Ditched most bags at the São Paulo hotel, hopped a half-empty bus alone. Crew stuck in the city’s smog and chaos. Landscape shifted, ocean glimpses cleared my head. Sudden brake jolted me. Driver cursed, apologized. Eyes locked with hers over the seatback. Almond-shaped brown eyes, tanned square face, dazzling smile. ‘Tudo bem, senhor?’ Soft voice from behind. Goosebumps hit. ‘Pardon?’ ‘You’re foreign.’ My Portuguese: grunts and ‘o’ endings. Showed her the beach pousada in my Rough Guide. She leaned over, knees on seat, curves teasing through gestures. Long black hair flipped, eyes on my blues. Bus rolled into Parati at sunset. She had no booking, adventuring like me.
Bus station clerk said ride back with driver to drop near pousada. Few hundred meters walk to fishing port. Surprise: Angela waited. Her first pick sounded lame; mine more typical. Carmina, the widow owner, ran the tucked-away spot amid beach shrubs. Full moon lit the three opposite islands. Couple ahead dragged luggage; she grumbled about chivalry. Angela strode sand ahead. Carmina greeted her warmly, glared at me. Two rooms left: twin no fridge, or #14 quad with one. Handshake deal. We got the big room with fridge.
The Stopover
Caipirinhas flowed into night. Angela stunning: 5’10”, red thong, free-swinging tits under mini black skirt. Dragged me to fishermen’s beach. Grilled shrimp dinner in beach bar shack. Crowds swelled, Forró band appeared. ‘Know Forró?’ Never danced it. She pulled me to sandy dancefloor, taught steps. Rhythm pulsed, her scent maddened. Inches from her heaving chest, bulge strained jeans. ‘All for me?’ she eyed it. Rock hard. ‘No panties.’ Volt shock. Watched her grind next with tall café-au-lait guy, skirt hiked, shaved pussy exposed against his crotch bulge.
Dawn pinked ocean. More dances, skirt flashing slit on each partner. Edilson emerged nude from surf at our door. ‘Bom dia!’ 8-inch flaccid black cock swung on muscled frame. Angela stared, sat terrace chair. He ogled her crotch. ‘She’s hot. Up for it?’ ‘Why not.’ No suits needed. She stripped, ponytail up. I ditched clothes. Warm water, her tits floating against me, kiss, hand on my cock. Murmurs mixed English-Portuguese. Sursaut: Edilson’s dick slid her ass cheeks. Hands on nipples. ‘Slow, entering my ass. Not used to it.’ Moaned into my neck, jacked me slow. He pounded, she kissed me. I came in her hand yelling her name. He froze, filled her guts: ‘He needed it, so full.’ White drops trailed her ass walk back. Rehardened instantly.
The Transit
Bed: kissed everywhere, legs up, devoured shaved slit, fingers in, tongue lashed clit. Edilson fed her his monster, cheeks bulged, throat deep. She clenched on my digits, came hard as he nutted down her throat, overflow nose and lips. Flipped him, slammed her spasming pussy, tits sweat-slick. She whined face cum-glazed. Exploded inside, collapsed.
Rain pattered wake-up. Alone, her showering. Edilson gone. Towel-wrapped: ‘Hungry, blue-eyes love. Dinner at Carmina’s tonight.’ Hand grazed my spent balls. Washed me sensually, nurse pro from São Paulo hospital. ‘Still mine?’ Soapy stroke. Dinner: ship-door tables, killer food. João served, eye-fucked her. Caipirinhas with Carmina. Beach hole talk led to bathroom spyholes. João’s peepholes, glory holes maybe. She blushed knowing.
Terrace moonlit, her shirt-open tits spilled. Kissed tender, hand on mounds. ‘Pee first.’ Pssst from bath. ‘Come quiet.’ Moonlight through ten peepholes, big one by toilet. ‘Glory hole?’ Heard movement outside. She sat throne, I showered post-anal cum. Long cock poked wall at mouth height. She titty-fucked, deepthroated. I plunged her spread pussy, pulled ass cheeks. Cum dribbled lips as she screamed. Squeezed out, shot bowl between legs. Held her cum-faced, salty kiss sealed it.