Barefoot Innocence
Finally, the plane landed softly, and here we are in a new country, in one of the most beautiful and interesting cities in the world, just the two of us. Three days, May holidays, and only us and endless narrow, long streets, little restaurants, eateries, cafes. Although, one little nuisance did fall on my head: "those days" came at just the wrong time, so the unrestrained and passionate sex for two nights, in between enjoying the cityscapes, was completely ruined. Tanya guiltily spread her hands and promised me we'd definitely make up for it all once we flew back home. Well, nothing to be done.
For accommodation on such an occasion, we decided to
save money so more would be left for shopping and various little restaurants. A 12-person room in a hostel was booked, located right in the very center—what could be better? The place turned out to be a genuine hostel with minimal prices and maximum atmosphere of young, fun people from all over the world, who in the evenings drink alcohol, secretly puff on weed, and decorate the walls with all sorts of wishes, little flowers, and marijuana leaves. The cheap lodging was packed to the brim with visitors; in our 12-person room, all spots were taken except for our two—booked ones. A bunk bed stood in the very corner of a small, low-ceilinged room where you could only sleep. The aisles between beds were narrow; it was very hard for two people to pass each other, so there was no point at all in sitting in this sweatbox. We dumped our things on the beds—Tanya took the "top floor," I took the bottom—and swiftly headed out into the city."Let's sit down," I suggested when we turned from the embankment into a small park. Tanya nodded in agreement. A row of bushes separated the alley with benches from the beach. The sun was scorching; the few people strolled slowly past—after all, many preferred to wait out the midday heat at home—but we sat and enjoyed the "overseas" warmth, which we usually lacked at home in early May. I sat holding Tanya's delicate little hand, and for some reason, the girls in swimsuits who had just run past in herds a few minutes ago wouldn't leave my head. I squeezed her fingers tighter, put my other hand on her knee, and pressed my lips to her slender neck, overcoming the obstacle of a lush handful of dark hair.
Tanya closed her eyes and offered her neck more comfortably. I kissed her and felt with sorrow how my member in my pants began to stir, but it was not destined to plunge into that secret, cherished place in the next few days. My hand slid under her cloth skirt to her knee on its own, and I felt the tenderness of Tanya's thigh.
"We'll be seen," the girl protested, and I had to remove my hand.
"There's no one here," I looked around, and indeed—to the left, an old man with a little dog was heading somewhere deep into the park, and to the right, a couple was still far away.
Blood rushed to my head again, and I frantically ran my hand over her dress from the thigh upward, over her belly. When I reached her breast, Tanya let out a languid sigh and again moved my hand away. The couple was just approaching—a guy and a girl, locals, holding hands. Both cast casual glances our way and began to slowly move away. I turned to Tanya again and kissed her neck once more; my hand was already stroking her belly through the dress, occasionally lifting slightly upward and brushing against her breast. I finally managed it. Tanya's hand also wished not to remain in debt; it descended onto my jeans and lightly squeezed the already slightly noticeable bulge. I came to my senses about ten seconds later from a sharp cough and jumped up as if on needles, as did Tanya. A woman of about fifty was just passing by. She looked at us contemptuously and finally cursed in an unfamiliar language, then turned away and went about her business. Tanya turned red as a beet and jumped up from the bench, but it was harder for me—walking around the park with a big bulge in my pants was indecent; they might even mistake me for some kind of pervert.
We reached our shelter by evening. The tension had subsided, but somewhere deep down, a feeling of profound dissatisfaction remained; I wanted to release everything that had accumulated there during this time. During her period, Tanya often indulges me with oral pleasures; I can't even remember the last time I jerked off myself. Tanya and I whispered, and she agreed, but upon seeing the toilet door, I realized I was doomed. A tiny cubicle under the stairs and a huge frosted glass door. You couldn't see what was happening, but it would be quite clear that there could be not one but two people inside. Tanya wrinkled her nose and, with the words "sorry, do it yourself..." headed toward the shower.
Well, myself it is, what else can I do. I gathered all my belongings and started looking for the shower room. But here, too, an unexpected surprise awaited me. The shower room was small; apparently, the owners had saved enough on architecture and, with minimal costs, squeezed as many beds as possible into the house. The shower was open; there were no cubicles, no curtains, only partitions between the trays provided at least some semblance of privacy. While washing, you inevitably had to see your neighbor opposite and those passing between the showers. There were many people; it turned out this was the only shower for all four floors, so the spot opposite was never empty. Well... not meant to be here either.
I washed up, put on home shorts, a clean T-shirt, and headed down the corridor toward the toilet—at least there I would be alone, and no one would disturb me.
A girl ran past, coming out of the women's shower. Cute, not tall, hair braided into hippie dreads and gathered into one tight bun. She walked barefoot on the wooden floor, which for some reason turned me on terribly, and I almost came in my underwear from that thought alone, but then I took a deep breath and calmed down. She wore a long, colorful skirt and a thin white tank top thrown over her bare body, no bra. Damn it! I've always been crazy about looking at photos, and if I'm lucky, staring on the street at girls who parade around without wearing bras under T-shirts or blouses.
Without realizing it, I caught up with the girl and started walking alongside her, glancing at her tank top. What I saw out of the corner of my eye nearly drove me insane. Her breasts were medium-sized but not small, and her nipples, oddly enough, were hard and confidently poked out from under the tank top in different directions.
The girl looked at me; her small, pointed nose and big brown eyes immediately captivated me. Her right nostril was pierced, with a tiny ring there; her ears were also generously pierced—besides the traditional holes for earrings, there were several more decorations up the shell. The girl smiled with cute little lips and said something in an unfamiliar language. Only then did I realize I was openly staring at her chest, exhaled "Excuse me," and walked faster without looking back. Only when I reached the toilet—where I really needed to go now, not for a bathroom break—did I glance back and see her, barefoot, gliding smiling through the dimly lit corridor, her breasts languidly swaying from side to side.
At the toilet, an incredible hassle awaited me. Plumbers were dancing around the door like crazy, water was fiercely gushing over the threshold. The guy from the reception, standing nearby and watching, with great difficulty explained that a pipe had burst and all guests were invited to use the toilet at the reception or in the little restaurant located in the neighboring building, but for that, you had to go outside, which I absolutely did not want to do. A serious queue had already formed at the reception, and I, cursing loudly (fortunately, none of the foreigners understood), headed to the room.
Falling asleep was impossible; my heart was pounding wildly, like before a parachute jump. Some neighbors were tossing and turning in their beds, but I lay like a toy soldier, afraid to move and stupidly staring at the tanned, dark back of the girl showing from under her tank top. After about ten minutes of such torture, the girl turned halfway in her sleep, and the blanket slid down a bit. She was now lying on her back; her breasts, which seemed enormous to me now, monotonously rose and fell in time with her even breathing, and a thin strip of panties showed from under the blanket. After another five minutes, I got tired of lying in that position and decided to turn over, but my erect member, standing like a statue, was in the way. I wanted to adjust it and turn over, but at that moment, my neighbor started tossing again, turned to the other side, and her breasts lightly flopped against each other, creating a mind-blowing view in her cleavage. As soon as I involuntarily touched my member, a wave of eruption washed over me, and I felt the boiling seed break through the dam and rush toward the exit in a furious stream. I only had time to mentally curse, and then pleasure overwhelmed me, and I spent about thirty seconds coming to my senses. Afterward, there was a feeling of awkwardness, anger. Change underwear? Clean underwear was somewhere in the suitcase; impossible to find without light. All that remained was to try to sleep, ignoring the wet and warm underwear. Sleep came after about fifteen minutes.
I woke up from some rustling that repeated from time to time. It was already light in the room, but no one was walking around. Everyone was still peacefully snoring in their beds. Listening closely, I caught a barely audible sound of wet smacking, coming precisely from the neighboring bed. The hippie girl was lying on her back, eyes closed. Her breathing was ragged, fitful; she had pulled the blanket up above her waist, her hands were somewhere under the blanket, and, judging by the barely noticeable fidgeting, they were engaged in something very interesting. My breathing immediately quickened. Damn! This girl is bothering me again, and the day has just begun. She kept biting her lower lip, her breasts trembled slightly, and the smacking sound grew a bit louder; in the quiet room, it was already quite distinct. As soon as I imagined her finger entering her wet, sweet little hole, my member immediately filled with blood and stood at attention, and my hand reached under the blanket on its own. I watched with pleasure as her hand moved faster and faster under the thin blanket, as her shoulders moved in time with her body, and her head swayed slightly on the pillow from side to side. Consciousness was leaving me, and instincts took over; my palm squeezed the head of my member more and more actively, moving up and down along it. I closed my eyes and imagined her in the same pose, only without anything—without the blanket and clothes. Huge breasts with protruding nipples, a flat belly, and long legs, and between the legs, a mischievous hand massaging and teasing the secret zone of pleasure.
For a moment, I heard silence and opened my eyes slightly. The girl on the neighboring bed froze; her eyes were wide open, and she was looking straight at me. For seconds, we looked eye to eye; then she shifted her gaze lower, to the place where my hand was disappearing into the folds of my underwear. I was struck as if by lightning; my face instantly turned red, and my heart almost flew into orbit. After a second's hesitation, the hippie girl smiled casually and, closing her eyes, continued her activity, while I, stunned, remained frozen with my hand in my underwear. Then she did something I never expected—she turned on her side and pulled the blanket aside so it slightly covered her butt from view from behind, revealing to my gaze her tanned thighs and thin black panties. The neighbor glanced at the top bunk where Tanya was sleeping—the only spot from where we could be seen—and, making sure it was clear, smiled fleetingly, and her hand slipped into her panties again. I couldn't think of anything better than to also continue moving my palm along my member. We looked at each other without breaking eye contact; I occasionally glanced at how her fingers actively moved under the thin layer of black fabric, and she intently watched my underwear and the movements within.
The girl raised the stakes first; her other hand, which had been lying along her body, reached for her breasts and greedily sank into the ripe melon. Mischievous fingers squeezed the tank top, slid over the firm delights; I was torn over where to look. We lay like that for another thirty seconds; then the girl stopped, looked intently at my underwear, removed her hand from her crotch, and made a gesture with her fingers as if unscrewing a bottle of mineral water. I didn't understand immediately and shook my head questioningly. The girl stared at my underwear again and repeated the gesture. Finally, it dawned on me: she wanted me to unbutton my underwear. My breath caught in my chest; I blushed and shook my head. The girl smiled sweetly and reached her hand to her chest, pulled her tank top up, and exposed one melon. How wonderful it was. Through the tank top, of course, the contour and shape were guessed, but to witness such a sight firsthand was incomparable. The girl began playing with her nipple before my eyes, and with her other hand, she again repeated the gesture with the unbuttoning buttons.
A current ran through my body with a furious discharge, and I realized I was about to cum right onto the floor in front of the stranger. From surprise, she dug her fingers deeper into her crotch and trembled slightly, convulsively inhaling air. I came to my senses first and, with a lightning-fast movement, stuffed my member back into my underwear, trying to button up with trembling fingers. They, of course, wouldn't obey; my hands shook incredibly. The girl dove deeper under the blanket and turned her back, as if nothing had happened.
Somewhere on the second floor, Tanya began to stir. I quickly jumped out of bed, shoved my feet into slippers, and started rubbing the semen into the floor to hide the traces of the recent mischief. Near the neighbor's bed on the floor lay black panties, apparently accidentally dropped by her in the moment of fleeing the crime scene. I quickly bent down, picked them up, and shoved them into the open pocket of a nearby backpack—either as a trophy or to neutralize the evidence.
Within an hour, Tanya and I managed to wash up and have breakfast. My better half complained that yesterday, out of habit, she had rubbed her feet raw with her sandals and today was ready to walk much less, unconditionally announcing that we would lounge on the beach today, though no swimming—only sunbathing. Except maybe me. I was completely not against it; for some reason, the wild, colorful swimsuit of the hippie girl immediately surfaced and froze in my memory—maybe I'd manage to spot her on the beach by chance. We agreed on that. The room had noticeably emptied; a few people were sprawled in corners with their smartphones, raping the internet and not wanting to go anywhere. The colorful swimsuit was still hanging in its place, and the girl's things were scattered on the bed. Fighting a slightly foggy head, I threw some things into a small backpack—a blanket, swim trunks, glasses, towel—and we headed for the exit. Already outside, Tanya felt the hot sun rays and asked if I had taken the cream. Of course, it turned out I hadn't; I received a small dose of criticism, like, "I told you, and you didn't take it, what are you listening with?" and went back.
Passing through the narrow aisle between the beds, I reached our things and started rummaging in search of the coveted salvation from aggressive sun rays. Finally finding it at the very bottom, even a little out of breath, I saw my neighbor enter the room in a light blouse and shorts. She apparently preferred to go barefoot always and everywhere, except where it was really dangerous for health, where you could step on glass or something else. I froze in the aisle with the cream in my hand, not taking my eyes off her. The girl saw this and headed straight for me. Coming close, she smiled and tried to squeeze between me and the bunk bed to get to her things. Our faces ended up about fifteen centimeters apart, and her body, smelling of the freshness of shower gel with the scent of some forest flowers, pressed tightly against mine; hard nipples, covered only by a carelessly thrown blouse with a deep front slit, pressed into me like gun barrels. My member began to rise lightning-fast and immediately pressed against the girl's stomach. She stopped, and we froze silently in the aisle, pressed tightly against each other, with retreat routes blocked by bunk beds on both sides. As it happened, I was looking straight down into her cleavage; my eyes were presented with the ovals of her breasts, firm and squeezed, and therefore wildly sexy. The situation seemed to amuse her greatly and aroused me wildly, and the girl couldn't help but feel it—my dignity was pressing too hard against her body. But this couldn't last forever. The girl reached her hand down, grabbed my erect member, and through the shorts, lightly squeezed it in her hand. From surprise, I almost choked, but she immediately let go, squeezed further, and slipped out of this trap into free space.
I looked at her with wide eyes, and she only smiled conspiratorially and started talking. Unfortunately, I didn't understand anything and guiltily spread my hands. The neighbor frowned, searched for something with her eyes, and pointed a finger at the bottom of her swimsuit hanging on the bed, then began to unbutton her shorts. At that moment, I thought I would cum inappropriately again, for the third time, but it passed. The girl unbuttoned the button, folded back the top a little, and resentfully demonstrated that she was without panties. No, I'm definitely going to cum now... The girl buttoned her shorts and