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Author’s Note: My apologies for whatever errors you may find. Hope you enjoy it
I was so excited I could hardly get any sleep. It was a miracle that I eventually shut my eyes at 2am, but even then, my dreams overflowed with everything and anything that had some connection with the Catalonian city, Barcelona. I had completed my Masters dissertation a week ago and vacationing in Spain was my way of celebrating my newfound freedom from the heart-wrenching, mind-numbing days of studying into the late hours of the night, sometimes veering into mornings.
My baggage (a small suitcase and a large leather handbag) was already packed and waiting by my door. All I had to do was shower and get dressed. I showered in 6 minutes, a new record, considering I normally spent 16 to 20 minutes in the bathroom. Rummaging through my wardrobe, I dumped a variety of clothes on my bed for selection. It was imperative that I dressed my best. There was absolutely no way I was walking into Spain for the first time in my 24 years of existence in tacky attire. Methodical eyes swept the available clothes, weighing the pros and cons of whatever blouse-and-skirt/jeans combo that popped into my head. I finally settled for a pair of dark-blue skinny jeans, a white sleeveless blouse, and a pair of black heeled, open-toed sandals, topped with a chic crimson jacket. Mirror appraisal substantiated my exact thoughts that the jeans snugly embraced my shapely thighs and moderately-sized butt, and my blouse flaunted the peaked outline of my 36c breasts.
‘That’s more like it,’ I said to my mirror image, grinning as I swung my body into several sexy poses. I puckered my plump lips and applied lip-gloss to them. My keen eyes scanned my chocolate-brown skin for blemishes (found none), and made sure my dark hair wasn’t sticking out at the wrong places.
When I was done playing around, I called my mum and sister to inform them that I was on my way to the airport. I had said my goodbyes properly yesterday so our phone conversations were pretty short.
My apartment secured, I took my baggage downstairs and boarded the waiting taxi I had booked earlier. Half-way into the journey to the airport, my phone vibrated. I checked and discovered a text message from my boyfriend … or soon to be ex-boyfriend. We had been having fights for months about my decision to travel to Spain alone, and last night witnessed our biggest argument to date (though it did not dampen my thrill of the prospect of relaxing on the Icaria Beach). Terry had given me an ultimatum: remain in Canada and be with me, or go to Spain and forget about us. I couldn’t understand his problem. Why was he being such a buzz-kill? Why couldn’t he allow me this one act of freedom? I practically spent every day with him; surely, it wasn’t too much to take a three-week break away from him. Besides, I hadn’t thrown a hissy when he and his friends had jetted off to England last summer for one month, so he had no excuse for this appalling behaviour.
‘”I hope you’ve given ample thought to what you’re giving up.”‘ I read the text to myself and dumped the phone into my handbag, shrugging off whatever feeling of guilt or anger that would normally claw its way into my chest whenever Terry and I quarrelled like this. I was determined to enjoy my holiday. Terry would have to wait until I got back.
The taxi pulled into a parking space at the airport, and I got out with my luggage. After paying the driver, I carried my things inside to be checked in. I beamed at the attendant, a brunette with sparse freckles dotting her cheeks, as I presented my passport. As soon as my suitcase was out of my hands, I made my way to the correct terminal. I had to wait with other travellers for 20 minutes before I was allowed into the plane.
The flight was a gruelling 10-hour-29-minute ride, interspersed with watching some in-flight movies, listening to music on my iPod, and napping. By the time I arrived in Spain it was rather late at night. Lucky for me, I had taken my Spanish classes seriously so I was able to direct a cabdriver to the hotel I would be lodging at. The instant I stepped foot into my spacious, scented room, I unpacked, and then got on Facebook to chat with my friends. I spent most of the night on my computer, and finally went to bed at 1am.
I woke up at around 2 in the afternoon, washed, wore my sandals, jeans and a brown V-necked top, and vacated the hotel with my handbag. The Icaria beach was my destination. There, I stripped to my red bikini, donned my D&G sunglasses, and relaxed underneath an umbrella. Occasionally, I looked up to ogle and smile at the toned men that walked by me. Those who caught smiled back and sometimes waved. One even came up and offered me a flyer. He had short black hair, the most gorgeous blue eyes I had ever seen, and a very disarming smile. He was explaining the flyer to me in Spanish I did not understand (okay, so I wasn’t that good with the language) and it made me canlı bahis şirketleri giggle. He laughed with me and said, ‘You understand what I’m saying?’
‘Nope.’ I shook my head, laughing again. I was glad that he at least knew some English.
‘Okay, I try explain in English. I want you to come with me to party. Me and my friends there’ – he pointed at a group of jovial boys and girls in the sea – ‘we throw best party in whole of Barcelona!’
‘You here on holiday?’
‘Yeah. Finished my dissertation so I decided to celebrate by visiting Spain.’
‘Desati …’ He tried pronouncing “dissertation” and tumbled over the word. However, his puzzled look was transitory. ‘Ah, final project, you mean!’
‘I finish mine as well! We should party. You should come out with us and party!’
Hadn’t I come to Spain to have fun? Wasn’t that what this young, handsome, sexy stranger was offering? I was a little sceptical about mingling with people I didn’t know, particularly in a foreign country, for fear of the unknown. But if I allowed myself to be ruled by such ridiculous apprehension I would never get the best out of my vacation. Where was the fun in not meeting new people and making new friends?
‘Okay. Let’s party!’ I said.
‘Come on!’ he said, equally excited. ‘I am Miguel.’
‘I’m Yinka.’ I shook his hand.
‘How do you say that?’
‘Yin – as in yin and yang. Ka – as in car. Yinka.’
‘Yiiinka,’ he said my name carefully.
‘Yeah, that’s it.’
We shared another quiet laughter before walking to his friends. All the while, I was conscious of his ripped body and towering 6-foot height. Terry flitted into my mind, but I pushed him away immediately. No thinking of Terry, I told myself. More thinking of me and having fun.
Miguel introduced his friends to me and me to them, making mention afterwards that my Spanish was poor. Fortunately, his friends, like him, spoke decent English, and they promised to teach me Spanish in the three weeks I would to be spending in Spain. I giggled at that.
We told personal tales and jokes and played in the sea. Miguel and his friends took turns in lifting us girls and throwing us into the water for kicks. It was a lot of fun, certainly the most fun I had had in ages. By the time we decided to eat at a nearby restaurant, I had learned a great deal about each of them, and they had about me as well. Compliments from the boys never went unnoticed. I blushed each time they told me how beautiful and sexy I was.
I could never have picked a better place to holiday in than Spain. And to think I almost let Terry’s paranoia stop me.
At 9pm, two of the girls from the group, Paloma and Blanca, escorted me to my hotel room so I could change for the party we were attending at Miguel’s place. Paloma was blonde and plump, though more curvy than fat. Blanca was the opposite – stick thin. We chatted about boys, makeup, music, movies and everything under the sun throughout my preparation. When I was done, we hailed a taxi and were off to celebrate.
One-and-half weeks into my holiday period, the verdict was in: I was enjoying myself more than I had anticipated. Miguel and his friends were godsend. I could not have asked for a better group of people to hang out with in Spain. I partied every day, spent lots money on booze and clothes, and slept at Paloma’s or Blanca’s whenever I was too drunk to return to my hotel room. Those two had become by new BFF’s. I had also met and befriended Blake, a black Spanish boy who worked at the club I, Miguel and his friends regularly patronised.
Blake currently studied in England (he was in Spain visiting) and had a good grasp of the English language, so talking to him was easier than talking to Miguel and the others. For one, I didn’t have to pause at random to explain what I had said.
What was it with boys in this place and exercising? Honestly, almost every guy I had come across had muscular cords the size of my head rippling all over bodies. Especially Blake. One night, while drunk, I asked him this very question. He laughed and permitted me to touch his chest just for the fun of it. I think my heart stopped when I grabbed the huge rock-solid lump that was his right breast.
Towards the end of the second week of my time in Spain, on the Friday night, I wore a short, thin strapped black dress and a jacket, and went to Blake’s club with Miguel and the others. By midnight, I was in full party mode, dancing with Paloma, Blanca and the other girls. It didn’t take long before each girl was snatched by a guy to dance with. Paloma was the last girl to be stolen away, and by Miguel, which made me a little jealous. I admit, I liked the guy a lot, but I also had a dilemma called Terry waiting for me in Toronto. Until I figured out where I stood in his life I couldn’t possibly do anything with any guy, as it would constitute as cheating canlı kaçak iddaa in my book.
‘Pretty girl!’ someone said behind me.
Curiosity spinning its magic, I spun around to investigate.
‘Blake!’ I said and hugged the huge frame of a boy. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be working?’
‘Not today. Been looking for you guys.’
‘Well, now you found us!’ I said, winking and backing him.
Immediately I did that, Blake’s hands grabbed my waist and dragged me to him. I didn’t resist at first, but the instant my butt brushed his front I froze for a few seconds. What on earth was inside his jeans? The question fluttered out of my mind the same way it had come in, and I twisted my waist about, bopping to the R&B music blasting all over the place. Blake moved well too. In particular, he ensured that my butt grated his crotch. I felt his size. My god, was he really that big, or was it just me imagining things?
Our limited butt-on-crotch brushes soon turned into ceaseless butt-on-crotch chafing. My butt massaged the mighty bulge in his jeans, and his strong arm around my waist made sure I wasn’t escaping anywhere. Not that I wanted to. The feeling of him against me was so powerful I found myself drawn into a different world. My nipples had gone stiff, and anyone staring at me closely would notice their pointy shape on my dress.
Miguel interrupted our erotic dance, informing us that the party was moving to his apartment. Excited, I gathered my things and left the club with the others. Though the effects of the alcohol I had had that night pumped through my veins, making me slightly giddy and overly intrepid, I still possessed the inhibition to stay away from Blake. The boy had got me all turned on. I was afraid I might do something stupid, something I would regret. I had to keep it together … for Terry’s sake.
Miguel’s opulent six bedroom apartment was a 15-minute walk from the club. We got there, got the music pounding, and served ourselves drinks. A fantastic 30 minutes expired, by which time the place was crammed with merrymakers. For whatever reason he had in mind, Miguel dimmed the lights in every room.
Paloma and I weaved our way to the packed area that had become the dance floor and waved our bodies to the music. Somewhere along the line I lost Paloma. But in her place I gained Blake. Out of a wall of people he squeezed through. My heart fluttered in a funny way when his hands descended on my waist. Our crotches glued together, we wound our waists in sync, round and round, following the rhythmic thumping from the loud speakers. My nipples shot straight as the pleasure of having his rigid bulge stroke me so firmly overtook me. I wanted more, I soon discovered. My arms wrung his neck and I pressed myself on him, grinding harder against him. Blake definitely wanted the same thing, I could tell. One of his hands crawled down my waist, onto the swell of my butt and grabbed a cheek, squeezing and lifting. His other hand joined the process. Normally, I would never condone such behaviour from anyone in public (not even Terry), but today, right now, I don’t know … I guess I was too drunk.
Our dry-fucking (that’s what it had turned into) progressed onward, and as time went on, my hip movement became more demanding. So did Blake’s hands. It came as no surprise that I felt a familiar tingle building up between my thighs. My knees had started trembling. It should have served as a caveat for me to stop, but I continued, lost in our heated passion.
‘Ooh!’ I groaned really hard, my body shivering in Blake’s embrace as my pussy let loose a good amount of watery discharge on my panties and his jeans. My legs turned rubbery and I had to cleave to him or I would collapse on the floor.
Luckily, no one witnessed me orgasm, and the room was too dark for anyone to see the evidence on Blake’s jeans and the carpeted floor. If Blake was astonished at what had happened, he did a damn good job at not showing it. He simply supported me by my waist and led me upstairs. We entered a room whose only source of light was a reading lamp on the ground, at the far end. In my state of dizzy wantonness I picked out grunts and squeaks coming from the bed. There were people in here fucking. That could only mean one thing for me.
I didn’t have time to contemplate. Blake made me sit on the reading table. He slipped my panties from underneath my dress so smoothly I didn’t even know he had done so until he spread my legs and I felt air against my exposed pussy. I shivered and watched him kneel. He lifted my left thigh, placed it on his shoulder and attacked my pussy with his mouth.
Oh god! My back arched and my hands gripped his head. No one had ever gone down on me before. Not even Terry. Terry! The image of my boyfriend splattered all over my mind’s eye, yet it didn’t stop my hips from jerking in circles against Blake’s busy mouth.
Determined to force me on a guilt trip, Terry’s face refused to go away.
‘Terry … my boyfriend canlı kaçak bahis … I love him …,’ I moaned in my sex-crazed stupor, trying to convince myself of that fact so that maybe I could grow some sense and walk out of this nightmare … this delicious nightmare.
As if to prove a point, that my feelings for Terry wouldn’t stop him or me, Blake spread my pussy lips and dug deeper with his golden tongue. His hand reached up and clutched my breast, pinching my nipple. Fire spread from there all over my body. I writhed. Terry’s face blurred.
‘Your pussy’s good …,’ I heard Blake mumble amongst the slap-slap sounds his tongue made while licking me inside out.
‘Oooh god, it’s happening again!’ I announced. The tingly build-up had begun.
And then: ‘UUUUUUGH!’ My thighs joined my hands in gripping Blake’s head. A soft hiss pierced the air and my cum emerged in plentiful supply. I trembled so hard anyone watching would think I was having an epileptic fit.
‘Oooh fuck-yeah!’ That I had sprayed cum all over Blake’s face seemed to excite him more, and he lapped my pussy faster, hungry for more of my expelled juice.
That was twice today. Twice in one night. Unheard of for me. Before now, I hadn’t climaxed like this since two months ago. It wasn’t that Terry wasn’t good in bed, he just wasn’t this good. I felt worn out and energised at the same time.
I straightened my back when I heard that. That wasn’t Blake’s voice. I suddenly realised that while Blake had literally sent me to cloud 99 others had entered the room without my conscious knowledge, and now, from what I heard, the room had erupted into a full blown orgy. I couldn’t see well enough to count how many were here, engaged in shameless sex, but I could hear them, their moans, groans and ravenous cries. I could smell their orgasms.
It was that voice again and it was coming from beside me. I flinched when two hands grabbed my arms.
‘Yinka …,’ the person said.
How did he –? I stopped short as the voice registered.
‘Yinka …,’ Miguel grunted, sounding way too drunk.
‘Miguel …’ That was supposed to come out as a warning for him to stay away, but it rolled out of my tongue in form of a moan as Miguel’s hands covered my aching breasts.
He squeezed hard and pulled my nipples. I purred, biting my lower lip. He dragged me onto his lap. I felt his flesh and knew he was naked.
‘Blake?’ I said, staring around.
‘I’m right here,’ said the shadow in front of me.
My toes curled in my shoes when Miguel ran the head of his cock along my pussy lips. This couldn’t be happening.
But it was.
I was about to allow a guy I had only met less than two weeks ago fuck me in a room filled with people fucking each other. I was about to actively partake in an orgy. There was no way I could have seen this coming. If someone had told me I would be doing this in Spain I would have killed them. This was not how I was brought up.
‘No, take her other hole,’ I heard Blake say.
My eyes widened. My body stilled. Her other hole? I wasn’t ignorant of anal sex. In fact I had done it occasionally with Terry, and though deep down I may have enjoyed it, I always ended up telling him and myself after each session that it was a filthy act, one I didn’t like doing.
The pressure of Miguel’s cock on my butthole increased and I gritted my teeth. Gradually, my asshole expanded and Miguel slid in slowly.
‘Uuugh …’ A guttural sound leaped from mouth. My pussy moistened. To my displeasure, I realised I was enjoying this thoroughly.
The shock of taking Miguel in my butt and finding immense pleasure from it tripled the moment I noticed Blake’s shadow looming closer. He held my thighs apart and, before I could object, plunged into my pussy.
‘Oooh god!’ I moaned and fell back on Miguel, weakened from the deluge of pleasure that slammed into me. I was too tight for his thick cock, but that wasn’t going to stop him. If anything, it would excite him.
It didn’t take long for them to develop a rhythm. Miguel, holding my butt, rocked me and worked his waist, maintaining firm thrusts into my ass, while Blake pumped my pussy and ate my breasts whenever he could.
Our cacophony of grunts joined those made by the others. The whole room was alive with the harmony of raw, primal sex.
I put my arms around Blake and encouraged both he and Miguel to take me however they pleased. The rational voice I once possessed, along with Terry’s face, had been fucked out of my brain to oblivion. The only things I saw when I shut my eyes were blinking stars.
Minutes later I felt both brawny bodies shudder and I heard their desire-choked shouts as they poured their juices into me. The erotic nature of it all was too much for my mind to handle. It seemed the only way to comprehend it was to cum with them, and it was the hardest I had cum all my life.
Miguel promptly fell asleep after that, and Blake helped me downstairs, where I cleaned myself up and ditched my grubby panties in my bag. With Paloma’s assistance I got to my hotel safely. The poor girl thought I was exhausted from all the dancing and drinking. I wished that were the case.
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