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Brunette

Madeira Wine

NOTE: This story explores themes of anal sex and golden showers. If these topics are not to your taste, then hit ‘Back’ on your browser and move along.

Not long after meeting Tracey, the legal clerk with the Sri Lankan heritage, in everyone’s favourite Yorkshire holiday spot of ‘Scarbados’, my father, a friend of his and I spent a week vacationing on the island of Madeira.

On the day of departure, the UK weather was appalling, and we were delayed. The European weather system reached down to the north-west coast of Africa to the extent that foul winds proved tricky to land planes at the Cristiano Ronaldo Madeira International Airport. Yes, that footballer’s face and likeness are plastered across the island. Our pilot, a real Dan Dare type, boasted that he was experienced in such landings but judging by the looks on the faces of the passengers, mine included, we were planning of swimming back to the UK. However, Dan Dare was as good as his word, and we smashed into the tarmac at a 45-degree angle.

The island of Madeira is a second most prosperous region of Portugal after Lisbon, and it shows. An elevated volcanic speck in the lover North Atlantic Ocean whose central spine reaches insane heights, the island is lush and beautiful and blessed with a temperate year-round climate. Madeira held an interest for me because of its history as a way station for British ships spreading out across the globe and bringing back to the Sceptred Isle Madeira wine and cakes, among other fine imports.

It was decidedly low season when our party arrived, and the hotel we booked into was as expansive as it was empty. Gearing up for Christmas meant the endless repetition of UK festive “hits” performed by cover bands to avoid royalties, piped across the hotel’s public facilities. In contrast to the UK, Funchal’s weather was dry, sunny and mild (except in the hills) and feeling the warmth against my skin rejuvenated me no end. Only a few weeks it was left before I returned to my beloved Australia and its summer.

Our hotel was located about 500 metres from the centre of town and was a leisurely stroll that took us past a plethora of bars and restaurants. And it was on one such pleasant journey that I witnessed an unusual event. At the time of our visit, tourists were light on so that allowed the locals to let their hair down, and as it was football season too, lots of them did.

One evening, our party went out for dinner. We stumbled across a restaurant that allowed patrons to cook their steaks on a “hot rock” which was a unique dining experience. Next door was a bar that was filling up rapidly with locals because of a highly anticipated football match between two top teams in the Portuguese league. The Iberians are mad for the game, and no doubt many such taverns across Madeira were equally filling up tonight. Being in such proximity to a bar with a passionate crowd of supporters was a little off-putting to us. Still, the compensation was the fantastic meal, and several bottles of quality Madeira wine.

After we finished our meal and settled the bill, it was time for the two old buffers to return to their hotel rooms. I, on the other hand, decided to stroll next door and watch the game. Who knows what possibilities might present themselves, even with my limited grasp of the Portuguese language. It was a better prospect than going back to my hotel room and doing nothing.

About the only seats available in this bar were in the rear close by the toilets, next to a cobbled alleyway. The access lane ran from the rear to street front and allowed for beverage deliveries. The bar wall facing the alley was made of brick to a height of perhaps 1.2 meters, after which there was an intricate lattice of iron or steel that connected to the ceiling. The latticework was covered in a creeping plant of some variety that gave off a pleasant aroma. Given the evening was humid, the window by the seat I chose was open, and I could see the beer kegs and stacked crates of drinks. Every now and then, staff would occasionally rack a crate of empty bottles or stack exhausted kegs.

Darkness descended the island which signalled that the match was about to begin, and the excitement in the air was palpable. The crowd was predominately young with a good mix of men and women. The position I occupied precluded me from watching the game, which was fine because I was not particularly keen on the game, per se, but the female eye candy. My concern was ensuring a steady flow of high-quality alcohol was within easy reach, but, given the crowd, I would be fighting my way to the bar. Best get two, no three drinks each time.

With my first round, I took my seat, attached my headphones and browsed YouTube on my iPad. It was hard to become entirely absorbed by content published by my favourite authors because of the crowd noisily reacting to dirty tackles or near misses.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed someone in the access lane. Natural light had given way to the electrically generated kind, and as ataşehir escort bayan I turned my head, I squinted to see what was happening.

There was a woman sat on what appeared to be an empty beer keg, babbling into a phone in her native language. She was skinny with a small chest, slim legs but with a sporty body. Her face was ordinary, with a buzz-cut of black hair. Her skin was olive-brown, and I estimated that she was in her early thirties, maybe ten years younger than me. She sported a short denim skirt with a white top, frilly white socks and teal-coloured Nike running shoes. At first sight, she was not my type.

But then she was!

Looking closely, the skirt was hitched up as far as etiquette would allow, legs apart with a hand lodged deep inside the waistband, the dim light was sufficient to show this woman fiddling with her clit and getting off from it. Seconds later, she threw her head back in ecstasy, and I could just make out the song of orgasm as her body shook in pleasure.

Such an opportunity was too good to pass up, and I secretly recorded this impromptu masturbation session by discreetly positioning my iPad by the window. This mystery woman either ignored my leering or was unaware of my presence as she eased the pressure on her clit, and that is when it began.

A few dribbles at first gave way to a powerful stream of piss that speared down onto the cobbled laneway not too far from the exterior wall of the bar. I could see lust and sluttiness in what she was doing. A cheeky wank and an outdoor toilet experience combined!

When the stream exhausted itself, mystery girl stood up, shook her hips, obviously squeezed her pee hole, fixed her skirt, admired the mess she made and walked confidently back into the bar.

I craned my neck for a glimpse of her as she re-entered the bar, but I could not locate her. Sure as shit though, I was going to search her out when I next needed beers. In the meantime, I reviewed the footage, crystal clear evidence of water sports performed in the alleyway. I felt my cock harden inside my shorts at the show.

When came the time to order more beer, I grabbed my gear and negotiated my way to the bar that was almost at capacity with fans watching the game on the big screen, the small screen and on personal devices. I searched high and low for that mysterious alleyway pisser but failed to locate her. After completing my purchase, I struggled back to where I was sitting previously, fully expecting my table to be occupied by now. To my surprise, however, it remained vacant, and I resumed my occupancy. There was no way to see the on-screen action from my position, but it was the off-screen possibilities that interested me.

I glanced towards the alleyway, but there was nothing afoot, so on went the headphones. Maybe twenty minutes later, my peripheral vision alerted me to someone in the alleyway. It was the same woman as before. I took off my headphones and leeringly craned my neck to watch the next instalment with hardening anticipation.

This skinny Portuguese girl rested against the empty beer keg, hitched up her skirt and casually took a piss while looking at her smartphone. I grabbed my iPad and again filmed this nasty action with the intention of wanking over the footage later.

But then, she busted me.

This local waif, with a penchant for publicly pissing, looked up and right into my eyes.

The blood in my veins froze, and I dropped the iPad.

“I’m sorry,” Came a mumbled response from inside me.

A kind of piercing laughter emanated from this tiny woman, breaking the tension.

“Inglês?”

“Sim,” I replied using what little local dialect I knew.

This dark-haired pervert shook her hips and adjusted her skirt before glancing down at the puddle made. Seemingly pleased with the mess, she walked over to me.

“You like my pee-pee?” She asked in a heavy Portuguese accent.

“Yes!”

“You record me?”

“Yes,” I replied, “You want to watch?”

“Sim!”

I retrieved my iPad and replayed the video. This mysterious woman leaned in through the window so close that I could feel her breath against my ear.

As the video of her public pissing ended, she uttered something in her native language. While the words were nonsensical to me, the tone indicated a sort of pleasure and admiration.

“My name is Ines,” She abruptly said.

“Jason,” I responded, “Nice to meet you.”

I offered a hand to shake, but Ines grabbed my head and kissed me on each cheek.

“I like your home movie,” She said, “Show me the first one!”

So, Ines knew of my indiscreet attempt to capture her filthiness earlier.

“Yes,” She breathed as the video sadly finished, “That was nice.”

“I like it,” I replied using simplistic English in a vain attempt to carry on the conversation.

Ines lunged a thin arm over the wall and crudely grabbed my crotch. I was semi-hard after re-watching two pissing videos. Her roughness caused a rapid intake of breath which caused Ines to escort kadıköy giggle.

“Yes, I can feel it,” She said, so close that I could kiss her cherry ripe lips.

I had nothing to offer in the reply, given my crown jewels were held hostage, except a smile.

That was enough. Ines smiled back, released my manhood and pecked me on the cheek before departing like a phantom.

My hopes that Ines would join me were quickly dashed, but I had a suspicion that I would be treated to further exhibitions in the alley before the night ended.

Eventually, I had to go to the toilet and order more beers. Given the friendliness of the bar, I was confident that my stuff was not going to be tampered with or stolen (Madeira has a low crime rate) because my position was not within viewing distance of a television so I fulfilled my needs.

I kept an eagle eye for Ines in the crowd of revellers, but never saw her. Was she hiding in plain sight? Wherever she was, Ines escaped my gaze.

With three beers in hand, it was back to the iPad, YouTube and the headphones interspersed with furtive glances towards the alley.

I don’t know how long later it was, but I received a tap on the shoulder.

“Hello, Yason,” Ines said with a huge, beautiful smile but mispronouncing my name.

“Hi,” I replied, peeling off my headphones.

“You want to watch me again?”

“Why don’t you go to the toilet?” I asked in jest.

“Too many putas,” She answered, dismissively.

I could not help but laugh out loud.

“What?” Ines asked with a grin.

“Peeing on the alley is slutty,” I said, “Just how I like it.”

Ines erupted in laughter.

“You like to watch,” She responded, “And I love an audience.”

Ines stood up and walked back towards the empty beer kegs.

“Film me,” She ordered.

I was going to anyway, regardless of her consent.

As the iPad focused on Ines’ slender frame, she removed her denim skirt and squatted down against the keg.

The arc light in the alley was sufficient to illuminate the scenario, and what took place left me speechless.

Without any regard for public decency, Ines spread her slender legs, jammed two fingers up her arsehole and unleashed the most vigorous stream of piss this evening. The blast was so powerful that it almost hit the wall of the bar where I sat filming this filth.

Ines was moaning in pleasure, and her eyes were tightly closed as her anal masturbation was getting her off.

Having only dreamed of such a scenario, I was as hard as a diamond and rubbed myself through my shorts, my other hand keeping a shaky hold on the cumbrous iPad.

“Oh, wow!” Exclaimed Ines when her stream and orgasm has subsided.

She retrieved her skirt and reattached it to her waist before walking over to me.

I showed her the video which clearly aroused her further before I delicately took hold of her fingers, the two that were jammed up her bung, and sucked on them vigorously.

The combination of visual and physical stimulation was enough for Ines. Instead of walking into the bar and finding me, Ines clumsily climbed through the window, falling onto the cushioned bench, and laughing hysterically.

“That was fun,” I laughed as she sat up on the bench and adjusted her tangled hair.

“For me?” Asked Ines grabbing one of my beers.

“Sure,” I replied, why not?

It was clear from Ines’ demeanour that she was tipsy, if not drunk, but she was more playful and bolder as the evening progressed.

“Let me see,” She giggled, pointing towards the iPad.

I replayed the latest video of Ines pissing with a finger jammed up her arsehole.

“Did that make you hot?” She asked, placing a slender hand on my hard crotch.

“I loved it,” I replied, “Hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

Ines was pleased with my response. Looking around furtively, and seeing no-one noticing our antics, she placed a hand between her legs and brought her fingers to my lips.

I eagerly took the proffered fingers and savoured the combined flavour of rank piss and musky pussy juice.

“Oh,” Exclaimed Ines, responding to the sudden jerk my cock made as my brain processed the taste from her fingers, “You like that.”

“More?”

Giggling, we repeated that move a few times, before Ines expertly under the clasp and zip of the shorts and freed my aching cock.

“Here?” I gasped.

“Why not?”

“My hotel is just down the road,” I hissed as Ines squeezed my bell end.

“Not tonight,” Came a distracted reply as she gazed as my leaky cock.

Something was appealing about public sex. After all, Ines had pissed in the alleyway multiple times without repercussion. With all the distraction caused by the game, there was still a chance that any sexual activity could be seen and reported.

Ines furtively scanned the bar before deftly sliding under the table. With a smile, she took my hard cock deep in her mouth.

“Oh yeah!” I breathed as Ines expertly throated my pole maltepe escort with uncommon skill.

Watching her work was art in and of itself.

One of her hands gripped my cock at the base while the other massaged my hairless ball sack. Ines would occasionally swallow down to the base, cough, and bring up a copious amount of saliva that she expertly rubbed into my length. Each time this occurred, Ines would look at me and gauge my reactions.

As we weren’t going to have sex tonight, I was happy to let my orgasm discretely flow. Watching Ines’ slutty piss shows in the alley had me turned on, and her blow job skills — making fair use of her hand and mouth to get the job done – would quickly bring me to a climax.

“I’m going to come,” I said discretely, wondering whether Ines was a spitter or swallower.

“Film it,” Came a smiling reply.

Of course! It never crossed my mind, but I reached for my iPad and switched on the camera.

I looked around the bar; no-one was paying us any attention. Unless someone was interested, it looked as though a tourist was reading or watching something his iPad with several beers on the table.

Ines held my cock by the base and jacked my pole expertly, smiling and putting on a show for the camera. Her rhythm and skill quickly had me coming in seconds.

“Here it comes!” I announced discretely as my body suddenly tensed.

I quickly shut my eyes as my orgasm washed over me.

Ines let out a squeal of delight when my Jap’s eye spat out rope after rope of boiling sperm. Where it went, I was unaware initially but was conscious enough to know that it was not going down Ines’ throat.

My entire body shook in pleasure as wave after wave hit with the intensity of the Atlantic rollers buffeting the island of Madeira, but seconds later it was all over.

I opened my eyes.

The light seemed blinding for a second while I regained my senses.

I looked down at Ines, who was laughing at my reaction, pleased with her handiwork.

My sperm had splattered everywhere. Some was plastered across Ines’ face while the majority landed on my shorts.

Ines rose from underneath the table without any hint of shame or embarrassment. On the contrary, she expressed pride in making me come so strongly.

She sat next to me on the couch, wiped her face and swallowed the last remnants of sperm that missed her mouth.

“Let me see,” Asked Ines as I hit the stop button on my IPad.

I replayed the video of Ines’ activities, and I could tell she was impressed by her abilities. As the frames flashed by, Ines was fiddling with her clit and when my orgasm repeated and my sperm splashed across her face, she came again inside this crowded bar.

“That was fun,” She exclaimed with a smile.

“Yeah,” I replied, “We can have a lot more fun.”

“Not tonight,” Ines repeated, looking around, “I must get back to my friends.”

“Can we meet up again?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Great,” I could barely contain my excitement, “Here’s where I’m staying.”

“5 pm?”

“5 pm.”

After sharing the videos via Airdrop, Ines kissed me, and I could taste the saltiness of my sperm on her tongue.

“Boa Noite!” Ines said before leaving me and melding into the crowd.

At 5 pm the following day, on the dot, there was a knock on my hotel door. I scooted off the bed and was greeted by Ines’ beaming face. I invited her in, closed the door and the bolt slide into place for added security.

Ines dropped a bag at the base of her bed, judging by her skin-tight attire, she’d come directly from the gym. I hoped she’s showered after working up a sweat as the thought of going down on a sweaty pussy wasn’t all that appealing. I had nothing to worry about for when we hugged, Ines gave off a pleasing scent, a combination of jasmine and vanilla.

I motioned Ines to join me on the balcony where I had a bottle of Madeira wine, uncorked and ready to pour. That’s all there was on this island, Madeira wine, Dan Murphys has unlimited potential here to revolutionise the palette here.

“Oh, thank you,” Said Ines as I handed her a glass.

We clinked glasses and sat down on the cheap plastic chairs facing the westering sun soaking the Atlantic in glorious rays of deep orange.

The conversation was awkward and not because of the language constraints with both of us seeking an opening to talk about sex.

Inevitably, the wine loosened tongues.

“Do you do that often?” I asked Ines.

“What?” Came a giggling reply.

“Pissing in the alley,” I said with a smile. Ines turned red and broke my gaze, looking into the cheap plastic table.

“I was so horny last night,” She mumbled, embarrassed, “All you boys.”

On-field or off?

In the bar or on the TV?

“I do it all the time,” Continued Ines, regaining her confidence and directing her gaze right into my soul, “And I am not sorry.”

The language barrier was a minor hurdle, but I think we were on the same sexual page.

“I’m glad you do this,” I replied, taking a sip of sweet red wine.

Ines smiled at me.

“Do I make you hard?”

“Yes,” I said, “And more.”

“And, what is more?”

“I wanked off last night when I got back here and came hard!” I confessed, “Not as hard as the one in the bar.”

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