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Hola Araceli,
Saludos desde Ibiza. I want to apologize in advance for what I am going to tell you, but you are like a sister to me, amiga, and I have to unburden myself to someone who can hear my passions of outdoor sex.
So where do I begin? I’ll start from the beginning… Yesterday, my sister Selena and I rented a Vespa and drove to the north of the island, where we found a secluded cove with the most pristine waters. We had it all to ourselves, so I got to spend the whole day taking the sun and finally trying to rid myself of those hideous tan lines.
I don’t know if it was the day’s heat or what, but later that night, I was feeling a sort of body high, as if I was floating on a cloud. I wanted to stay in and order room service, but Selena was in no mood for that. She wanted to party. We decided to go for a small dinner near Port d’Eivissa and I agreed to see where the night took us. I dressed in a casual white summer dress, hoping that the informality of my outfit would force me back to the hotel before anything got too hectic. But it didn’t take long before a rowdy group of Irish boys at the restaurant started chatting us up. I tried to give her a hint, but Selena was having too much fun with the handsome one—you know her, she loves that silly Irish lilt.
Pretty soon, I was feeling alone and ignored, and I was plotting my escape. Before I knew it, the boys ordered us all a cab and we were heading to Pacha. I tried to object, but they Selena insisted, and I decided to go, if only to support her. When we got there, I was bored. Irish boys only know two things: how to drink and how to laugh. And here I am, a lowly Spanish girl who just wants to dance. I tried to tell Selena, but it was clear that she and Mr. Ireland would be headed back together soon anyway, so I tried to wait it out.
As I was trying to figure my next move, I felt myself yanked powerfully away from the group. I should have been scared, but in truth, I was relieved. All of a sudden, I was pressed up against a sturdy, broad-shouldered hulk of a man. I was tipsy, but it felt safe as if his strong arms were there to protect me.
“Hi,” he said disarmingly. “I’m Nick.” He was ruggedly handsome, with fierce, penetrating eyes, a close-cut beard, and plump, thick lips. He spoke with an adorable Andaluz accent, like a young Antonio Banderas, before he went Hollywood.
The rush of the crowd didn’t make it easy to chat, so he grabbed me by the wrist and we headed for the dance floor. Finally, a man that knew what he was doing. We danced for what felt like hours. I felt myself falling for him as he steadied me with a powerful arm, it’s bulging biceps threatening to tear right through the taut sleeves of his shirt.
We were at the club until nearly six. Afterward, he took me to a little café, where we shared a churros y chocolate. My feet were battered and my body exhausted, but our physical chemistry was exhilarating. I could not get enough of him.
You know that I am not a girl who is easily seduced. I am not easily duped by charming words or good looks. But you must believe me when I tell you, this sorcerer had a spell on me. All night, when in his orbit, I would do—I did do—things I have never done before.
“Do you want to come with me somewhere?” he finally asked.
“To your hotel?”
“No, I don’t have a hotel,” he said with a mischievous smile. “I am staying on a finca, a farm, in the north of the island. Near to where you and your sister were laying out today.”
“What? How did you know that?” I asked, suddenly spooked.
“Don’t worry, I was not spying on you,” he said with a chuckle. “I go swimming in that cove every day. I saw you tanning naked, so I decided not to disturb you.”
“You saw everything?” I was embarrassed by the realization that I had paraded around all afternoon in the bare.
“Well, you did not leave much to the imagination, I admit. But for what it’s worth, I tried not to stare for long. It wasn’t easy.”
“Did you follow us to the club, then?”
“Of course not. You’re not the only one who goes to Pacha on a Saturday night, you know. When I saw you there, twice in one day, I knew it was fate. I had to say hello,” he waited for a beat, studying my expression as I took in this new information. “So what do you say, can I show you the farm.”
How could I say no? I had wanted to be alone with him since we left the dance floor.
We hopped on his motorcycle and I wrapped my arms tight around his waist as we whirred up the highway, passing a solitary car every few minutes or so. I felt the tingle of the summer sun against my bare arms. Down below, I felt the tingle of the motorcycle’s steady vibration. I confess the alcohol, the heat, and the vibrations were giving me prurient thoughts.
The picturesque beauty of the farm can only be described as though it were the backdrop to a romantic fairytale. It was a charming building, maybe five hundred years old, made with an attention to detail that we don’t see anymore. The adobe walls, the heavy, oak doors, weathered and beaten by sun and rain, told a story I didn’t care to hear.
I only wanted him—and it was clear that he felt the same. Almost instantly, he pulled me to him, and finally, our lips connected. He had rough, calloused hands, and his rough beard scratched against me, but his lips were soft and gentle as they locked with mine. His hands roamed freely across my body, feeling their way to my most sensitive parts. I felt the bulge beneath his pants press against me—heightening my desire for him.
Dios mio! I was losing control. His scent, the distinctive, musky pheromones of this torero amplified my lust. I needed more. He pressed me firmly against the hard, cold clay of the ancient structure, squeezing and stroking my bare behind, then reaching to the wetness underneath the satin fabric of my underpants. He possessed me as his own, taking what he wanted, his coarse hands pressing against me roughly, mauling me under the strength of his broad fingers.
For the many years that I was with my ex-boyfriend, Ernesto, I never felt a desire to take control. But in that moment, I knew what Nick wanted, and I only wished to satisfy him. I dropped to my knees, and there, in the open, I worked as quickly as I could to release his manhood from its tortured confinement. When I finally undid his trousers, a perfect cock emerged, glowing radiantly in the morning sun. Oh, what a beautiful cock. I felt a powerful urge to swallow him in my mouth, to taste him. I swear to you, I have never acted like this before, but my desire overwhelmed me. I slackened my jaw and pressed forward until I could feel his thick glans pressed against my throat, nearly choking me, and yet I persisted. I was hungry for more.
He pressed his hips forward, pushing further into me, gagging me, but I let him do as he wished. His power over me was complete. I withdrew and stroked him, feeling the blood course through his thick cock.
I could have spent the rest of the day on my knees for him, but after some time, he pulled me to my feet and pushed me against the adobe wall. He yanked my underpants to my knees and pressed his body firmly against my back.
Finally, my reprieve was at hand. In truth, I had wanted him inside of me since we first connected on the dance floor, but as we say in the San Sebastian, “no matter when you catch the fish, it is fresh.” I burned with anticipation, so when his thick cock pressed against me, my aching pussy hungrily took him, taking me to a place of near ecstasy.
Once again, this bewitching seducer had his way with me, ravishing me uncontrollably. At some point, I only wished to serve him. I again dropped to my knees and wrapped my lips around his dick, now covered in a thick coat of my pussy’s slightly acrid, semi-sweet juice. I felt a thrill to be there, to let him know that I wanted to worship him as he worshiped me.
I could feel his hard cock swelling in my hand as he edged closer to orgasm. I stroked as fast as I could, wanting to see that eruption of hot cum burst forth like molten magma. Suddenly, his body convulsed with the spasm of ecstasy, overpowering his senses (and mine). I sensed relief course through him as if a deep tension was lifted from him.
When his body had recovered from the clutches of orgasmic bliss, I released him, unshackling us both from the spell our union. He pulled me to my feet and we quickly adjusted our disheveled clothing. Our modesty had reappeared.
“That was incredible, amor,” he whispered, as he took my hand in his and led me back.
Muchisimas gracias, Araceli, for hearing my confession. I admit, last night (and this morning) with Nick was the thrill of my life. I felt an intensity unlike any other that I have ever experienced. I don’t know if I will ever see him again, but now that I have tasted the sweet nectar of this life, I know I must continue to live without fear of excess. I will pursue my desires to the ends of this world, for only then do I know that I have truly lived.