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“And this… is my daughter Carmina,” my proud father smiled as he introduced me to Miguel. I was nineteen-years-old and it was the end of summer.
“Nice to meet you, Miguel,” I responded, somewhat abashed.
Wearing a pretty, white dress and my hair tied up in a ribbon, I’ll never forget the way Miguel looked at me the first time we me. But you know how it is; good, little rich girl meets handsome, young bad boy and she’s like a moth to a flame. He was eighteen-years-old, with a sparkle in his dark-eyes and working on my father’s vast swathes of farmland up in the hills. My darling father had spent the day overseeing the harvest, figs in one field, almonds in another when I’d gone to call him into lunch in his favourite spot – an outdoor table set in the shade of the cactus.
“Perhaps we’ll meet again, Carmina” was Miguel’s assured reply.
His eyes scanned up my lithe teenage legs, my wide-eyes, my full-mouth, my lips parted slightly with intake of breath as I registered this smouldering youth’s desire for me… A desire that, to this day, has not gone away. And can only ever be satiated in the heat of the sun… With outdoor sex…
Even now, Miguel likes me wearing white for our romantic sex escapades outside. It’s virginal he says. He prefers me looking innocent with my hair tied up in a ponytail complete with a girlish ribbon – it’s reminiscent of the first time, of course. Yet he knows now that I’m far from innocent, especially when I’m with him. It’s a far cry from my usual look of city-fashion-chic that I wear in Madrid… but when I’m back to visit my father, and to see Miguel, I know what makes him tick. The landowner’s daughter and the farmhand… that’s how we began and that’s how we like to make it work. Each summer, without fail and without much conversation.
I can see that Miguel’s hard even as I approach him, waiting amid the cactus and the crops, in a secluded spot near my father’s secluded lunch table. The silhouette of his throbbing cock can be seen through the drape of his linen shirt worn loosely over his shorts as Miguel leans back on the table – thrusting his pelvis teasingly forward as I tread along the path towards him. I kick off my espadrilles in readiness. My white shirt-dress sheer enough for the sun to catch my semi-naked form beneath. Miguel smiles – coolly keeping his gaze hidden behind his shades before glancing lower towards the tight peaks of my nipples, the only outward hint of my arousal.
“Hey, Miguel…” I smoulder.
“Hey. Carmina. Here we are again.”
Wrapping his arm firmly around my waist, he draws me to him, engaging my mouth at once in a firm but sensual kiss. I can taste morning-coffee on his lips and a hint of brandy on his breath – the traditional combination for the local guys here. Miguel shares both with me as pushes his hot tongue deeper into my mouth, forcing it open, as his firm member presses hard against my thigh. This is Miguel – as hot and as horny as always. His fingers grip at my buttocks as he traces his breath and his touch over my gym-toned form and all I can think is that beneath the seductive Spanish-lace of my panties, I know the lips of my sweet sex now glisten with desire.
Running my hands up Miguel’s smooth torso, unbuttoning his shirt and clutching his face closer to mine, my kisses prove a firm response to his, my moans grow audible.
“Shall I take you, Miguel? Is that what you want?” my eyes seem to say as, with a lingering seduction, I lower downwards.
Taking his belt, my gaze turned towards his, I unfasten him – allowing his swollen, pulsing member to be taken into the heat of my hands. It’s a familiar feeling. My hands, my eyes, my tongue, my lips, my mouth – they all know the beauty of Miguel’s cock like a well-studied map; it’s familiar territory and my favourite place all-in-one.
As I wrap my lips around his girth, working his shaft in a smooth rhythm, Miguel stares down longingly – losing himself and his heart in the midday sun.
Just like the first time, I peel my white linen dress from my body and instinctively dance my lace-clad buttocks against his cock, pressing hard against him until I feel Miguel’s fingers tighten across my throat. It’s Miguel’s hint of kink – and how much he wants me and my pussy.
With Miguel’s help, I tease down my panties.
“Do you remember the first time?” I whisper as I slide my wet sex down onto his firm, smooth shaft and thrust against him. My pussy is as natural now as it was then; just the way Miguel likes it to be, hairy, and open to the warm breeze of the air and the heat of his balls pressing against me. Miguel pumps me hard at the thought of the time he took my virginity, right here fucked on the very same table. He rams me hard, the slap of skin against skin as he grabs at my breast, sending a build of shockwaves, my pleasure rising, my pulse rocketing, my heart beating fast…
I lie back for Miguel to take me deeper. On the table prepared neatly for my father’s lunch, as the white plates rattle with every thrust, I reach behind to take hold of another memory; a deliciously ripe, sweet fig set there by Miguel. And I know why, of course. That was his job when I first met him – harvesting figs. And now, they’ve become our plaything. Miguel’s fingers tear open the fig’s velvet flesh. With a teasing smile, he offers its moist sweetness direct into my mouth, seeping its delicious juice across my lips…
“Are you hungry again, my Carmina?” he asks me.
“Always, Miguel”, is my breathless reply.
And with his gaze locked on mine, he teases its stickiness across my nipple in readiness; sweet flesh upon sweet flesh…
Miguel likes nothing more than sharing the fruits of my father’s farm. As if to confirm it, he pushes me back onto the table, opening my legs and pressing his urgent mouth against my wanting pussy; consuming its sensual flesh, drinking in the scent and the exploring the pulsating urges of the aroused and open, ever-flowered orchid of my sex. His tongue flicks against my clit. His mouth devours me. His fingers thrust into me as I reach for another fig, pulling its tenderness apart and sharing it into Miguel’s hungry mouth.
It all started with Miguel sharing a fig beneath the shade of an olive tree and look where we are now, still eating each other at the same table and enjoying every bite. We smile as he eases up to full height, his member hard, my pussy open and ready to be fucked hard – right here and right now.
Miguel takes me hard. One leg pressed hard against his shoulder, I’m open to him. He thrusts deep. My groans build as my body is overcome by the firmness of his rhythm. A pause to get my breath – then he thrusts me hard, taking my breath away. Hard and deep; I gasp and moan. And again and again… pulsing-out all the frustration of our bodies since the last time we fucked until the next time I fuck my beloved Miguel again…
I moan aloud, I grab at the cloth, allowing my climax to overwhelm me from within as Miguel’s groans deepen and his swollen cock fills me with it’s hot, sweet and sticky seed – until our breath falls to gasping and bodies entwine into one. Just like the first time…
For Miguel and me, our love is that of the Spanish summer and sweet fruit and open air. And each year, we fuck just the same: outside at the table, in the shade of the cactus, before I sit down, like the good little rich girl I was when it all began and serve my darling father his lunch. Of course, I can’t help but wonder if my father ever notices that I’m naked beneath my white linen dress…