Sorry for Spain
My flight back from Spain landed hours late at O’Hare, which made matters worse.
I’d had a better time at a wedding near Barcelona then I thought I was going to have, which is what, like a fool, I had told my wife, Melissa, and Melissa was waiting in our suburban Chicago home, likely very, very pissed at me for having downplayed our overseas wedding invitation, and for having told her the trip would be too short to be worth cashing in her precious personal days. In fact, I was so stupid that, while I was in Spain, when I’d had a bit too much to drink one night I phoned her at work, and prattled on about the beautiful ceremony, the baroque church, the outdoor reception on the coast, the exotic dancing, and the barbeque on the beach. And I could hear Melissa’s anger simmering even in her silence. Especially in her silence. “Well, it has been raining here non stop,” she said, as if the rain were my fault. And that was the extent of our conversation while I was there.
So here I was finally out of the airport, having bought her some perfume and a bronze statuette from a museum, still feeling some guilt and dread at having to face Melissa. But I was so exhausted and so horny, that I could barely think about what to say to blunt the resentment.
Between my hangover and the cabin pressure of the long transatlantic flight and the dark-eyed Spanish stewardesses in tight dresses serving me red wine, I was fevered–fired up with a let’s hurry-up-and-fuck-desire that I knew was not going to help me one jot when I got home to pissed-off Melissa.
When I got into the house, I was relieved that to hear the shower running. In the bathroom, I knocked and announced myself home. Through the rushing water she answered with a flat acknowledgment, a simple “hi,” that sounded, at best, half-hearted, as if I’d just come back from the video store around the block.
I drew back the shower curtain.
“Oh look who’s home!” she said, playfully, even as she held a stony expression. She lathered the shampoo in her hair, drawing out long strands of her soapy hair with her fist, the suds and bubbles spilling over her fists and dropping down onto her feet. “If it isn’t Antonio Banderas himself. So it was ‘tons of fun’ in Spain, was it?” Her long fingers massaged her scalp and her voice sounded clear and pointed even over the jets of running water. Her skin was tan and slick and I was beyond happy to be back close to her.
Water beaded on her chin and dripped on her breasts as she shampooed vigorously. Soap suds ran down the sides of her face and more soap bubbled on her nose and chin. Some suds slopped on her stomach and streaked, dripping down onto her dark pubic hair. I nearly came just watching her wash herself.
I told her I’d missed her. “It wasn’t half as good as it could have been.”
“Whatever,” she said. “Get in. Clean your self up,” She motioned for me to join her, “you look like something the cat dragged in.”
I stripped down quickly, somewhat reassured by her desire to be in my company, the intimacy of a shared shower—a homecoming.
As I stood naked and cold while the hot water cascaded and steamed around her, I floated some half-baked small talk––lies really, or exaggerations––designed to downplay my three days in Spain. Lies like that the ceremony had gone on too long. The music at the reception had been cheesy. The decor was Eurotrash, gaudy. Nobody spoke English.
Melissa reached down and grabbed my cock and squeezed it. “That’s not what Mister Happy told moi on the phone,”she said, grinning, gritting her teeth playfully. “He said, ‘this is one of the best weddings I’ve been too, such great time seeing friends, sunset was breathtaking, Barcelona, beach, yadda yadda yadda’ ”
She let go of my cock and shoved me lightly, and then stepped aside, inviting me to take her spot under the shower head.
“Oh! And what were his exact words to moi before he left? ‘There’s no sense Melissa having you spending frequent flier miles and personal days to go to Spain for three days to the wedding of someone we haven’t seen in six years and will likely never see again.”
She made a tsk-tsk sound. “Guess it really made no sense, huh?,”she asked. She pointed at my hard-on, “Oh! Look! At least you bought me a souvenir from duty-free,”she chuckled, brushing my cock with the back of her fingers. “Kind of selfish gift though, no?”
I ignored her sarcasm and scrubbed myself thoroughly, feeling renewed and refreshed by the hot shower and even a little amused by her not-so-jokey recriminations. When I reached out to lather up her breasts, she grabbed my wrists and held them tightly. “I’m already washed.”
I told her I was “sincerely sorry”to have dissuaded her from coming with me to the wedding.
“Never mind.”She handed me baby oil. “My skin is very Midwestern dry,”she said, “I’m not all sunkissed like you are from your Spanish fiesta. Help a girl out.”
I snatched the bottle and squeezed out the baby oil. As she waited with her shoulders poised like some Roman empress, I massaged her back and neck, cupping the underside of her breasts, spreading excess baby oil along her belly, around her hips, reaching around to her back, oiling her wet skin in wide massages along her backside. I worked another oily massage into the back of her neck as she craned her head back and grinned, biting her lower lip as I ran my slick hand across her breasts, dabbing her nipples with my forefinger and gently tapping, tweaking, tickling each nipple, while my other hand worked into the deep and tight muscles of her neck, all the while the warm shower spraying violently against my back.
“Apology half-accepted,”she said, gliding her hands over her own breasts, fondling her own nipples, tripping out with a smile at her own pleasure. She gripped my right shoulder and pushed down aggressively until I took the hint, to kneel –my sorry, I knew, had to take the form of some serious servicing––and so I crouched and knelt under the warm splashing shower, my knees pinched and pressed against the hard porcelain tub.
Melissa stepped closer and looked down at me. She stuck out her tongue spitefully. I crouched tighter and opened my hands and placed them firmly on the slick tops of her feet, holding on to her feet near her ankles to give myself balance as I positioned myself before her wet pussy.
Once I was as comfortable as I could be in the narrowness of the tub, I let my hands feel their way along the tops of her feet, up around her ankles, rubbing up and down her calves. When I looked up, she was looking down on me, grinning. She wiggled her fingers like a greeting and then flipped me the bird. “You know, I watched shitty cable for three days while you were conquering Spain,”she said. “What does Elton John sing, ‘sorry seems to be the lamest word? ‘”
I smiled back at her and then stared straight at her pussy, confronting my task. Make your wife happy, you idiot.
I kissed Melissa’s knees, licking up the beaded water as I tasted the apricot-flavored soapiness of her taut, clean skin.
As my tongue daubed softly, her legs buckled some so I gave her my right hand for balance and guided her left leg over my shoulder letting it drape over me while she let go of my hand. She grabbed hold of the towel bar that some previous tenant had mysteriously installed into our shower wall. It seemed like he’d installed it just for this moment and I was grateful for that metal rack.
As I caught the sweet scent of Melissa’s pink sex, I craned my neck and stared up to study her extended arm, well-toned and tensed as her hand gripped that steel rod, her grip so erotic my cock poked up from between my thighs. Fancifully, I thought of the handyman who had, unbeknownst to him, done us a favor by bolting that towel rack into this tiled wall, and my cock itself felt like a drill, like metal, yet a soft metal, pulsing, throbbing without relief between my uncomfortable thighs. My muscles strained with the pressure of my crouched position. Warm rushes of shower water pocketed and pooled at my thighs, pooling at my balls as I moved in closer to the wet lips of Melissa’s sex. She had reached down near my face and fingered at my lips and then traced her pussy lips’ pink fleshy contours, as if giving my eyes a brief guided tour. At one point her finger pressed and trembled and pressed inward and she let out a groan.
“As forms of apologies go,”I said, loudly, gently taking her hand off herself, calling up to her through the running water, “this is pretty good punishment, no?”
“We’ll see how good,”she said, kicking her the heel of her foot against my backside before gazing down, pulling me in closer to her with that leg as she thrust her hips toward my face, “Get busy with your sorry, Senor Banderas.”
I did just that. I cupped her hips with one hand and ran my other hand from the back of her foot up the inside of her calf, my fingers slowing as I neared the back of her knee. I let my fingers dance back there until I felt her shudder a little, then I moved my hands slower still up the back of her thigh, squeezing her ass quickly and then I moved in and let my lips tease-tip the fold of her sex. I kissed straightaway and pulled back, letting my tongue tease her labia. I thought to myself – it was fucked up to go to Spain alone.
I worked my tongue into a dip-and-lick rhythm. The fleshly swell of her sex was as warm and sudden as the warm and sudden water cascading over my shoulder, my face, my lips, my tongue, my chest.
The stiffness between my legs ached so much and the water around me was so silky against my cock that I thought I might cum as I crouched there, giving her slow and sweet head, pausing now and then to let my lips purse and glide on her inner thighs. She giggled and tugged at my hair. “Tickling,”she said, and she moaned like someone who has just started into a long awaited meal.
With each of my kisses and licks, the shower just as quickly washed my saliva and her saltiness away. My tongue was drenched and coated with water, water perfumed by Melissa’s musky pussy. As I burrowed in closer, rolling the tip of my drenched tongue, flicking and licking her quivering clit, I felt her grab my right arm and abruptly half-yank me up from my kneeling position.
She was holding a bottle of baby oil upside down and pumping it. Without questioning what the baby oil was for, I held out my hand. With an air of vengeful, entitled insistence, she squeezed a long dollop of baby oil into my palm, dropping the plastic bottle drop with a bang right on my toes.
She massaged the oil around my hand until every one of my fingers were thoroughly lubed and greasy. Then she tiptoed as she guided my oily hand toward her ass. The slick sensation of my slippery hand on her soft ass skin forced me to close my eyes and catch my breath before I returned to the task at hand: her wet pussy pulsing and wet right before my eyes.
I let my hand slip and slide along her ass and I could feel her grab at my forefinger. She squeezed my finger hard. “Now. Tell the truth, you didn’t go and seduce any cute Spanish girls, did you?”she asked.
At first I was too thrown by the question to notice how she was guiding my forefinger, as if it were her dildo, right into the cleft of her own ass, planting my finger into its fleshly recess. Then she let go of my hand. Without a word, she shook her head “Put it in there on your own, now. Like that.”I kept my finger in her, pushing deeper into the cleft until I felt a warm snug gap. her bottom clenched, her cheeks squeezed my hand and she sighed. “Perfect.”
Still on her tiptoes she laughed and repeated her question. “You didn’t go over there and fuck any cute Spanish girls in the ass, did you?”As if surprised by her own crudeness, she let out a satisfied burst of laughter. In response to her sarcasm, I shoved another finger in there and turned both of the fingers. She flinched and tiptoed higher, stifling a groan, arcing her back. I held my fingers firmly in and then turned my attention back to her front, and thrust my tongue right into her pussy, gliding up and down her clit with such determination that I almost pulled my neck.
She bit down on her lower lip as I twisted and turned my fingers in her, all the while doing small hot circles on her with my tongue.
“Nah, you didn’t quite conquer Spain that way, did you? Hubby enjoyed himself. But not that much.”She laughed and tweaked her nipples. I drew back from her pussy lips and answered her with hot breaths right between her legs, saying she was right, so right, always right and she convulsed with pleasure as I blew warm air on her.
Reaching behind herself, she placed her hand over my hand to make sure my fingers stayed firmly and deeply embedded in her ass back there. Sensing she wanted some motion back there, I turned my fingers round and then shoved then in and out, slow and then fast, in and out of that snug, hot recess between her wet cheeks, a little anger motivating my two fingers, my neck cramping up as I licked her sex up and down, in and out, my shoulders straining but soaked by the steady stream from the shower, my eyes blinded by the spraying water, my fingers wrinkling like raisins as I pressed them against the wet tub for better leverage.
My tongue felt it was on fire inside her pussy, and my cock was hardened to the bursting by the powerful sensation of my two fingers inside her ass, pushing in and pulling out and pushing back in.
Melissa grinded her hips against my mouth and let out determined and pleasured gasps so loudly they rang clear over the running shower water and cut through the stuffiness in my ear that had built up during the plane’s landing.
With my fingers still firmly in her, I quickened the pace of my tongue, licking, flicking, lapping, drawing my head back if only to loosen the tension in my neck, pausing to nibble and kiss her thighs playfully before swirling more circles onto her pussy, teasing her clit with a stop and start lapping.
And then I guided one long drawn-out stroke with the tip of my tongue, drawing up to the topmost nub on her clit. Then I plunged my tongue into her so insistently that without thinking I instinctively and rather violently shoved my fingers too deeply into her ass and she yelped with happy shock.
Then she regained her poise and even laughed as my tongue brought her clit to a wet swell, and she was so firm on my tongue that I could barely keep my licking motions going.
Her knees squeezed my head from both sides. Though her thighs had closed over my head and I was lost in a quiet wet dark, my mouth planted against her pussy, I could picture Melissa in my mind’s eye, holding onto that towel rack above me ever tighter. Though her legs were like a vise around my head, I clenched my jaw and gave her sex a deep supple kiss until she shuddered, shuddered and muttered “oh––Christ––finally,”as she came, quaking—and like the delay between lightening and thunder her shaking was followed by a drawn out, happy wail, before her hips relaxed and her legs let go of me. I pulled my hand out from behind, drawing my fingers out of her cleft lovingly and slowly.
“Sooo good,”she said, slumping against the wall of the shower.
She groaned some more, cupping her face with both hands in delight and she lowered herself to the floor of the tub, her legs stretching out long and lovely around me, her eyes still closed, her dark lashes and eyebrows beaded with water. Her wet dark hair clung to her forehead, her lovely neck, her breasts. She was panting and she kept her eyes closed, lost in her own satisfaction, a satisfaction that I hoped maybe had made up for my Spanish holiday.
My cock throbbed and jerked, as if my cock were envious at my two hot fingers as I soaped and rinsed my hand under the hot shower.
In her slumped and sleepy position, Melissa’s swollen pink sex looked like it was kissing the watery surface of our pink bathtub.
“Okay!”she said. She clapped her hands and slapped at her legs and sighed and reached around me and turned the water off, her nipples grazing my nipples. As her breasts dangled right before my mouth, she kissed her index finger and planted it on my forehead, mussing my tangled hair as she climbed out of the tub. “That was a decent start toward sorry,”she said.
As I watched her towel herself dry, I studied her gorgeous lithe figure, her tan torso dotted with water drops, her still heavy breaths causing her breasts to rise and fall almost in time to the drip-drop beat of water that was leaking from the shower and plopping onto my scalp.
Awkwardly shifting to try to hide my all-too-obvious hardon, I jumped out of the tub and hugged Melissa from behind, caressing and kissing her shoulders.
She laughed and slipped away and turned around, kissing my nose. “The rain in Spain falls mainly…”she sang and as her singsong voice trailed off she giggled and pointed at my swollen cock. She winked. “Hmm you really should have taken care of that swelling on the airplane. They have first aid on Iberia Airlines, no?”
Then she left me alone for a spell. When she reappeared in the bathroom, she was in her black bra and panties but I could tell from her relaxed air that finishing me off was far from her mind. She waved a pair of my white briefs at me, “FYI–while you were cavorting on that beach near Barcelona, I picked up this week’s laundry.”She dangled and then draped a pair of my cotton briefs onto my hard cock, letting it flop there as if it were an oversized scarf. I winced at the burning tickle that coursed through my shaft, the tingle blooming excitedly into my balls as the cotton fabric rubbed against my crown. Melissa teasingly tugged the fabric back and forth, moving it ever so expertly that I almost doubled over into the sink. “The rain in Spain…”
I held her upper arm and pleaded. “Don’t we have time? For me?”I asked. “I paid my dues for Spain, right?”
“You have sort of paid your dues. But as far as time for you goes, you had time for you in Spain,”she said. “And I made reservations for us at that new Spanish place downtown. Andale! Get dressed. Paella awaits,”she jeered, snapping her fingers.
And with that, I drew my briefs on, and daydreamed, recalling the cool evening breezes and late sunsets of the last three days in Spain.
Sitting on the edge of the tub, I watched Melissa applying her mascara in our bathroom mirror. She blew me a kiss and I reassured myself that, even though I was as hard and horny as when I left the airport, I’d foolishly talked her out of going to Spain with me. But at least I had gotten off the hook with a punishment sexy enough to fit the crime.
© 2009 Thom Gautier
Thom Gautier lives and works in New York City. His stories have appeared in Oysters & Chocolate, Sliptongue and Clean Sheets. His previous story in Lucrezia Magazine, “The Bet,” appears in Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 2009, and he has a story in the forthcoming New York City volume from Mammoth’s Sex and the City book series. He is completing a collection of erotic short stories. http://thomgautier.blogspot.com
If you enjoyed this post, make sure you subscribe to our RSS feed
Related posts:
- The Fourth Arch Blair rolled off of Donovan, panting. “I can’t stand it...
- The Banished Immortal As I was approaching one of the few pretentious places...
- A Sexy Ingredient It’s funny how sometimes meeting at a local café with...
- Balloon Animals It was Food Galaxy’s grand opening and I stood outside...
- The Erotic Adventures of Jack and Dora: Sick Day “Why don’t you quit your job and come home and...
Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.
Really Good Articles/posts that you have on this site. Thanks