in his eyes has grown.

  He clasps your hand and your fingers entwine.  Kissing you, your tongues meet and dance.  You taste him.  You taste the wine on his lips. You taste the sweat of performance on his upper lip.  His hands cup your breasts and his fingers make a play for what lies inside your bra.  You reach behind and unclasp it, letting your breasts pop free from and bounce pertly into the palms of his hands. He fondles them, teases your nipples, takes another long sniff and lick of your neck, letting his tongue trace a trail that ends in a nibble of your ear. Your hand massages his cock. You feel it swell and engorge as you squeeze it.

   You look at Lala. She is astride Pablo now and is bouncing up and down on his cock with her eyes closed in ecstatic abandon.  Pablo has one of her nipples in his mouth and is cooing like a dove.  Lala's other breast bounces, softly nudging his nose and pushing against his eyes.  He is in absolute ecstasy.

   You drop to the floor and watch Pablo's cock get engulfed by Lala's steaming cunt.  You pull Inigo down and direct him to your pussy, pulling your lips wide so that he can lick you while you watch the show.   You feel a slow slide, a honey drip of your juices basting your inner thighs. Inigo laps at you, sucks you, teasing and bouncing his tongue over your clit. With each rasp of his tongue you shudder and tremble and grow closer to orgasm.  You want to come but you also want something else. You want his cock buried deeply within you. You yearn for that feeling of fullness that is only possible with real live cock.

   Lala turns and reaches out towards you. Her arm outstretched, fingers grasping.

   "Come here. Come here gorgeous" she says.

   You look down at Inigo who is hard at work buried between your thighs. His tongue is lapping at your juices but he can't seem to stem the tide.  You're almost moonsoonal.

   You feel your clit throb. It is almost screaming with the closeness of release.  If Inigo keeps licking you, you're going to go off with one almighty bang.

   You place your hand over Inigo's head, fingers splayed and use your fingertips to apply subtle pressure down in an attempt to govern the beat of his lapping tongue.  He is putty in your hands and soon gets down to the rhythm you demand.  His tongue is a silken rasp gliding ever so softly over your clit.  Your clit is howling like an ambulance approaching an accident, your desire for orgasm an emergency situation.  A minor quake shimmers through you and dissipates out through your toes.  If you had an early warning system connected to your being, it'd be trumpeting impending rapture.  You slide your little fingers down until they connect with his ears and then ease his head up so that you can face him. Pulling him toward you, you made to kiss him.  He had a grin of great satisfaction.   It was the smile of someone who has just supped on a great meal.  You kiss him, lips pushing against his with thrilling urgency.  You feel his cock rest hard against your pubis, its head slick with spidery dew.

   He seems eager to get back to it and you let him slide back down to feast.  You are reveling in it. His tongue pirouettes and back flips. Gyrating and flicking he teases you until you are shaking. You feel it take hold, embrace its arrival and leap on it, riding it home like a surfer cresting a perfect wave, all foam and salt and glory.  You yowl like an alley cat and shake as the wave washes over you. Wet and bedraggled, Inigo pulls himself on top of you, easing his cock into the splayed lips of your still shuddering cunt.  He rides you like a man possessed, a man whose cock was in the grip of the most lusty, achy pussy in town.  You squeeze him and he quakes.  He keeps pumping but can't go the extra mile.  His cock explodes, unleashing the juice of his fruits as he spasms away within you.

   Drained of his life force, Inigo flops lifeless on top of you, his face flat to your breasts. You reach up and hold him tightly, looking over at Lala and Pedro who are still going at it hammer and tongues.

   You feel a great surge of contentment take hold, seeping into every cell of your being.  You've just experienced the intoxicating bliss of the erotic moment and your body is rewarding you for it.  Butt naked with three others, abandoned to the simple carnal delights of the body.

   You knew that you'd never felt freer.

  The End

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##### Restart day

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**Please turn back a page**

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**Please turn forward a page**

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 It's just gone ten pm when you make your way into La Pedrera. The place is humming. There is a groove going down. The night is sultry, soupy with something in the air. You find your way through the crowd to the bar and order a bottle of cava.

  You spy a small lone table near the stage and make it known to the barman. He'll bring you the bottle shortly.  The table is sandwiched between a group of young women drinking from a large jug of Sangria and a well groomed couple who are nuzzling each other so passionately you want to applaud. A rose lies discarded at their feet, its petals trampled flat into the tiles.

  A waiter is quick with the bottle. "Enjoy," he says, as he pours a bubbly stream of Spanish sparkling wine into your glass.

  You take a sip and let the bubbles effervesce on the roof of your mouth. You've got an excellent view of the stage. You look around, taking stock of the crowd.

   A lone guitarist picks away at a mournful song, his voice deep and resonant, expertly channeling whatever sorrows the words are imbued with. You don't need to understand the lyrics, the plaintive guitar and soft hollow moan of his voice take you there. A hush has fallen on the crowd. At your best guess the song is a melancholy lament to a lost love. You are bewitched by the singer's voice. People sit in rapt enjoyment. When the song finishes, the bar erupts in foot stomping applause. The guitarist rises, bows, and leaves the stage to raucous cheers.

   To a whistle of delight, a loose limbed hunk dances onto stage and grabs the microphone.

 " _Hola, Buenas noches!_  I'm Inigo and this is Pablo and the gorgeous Lala"

 It is the man who gave you the red advertisement, Inigo. He beams at the crowd, eyes gleaming in a cheeky fashion.  His face is a study in the allure of peppery stubble as a fashion statement. Moments later, Pedro and a striking woman in a flamenco dress join him on stage. Pedro displays the same barely contained restless energy you noted when you encountered them earlier, bouncing from foot to foot and embracing the dancer, squeezing her shoulders, grasping her hand. They leap for their guitars and in moments the show is on, with a wildly unrestrained barrage of virtuoso guitar picking. A raw gypsy style of flamenco is being played on the fly. Pablo is driving a lively rhythmic tune, while Inigo brings a thumping percussive energy to his playing. The combination is explosive and when the señorita begins dancing with a clattering of shoes and a twirl of her arms, the bar erupts in shouts of wild encouragement.

The atmosphere is electric. The girls drinking Sangria beside you are transfixed. It is not surprising that the two guitarists have attracted admirers. You see them all whispering to each other, eyes glued to the stage. It looks like they are having a debate over the relative merits of the two musicians. The girls are scoring them, trading jibes about who'd be the best lover and who would have the biggest cock. After a particular comment you watch them laugh and point. You follow the direction of their gaze and see that it rests on Inigo's crotch. Inigo is singing.  His voice is scorching. Notes crack and jive. And, yes, it does look like he is packing something impressive in his pants.

  You are swept up in the energy of it, your gaze leaping from Inigo to Pablo and back again to the dancer. She moves with an intoxicating grace, channeling the music into something that is the artistic embodiment of combustible sensual energy. They're a very attractive threesome. You can't help tapping your legs. The energy coming from the stage is electric and very soon the atmosphere in the bar has stepped up a notch.

  Time blurs in a hypnotic trance. You've managed to down most of the bottle of cava when the show comes to a close.

  You stand up. Inigo is beckoning you to join them. He must have spied you in the crowd.  They're huddled in a small group by the front of the stage. The spotlights have dimmed and the stage is empty. It must be a break between performances. You leave the table, sending a gleefully mischievous smile to the girls beside you, who had mistakenly thought Pablo's invite was for them. Daggers of envy are lobbed at you from eyes dulled by a nights drinking. The jug of Sangria has been refilled and emptied more times than you could count.

  "Would you like to come backstage?" asks Pablo.

   "We're having a small private party in the dressing room. We'd love you to join us," adds Inigo.

   "This is Lala," says Pablo.

   "Delighted!" she chimes.

   Lala slips her arm through yours, brushing your ear with a soft whispering kiss.

   "Come, darling," she says.

  You let yourself be led up the stairs and over the stage. The lighting is subdued and you push your way through the velvet curtain at the side of the stage, in semi darkness. A small corridor leads to a door with a large silver star painted on it. Once inside the room, Inigo pushes the door closed and with a casual turn of the key locks it. You wonder where this is leading.

   "Private party," he says, smiling and tapping the side of his nose, "we don't want to be disturbed, do we?"

   There is a large clothes rack with a collection of fine flamenco dresses hanging from it.

Pablo is opening a bottle of wine.

   " _Vino Tinto_ " he says, handing you a glass. You take a long slow sip and thank him, smiling appreciatively.

   Inigo lounges on a small brown sofa. He kicks his shoes off and loosens his shirt. He swallows down a deep mouthful from his wine glass, having swirled it around and then tipped it back in one fluid movement, before waving it at Pablo and loudly calling for a refill.

   He is behaving expansively, throwing his body around, claiming space. It's an act that can't fail to draw attention his way. You feel like indulging him and the smile you send his way is as flirtatious as it is genuine. He is a hunk and his virtuoso musicianship has amply turned you on. You already felt pearls of subtropical dampness line your knickers during the performance. These have now coalesced to moisten your inner thighs. Despite, or perhaps because of it, you can't ignore the pleasant ache that throbs throughout your body. That calm satisfied feeling brought on by a serious sating of sexual need. You've had a good go at appeasing it today, but it is forever restless and in need of further satisfaction.

   You run your hand over the fine fabric of the dresses. You slide them back and forth on the rack until you find one that is richly crimson with a fine lacy filigreed bustier. It's a stunning dress. You yearn to try it on.

   Inigo has been watching you closely. His stubble has grown into a heavy five o'clock shadow, accentuating what was already a winning look of irresistible brooding masculinity. Pablo and Lala are sitting in the corner. Lala climbs onto Pablo's lap and rests her glass of red wine on the dressing table. She places her hands on Pablo's cheeks and kisses him. He responds, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into a passionate embrace. You catch a glimpse of them, tongues entwined, in the dressing room mirror.

   "Try the dress on," urges Inigo. "Please..."

   He runs his hand over your shoulder and down your arm until it rests near your elbow.

   You don't need much convincing. Looking around before thinking to hell with it, you ease your arms out of your dress and let it crumple down and pool at your feet. Your corporeal self has abandoned its outer casement. Stepping out of it, you reach down and remove the clasps of your high heel shoes and kick them off. They tumble and slide across the floor.

   Inigo gasps. His eyes feast on you. You've gone to extra lengths tonight. Stockings and suspenders, your favorite knickers and a bra that is so well suited to your bust that you wear it like a second skin.

   "You'd look amazing in that dress, but you look a million dollars out of it," he says, eyes widened by barefaced lust.

   He comes closer, running a hand through your hair. He kisses you, cradling your breasts lightly, letting his fingers and thumbs trace the scrolls of lace that border each cup. He is so casual and confident. All the cava has brought you to a really relaxed state and you tilt your neck to receive his kiss. You've completely bewitched him.  As his lips slide along the nape of your neck, you feel a flush of goosebuttps rise and prickle down your arms.

  You glance in the mirror and see that Lala has let her dress slide from her shoulders. Pablo has his face buried in her breasts. Lala is laughing and sipping at her wine. Pablo is lavishing desperate tongue swirls over her nipples. She holds the breast he is suckling, feeding it into his mouth. It turns you on. You forget putting on the gorgeous Flamenco dress and instead run your finger between your legs. Touching your aching nub makes you jerk and blink and reach for Inigo.

  He wears a sharply pressed shirt and your fingers play with the buttons, easing each one undone and exposing his chest. Your fingers tease his chest hair. You let your hands travel the length of his chest while your fingernails tangle with the luxuriant thatch he has growing in the upper part of his chest.

   Glancing again at the mirror, your eyes boggle when you see Pablo's cock being felated by Lala. She has completely stepped out of her dress and peeled off her bra. Her black lace knickers are highly cut and accentuate the soft curve of her thighs. She has a small tattoo of a rose on her left buttock and a small tattoo of a book on her right. She is sliding her mouth down his shaft ever so slowly and it glistens with the slick nature of her saliva. Pablo is pushed back in a chair, his cock out thrust from his pants and his eyes lolling in ecstatic accompaniment. Lala frigs herself with one hand as she feasts on his straining cock. You turn, catching Inigo's eye. He wants to go there and is already loosening his belt, letting his pants drop. You grasp his package, hard through his underpants, already straining to be relieved of its confines.

   Lala is very attractive. Her butt curves handsomely and jiggles as she lavishes lustful licks on Pablo's cock.

   You give Inigo's cock a squeeze and pull it free, letting him shake his pants down his thighs and step out of them. He holds your shoulders as he does this, giving you a look that is vital and intense. The hunger in his eyes has grown.

  He clasps your hand and your fingers entwine. Kissing you, your tongues meet and dance. You taste him. You taste the wine on his lips. You taste the sweat of performance on his upper lip.His hands cup your breasts and his fingers make a play for what lies inside your bra. You reach behind and unclasp it, letting your breasts pop free and bounce pertly into the palms of his hands. He fondles them, teases your nipples, takes another long sniff and lick of your neck, letting his tongue trace a trail that ends in a nibble of your ear. Your hand massages his cock. You feel it swell and engorge as you squeeze it.

   You look at Lala. She is astride Pablo now and is bouncing up and down on his cock, with her eyes closed in ecstatic abandon. Pablo has one of her nipples in his mouth and is cooing like a dove. Lala's other breast bounces, softly nudging his nose and pushing against his eyes. He is in absolute ecstasy.

   You drop to the floor and watch Pablo's cock get engulfed by Lala's steaming cunt. You pull Inigo down and direct him to your pussy, pulling your lips wide so that he can lick you while you watch the show. You feel a slow slide, a honey drip of your juices basting your inner thighs. Inigo laps at you, sucks you, teasing and bouncing his tongue over your clit. With each rasp of his tongue you shudder and tremble and grow closer to orgasm. You want to come but you also want something else. You want his cock buried deeply within you. You yearn for that feeling of fullness that is only possible with real live cock.

   Lala turns and reaches out towards you, her arm outstretched, fingers grasping.

  "Come here. Come here gorgeous," she says.

   You look down at Inigo, who is hard at work buried between your thighs. His tongue is lapping at your juices but he can't seem to stem the tide. You're almost monsoonal.

   You feel your clit throb. It is almost screaming with the closeness of release. If Inigo keeps licking you, you're going to go off with one almighty bang.

   You place your hand over Inigo's head, fingers splayed, and use your fingertips to apply subtle pressure down in an attempt to govern the beat of his lapping tongue. He is putty in your hands and soon gets down to the rhythm you demand. His tongue is a silken rasp gliding ever so softly over your clit. Your clit is howling like an ambulance approaching an accident, your desire for orgasm an emergency situation. A minor quake shimmers through you and dissipates out through your toes. If you had an early warning system connected to your being, it'd be trumpeting impending rapture. You slide your little fingers down until they connect with his ears and then ease his head up so that you can face him. Pulling him toward you, you make to kiss him. He has a grin of great satisfaction. It is the smile of someone who has just supped on a great meal. You kiss him, lips pushing against his with thrilling urgency. You feel his cock rest hard against your pubis, its head slick with spidery dew.

   He seems eager to get back to it and you let him slide back down to feast. You are reveling in it. His tongue pirouettes and back flips. Gyrating and flicking, he teases you until you are shaking. You feel it take hold, embrace its arrival and leap on it, riding it home like a surfer cresting a perfect wave, all foam and salt and glory. You yowl like an alley cat and shake as the wave washes over you. Wet and bedraggled, Inigo pulls himself on top of you, easing his cock into the splayed lips of your still shuddering cunt. He rides you like a man possessed, a man whose cock is in the grip of the most lusty, achy pussy in town. You squeeze him and he quakes. He keeps pumping but can't go the extra mile. His cock explodes, unleashing the juice of his fruits as he spasms away within you.

   Drained of his life force, Inigo flops lifeless on top of you, his face flat to your breasts. You reach up and hold him tightly, looking over at Lala and Pedro, who are still going at it hammer and tongues.

   You feel a great surge of contentment take hold, seeping into every cell of your being. You've just experienced the intoxicating bliss of the erotic moment and your body is rewarding you for it. Butt naked with three others, abandoned to the simple carnal delights of the body.

   You know that you'll never feel freer.

  The End

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##### Restart story

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##### Restart day

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### _The Sex in the City Series_

## _Seduced by Sydney_

Always wanted to get with a toned Aussie surfer?

Here's your chance.

Fancy a bit of backstage play at the Opera House?

Find your way there.

Up for an erotic adventure in a room with a view?

You decide.

Multiple adventures await you as you explore the sights and sexy possibilities of Sydney. Just settle back and let yourself go...

Back to the start of Breathless in Barcelona

