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 The Umbrella
 By NEVERcummingback
 Umbrella

I sat alone in my study that evening, nursing a glass of Merlot and listening to Bach’s Cello Suites. A steady rain drummed against my windowpane, distorting the cityscape. Red and green traffic lights appeared to run in melancholy streaks down the glass. The streets were largely deserted save for a couple huddled under an umbrella on the corner. They seemed unconcerned with the weather, standing toe to toe, perhaps kissing. I couldn’t tell what transpired behind the large blue umbrella, but imagined whatever it was to be delicious. Why else would two people stand in the pouring rain, going neither here nor there?

The hems of their trench coats were darkened and dripping with rain. I wasn’t certain, but the red lacquered soles of her shoes suggested they were Louboutins. Pity. The rain would surely have its way with them. What does she do for a living that she can afford to let such a spectacular pair of shoes go to waste?

I flipped off the desk lamp and walked across the room to the window seat, curling into my favorite lamb’s wool blanket and sat watching the strangers in the rain. I felt a bit perverse, like a voyeur who was deliberately intruding on an intimate moment. It excited me. I imagined the man gently groping the woman under the cover of the blue umbrella, assuming no one would be watching.

I took a long sip of my Merlot and savored the rich, dark berry. My thoughts soon turned to Javier and a very similar umbrella.

I was a student living abroad in Barcelona when we met. I had no classes that afternoon and decided to walk along the beach in Port Olimpic. The oversized blue umbrella I carried provided more than adequate cover from the intense afternoon sun. The sound of the surf lapping at the shore relaxed me.

My fair skin, long blond hair and blue eyes surely stood out among the native Catalonians. Perhaps that’s what captured Javier’s attention. He was walking a small, unfamiliar breed of dog. “Very European,” I mused to myself. An American man wouldn’t be caught dead walking such a dog. A Doberman, Rottweiler, or German Shepherd perhaps, but not a little dust mop. And wearing skinny jeans, converse, a short sleeved white t-shirt and a chic pair of tinted aviators, no less! I had to admit that despite his metro-sexual aura he was still curiously attractive.

The little ankle-biter scurried toward me until it came to the end of its leash and was yanked backward. It’s tailed wagged excitedly and it yipped rather than barked at me. What else might a small dog do? I chuckled as Javier apologized then introduced himself in Catalan.

We exchanged pleasantries and walked on together. He was born and raised in Barcelona but studied photography at NYU for one semester. He was making his living as a portrait photographer but longed for something more artistic. His English was marginal at best, as was my Catalan. It didn’t really matter. We would both soon realize that there were some activities that didn’t require fluency in any particular language.

He invited me to his apartment to see a photography project he was working on.

At first, I felt uncertain. I didn’t know him and could not say for certain what his intensions might be. I assumed his invitation was part of his seduction and I was feeling adventurous, so I agreed.

The walls of his apartment were lined with stunning black and white close ups of local Catalonians captured during intensely emotional moments, like stories without words. Grief, sorrow, joy, hope and ecstasy poured from the walls, filling the room with dozens of gorgeous, gray ghosts.

I had always found creativity sexy and Javier’s talent was undeniable. He had an uncanny ability to see into people’s souls and extract their thoughts and emotions. I wondered how he saw me. If he captured my emotions in print, what would they look like? My gut churned with desire. I wanted him to take me there, under the watchful eyes of gray strangers. I wanted him to photograph me and add me to his wall so he would remember the adventurous American that made love to him on the hardwood floor. As if he were reading my thoughts, he pressed himself up behind me. I felt his mounting erection pressed hard against me.

“Do you like them?” he whispered into my hair.

I nodded, but remained speechless.

He placed his hands on my hips and slowly ran them up my sides until they came to rest on the underside of my breasts. His breathing became shallower as he caressed them.

“Do you like them?” I repeated his question, but I wasn’t referring to the art.

“Si,” he replied, caressing me with gentle caution.

My body melted into his and I pressed my curvaceous bottom against his mounting erection. I reached behind my head and dragged my fingers through this thick black hair, pulling his head into the crook of my neck. The feel of his lips against the tender skin of my neck sent shockwaves coursing through my body, causing my areolas to tighten. My nipples ached under the weight of their engorgement and my pussy throbbed relentlessly. A low, husky growl spilled from my throat, betraying my desire. I removed his right hand from my breast and placed it between my thighs.

He rubbed and squeezed me for a few seconds, sending me into fits of ecstasy. My knees nearly buckled as I tried desperately to lean into his touch.

His hands traveled back to my hips and he strummed his fingers against me, slowly drawing the light linen dress I was wearing into his palms. Gooseflesh erupted over my exposed thighs. He was soon running his fingers along the seam of my panties, kneading the inside of my right thigh in his trembling palm. As he caressed my inner thigh, he slipped his thumb into the side of my panties. His forefinger followed and he was soon dipping into my pool of thick, hot wetness. I could feel the walls of that cavern tightening around him, clutching at him in a desperate attempt to force him to continue.

The growl in my throat gave way to panting as he fingered me; in and out, slowly, tantalizingly. I could hear my juices lapping against his hand. My clit had blossomed into a painfully swollen hard knot. He stroked it gently with his forefinger; coating it with my wetness and making it ache unbearably. It was so powerful that I simultaneously wanted it to stop and to go on forever. When I could take it no longer I spun around to face him and frantically pulled his t-shirt over his head. My hands greedily stroked his chest as my tongue foraged about his hungry mouth. His pecs felt strong and smooth in my hands.

“Now you,” he panted, “take off your dress.”

I reached anxiously for the hem, but he interrupted.

“Slowly,” he purred. “Tease me.”

A wicked yet pained grin curled into the corners of my mouth. This was a sensual proposition, but I was aching with desperation. It took every ounce of self-control I possessed not to plow ahead recklessly. A tiny whimper of protest escaped my throat, but I indulged him.

I let the dress fall back down and placed my trembling palms on my thighs, rocking slowly back and forth as if to a provocative rhythm that only I could hear. My head tipped back as I swayed in seductive silence.

“Yes, dance for me,” he beckoned. “I will help you.” Javier retrieved a guitar from the corner and perched himself on the edge of his red sofa. The classical piece he strummed was pure Catalan magic. I closed my eyes to hide my self-conscious insecurities and began to dance, imagining his fingers stroking me as if I were the taut strings of his guitar. The fragrance of desire and the sensual sound of his guitar fueled an atmosphere of longing. My fingers slowly pulled my dress into my palms. I raised it higher…and higher still…and then let it fall. Then again…higher…higher…until I could feel the damp air in his apartment contrasting with my steamy, hot wetness. My sex was pulsating, convulsing, twisting into a painful knot. I needed relief. I needed the pain to stop and because Javier’s fingers were busy picking his guitar, I had to take matters into my own hands.

The notion of masturbating in front of a complete stranger might have seemed completely ridiculous only an hour before, but I had no choice. The pain was so intense that I felt I must touch myself or die. With my dress held in one hand, I cupped the other palm over my engorged clit as if to extinguish the searing flames that were licking at my pussy. I was delirious with longing as I dropped to my knees, furiously rubbing my rock hard nub back and forth. I gulped for air like a drowning woman searching in vain for one last, elusive bolus of oxygen.

There it was – my oxygen mask – his naked cock pressed against my eager lips. The music had stopped but I hadn’t noticed until I felt his hands grip the back of my head, gently, but with purpose, and pull me towards him. I continued to clumsily finger myself as I opened my willing mouth to receive him. He tasted good, covered in salty precum. He smelled clean and fresh, like a man whose cock I was happy to tuck into every orifice – all at once. A delighted moan bubbled from my chest as I sucked his rock hard cock deep into my throat. My mind raced with delicious possibilities.

His fingers wrapped themselves into my hair and pulled tightly. It hurt, but was curiously erotic. I wanted him to pull harder and force my face onto him, infusing our encounter with an element of danger and desperation, but he stopped short of that level of intensity, no doubt out of respect for me. I felt safe in this stranger’s desire. Should I tell him what I want? Do I tell him how I like it? Would he understand? I decided to let my actions speak for themselves. My grip around his cock grew tighter and the intensity with which I sucked spoke for itself. “I want this,” it said. “I will make you squirm with desire. I will make you cum – deep in my throat. It’s what I want.”

“Si…si,” he groaned as if reading my mind. His eyes were clenched shut and his mouth hung agape. His hips rocked back and forth, gently at first and then with a growing urgency. I knew he was perched at the edge of a ferocious orgasm and I wanted to jump off that cliff with him. His pleasure had become my aphrodisiac. Yet my mission in the moment was to bring him to the edge, over and over without letting him jump until I would allow it. I wanted to bring him pleasure yet in a most blissfully cruel way.

I pulled my slick fingers from my own sex and cupped his balls in my palm, kneading them gently as my other hand wrapped around the base of his cock. I pressed against the base, forcing his cock to stand at its full attention and sucked my way down his shaft until my mouth and fist were connected, enveloping his entire length in pulsating warmth. I wanted to create the addictive sensation of being inside of a woman.

“So good…so…good,” he cried out. I felt his cock bouncing inside of my mouth, spraying a thick, viscous treat onto the back of my tongue.

“So good,” I mimicked as I swallowed the last of it. I pulled away, searching his face for signs of his pleasure. He appeared satisfied, breathing deeply as he wiped beads of sweat from his brow.

“Lay down,” he whispered, helping me from my knees onto my back. He retrieved his t-shirt from the floor and folded it beneath my head to protect me from the hard wooden plank floor.

“You are beautiful,” he remarked as he slipped his fingers beneath the hem of my dress and drove it upwards along my thighs until my drenched pussy was exposed. “So very beautiful.” He seemed fixated on every inch of flesh that peeked back at him as he exposed my trembling body. His words were like a drug on which I could happily overdose. Every woman wants to feel beautiful in the arms of her partner. I didn’t really know him but I craved his affirmations.

“Now you,” he grinned. My turn had come. My sex throbbed as he placed his warm mouth on the inside of my left knee and ran his tongue slowly up my thigh. A short giggle erupted from me as he tickled the inside of my thigh with his tongue. It was a playful moment of levity in the midst of otherwise pure desire. I hyperventilated when he was inches from my pool of wetness, returning us to a state of eroticism.

He pulled his mouth from my thigh and after a second that seemed more like a full minute, he pressed his lips against my aching cunt. In that moment it was not a delicate flower nor any other gentle euphemism. It was a ravenous beast that could only be called a cunt – a monster with an appetite for pleasure.

“Harder,” I instructed as he sucked at me and he followed my command, pulling my lips into his mouth; stretching them until he made me squeal. That’s all it took. I was there, perched at the edge of the same cliff from which he had jumped only moments earlier. I wanted that moment to last. I wanted him to subject me to the sweet … to which I had subjected him only minutes earlier. I wanted to be brought to the edge over and over until I was begging to cum. I wanted to jump in after him and fall rapidly until I finally hit the canyon floor and shattered into a million pieces. But not at that moment. That moment needed to go on.

I shifted slightly, causing his lips to slip from the perfect spot they had found nestled hard against my clit.

“Slowly,” I whispered. “Make it last.”

The pressure that he applied against me became lighter. His touch softened. His tongue protruded and he licked me lightly, separating my labia and savoring my juices.

“You taste good,” he mumbled into my cunt as he hungrily devoured me.

“Thank, God,” I thought, relieved that I was clean and fresh for this sexy stranger. I was instantly even more relaxed.

My mind raced with random thoughts, all in some way related to this encounter and my blatant desire. They were things I wanted to say to him, but didn’t. ‘Touch me. Taste me. I want to be dirty – filthy even.’

My deepest desires always led to such thoughts, which rambled about my crowded brain without ever being released. I thought of where I wanted him to touch me. I wanted the feel of his mouth on me to continue but also wanted to feel my engorged pussy split in two by his wet, hard cock. I wanted to feel his glans rubbing and pushing against my ass, teasing me. Did I want him inside that place? Maybe. In that moment my body and mind were so … by physical need that I might have done anything. I wanted to step outside my comfort zone and be his dirty girl. I wanted to him to make me feel like a whore and the love of his life all at once.

I couldn’t breathe. I was ready – ready to surrender.

“Make me cum,” I finally said. “Make me…make me…make me…”

His tongue flickered against my clit relentlessly now. He was ready to obey. His mission was my surrender.

I pressed my hips into his face, thrusting and releasing, controlling the pressure, poised to cum at the exact moment of my choosing.

This was the moment. It came to me like an echo, roaring in waves across a canyon of lust and passion.

He continued his passionate assault on my senses until my body finally went limp.

“That was nice,” he smiled, kissing the tip of my nose. Nice is not how I might have described it, but of course, my English was much better than his. I might have called it extraordinary, miraculous even, and yet, I wanted more. I wanted him inside of me.

Javier stretched out beside me and opened his mouth across mine. I could taste myself on him. He was right. I tasted good. It was arousing and I found that I still had plenty of desire remaining for him. I reached over and placed my hand on his crotch, expecting to find a soft but satisfied mound of flesh, but was pleasantly surprised to find a partially erect penis waiting. I knew I could improve upon that with a little effort.

I moved my hand in tiny circles over him, gripping lightly and releasing while kissing his lips with a growing hunger.

“Can you go on?” I asked breathlessly.

“Soon, mi amor,” he replied. “Keep touching.”

“On the couch?” I asked, pointing to the sofa. I had become increasingly aware of my discomfort against the wood plank floor. I wanted no distractions. I wanted him to make me feel good and to be aware of nothing beyond the pleasure we gave to one another.

The red cushions were soft and inviting. I lay on my back, leaving little room for him anywhere but on top of me. Me knees fell to either side of him and he perched on his forearms over me, licking an outline around my mouth with his skilled tongue. I could feel his cock fall against my throbbing wetness. It pulsed and bounced there, clearly more aroused than only moments earlier. A thin trickle of wetness rolled from the depths of my painful slit.

Javier reached for his cock and stroked it between my thighs while kissing me. His breathing grew shallower as he pressed it against me, desperate to push into me.

“Yes, Javier. It’s okay,” I reassured him. I wanted him to know how much I wanted him. I wanted him to know that I was clean and aching for him. I wanted him to know he had my permission to use me for his pleasure. “It’s okay,” I repeated.

That simple reassurance was all it took for him to forge ahead. He positioned his cock at my slick opening and groaned loudly.

I arched my hips awkwardly to meet him and force him inside while pulsating against his shaft. The strategic use of my kegle muscles had long been one of my greatest tricks in the bedroom.

As he slowly entered me, I squeezed and released…squeezed and released him, forcing grunts of … pleasure from his throat. The deeper he pushed, the harder I squeezed.

His erection was ample and it stretched me as it entered. It was a blissful dilation. He had soon lost his sensibilities and was plowing wildly into me. I had become the object of desire that I longed to be. He used me for his pleasure, rapidly slamming into me, striking my g-spot with an effortless abandon, filling me with a delirious combination of pain and pleasure.

He blurted out something in Spanish that I could not understand but it rolled off his tongue in melodious fashion. I imagined him praising my sexual aggression and abilities. Or maybe he was telling me how beautiful I was. Because I couldn’t understand him I could make believe that he was saying whatever it was I wanted and needed to hear in that moment.

“Again,” I moaned. “Say it again.”

He did.

I could feel every inch of him from tip to base sliding in and out of me. It was pure ecstasy. I wanted it to go on forever yet wasn’t sure I could take much more. As he pleasured my g-spot I began to feel weak. Gooseflesh erupted over my tense body.

Let go, I thought to myself. Surrender to him.

I inhaled deeply, the smell of sex and his fresh masculine scent filled my lungs. I exhaled slowly, releasing all the tension and desire into the room. My areolas tightened into hard, rough patches and my nipples pressed against his chest when he dropped fully on to me.

His breathing came as a lustful staccato in my ears. Music to cum to, I sighed to myself as my body surrendered fully to the pleasure.

As I welcomed the tail end of my orgasm, Javier began his final release, grunting vigorously before pulling out of me and coating my belly in his thick, purulent juices.

“It was good, no?” he asked as he slid back into his pants moments later.

“It was very good,” I smiled.

“Maybe I see you again?”

“I’d like that,” I replied. “I maybe in the area on Friday. Look for my blue umbrella.”

The rain continued drumming against my window as I sipped my wine and started at the empty corner. The couple and their blue umbrella had slid into a taxi some minutes back but I hadn’t really noticed.

I suddenly felt a bit melancholy. I missed Javier and the many sensual nights we spent together in Spain. Would I ever find passion like that again? Would I ever have another chance to be that carefree girl that could make love to a handsome stranger in a distant land?

I sat lost in thought until my ringing phone sliced a line through Bach’s Cello Suites and my happy memories.

BY NEVERcummingback