Six years married. Six days parked in Ibiza. Me, my mother-in-law footing the bill, two kids in tow. Poolside lounge chair digs into my back. Spanish chatter snaps me out. Boy delivers drinks. Not stunning, but those dark eyes linger. Like when I slice through laps. Early May, hotel half-empty. Just faded German MILFs. Me? Early thirties, post-two-kids body still tight. Swimsuit clings wet.
Smile. Merci. He glances around. Broken French: ‘Talk… us… 4pm… showers?’ Bored stiff. Always watched by her. Kids nonstop. Dull life. Why not? ‘OK, 4pm.’ Heart races.
The Stopover Temptation
3:55pm. Clock obsession. Endless pool laps. Body buzzes strange. Pussy throbs first time ever. Not like with hubby. Vague kid memory: gym rope, grinding cunt on rough hemp. Secret pleasure peaks. Towel grab. ‘Watch kids? Quick shower!’ No wait for her nod. Stride to shower block. Usual room rinse skipped. She thinks I’m nuts anyway.
He’s there. Stubs cig under sneaker. Smile back. Rapid babble: Spanish-English-French mash. Catch ‘love… beautiful… desire… tonight… 8pm… room 1311.’ Me? Date with stranger? Cunt burns. Legs weak. Hands grab mine. Black eyes lock. ‘OK.’ Arms crush. Tongue invades mouth.
‘Mommy!’ Kids barrel in. Peel off him. They hug legs, stare odd at him. Nah, five-year-old blind to my flush.
8pm sharp. Ditch MIL in our room. Kids with her. Suitcases half-zipped for dawn flight. She fumes silent, pities her son. Corridor hums: distant vacuums, AC drone. Elevator dings empty. Floor 13 keycard slot? His door ajar. Push like jumping plane.
He stands by bed. Circles, clicks lock. Crushes embrace. Kiss deep. Hands grip ass. Eyes drill mine. Unbuttons sundress slow. Fabric pools ankles. Panties only. No shame. Just slick pussy lips swelling.
Palms cup tits. Fingers tease nipples. Lascivious haze. Tug his tee— he shoves to bed edge. Points cock. Got it. Belt unbuckle. Zipper rasp. Pants ankles. Boxer bulge strains. Yank down. Grip veiny shaft. Stroke slow. He strips tee. Naked. ‘Boca, boca.’ Blowjob. Never done. Hubby zilch in six years. Lick cone-style. Salty pre-cum beads.
Groans low. Hands clamp head. Cock spears lips. Fills mouth. Thrusts fuck my face. Gags reflex, but balls fondle smooths. Deeper than dreamed. Balls tighten.
The Raw Transit and Bitter Depart
Pulls out sudden. Points panties. Stand, shimmy off. Droplet thighs. Pulls close. Tongue battles. Middle finger rams cunt. Brutal pump. Spread wide. Love the savage dig. Cock grinds belly.
Dumps me back. Legs splay. One thrust bottoms out. Balls slap. Sucks tits hard. Pounds steady. Hips buck match.
Stops. Flips signal. Doggy? Arched max. Re-enters. Feel him, cock, hands. But numb. Detached. Not me.
Outs. Lies back. Straddle cue. Mount. Grind best I got. Sensations flatline. He tenses. Spurts hot inside. No pullout.
Roll aside. Crave arms, pets, kisses. Nada. He grins. ‘Good, very good.’ Echo: ‘Yes.’ Dress scramble. No wipe. Cum leaks. Door kiss. ‘Thanks.’ Flee. Corridor echoes steps. Keycard beeps our door.
8:45pm. MIL glares daggers. Force grin. She smells sex? Traces cling: mouth, cunt, skin.
10:30pm. Sleepless. Why blackout mid-fuck? No orgasm? Men’s style: raw, no tender? Am I broke? Tomorrow hubby. Suck him off. Compare tastes, throbs. He loves me. Answers wait. Plane roars soon. Stopover done.