It was a scorching June day on our road trip. Nadette and I parked in the empty lot near this offbeat fortress castle. Our little son stayed home. Bags tossed in the trunk, we grabbed our photo backpack and headed up the path. Nadette pointed at something, swung her arm wild—crack. Her elbow smashed my nose. Blood trickled. She freaked, apologies flying, wanted to bail. Bleed stopped quick. We pushed on.
Tickets from the bored cashier: ‘Castle’s yours alone today.’ Up the stone stairs to the entrance. Her short flouncy skirt fluttered. Right in front, her ass cheeks danced, begging. Spiral stairs to the ramparts—those cheeks swayed hypnotic, inviting. At the walkway, we leaned on a crenel. I slid my hand under her skirt, kneading her soft ass.
The Stopover
‘Stop, someone’ll see,’ she hissed, pulling away.
‘Cashier said we’re alone. Door squeals like hell—you’ll hear.’
‘Still…’
I kissed her hard. She melted a bit. ‘After clocking me, you owe compensation,’ I grinned.
‘Not the same.’
‘You asked how to make it up. Now chickening?’
‘You bastard. Fine. What?’
‘Your stuff. Too hot anyway. Panties, bra—off.’
She stripped them, stuffed into my photo bag. Cooler now, freer.
In a dim room, stone bench. I sat, pulled her onto my lap. Kissed deep, hiked her tee. Fingers on tits—nipples stiffened, areolas puckering. Mimicking my cock, straining pants. Paused. More castle to explore.
Top of a tower, landscape sprawling. Hand under skirt again, fingering her ass. Dropped low, kissed those cheeks. Tongue teased her slit. She spread legs wide. I spun under her thighs, lapped her pussy lips—parting, slick with juice. Savored her awhile. Stood. ‘More to see.’
She sighed frustrated, grabbed my hand. We wandered.
Dark basement stairs loomed.
The Transit
‘No way—can’t see shit,’ she said.
Inspiration hit. Pinned her to wall, legs apart. Fished torch from bag—20cm bumpy shaft. Pressed to her wet lips. She gasped cold metal.
‘Hold still. Lights your feet, hands free.’
Slid in easy, two-thirds deep. Twisted head on—slipped, spun whole thing. Her breaths ragged, hips bucked. Light flickered on after turns. Shoved full hilt. She yelped.
Down we went. Glow faint through skirt—magic show. Basement loop via skylights. Her steps wobbly. Surfaced, I eased it out, off, wiped juices heavy. Later she confessed: first dildo ever. Body betrayed her no.
Another tower room, deep alcove bench by window to courtyard. Flipped her down. Skirt up, devoured her dripping cunt. She burned hotter than ever.
Up, bent over sill. Skirt on hips. Zipper down, cock out—thrust into soaking pussy. Pure bliss. Minutes in, door screeched distant. Tourists flooded yard opposite.
‘Don’t stop—they won’t come here,’ she urged, shyness gone.
Watched them mill, climb walls. Voices echoed stairs—couple ascending, chatting loud. Pulled out fast? No—sat on bench, dragged her down impaled. Skirt flopped cover. Casual faces.
They breezed through, ignored nook, out other door.
Gone—she lifted, slammed back, rode furious. Bit moans. Collapsed as I erupted inside. Legs jelly, stood. Cum mix trailed her thighs. Wiped each other, ears sharp. Dressed quick.
I’d lasted longest ever. ‘You blew me away,’ I said. ‘Dunno—sun fried our brains,’ she laughed.
We descended, cheeks flushed, fire elsewhere. Handed tickets back casual. Back to car, bags secure. Drove off, castle shrinking mirror. That stopover etched forever—raw, risky, ours alone.