Sun, Sand, and Secrets: My Summer ‘Beach Deal’ with a Charming English Gentleman; Part 2

November 21, 2025

Before we dive into this post, a little warning: I’m about to describe an experience that some readers might find scandalous, or even immoral. But let’s be honest, what counts as scandalous or immoral is wildly subjective, and I have my own point of view.
Also, what I’m sharing here: though I describe it discreetly and euphemistically, is not illegal at all in the country where it happened, Spain. As long as there’s no coercion or exploitation and it’s a private, consensual matter between responsible adults of sound mind (which it was), it’s perfectly fine. If you happen to live somewhere with stricter laws, remember: those don’t magically apply everywhere else.
I’m going into some detail because this is one of the few experiences of its kind in my life, and precisely because it’s so unusual, I figured I might as well have some fun telling you all about it. And yes, I chose to post it in the Group rather than on my blog because, well… this is where I share my trickier, more “head-scratchy” adventures that might be hard for someone who doesn’t know me well to understand. Don’t worry, most of you seasoned Group members won’t be shocked. But hey, a fair warning never hurts, right?
And without further ado… here we go!

Hi my dear friends!

Here we link directly, with Part 1 of the post: Sun, Sand, and Secrets: My Summer ‘Beach Deal’ with a Charming English Gentleman; Part 1

… Then I noticed a shadow over me. For a moment, I thought my husband had returned early from his ride: maybe a flat tire, or perhaps he missed me. I turned over with a smile, greeting him with a cheerful, seductive “Hola” in Spanish.

But it wasn’t my husband: standing there confidently in the backlight was the tall Englishman, Tom, looking at me with a smile.

He said “Hola”, pronounced in Spanish… albeit with an obvious English accent.

It was around six in the afternoon, and I was sunbathing lying on my back on a hemp mat spread over the hot sand of the beach, exposed and completely defenseless, topless, blinded by the sun, wearing only my tiny bikini bottoms that didn't cover all my pubic hair; when I saw him and he spoke to me, my nipples immediately became hard - they always betray me, the wicked things - and my breasts began to get turgid... after just five seconds I knew that 'something' was going to happen that afternoon between Tom and me.

He had overheard me speaking Spanish with some men and reasonably good English with others, and from my accent he had gathered that I was from Spain. And since his Spanish was much worse than my English, we decided to speak in English. That’s when he introduced himself as Tom, I as Aura, and we exchanged the typical cheek kisses so common in Spain, though, as far as I know, not so much in England.

Then Tom asked if he could sit next to me for a chat, and of course I said yes. I shifted to one side of the hemp mat and motioned for him to sit close beside me. He did: closer than any ordinary stranger would have… so close, in fact, that his calf brushed against my knee as if it were nothing.

That alone revealed several things: first, that he either suspected, or outright knew, I was an easy girl open to hearing… provocative suggestions, proposals, or offers from strangers. Second, that he was a man with a clear mind who found me attractive, a true man of the world; and third, that he was completely unafraid of sluts like me.

Had I known at the time the nature of the relationship we were starting, I would have given him my “stage name” that I use in my experiences as a servant of Mary Magdalene or during my occasional nightclub experiences as a stripper and hostess when I was young, some of which I’ve already described in earlier posts in this group, which, as you know, is “Laura”. But at that moment, I still had no idea what Tom wanted from me, although I soon realized that it all fit perfectly within my self-proclaimed role as a devoted follower of Mary Magdalene, and besides, he may have heard others calling me Aura… although the difference between “Aura” and “Laura” is just a nuance, one he could easily have attributed to his imperfect understanding of Spanish.

Being very young I chose the stage name Laura because it sounds very close to my real name, Aura (a diminutive of Aurora), yet different enough to preserve some privacy and allowed me to keep a clear separation from my main serious professional life at the electric energy company, where I maintained a fully respectable public image as Aura, or even Aurora, as those with less familiarity with me would call me there.

Regarding my work as an art and photographic model, I always used the name Aura: partly because I often had to sign legal contracts with my real name, and partly because modeling itself, even nude modeling, is generally not considered socially objectionable. In contrast, for my occasional nightlife jobs or other more risqué work, I used the stage name Laura, keeping that side of my life separate and private. Of course, I had to sign a few temporary contracts as a ‘dancer’ or ‘waitress’ with some clubs, and there I naturally used my real name. But once inside the club, in the advertising, and for the clients, I was Laura.

I can’t prove with certainty that this name change ever saved me from gossip, criticism, or any harm to my reputation at work, but statistically speaking, it probably did. After all, Aura is not a common name in Spain, while Laura is very common, making it less likely that anyone from my ‘serious’ world would connect the two identities.

Anyway, those who are sluts, are sluts, and I am one for life. So in my main job, I had some experiences where I used sex to gain career advantages, promotions, and support. For example, throughout my career at the electric energy company, I had a powerful deputy director as a ‘mentor’: Don Ramón, who held me in very high regard and always protected me. I have spoken about him in several posts, for example in post Post No. 16: On How the Risks of Gossip from Being a Nude Model in My Free Time Never Stopped Me, and have mentioned him in others in this group.

While he was my superior: though not directly, as he was several levels above me, we had a few somewhat erotic encounters, mostly in the form of flirting during conversations and impromptu modeling sessions for his portrait drawings in his office, since he was a talented draftsman and art enthusiast.

I posed scantily clad for Don Ramón’s charcoal portraits in his office, never fully nude; at most, a teasing glimpse of my areolas slipped from my unbuttoned blouse… and he clearly loved the view. Yet he never dared ask me to reveal more, though he knew I would have gladly obliged in a heartbeat. That little show of mine became his self-imposed limit, a delicious tension between temptation and restraint that lasted all the way to his retirement.

At one point, I even offered to pose completely nude for him and suggested having sex as a way of thanking him for his valuable support at work, but he showed remarkable self-discipline and clarity of mind, telling me that although he was very attracted to me, he would not have sex with me while he was my boss. When I was 35 years old, once he retired and then he was no longer my superior, you can imagine the ‘retirement gift’ I gave him… several times, which he greatly enjoyed, and I even was his kept mistress for a few months, till he moved to a warmer region in Spain.

Later, when I was finishing my PhD, at 29–30 and on temporary leave from the company, working as an intern in a department at the same faculty where I earned my MSc, I became involved in a murky, nearly year-long affair that began under coercion with the abusive department head. The work I did outside the university was specifically for him, and I had to use the name Laura… I trust you understand what I mean. I discuss this in summary 17 of Post No. 4, in several other posts, and it is a period of my life that I plan to dedicate an entire series of posts to on my blog.

Additionally, during my time at the electric energy company, I had a brief sexual fling with a colleague from another department, purely driven by lust. And in a broader sense, when at 22 I was the ‘kept mistress’ of José Manuel (summary 8 in Post No. 2), officially under a student internship contract at his law firm. In that sense, I was indeed having sex with my boss, although I also genuinely contributed to the firm, assisting with some industrial patent matters.

I know there are plenty of men who don’t like the idea of women using sex as a weapon, but, well… guilty as charged. And before anyone gets the wrong idea, I never used it as blackmail or to harm anyone.

The few times when I employed my seductive talents to get ahead at work: which, as I’ve already mentioned, were very modest ambitions, it was always without harming anyone else. In Lalo’s case, I didn’t initially have advantages in mind at all; I simply wanted him to leave me alone so I could work in peace. He was the aggressor, not me.

With Don Ramón, however, our subtle erotic friendship before his retirement came in handy. It meant I had his protection against the usual office predators. Keep in mind, I started working in a technical position at the electricity company back in 1983, when female engineers were rarer than a unicorn at a construction site. Men automatically assumed superiority just because they had a penis, and naturally thought they should climb the corporate ladder before me.

But once it became clear that I had the backing of a powerful subdirector: Don Ramón, who trusted my work completely, those “colleagues” learned very quickly that causing me trouble was not worth the risk. They could wait their turn to ascend without letting their possibly micro-penises give them an unfair advantage over my young, juicy pussy… well, you get the picture 😏

In summary, returning to my names: using the stage name Laura actually makes a lot of sense, especially when I was engaging in socially frowned-upon activities in the very city where I lived and worked. Using a different name always helps to mislead a little and keeps both worlds separate: the more or less serious side as Aura, and the true transgressive side as Laura.

And relating it to Tom: when he first greeted me, I didn’t think I should have said that my name was Laura, since he caught me by surprise and I didn’t know his intentions. But just a couple minutes into that first conversation, it became very clear that what he wanted were my services as Laura, not as Aura… if you know what I mean.

Click to View Show Anyway

[[ Image 1. The photos Tom took that afternoon on La Fossa beach in Calpe were Kodachrome 25 slides, in color, and most were of good quality. However, with the sun already low in the sky, some of the shots were affected by glare hitting the lens, which messed up the colors. Keep in mind my audacity here: I’m naked, and the photos were taken on a non-nudist beach in such a touristy place (see post Part 1). And I hope you’re not too shocked by my photography know-how, because by that time I had already been posing as a more or less professional model for over eight years; about the details? Awesome memory? Well, not bad, but the details about camera and film are noted in my Intimate Diaries. Yes, I knew exactly how to play with light, angles, and expressions… and how to make my body look irresistible without giving everything away; I was not a bas model at the end. Yet, as you can see, the beach was almost empty at that hour.
The aparthotel where Tom was staying is in those buildings you can see in the background to my left, roughly at hip height, less than 500 meters from where we were on the beach.
I particularly like this photo, though it’s one of the ones with ruined color; I couldn’t fix it using Paintshop Pro, the photo editing software I normally use, so I converted it to black and white. It loses some realism and spectacle, but perhaps gains intensity, a touch of mystery, and that nostalgic feel of times gone by: which, sadly for me, they are. Youth slips away so fast! At my age, you realize how many things remain undone that will never be done, but anything I ‘can’ still do and want to do? I dive in headfirst
And yes, using a black-and-white cover photo also keeps casual AFF users from staring too much, avoiding trouble, a philosophy I wholeheartedly embrace. If someone is rude here in AFF, I give them a polite warning, and if they insist I block them; insult me directly, and it’s “forever” block, following my husband’s ironclad rules for conflict.
So, dear readers, enjoy the audacity, the nudity, the mischief, and the memories… because that’s exactly what I did that afternoon: making the most of a fleeting moment, in my own bold, playful, and utterly unrepentant way. ]]

As said before Tom greeted me with two kisses; those cheek kisses aren’t supposed to be mouth-to-cheek, but rather cheek-to-cheek contact. Still, he took my shoulders, drew me closer, and “kissed” both my cheeks with his lips… not lingering over the line, but almost, and each kiss lasting only a fraction of a second… yet every movement was a carefully considered declaration of intent. And while the kisses themselves were brief, it took him several seconds to finally release my shoulders.

His hands were, of course intentionally, just inches from my bare breasts and erect nipples. Tom had “shifted into high gear” and was going straight for it, going all in… I love men who know what they want, especially when they want me and they don't bother to hide it, but without being pushy.

That summer, being barely a newlywed: just over a year into my marriage with Dan, I didn’t always wear my wedding ring, depending on the circumstances. For example, when I was with Paco, he asked me to wear it, as it was a symbol of status for him: a way to show that he was so powerful and wealthy that he could have a much younger woman, and a married one at that, as his lover.

However, when I went to the beach, I never wore the ring (except, as said, when I went with Paco), since most of the young men I liked to flirt with wouldn’t have even approached me if they knew I was married. True, they could have assumed that Dan: who really was my husband, was more of a ‘normal’ friend than a romantic partner, since I had flirted with other men, played in the water, and even “visited the buoy” while he was around.

So, Tom assumed I was single, and I didn’t correct him. We never even touched on the subject, which saved me from having to give that whole speech about how, despite being married, my husband allows me to have sex with other men… bla, bla, bla. Giving that explanation has cost me opportunities with some interesting men in the past.

As for Tom, he wasn’t wearing a ring either. Not at that moment, but later he told me he was divorced. What’s certain is that he was spending three full weeks of vacation alone at an ‘aparthotel’ just next door to where we were talking. If he lied and was actually married, that was his problem, not mine.

The hotel is now called Hotel Roca Esmeralda, but in the summer of 1985, when my adventure with Tom took place, it didn’t go by that name yet. At the time, it was more of a hybrid between holiday apartments and an aparthotel.

Tom didn’t follow the usual flirting routine, full of preambles, small talk, flattery, or desperate attempts to impress. He assumed I was a “beach slut”, making my living during the summer and probably working as a stripper or topless waitress in some shabby Benidorm club the rest of the year.

So he went straight to stating what he wanted, letting go of my shoulders and casually placing a hand high on the inside of my thigh, the tip of his thumb barely two inches from my pussy, rubbing my skin as if brushing off some sand, as if nothing at all was happening, as if he was already claiming me… or, in business terms, “calling his turn”, discouraging any other potential contenders around, and there were a few looking at us, as you can see in some of the photos.

The fact that I let his hand rest on my thigh, rubbing my skin without moving it away, was all the confirmation he needed. In his mind, I was exactly the kind of girl he believed me to be: pretty, wild, and easy, the kind he could work up into a breathless, tangled mess in his sheets for a couple of hours, for no more than what he’d spend on a nice solo dinner at a fancy restaurant. To him, I wasn’t just within reach… I was already as good as served.
I wasn’t exactly a beach slut, nor did I work in a topless bar the rest of the year, although during my holidays I would free myself from all social conventions and behave like one. I was definitely one of the girls who got the most attention on the beach, wore the tiniest bikini bottoms, and never wore the top part of my bikini at all… in fact, it wasn’t even in my beach bag. People around the beach had seen me sunbathing nude more than once in the late afternoons, though I wasn’t the only girl who did.

What Tom never imagined, and never knew, was that I held an MSc in science and technology and had a good position at one of the largest companies in Spain. But that was irrelevant, and I didn’t correct his assumption, nor was it necessary. It was obvious what was unfolding between us: we were setting… or perhaps better, negotiating, the terms of a sexual encounter; of course, with courtesy, charm, and mutual attraction: a simple, no-strings-attached summer fling between a tourist and a beach slut.

I’m fairly certain that Tom thought that Dan, besides being a friend of mine, might also have been keeping an eye on me… especially when I was spending time alone with other men. But given my husband’s demeanor and his genuinely good-natured appearance, not at all like some exotic mafia type, Tom probably assumed we were just two young and inexperienced friends running a little “erotic venture” together with elegance and style. He wasn’t entirely wrong, but he didn’t grasp the full picture: Dan and I loved each other passionately, we are soulmates, best friends and accomplices, even if our approach to marriage confuses many.

Still, with Tom, this wasn’t about seeking a lasting friendship: it was just a playful, no-strings-attached summer fling, a few fucks and blowjobs that would give each of us mutual enjoyment and benefit. So, frankly, and with due respect, I couldn’t have cared less about what Tom thought of me, or of my husband.

In short, I knew perfectly well that Tom was completely off the mark about me, but there was no reason, and frankly no desire, to correct him. On the contrary: he was undeniably attractive, my body was already responding, and the thought of being fucked by him that very afternoon was turning me on… so I decided to let him play his game and enjoy the thrill, staying cautious and alert, since I had just met Tom and didn’t yet know if he could be problematic.

Anyway, Tom was a clever man. Since he wasn’t entirely sure of the ground he was treading on and having seen me pose rather professionally for both Dan and Paco, and a bit more spontaneously, though not without skill, for a couple of other guys; he chose not to make me any direct offer for sex, but to approach me instead through photography… an intelligent move.

Click to View Show Anyway

[[ Image 2. Tom shot the entire 36-slide roll and took it to a photo lab in Calpe, ordering a copy that he gave me at our next meeting a few days later. In this selection of photos, you can see that the beach was practically empty, just as I mentioned in Image 1. But in a couple of shots, you can spot a trio of men nearby, sneaking peeks at what Tom and I were doing… clearly enjoying the sight of a very tanned girl posing naked at sunset, less than 15 meters away. Not a bad way to end a beach day, eh?
And as for me… being watched by strangers didn’t embarrass me: it lit a fire under me. Every glance they threw my way, every whisper I imagined, made me smirk, arch, and subtly twist my body, knowing the effect I had.
Meanwhile, Tom was calmly capturing it all, his eyes sharp and approving, guiding me with casual touches, letting me feel that delicious tension between being observed and being claimed… and he was no longer bothering to hide the bulge in his swim trunks. Let’s just say, being an incorrigible exhibitionist as me has its perks… and I was milking every single one, fully aware of the thrill coursing through me. ]]

He told me he had seen me posing for a few men, and he assumed that perhaps I also was one of those girls who used to offer modeling services on the beach to amateur photographers. Indeed, back in the 1970s through the late 1980s, it was not unusual to see on some beaches in Spain young gorgeous young women walking in bikini among the sunbathers with a folder and a reflex camera. If they spotted a man alone, they would come up to him, show him their modeling portfolio, and offer either a photo session taken by himself or by a professional photographer, usually the girl’s partner, who stayed discreetly a few meters away.

If the client agreed, he would chose the poses for the model, pay in advance and later could either pick up the prints at a local photo shop they worked with, or receive them in person the following day at the beach. It was a completely legal and honest business, the models would typically pose topless on regular beaches and nude on the rocky sides of naturist ones.

Tom spoke in very clear English, avoiding slang so that everything was easy to understand and there would be no misunderstandings about such a delicate subject. He complimented my beauty: my facial features, my smile, and my long dark brown mane with reddish highlights. He even said that the deep green of my eyes reminded him of the color of the sea at sunset in that area. His words were bold but polite, and I could feel the admiration in how he described my slim figure with gentle curves.

He told me he was an amateur photographer, who rarely had the chance to practice, but had always wanted to do a tasteful nude photoshoot of a young, attractive woman. He said me that he had a compact camera in his beach bag, loaded with a new roll of slide film. He asked if I could dedicate him a couple of hours or better three, posing for some nude photos: a few on the beach, as mementos, and the rest at his apartment in the Esmeralda building, just a short walk away, only about 500 meters from where we were.

Finally, he asked about the services I offered: “Just posing, or something more? …” he said carefully, with respect. I could feel the tension in his words; he was slightly nervous as he began the negotiation, yet eager to explore the unspoken possibilities.

Up until then, Tom had intentionally avoided using the words ‘hire’ or ‘sex,’ as he was testing the waters. He wasn’t about to foolishly propose hiring me, since there was always the possibility that I might agree to pose for free, and it was still too early to talk about sex.

Anyway, it was obvious to both of us that what he was really after was that ‘something more’, yet the pretext of the photo shoot provided a perfectly natural way to open a talk and a negotiation.

By this point, I’d fully recovered from the initial shock, and my mind had switched into full “Laura mode”: ready to negotiate terms that were fair for both of us… though mostly for me. Remember, I wasn’t exactly desperate for sex, and I already had a perfectly wicked little plan for the afternoon and evening with my husband: he’d come pick me up from the beach on his bike, we’d spend an hour or so there getting delightfully naughty, then drive back to our rented apartment. A quick shower, some comfy clothes, and off to our favorite seaside restaurant for a “paella mixta” for two in Altea: the best paellas on the entire Costa Blanca, followed by a stroll to digest, a couple of drinks at a nearby pub, and then back to the apartment, stripping off and making love over and over, tangled together in a sweaty, blissful mess all night long. Not too shabby, eh, dear readers?

So, clearly, Tom was going to have to ‘pull out all the stops’ if he wanted to convince me that his plan was somehow better… or, more importantly, more rewarding. And oh, I was more than curious to see exactly how far he’d dare to go to tip the scales in his favor. Let’s just say, by the time he finished his little performance, I was grinning like a devil… and already wondering what my husband would think if he could peek just a little…🔥

By the way… his thumb was now barely an inch from my pussy, and his hand wasn’t just resting but gripping my thigh? Tom, Tom, slow down: you’re moving way too fast and you’re going to crash. Careful, or I might just take the wheel myself 😉

I won’t go into details, but the fact is that I gave him a brief summary of my by-then extensive experience as a model, both for nude and art photography. I also mentioned that I had appeared in several erotic playing card decks and calendars, and that a couple of years earlier I had been a supporting actress in two professional, low-budget porn shorts filmed on video. I brought this up as an indirect way of answering his subtle hint about whether I offered “something more…”: Having experience posing for nude photos is not necessarily related to having sex with others as part of my work, but having experience in porn is.

Tom was genuinely impressed by everything I told him, and I’m sure he never doubted for a second that I was being completely honest. But once I made it clear that I had experience as a professional model, he quickly dismissed any notion that the fun he was imagining for that afternoon was going to come for free… and, of course, I could see the exact moment he started calculating just what his contribution was going to have to be.

Then he spoke, thanking me for my detailed and clear explanations. He genuinely admired how someone so young could already have such extensive experience as a model and actress. He also wanted to make sure he understood correctly: When it came to nude photoshoots, did I also allow porn-style photos to be taken ‘with’ the photographer who hired me?

I remember, because I noted this specific detail in my Intimate Diaries, that Tom said ‘with the photographer’, not ‘by the photographer’, which indicated that he himself would be the photographer and my ‘partner’ in the porn-style photos. In other words, he was implicitly proposing to have sex with me, without ever mentioning it explicitly: everything delivered with subtlety and innuendo, very much in the English style. In that same phrase, he also used the verb ‘to hire’ for the first time, but still without saying the word ‘sex’, which was implicitly included in the word ‘porn’.

Dear readers, I need to clarify something about my reaction. If Tom had simply asked me to take a few nude photos right there on the beach: maybe half an hour under the sun, I would have agreed gladly, and of course, for free. I would have said that when he developed the photos, he could give me copies of some, and that would have been the end of it. The warmth of the sun on my skin, the soft sand beneath my feet, the gentle breeze: it would have all felt natural, playful, even innocent.

Or, if he had been someone with whom I had spent a few days building a friendship, feeling a mutual attraction, he could have suggested a quick fuck on the beach, clinging to the buoy I mentioned in Part 1, or even at his apartment: and yes, I would have accepted, freely. The idea would have been thrilling, yes, but simple, familiar, almost casual.

But Tom was a stranger, and right from our very first meeting, what he wanted was far more: three hours of posing nude ‘and’ having sex: meaning twenty minutes posing, and the rest of the time, fucking. That was an entirely different matter. The moment I realized it, my “Mary Magdalene mode” kicked straight into combat level. The sun, the sand, the distant sound of the waves: all of it faded into the background as I focused on the negotiation unfolding right in front of me. I knew perfectly well what he was proposing, and I was determined to make sure I got my worth.

I’m sure that in his mind, the word he used for me carried no echoes of the biblical idea of a repentant sinner… rather, a far more vulgar one. But for me, it was instantly clear that I wasn’t about to do this for some silly, half-hearted reward. Besides, of course, he already knew that what he wanted wasn’t going to be anywhere near as cheap or easy as he’d thought: oh no, he was going to have to earn every inch of it, and I fully intended to make him sweat for it.

In my case, as said before, I wasn’t in the slightest need of sex, so why would I accept a stranger’s invitation to have sex with him for free, just like that? Yes, Tom was attractive, but not ‘that’ attractive. Anyway, in his favor, I have to say that what truly mattered was the fact that he showed such a strong interest in me; that a mature man, clearly experienced with women, liked me enough to actually make me an offer. That was a massive boost to my self-esteem; and ‘that’, precisely, the fact that he showed his desire for me in such a tangible, unmistakable way, was what turned me on the most.

And please keep in mind that it wasn’t me who tried to hook him or seduce him; he was the one who came to me, entirely on his own initiative. That is, in fact, how most of my -not many, but certainly several- experiences in the Magdalene trade have happened: men approaching me and making me a proposal, not the other way around. Only in a few cases was I the one who ‘made the first move’. Although, to be fair, that ‘was’ my usual approach during my seven months as Lalo’s slut a few years later, when I was twenty-nine (see summary 17 in Post No. 4).

Of course, I’ve been the one to make the first move with plenty of men… countless, really, but those were just ordinary flings driven by lust and fun, simply because I liked the guy and felt like having sex with him. Nothing to do with the trade of any ‘woman saint repenting from a once-dissipated life’… you know what I mean.

I insist that I was a woman fully satisfied sexually: that summer I had my husband, with whom I had sex almost every day; Paco, who occasionally requested my company; a couple of acquaintances on the beach, one of whom I ‘visited the buoy’ with a few times that summer, and the other guy and I masturbated each other two times in the water and I did him a fast but risky blowjob in a ‘relatively’ hidden spot by the rocks… Incidentally, it was the first time in his life that a girl had given him oral sex with swallowing, and he ‘dumped’ an incredible amount of cum deep in my mouth and some of it spilled out, because he kept ejaculating at a faster rate than I could swallow.

One day, in another post, I'll tell you about the guy who by far has ejaculated the most semen in my mouth during a blowjob. I could barely breathe and thought I was going to choke, while he was fucking my mouth deeply, holding my head tightly with his hands… then he apologized. I was 22 years old, and he was a VIP client of José Manuel's law firm, whom he sent me to visit at his hotel as a 'courtesy of the firm' so that I could satisfy him in every way for an afternoon to keep him happy and loyal…. It ended up being not one but three afternoons over the course of a year.

On top of that, my husband and I would often go to classy nightclubs: not those overcrowded discos packed with drunk tourists, and during that same holiday I had three quick little affairs with strangers. It wasn’t a betrayal of my husband at all! but part of a deliberately transgressive erotic game we both enjoyed. In fact, he was the one who encouraged me and even helped me flirt with other men. One day I’ll tell you all the details of the many variations of this game we had carefully designed, including a whole “sign language” we used while I was seducing the other guy… a game that almost always ended with me having sex with the stranger I had just picked up.

Returning to Tom, the important thing was that we both knew exactly what was on the table: more a polite, discreet negotiation than a simple conversation, and up to that moment, there had been no misunderstandings. Tom’s intention was clear to both of us; the details still unspoken yet perfectly understood… the specifics of the arrangement: his wishes, the boundaries, the terms… would be addressed in the minutes to come.

And by the way, everything I’ve told you so far wouldn’t have actually taken more than five minutes in real time. But of course, I’ve added my sensations, what I guessed he was feeling, and a few other experiences only tangentially related to this little negotiation with Tom—just so you can understand how I behaved during my “crazy vacation” days. Days I absolutely deserved after eleven months of grinding eight to five, five days a week, stuck in boring electricity network optimization plans and ducking the sneaky little stabs from so-called “colleagues”.

Honestly? The negotiation with Tom was ridiculously fun… and, let’s be honest, extremely arousing. Every glance, every touch, every tiny calculation in his eyes made my pulse race. I was grinning at my own audacity, knowing full well that I could twist this situation any way I wanted. And trust me, dear readers, I had no intention of letting him walk away without paying proper attention to the fact that I wasn’t just a beach flirt… I was a whole experience.

And by the way… his hand was still on my thigh, his thumb pointing right where you can imagine, and I can also tell you that the bulge in his swim trunks was now impossible to hide or control… though, truth be told, neither was the wetness and little itch I was feeling down there.

Wow! This post is getting way too long already! Let’s stop here before I bore you. Part 3 will be coming very soon.

Kisses,
Aura 💋