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By (user no longer on site) OP
over a year ago
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The sleek silver car purred its way around the hairpin bends of the misty Pyrenees, finally breaking through the cloud cover and emerging into the dazzling light like a bullet. Jeff pulled over at the first view point, astounded by the peaks of the mountains floating above the sea of white clouds.
“Mon Dieu!” Louisa gasped as she levered her way out of the car and stretched weary cramped limbs whilst admiring the view. It had been a long drive from Roquefort, starting at 6am, so it was a relief to have a break and such a spectacular one too.
“Wait a minute, stand right there and I’ll get a photo. You look as if you’re standing on the clouds like Venus rising from the sea! God you’re a sexy Goddess! Stand right there...”
Jeff adjusted the zoom and as Louisa’s face came into sharp focus he could see a glint in her eyes, a slight curling of those lips, which he recognised all too well. He snapped the moment up, a tiny morsel of Louisa’s provocative tease caught on film for keeps. She blew him a mock kiss and turned again to take in the view. Jeff sidled up behind her, snaking his arms around her waist and pushing his increasing erection into the small of her back. Her body shifted softly in response, a wordless acceptance, a complicit plea for more. Bending close to her ear Jeff murmured
“That was far too early to start, there was no time for me to ravish you Roquefort style. Now you’ve got me all horny and I don’t think these lovely German tourists would appreciate seeing me fuck...the...hell...out... of... you...over the bonnet of the car. What do you think Goddess?”
His breath was hot and his penis strained against Louisa’s curvaceous back. Her engines roared, longing for a rail to lean on so she could just bend over a little bit to allow him to slip her a length and ride her in the cool mountain air. However, she sensed this was probably not a recognised Dogging site, and resolved to move things on. Turning to face him in a swift movement, she kissed him lightly and walked quickly past him towards the car. Suddenly exposed, Jeff cursed and crouched down to disguise his tented trousers. He pretended to fiddle with the camera and took a few superfluous photos while his throbbing subsided.
Back in the car, Louisa sipped on lukewarm water and gave a smiley “Alright darling?” as he got into the passenger seat.
“Looks like you’re in the driving seat now. Do you know where we’re going, you minx?”
“Oh yes, and I know who’s going with me” she hummed the old song as she turned the key and glided back onto the glittering road.
Pamplona was a sea of white and red, splashes of green only served to accentuate the dominance of the brilliant contrasts. The entire population sported the classic whites with jauntily set scarlet bandanas and cummerbunds. It was 3pm and already parks and even grassy islands in the middle of the roads were littered with comatose dishevelled revellers, some surrounded with a litter of empty beer cans and many covered in red wine stains. It certainly looked like party city!
Louisa checked in, her Spanish a bit rusty, made worse by the fact she had been dredging up her school French for the last few days on the drive through France. Now words that didn’t come readily were colliding in her head, ‘Franish’; half French half Spanish.
Their room was adequate, but fulfilled the main criteria of being 15 minutes out of the centre of town, where they had been warned there was no peace overnight as the partying continued 24hours throughout the 6 days of the San Fermin festival, otherwise known as ‘The running of the bulls’. They had decided to stop in Pamplona as one of the breaks in the long drive from Edinburgh to the south of Spain. Coincidentally the famous fiesta was on so they decided it was an experience not to be missed.
Louisa went straight for the shower, as Jeff did his apparently obligatory male scan of the room; aircon controls, mini bar, TV, radio, windows and last but not least, the safe. Marking his territory, and satisfied that everything was in place, he turned his attention to the lure of the shower. Louisa hummed catches of the Ketchup song, mimicking the ridiculous, infectious dance moves as she rinsed the shampoo out of her long golden hair. Jeff bit his lip and ogled his wife as the suds fell in rivulets over her gorgeous golden tits and coursed down over her curved belly and on into the depths. Memories of former shower fucks darted through his racing brain as he whipped his clothes off and made a huffing sound, stamping at the ground and curling his fingers above his head, and then shouting “Toro!” lunged into the shower, pinning Louisa against the wall.
“Oh you’re such a brute, I love it! Come on and give it to me my fucking rutting matador! I’ve been gagging for you since the Pyrenees!
“Yes and that was incredibly cruel...”he said as he spread her legs and thrust his purple headed monster deep into her soapy cloister “...incredibly naughty girl, you will have to take the full punishment, all of it you wicked little whore!” he gasped as he grasped her buttocks and pummelled into that glorious heavenly cunt. Hungry for more, Jeff’s hand slipped round and caressed the sudsy pendulous breasts, nipples hard as Smarties, then continued his flow his down to the shaft of tight clit straining from Louisa’s smooth pussy lips. At his touch Louisa’s universe imploded into the screaming electric surge emanating from her clitoris and flowing in wracking waves through her body, blowing her mind as she felt Jeff ride the waves with her and his final thrusts, stiff as iron spewed hot flowing liquid deep into her. The hiss of the water cascading over their inert bodies was suddenly deafening, as it slowly brought them back from whatever corner of the universe the climax had catapulted them into. “I love you Lou” Jeff whispered into her shoulder.
Hand in hand they wandered through the froth of white and red clogging the streets. Vendors lined the streets, selling every conceivable bit of cheap tack loosely associated with the bulls. Every few minutes a brass band would approach, blasting its’ rowdy rumpus through one square and on into another, through the fine lacework of tiny streets, crammed with people. The heat was fierce, even at 6pm, intensified by the airless, overcrowded lanes. Waves of the stench of urine, alternating with bleach rose up from the filthy cobbles. The atmosphere became more intense the closer they got to the hub of the San Fermin Festival; the bullring.
The tiers of steps inside the Pamplona Bullring rose 100ft in a steep sweaty climb. They had reserved two seats in the ‘Sombra’, the shady side of the ring, more expensive but definitely worth the extra cost, as the heat was overwhelming, and Louisa furiously fanned herself. Perched on the rough concrete step, vertiginous on the uppermost level, they surveyed the glittering crowd, small movements of thousands of flapping fans making it shimmer like an ascending flock of birds.
The seats were filling up fast, a flood of people arriving just before it all began. A noisy crowd of 6 men bustled their way along the top row, and squeezed past Jeff and Louisa. An attractive dark haired young man now sat on Louisa’s right, their bodies thrust together in the tight squeeze, an enforced intimacy not unwelcome on Louisa’s part; she had a penchant for ‘Morenos’, dark eyed, dark skinned Latinos. The men produced a bottle of rum, several cans of , and a stack of plastic glasses, well provisioned for the fight. The Moreno lifted his rum and and gestured ‘Cheers’ to Louisa as he took a long drink.
“You guys have come well prepared!” Louisa commented in faltering Spanish.
“Ah this is our tradition, you need your rum to get the blood flowing. Where are you from, have you come to see the Toros?”
“We’ve driven all the way from Scotland just to see the San Fermin.” This was a bit of an exaggeration, but Louisa was drawn to flirt with his flashing eyes.
“Oh my, well I hope it’s a good fight, the first matador is very good, very dangerous and brave. Is this your husband?”
On saying this, he leant across Louisa and stretched out his hand to shake with Jeff, an uncharacteristic gesture in Spain in such an informal setting, but as he did so Louisa could feel his arm gently rubbing against her ample bosom and understood the gesture completely. She turned and arched her eyebrows at him as he settled back and he in reply lifted his tumbler to her with a dazzling smile. At that moment a deafening roar rose from the crowd and a cacophony of trumpets announced the beginning of the fight.
Although Louisa had been in Spain countless times over the past 20 years, she had never seen a bullfight. The next 30 minutes was a barrage of impressions and sensations never to be repeated: the blast of trumpets as the crazed bull careered into its own hell, the shouts of joy or derision from the madding crowd, the magnificence of the glittering matadors, their incredible macho egos emanating from their slender hips and permeating the entire ring. The sheen of dark crimson blood spurting from the fated bull, as jaunty blue and white fiercely barbed picados dangled from its shoulders. The goring of the first brave matador; a small victory for the bull in its last throes before knives stabbed frantically at its spinal cord, its final release from torture.
After seeing two fights Louisa couldn’t take any more and asked to leave. They wandered in a bit of a daze round the thronging streets and slowly made their way back to the hotel to collapse into a hot sleep.
The following morning they drove slowly through the wreckage of the party city, the parks carpeted with white and red clothed bodies, the streets littered with bottles and cans. Council trucks slowly swept the squares with water hoses; there was too much rubbish to sweep up before the party began again.
Jeff drove on through the quiet countryside, heading towards Madrid where they planned to stay with his brother and sister-in-law for the night. His brother Paul had retired from the army 5 years previously and had settled in a small town near Madrid to enjoy an extended ‘early retirement’. Paul was 3 years older than Jeff, taller and thicker built, and loved to play the role of ‘the big brother’. There was always lots of fun, laughter and plenty drinking games when they got together. His wife Jackie was a bit frosty, and Louisa often commented to Jeff that she couldn’t see why they stayed together. When the drinking games commenced, Louisa was usually in the thick of it, Jackie keeping a discrete distance, busying herself with clearing up, or reading a book. However, between them they were wonderful hosts and Jeff chatted animatedly as they approached their secluded villa in Altea.
Paul charged out of the house to greet them, picking Louisa up in a swirl, then bear hugging Jeff and almost knocking him over with a series of over enthusiastic shoulder slaps. “Oh man it’s so good to see you guys! It’s been too long, look at you!” He hugged them both as he led them to the house then suddenly stopped, remembering to add, “Aw shit man, Jack’s had to go back to Bristol, her Dad had a stroke couple of days ago and he doesn’t look good. She was really sorry to miss you, and she’s left a load of instructions for me on how to look after you. I reckon we start with a beer and forget the list!”
Louisa commiserated with Paul, but actually felt a little relieved, they could just chill out and relax without Jackie frowning at her lewd behaviour...yes they could party!
After a couple of beers they made up some liberal G&T’s while they caught up on news, Paul lit the BBQ and threw on a few chops and steaks while they chatted. Louisa wandered into the familiar kitchen and quickly made a tomato salad whilst sipping on her large G&T. The tension of the intense drive drifted away and she started to relax and get that happy G&T buzz. Just before she took the salad out to the gazebo, she decided to slip on a light dress which she’d just bought. It was a hot sultry evening and this dress was thin muslin, skimpy and cool. The boys, now well into their third G&T simultaneously whooped and whistled as Louisa appeared with the salad. What she was not aware of was how transparent the dress was with the evening sun behind her, and it left little to the imagination.
“My goodness boys, I never guessed how much you liked your salad!” she teased, pleased at the response she had provoked. Paul stood up and made a big show of taking the bowl from her and leading her to her seat in the gazebo. He openly admired her cleavage and commented on how radiant she looked; something in the air shifted and suddenly he became a predatory male, sniffing out the musty scent of the sensual female.
Over a very informal dinner, the wine flowed and the flirting between Louisa and Paul became more and more overt. Jeff observed the proceedings with interest, he always enjoyed seeing Louisa flirt and toy with other men. He was not in the least jealous, but rather he enjoyed the voyeuristic thrill and the close encounter aspect of it being his wife doing the flirting. He sat back, sipped his wine and smiled; by this non intervention he gave Louisa the ‘go-ahead’ for however she wanted to play things...TBC
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