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Back Door Fun: Lust in a Hot Climate #3

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Not being averse to rear entry, I opened the lube from my bedside cabinet…

In Part One and Part Two we learned that Dan decided to ditch his studies and the UK. He helps out Mr and Mrs Jock at their bar in Magaluf. And Jock is happy for Dan to also shag his foxy 50 something wife. In this episode which can be read as a stand alone, Dan’s sex life takes a different turn …

Back Door Fun

It has to be said, flying out to Magaluf was one of the best decisions of my life. The trip changed my goals completely. The boy in me was transformed into a man by spending time with Judy. And going out fishing with her husband, Jock, was similar to a bloke’s night out — too much beer with nothing taking the bait. Not only that, I loved working at Jock’s Place. Things couldn’t have been better.

One day I took a stroll down to the beach. It was my afternoon off from the bar and I fancied a swim. The sea was a delight but it wasn’t long before the sun loungers were all taken. Most seemed to be occupied by people about my age — early 20’s — who covered themselves with lotion, laid down and went to sleep.

I was just about to go for a swim when I noticed an extremely gorgeous babe walking past in only a thong. Her small round titties gleaming with oil in the sunlight. Nipples pert even in the heat. I suspected she had recently applied sun cream and massaged them to attention. My cock stirred as I watched her ambling down to the sea and I began to anticipate the planned evening ahead with Judy in her skimpy lingerie. Even at fifty-something I knew she would give most of these young babes a run for their money.

Once I had dried off I hurried back to Jock’s Place and Judy met me at the door.

“Dan I‘m’ sorry. I was looking forward to a dirty night with you and goodness knows I need a fuck but we’re too busy. A party has just booked half the restaurant area. Another evening, honey.”

Seeing the disappointment on my face she continued. “That doesn’t mean you can’t have some sexy fun. You aren’t tied to my apron strings! Why don’t you go and find some chicks your own age. C’mon you know I don’t mind.” She nestled against me, then discreetly and gently gave my balls a squeeze. “I think these need emptying sooner than I can give them any attention.” She kissed me lightly on the lips and went back into the bar.

I decided to check out the talent at a club on the outskirts of town so headed off in that direction intending to stop for a bite to eat first. Just as the larger buildings dwindled and the smaller local cafes appeared my eye was caught by a pretty taverna. It was family-owned and by far the best feature was their nineteen year old daughter, Maria, who was waiting tables.

She was a peach. Long, straight black hair framed her delicate features. Rosebud mouth ripe and ready. Not to mention, as soon as I sat down it was obvious she liked me. Over the course of dinner I invited her to the club with me. She nodded, although I was not sure she understood what I’d asked. Maria didn’t speak much English. However, after I‘d ’finished that first meal she took my hand and made it clear she was not interested in going to a club — she wanted to come back to my room. And who was I to say no?

We only just made it through the door before I was tasting her generous mouth. Stripping in double quick time she landed on her knees to worship my cock. Her whole face pushed against me as her mouth took in my dick. Without inhibitions she licked and slurped as if she had never witnessed such a fine penis. She was a welcome antidote to the stuck-up students from my college at home in England.

To be honest I was overwhelmed by her attentions and as Mrs Jock had noticed my balls were ready to burst so it wasn’t long until her pretty face was covered in my sperm. Maria didn’t seem to mind. After cleaning up we began kissing again. I was in my prime so my cock was not quiet for long.

I pushed her face-down onto the bed, needing to fuck. Covering my dick with a rubber I lined up for a swift entry when her hand went down between her legs and she stopped me penetrating her cunt. Muttering, in broken English, ‘I a virgin’. Well that statement certainly surprised me but when she moved my knob to her arse hole, making a few appreciative moans, I understood — having heard that in some cultures it was important to still be intact on the wedding night. Not being averse to rear entry I opened the lube from my bedside cabinet and generously rubbed it over the condom and her anus. Then inched myself into the warm, tight orifice.

Maria arched her back and wriggled so my rod was completely engulfed. Her hand went down to her clit and as I rode her home she rubbed at her bud until we both fell onto the bed, sweaty and fulfilled. I stayed on top until my dick slid out. What a girl. I mean Mrs Jock was great but Maria was nearer my own age and so willing too. I wondered if I could fall for a babe like her. Before I managed to ask if she wanted to stay the night, she jumped up, dressed and rushed home jabbering on about her father.

The next day I sat down with a coffee and told Judy all about it. She didn’t mind at all. In fact she suggested I get Maria out of my system and see her as much as I wanted. Reassuring me she would be waiting to provide some proper loving.

To be continued…

Back Door Fun: This story first appeared on my Medium Profile, as part of a two episode series. I am sharing it here in four parts, each published on a Saturday and linked to Wicked Wednesday and Erotic Fiction Deluxe. However, if you are impatient for the final part, you can continue to the next episode here…

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Mischief – Back Door Fun
Lottery – Back Door Fun
Posts, True Life, Wicked Wednesday

Space for Someone like Me

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Before Covid my man and I worked together all over the UK. Our home was a beloved bolt-hole where we recharged our batteries before going back to our job.

The first lockdown trapped us in a city, so we were determined not to be caught out by the second one in2021. We made sure we were already in our own place when the restrictions were enforced. However, we found ourselves in an impossible situation. Our wonderful home, which we adored, had developed toxic mold. Because of the nature of our work, we had never needed to be there for more than a few weeks at a time. The mold had literally crept up on us. It was a very painful experience for many reasons. Mentally and physically. So much so, that I have chosen to write about it here in an abstract manner.

My Story — My Space

I had a space. Paradise. I lived in that space. Loved in that space and loved that space.

Then in a few short months it turned on me, outside and in, clawed at my body and soul. Destroying my spirit and eating away my insides. Scarring my skin and my self esteem. This all sounds far fetched but it happened — not long ago.

My space was natural and bright. Wooded and green. About a hundred meters from the backdoor a river roared as it went on its way.

Before my space showed it’s forked tongue the virus had imprisoned me in another place where I pined for my woodland paradise. Instead, I was cooped up in a tiny urban square, feeling I didn’t belong and wasn’t wanted. I searched for the others but they didn’t reply. And all the while I longed to see green rather than grey. Finally, happy was the day when I returned and embraced my woodland home.

When lockdown two arrived, I dug my heels into the mud and refused to budge from my personal heaven — even though I was ordered to stay inside, except for one walk a day after dusk. But as I sat my ground, watching the birds swoop from branch to post, the arborists came and cut down the trees. Right in front of my eyes. Massive kings that had welcomed the spring for centuries. As if they were worthless, but of course they were not. So the men chopped them into logs and sold them for firewood. My soul screamed inside. Totally scarred by the indignity and unnecessary rape of the land. And while the injustice outside tore at my sensibility, inside became physically toxic and began to attack my health.

I could see things were not right. But the memories and expectations of my space would not let me give up. So, my nails tore into my tingling, itching skin and I fed the birds on the decking — as they stayed even though the trees were gone.

But there is only so much that a being can stand. But stand it you can, until shown something else you knew before — life without the hardship or having to swim in the toxic soil.

That’s when the flag was raised and I was told enough is enough. No matter how I protested he said, “no more — it’s making us sick!”

The space I loved… Turned in on itself so there wasn’t clarity within for me to enjoy. Only poisonous air where once love had been. So I left it behind in search of another space, one to help me mend, where the air would be clear and the trees and I could breath.

I never thought I’d find one but good fortune was on my side. Karma if you will. And now each day, as I hear the waves crash on the shore, I praise the universe for creating other spaces that heal and do not harm.

Plus, the knowledge that there is more than one space for man — or a woman like me.

Toxic Mold

Toxic mold or black mold is a fungus. It can grow in your home in dark, damp places that perhaps you don’t even realise exist until too late. That is exactly what happened in my home. Not everyone is badly affected by mold spores. However, some people may be more sensitive to them than others, such as those with allergies or long term eczema sufferers (me). People who are susceptible to the fungus can then develop respiratory symptoms, and other problems, after inhaling just a small number of spores.

Fungal spores are ubiquitous in indoor environments, and the growth of mould in buildings can often lead to negative health effects such as skin rashes, headaches, dizziness and chronic fatigue of the occupants.

The National Center for Biotechnology

Once mold damage has occurred to walls, furniture or clothes it is very difficult to reverse. Some use bleach which only masks the stain. Concoctions of white vinegar, lemon juice and grapefruit seed extract are better at killing the spores.

Thankfully, my story has a happy ending. Even though we had to move and dispose of a lot of personal effects, we have now found a happy space, and

after hardship life in general tastes sweeter.

Find out other information about black mold here — if you really want to…

This story first appeared on my Medium profile last year.

Header Image copyright – May More

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Fiction, MeMes, Posts, Wicked Wednesday

Age is only a Number: Lust in a Hot Climate #2

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In part one, Dan takes a lone holiday to Magaluf. He enjoys the atmosphere of a café in town that is owned by an older Scottish couple – Jock’s Place. One night at a special event he gets lucky and enjoys a knee trembling experience with a sexy looking, Mrs Jock, who he thinks must be twice his age.

Continue reading Age is only a Number: Lust in a Hot Climate #2 →
Fiction, kink, MeMes, Posts, Wicked Wednesday

Jock’s Place: Lust in a Hot Climate #1

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Relaxing on the sun lounger, I watched the babes massaging lotion into their boobs and thighs, and my cock stirred.

Jock’s Place – Part one of four

I’d just turned twenty when I went to Magaluf on the Spanish island of Majorca. Back in those days, they called it Shagaluf. For obvious reasons. It was the last summer before completing my degree. A final chance to let my hair down, then it would be time to start a job. ‘Stockbroker,’ I thought. I was studying Business at Durham University, so that seemed like the right career path.

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Articles, Featured, Posts, Wicked Wednesday

Why Male Escorts Are Just Right For Single Female Entrepreneurs.

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I am very pleased to welcome back Simon from Gentleman for Hire, with another Guest Post about Male Escorts.

Are you a professional woman looking for companionship but not ready to settle down?

Continue reading Why Male Escorts Are Just Right For Single Female Entrepreneurs. →
Posts, True Life, Wicked Wednesday

An Ode to HitchHiking

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When I was young and probably foolish, I had a marvellous adventure hitichhiking with my first long term boyfriend. You can read about it in detail here. It was a wonderful memory to take forward and an experience which also helped me write this story about a long distance lorry driver who just happens to be a bigamist – based on my adopted father, actually.

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