I did actually do 1 year of latin at school … but this story is not about that, it’s more a tale of innocence lost, but perhaps not quite in the way you’d expect if you’re used to my writing. Please let me know what you think.
He had pursued her determinedly since the girls first arrived at the resort. Poppy acted as ‘guide’ as they were staying in her family’s apartment, she’d been here on several holidays. For all 3 girls,though, it was their first holiday without adults. For Anna it was also her first holiday abroad (a school trip to France didn’t count) and although she was trying to look cool and sophisticated she actually felt wide-eyed all the time. She’d only been to a few local clubs in the last year, but yet here they averaged 3 clubs a night, using the free admittance, first drink ‘gratis’ tickets they got handed by PR people whenever they went to the commercial centre for groceries. Poppy explained that all the clubs wanted to be well populated with pretty girls; which is what they were, ranging from Anna’s 18 to Kerry’s 20.
He worked at the Pink Flamingo, the club on the hill, it’s rocky location made it a beacon in the resort, most people ended the night there, even if they began their drinking and dancing at clubs and bars nearer to the commercial centre. His cousin Marco was tall, dark and flash, the type which made Anna nervous, but Poppy was hot for Marco, which made him off limits. He was quieter than Marco (his english not so good), but he watched Anna intently and always made a beeline for her when the guys joined the 3 girls at the bar or in their booth inside the club. When he sat next to her she felt the heat from his leg pressing against her as if it was a burning log. She was conscious of his gaze on her, raking over her body, already tingling from the day’s sunbathing.
Her friends would nudge her whenever he came over, teasing her about the smouldering looks he gave her and they discretely gave them space when they sat or stood together. She had told him a song was her favourite, so he always made sure it was played soon after she walked into the club. She was flattered by his attention, and quite confused as to how to deal with it.
The girls were dancing together, as they did most nights. All the best music came from the UK and they knew all the songs so were singing as they danced. Marco came over and started peacocking around them, his trousers were obscenely tight and his presence was palpable. Today Poppy was sulking with him, turning her back to ignore his slick, practised moves; she hadn’t liked how much attention he’d paid to another group of girls. Anna and Kerry were always reassuring her it was simply part of his job – he and his cousin provided PR for the club FGS! So the girls continued dancing while Marco & Poppy drifted aside to a quiet spot for another of their frequent rows. Kerry and Anna watched out of the corner of their eyes, they didn’t want Poppy getting too upset; although this happened all the time, like a repetitive soap opera.
He came over and started to dance with them, making Anna’s heart beat faster, he danced well, sinuous and fluid without the showy element his cousin had. He stood close to her, like her counterpart, his moves reminded her of a flamenco dancer and she felt ‘sex’ coming off him in waves, not like the boys back home who lingered at the bar until the end of the night, when those who had been ‘sharking’ around selected a girl as their partner for a slow dance.
He beckoned to her to follow him, she wanted to but what about the others? It looked like Marco and Poppy had made up and were heading to the bar. Kerry was dancing with a mixed group they’d met over a game of beach volleyball, so yeah she could leave the dancefloor and not feel she’d ditched them.
She followed him to the back of the club and through a door marked “staff only” to find herself in an atrium or hallway, well lit but deserted, a massive staircase climbed to an upper floor and wound to another below.
“What?” she asked him, expectantly.
He indicated a plush velvet sofa against the wall, so she sat, her already short skirt riding up her slim thighs, showing off the beginnings of a golden tan.
“I never get you … lonely” he said, his broken english endearing, his look intense.
She swallowed. Suddenly aware of just how alone they were, and she was on his turf. Her pulse kicked up a notch as he gently cupped the side of her face and leaned in to give her a deep, tongue dancing kiss. In those early days of her libido asserting itself, kissing was powerful foreplay so Anna allowed her mouth to respond and her tongue to dance back, unaware of the contract she might be entering into [her virginity still very much in tact].
“You are so beautiful,” he breathed, as they broke apart. She felt giddy from their embrace, he was turning her insides to liquid lava and making her breath catch in her throat. She didn’t know how to respond so she just looked deep into his mesmeric brown eyes.
“I have to look at you,” he gazed at her face, “I must touch you.” He smoothed her hair behind one ear and ran his hand down the side of her face to skim her neck, before his burning eyes settled on her cleavage. His fingers continued their journey down, making the buttons of her jersey top open. He dragged the fabric down and settled it under her underwired bra, feasting his hungry eyes on her rounded breasts, which swelled delightfully out of the lace cups.
He didn’t speak, just gazed, and at that moment Anna realised the power of her breasts. No longer would she think of them as something she should hunch over and disguise, an embarrassment or a hindrance that she must endure. Jeez no! This guy was bewitched by them! In that moment she finally understood her tits had been casting a spell on the guys she met for the last few years. He reverently cupped them in his hands and buried his face in her cleavage and began to kiss her, his stubble rubbing the soft, tanned flesh making her tingle at her core. Cupping her breasts, one in each hand, he used his curved thumbs to rub insistently back and forth over her aureola, making sensations of delight race around her body. To her shock her pussy was getting moist. Although Anna knew the mechanics of sex and had read the racy passages of many popular novels, she had nothing concrete to relate it to, except for when she had touched herself, and it had never occurred to her to touch her breasts.
He pulled down the edge of the bra’s lace to tease out her nipple, she was frozen with shock, no boy had ever seen her bare breasts. Looking down at herself she could see the white triangles left by her bikini as a strange frame to her rosy nipples, which were now pinching into hard points and darkening with desire. She felt an ache and a burn in an area of flesh which, until now, she hadn’t associated with desire. She watched the top of his head as he bent to his task, licking and nibbling at her nipples, unleashing flashes of sensation and tingling which seemed hot-wired to her pussy. She watched him in fascination, licking and sucking, moving his attention from one nipple to another, and began to float off on another plane with arousal and lust.
It was strange, Anna felt detached from what he was doing (breast worship as she interpreted it) anchored only by the burning, yearning sensation he was whipping up between her legs. She felt burning hot, soaking wet with a pounding pulse throbbing in her panties. She longed for more but was unsure of the next step. Previously all she’d experienced were her own thrumming, questing fingers, and always over the top of her knickers.
Anna’s breasts felt heavy and swollen, his nipping and licking had awoken a hot desire, she couldn’t get enough, she was yearning for more and she parted her thighs and let her head drop back to draw him in closer. His hand landed on her leg, hot and heavy, like a branding iron and she squirmed, inviting him in.
“Touch me” her subconscious shouted, “stroke, me please me; You’ve stacked the kindling, now light the fire!” The faintest flicks of nerves she might have felt were totally overridden by the pounding throb of desire beating between the cleft of her thighs. His roving fingers brushed over the bare flesh of her upper leg to sneak higher and under the elastic of her panties with ease. Anna felt them sink into her warmth and wetness as if her core was melted wax. There was no time to feel bashful that she was wet, soaking wet from his caresses, and while she cringed to hear the squelch of her fleshy folds enjoying the delightful probing of his fingers, he did not seem surprised. Instead he seemed delighted, probing and stretching and stroking under her skirt, his hand buried in the folds between her legs, he groaned in pleasure and suckled her breasts whilst exploring her pussy.
“I don’t even know how many fingers he has in me!” Anna’s subconscious cried out with joy as her pussy throbbed and pulsed around him, building towards the oncoming rush of a climax.
At that moment a door banged, followed by footsteps pounding down the stairs. A harsh male voice said something to her companion in spanish, and he lifted his head to respond. She opened her eyes blearily, coming back to sanity with a bump. What was she doing? out in a communal space where anyone could (and did) see what they were doing, she felt suddenly shy and ashamed now the mood was broken. What had the other guy said? She was convinced he’d called her a slut or similar.
Anna pulled down her skirt and re-buttoned her top to cover her breasts. She wiped her hand across her mouth in case her lipstick was smeared and ran her fingers under her lower lashes where her eyeliner had smudged. She could barely look at him, although he’d been more intimate with her than any other person, and he seemed to feel the same way. He led her back to the nightclub, which still throbbed with the back beat of music and strobing, twirling lights hitting the obligatory mirror ball. She made her way back to her friends and he disappeared into the crowd, reappearing later in the DJ booth where she couldn’t reach him.
Her friends didn’t seem to think there’d been anything odd about the time she’d been absent, and Anna didn’t want to confide or share what’d happened. She was still trembling from her earlier arousal, while slightly frustrated to have been denied the climax she knew she could achieve. She always could make herself cum with her fingers, although it took a lot of rubbing and and tickling, or in the shower soapy fingers stroking. This had felt much more exciting, to have a stranger touching her, she’d been cantering towards the delight which usually she could only tease out of herself slowly.
She was in a daze the rest of the night, barely interested in dancing or drinking with her friends. She withdrew into herself – torn between the joy of discovering how exciting it was to have someone else touch her intimately and the bitter feeling of shame in case she’d acted cheaply, like a slut.
Later that night, they left the club, her friends giggling and stumbling, trying to hold each other upright as they navigated the stone steps outside the club. It was dark, the only light in pools at the foot of each lamppost, so she almost didn’t see him – tightly clasped in the arms of another holidaymaker. The girl’s slim body was pressed up against him while his hand roved under her frilled, short skirt. He glanced briefly at them, then buried his face in the girl’s long hair, pretending not to know it was Anna, while she endured the stab and twist of rejection.
She felt physically sick, but kept walking, her friends had seen him too and were stunned that he’d switched his attentions to a new girl.
“Bastard!” said Poppy hotly, taking Anna’s hand.
“Bloody gigolo,” shouted Kerry with a hiccup, and Anna shushed her and urged them to carry on walking, the last thing she wanted was a scene on top of her humiliation. Kerry was right of course, boys like him probably had a new girl each week or fortnight, aligned with each new influx of holidaymakers, but that didn’t make the pain any duller or lessen her shame.
Poppy said he was snake-oil persuasive, skilled at getting what he wanted. Anna had been just 1 girl of many in the revolving door that was his life. He probably didn’t respect the girls who came on holiday at all; weren’t spanish girls catholic, remaining virgins till they got married?
Anna stopped on the stone bridge to dry-heave over the parapet. He had cheapened her pleasant, sexy experience, but it’d wised her up to the way some men behaved. She wouldn’t be fooled so easily again, her feelings would not be invested, things must be kept casual, and she should make sure to take her pleasure, that way she wouldn’t feel used.
Innocent Anna had left the building, look out boys!