BOCKY

 The sun hits my brain and I don't have a parasol. I would like to have one now. There is hardly a tree that provides a touch of shade, just wild, overgrown, thorny, matted undergrowth, if at all, as far as the eye can see. And everything bone dry. Midsummer in Ibiza somewhere in the mountains.

I limp on a winding path in a cloud of dust and think about whether I should turn back and how Ralf should take a siesta in the shade instead of exploring the area. Then I discover in front of me that in the sweat of my brow I have just climbed a hilltop, a rather scruffy finca surrounded by crumbling pine trees.

Maybe I'll get a sip of water and then I'll be back, I think, and I'm on my way. As I get closer I see that a motorcycle is jacked up in front of the house in the sparse shade of the poor little trees, one of those older machines that still look like real motorcycles. It has a German license plate. A blond woman steps out of the door, a bucket on the right, a sponge on the left. And she's naked. I'll take my shot, I think, and my pulse picks up. I take a closer look, no, she's not naked, she's wearing something called a thong. So she's as good as naked. She crouches in front of the motorcycle and starts washing it.

When I am within about twenty meters she sees me, but does not react much to the sight of me.
"Hi," I greet, "could you have a glass of water for a lonely, thirsty hiker?" "Hello," she says, "into the house and around the corner to the right is the pump. There are glasses on the shelf next to it. Help yourself without hesitation."
Aha, she says goodbye to me, very sympathetic, so I'll also go over to you.

With the glass of cold water in my hand, I politely ask "May I sit down?" And crouch on a tree stump. She looks over at me and says nothing, continues to spoil her machine, a 500 BMW, with a sponge and water I watch her and would like to, even love to take the place of this soulless metal. But I am also so highly satisfied with what it offers me from a purely visual point of view, while she bends over here, here what is carefully scratched off with her fingernail Your skin has that deep, light tan that only blonde people get who spend a lot of time in sun-drenched areas for long periods of time.

After a while, she straightens up, arches her back, stretches and squeezes the soaked sponge on her neck.
"Ah, that's good in this monkey heat!"
I watch with interest how the water runs down between her plump tits and her stomach, the faded piece of fabric between her legs turns dark, rivulets on the inside of her legs make their way down and find small, dark brown f ***** n form on their feet. And in the middle in between, a few small, almost circular spots gradually appear on the dusty floor. A flake of foam got stuck in the middle of her alibi clothing. She snaps it away with her index finger, then rubs the spot with her whole hand and states, "With this heat you should actually make sure that you are wet all day.
" "Sure," I agree and I am enthusiastic about her clairvoyance. However, I am not sure whether she is thinking of the same thing as me. I hope so anyway.

"Where do you come from?" She asks, wiping sweaty strands of hair from her forehead with the sponge. And keeps messing with her machine with a sponge and water.

I tell her that I live with Ralf in a lonely finca in the mountains that friends have given us for two weeks, that we only arrived yesterday, that Ralf, the lazy sack, is having his siesta and that the finca is about one an hour's walk from here.

"And what kind of perverse desires are driving you through the mountains with this midday heat?" She asks flippantly. "A thirst for adventure. The joy of discovery," I say with a grin, "but that's it now. I've discovered enough for today. The only thing missing is adventure. And what brings you and your moped to this wasteland? "

While she gradually moves out with the fact that she lives in the finca with two friends who are on a mainland trip that she did not feel like doing, much more a few days Want to enjoy being alone, it becomes harder and clearer to me that I am totally in the mood to fuck this fast-naked woman who is so devotedly caring for her buck. My cock makes males and clearly craves a woman.

I am no longer bathed in sweat all around because of the heat, but because the sight of this woman also drives the sweat out of my pores. Is it the result of a slight sunstroke or is it actually true that she now takes particularly sexy cleaning poses? Here a splendid look between her ass cheeks, there a splendid look between her tits! I already hallucinate completely different situations, a perfect **** film is running in my head with this woman and me, her pussy and my cock as the focus.

In between, I commute back and forth between the stump and the pump to keep getting some of the icy water. Maybe it's something like one of the well-known cold showers against the urge, I tell myself, at least internally. But it doesn't help that much.

I wonder whether I, as a man, can't also take some provocative or at least charming poses, but I can't think of anything comparable to women. I could pull my shorts down and show her what I think is a really handsome and sensitive cock. But it wouldn't be the same. I could of course pounce on them with a Tarzan scream. But it wouldn't be that either. Of course, I can also just sit on my tree stump, watch her, let me turn on, lean back so that the tent pole in my shorts is perhaps a little more visible. That's exactly what I'm doing

"I just find it totally relaxing to be able to take care of my machine in peace," says Jessica, "just like that, without having to chat with anyone, just like that".
Aha, I think, no nonsense! Is that supposed to be a compliment now? Because we chatted too. Or did we talk? However! When talking about it, it definitely came out that she was Jessica from Mönchen Gladbach and I came out as Siggi.

Jessica leans over the bench, ass to me, and fumbles on the other side of the mopd endlessly. A long look at Jessica's ass has something! A thin cord through the asshole, a little more fabric at the asshole, but only a little, and where the pussy is a little more of the faded gray, formerly probably black cloth. Where there is probably a stovetop behind.

I also get myself up all over my body and ask, I admit, in a rather vague manner “Don't we want to do something else?”

“Yes, of course,” she says, “I was just about to propose. How about a ride together on my old, loyal goat! For driving dry, so to speak. We just take him under. "
Ha, ha, it rushes through the convolutions of my brain, language games too. And that at these temperatures and this situation! A little sophisticated the lady, or what? But, I think to myself, I can keep up with that.

“Whether on trestles, with trestles, under trestles or bucking! I'm there, "I wisely say of myself and have the impression that she's giving me a slightly compassionate look. In any case, I stand up decisively and approach her moped, take a seat in the back seat.

" Okay, "says Jessica, swings into the driver's seat in front of me, somehow, probably by pushing a button, makes the device bubble and crackle, then roar and then a sonorous serious engine noise, "your risk".

When she starts the machine, I don't feel particularly manly. I almost slide off the bench and can only prevent that by using your pelvic bones as handholds. And then she rushes with me over a catastrophic mountain path that seems more than Spanish to me, partly sitting, partly standing, partly swaying on her hips. Despite all the horror that overwhelms me because I've hated sitting on the pillion on a motorcycle since I was a child, because you have no control over what is happening, I'm extremely impressed. From the muscle play on her back and that peary ass wagging back and forth right in front of my eyes, my nose, my boner. After just a few hundred meters, I know for sure that she is absolutely expert in her vehicle. And feel safe as in Eva's lap.

Especially since I hug her tightly. By chance, my right hand slides down and now covers the front part of the thong, the left up and holds onto one of her tits. When Jessica lifts her ass again to keep her balance, I slide my right hand under her ass from behind, the fabric to the side and fumble my fingers into her crack, which feels just as sweaty as the two of us usually are. She sits down and pegs the ring finger and middle finger in her pussy.

Jessica turns around to me for a moment and yells, grinning against the noise of the engine: "You get really hot in the blazing sun, eh?"
I yell back and know what to do next. I fumble my boner out of my shorts and let it blink in the Ibizan sun. Why should it fare better or worse than the rest of my body!

The next time Jessica lifts her ass cheeks off the bench, I slide forward a bit, place my stand in between and scratch the thong to the side. When she tries to sit down again, she realizes that there is a stiff obstacle. She lifts her ass up again, something cracks and crunches very softly, probably the transmission of the BMW, then we twitch very slowly and deliberately. And just as deliberately she lowers her ass. I know what to do, get my hard-on in the right position, and when she senses it might fit like this, she lowers her ass and lets my boner penetrate deeper and deeper.

But not without interruptions, once it slips away from her because she has to abruptly swivel her ass to the side so that we don't end up in the gorse bushes. And the threading game begins all over again. After all, she was impaled by my horn. The rattling and jerking and shaking and bumping of the machine do the rest on the bumpy path. I admire Jessica that she can still ride a motorcycle so confidently with a cock in her pussy.

And the jarring and shaking clicks into my brain the thought that I have just managed the trick of riding a hot oven while I am, at least partially, in a hot oven, and that around me in the heat of the oven.

Suddenly Jessica stops the machine, exposes my Jonny unexpectedly to the glaring sunlight, the engine roars and dies with a bubbling sound, she turns to me and orders: "Get off!"
I do it and she jacks up the BMW. And already I have one hand on her ***** , Jessica grabs my boner and makes my shorts

slide down my legs. I tear the gray cords off her body, she tears the shirt over my arms. Then stand cool and in heat on the mountain path and looking around, perplexed Nowhere a place for a pleasurable **** , right and left just prickly, bushy wasteland, nowhere a green oasis in sight!

Then we lie in the hot dirt of the mountain path, Jessica knows where she wants my boner to go and I let it slide into her moisture. We roll over and under each other, bread ourselves with dust and swallow dust, cordon bleu a la Ibiza. With the smell of sage and thyme, exhaust gas, gasoline and engine oil in your noses. A mixture, divine and earthly at the same time. And every now and then a look at the steel-blue sky, between all the dust and dirt and sweat and **** s and birds and tits and lips and asses and ***** and tail and arms and legs and fingers and hair and Grabbing and scratching and ****** n and spitting.

My hunting horn in Jessica's case blows to hunt, and we chase each other. At some point in the dust roll I ask myself again briefly who the fox is and who the pack. Then all of a sudden I know. None of us. Or both.
After all, we are both lying dull in the dust of a Spanish mountain path, fox and vixen, cunning.

He puts. Shot down. Happy. The sun dries the sweat and dust, it tickles the skin.

"I know a lonely place where we can rinse off the dirt," says Jessica and we drive off, my fingers back in her pussy, the wet remains of our pairing gathering in the palm of my hand.
Finally the turquoise blue sea lies in front of us, Jessica jacks up the BMW and I can't help jacking her up from behind, shoving my Jonny between her sweaty, dirt-smeared ass cheeks.
"Wait a moment," says Jessica, "let's wash the dirt away first, I'm itchy everywhere, not just my pussy, and that's a bit too much for me," and runs forward.

We still have to descend a few meters over sharp-edged stones, then we bask in the wonderfully refreshing water, swim a bit out into the sea. We nestle against each other in the water, cool skin against cool skin. As soon as I feel Jessica's body, my cock recovers from the water shock and raises its head full of energy, expertly encouraged by Jessica's hands. We stand up to our shoulders in the water, I lift her by the buttocks, Jessica puts arms and legs around me, I prepare her loophole for my eleventh and largest finger and slip Jessica over it like a one-finger glove.

A dream situation, from the Mediterranean lapped to **** s, and Jessica feels like weightless in the water. It can be to fall back, taking my hands, and drives while her upper body in the water, **** s I continued. Her tits slosh back and forth underwater like two one-eyed jellyfish. When we notice that the waves of pleasure are building up to a storm surge, I pull them close to me again and we end our ride in the water, hopping stormily like two seahorses.

Then we drift lazily on the water, finally paddling back to the shore. "Can you drive me back?" I ask Jessica, "I don't even know whether I would find my way to our finca from here".

"Sure, I'll do it, no problem," says Jessica, "then I'll find out where you live. If we want to meet again?"

"Sure, I want to, no problem", I answer and put my hand on her ass, which is now again decorated with the lonely thong cord.

When she stops the machine in front of our finca, I ask her if she wants to come in with me.
"No, my need for company has been met for today," she says, "I want to enjoy being alone a little longer until the others are back. But if you don't mind, I'll come and see you in the next few days. And maybe I'll bring Annika and Yvonne with me, we can cook something together. "

" Do that, "I say and can imagine

“Bye bye, see you the days!” Jessica holds up her hand and growls with an elegant curved handlebar and followed by a cloud of dust.