Spanish Holidays

Hi, my name is Masha.

I'll warn you right away that I'm not a writer, and I just want to share one very vivid and ambiguous event that happened to me several years ago.

At that time, I was 38 years old and had been married for 13 years. My husband Sergei, our daughter Sofia, and I lived in a small two-room apartment in one of the residential districts of St. Petersburg.

Sergei worked as a development manager at a large company. I, having retrained from being an economist, worked as an analyst at a small IT firm, quiet on the outside but bustling inside.

The first half of the year was tough. Layoffs started at work, and I had to

pull the weight of three people. Sergei's business trips to the regions became more frequent—we sometimes wouldn't cross paths at home for weeks, as if living parallel lives.

It became clear: this couldn't go on any longer. We decided we needed a long, joint vacation—without work, without rush, to disconnect from everything.

We couldn't take a vacation before September, but we wanted to catch the warm sea, so we chose Spain.

We decided to leave our daughter with my husband's parents for the duration. To make the two weeks more fun, we decided to go with a friend couple from my work, Igor and Alena, so we looked for a small house for two families.

After several days of searching, sifting through photos, maps, and reviews, we finally came across a cozy little house by the sea, not far from the city of Alicante, and soon we were booking the accommodation and buying tickets.

The joy was immense—the long-awaited vacation!

Days passed. Our trip was just around the corner when one day my husband came home from work and completely stunned me with news. The company was developing a significant project in Kazakhstan, and he needed to go there exactly during our vacation dates.

To say I was upset is an understatement. I was devastated by this news. I didn't have time to take someone else instead of my husband. My daughter didn't have a passport, so I couldn't take her either. After my husband's persuasion, I finally decided to fly alone.

I flew off in tears, not understanding why any of this was necessary. My friend Alena reassured me, saying we'd have fun even as a trio.

Finally, we reached our little house by the sea. It was beautiful and exactly as in the pictures: without excess, but very bright and neat. In the yard, there was a small garden with gravel paths, low rosemary bushes, and neatly trimmed citrus trees. The only minor thing—because our town was on a hill, we had to descend a rocky cliff to get to the sea or walk about twenty minutes to the town beach.

After resting from the long flight, we decided to take a short walk around the town, visiting the promenade and the beach. We were impressed that despite its size, life was bustling here: bars and cafes were open, crowds of people from all over the world walked along the promenade. Finally reaching the sea, we decided to sit down and rest.

As a former volleyball player, I immediately fixed my gaze on a group of young people playing nearby—four athletic guys playing in just shorts. The game was at a fairly good level: it was clear that the guys, if not professionals, had been playing for a long time. At some point, one of the players said goodbye to everyone and left the game. The guys stood hesitantly, wondering whether to continue.

"Mash, maybe you'll play?" Alena patted me on the shoulder. "I'm dying to play!"

I started to refuse, citing fatigue after the long flight, when I noticed one of the players approaching me.

"Do you speak Russian?" began the stranger, whose appearance completely contradicted the language he asked the question in. Before me stood a broad-shouldered, tanned guy with long curly hair falling to his shoulders.

"Wow, I would never have guessed you were from... well... you know Russian!" I awkwardly muttered.

The stranger smiled. "My mom is from Russia, so I'm a man of two cultures. I saw you watching with interest, would you like to play with us? By the way, my name is André."

We shook hands, and I, unable to refuse such an unusual and charming character, finally decided to join the game.

André introduced me to his friends. They all looked about ten years younger than me. Among them was a tall, well-built, dark-skinned guy from Colombia named Carlos, and a medium-height, slimmer but with noticeably defined abs, smiling Spaniard named José. The relaxed atmosphere allowed me to easily blend into the game.

During breaks between games, we managed to chat a bit and get to know each other better. Carlos knew English well. José wasn't as proficient, so we communicated exclusively with gestures and laughed at each other's inventive body movements when explaining tactical moves and analyzing mistakes. André spoke Russian with a slight accent but quite well; however, we switched to English so Carlos and José could understand. Time flew by, and at some point, Igor called out to me, announcing that he and Alena were heading home. I said goodbye to the guys, exchanging cheek kisses as is customary there.

I considered myself a fairly attractive woman, with chestnut hair, expressive brown eyes, medium height, a B-cup chest, and a juicy, firm butt. I had never cheated on my husband, although opportunities had arisen, especially at my previous job. In my current department, the team was predominantly female, so male attention had completely disappeared from my life.

One day, leaving the house, I suddenly met André. It turned out he lived just one house away from us. We got talking, and he suggested we all play volleyball together again sometime.

I gladly agreed. The next day, André, Carlos, José, and I clashed again in a battle on the sand, and afterward, we all sat on the shore for a while drinking wine. I learned that they all studied at the same university, lived and worked in Valencia, and had come here for short summer vacations. Carlos was expecting his girlfriend to arrive soon. André and José were enjoying bachelor life.

The house's territory was a small but surprisingly cozy inner courtyard, surrounded by a low hedge and literally drowning in greenery. The lawn was already filled with guests. They were animatedly discussing something, interrupting each other and laughing loudly. The party organizer, André, was completely immersed in preparing dinner. I couldn't abandon my friends, so I dutifully worked as their translator for part of the evening. After waiting and successfully sampling the promised barbecue, they thanked the host for his hospitality and, as planned, quickly retreated.

After a couple of glasses of wine, my tongue finally loosened, and I found myself chatting with various people for several hours.

Guests began to gradually disperse, and soon we were back in the company of my volleyball players. André, finally free from his role as cook, joined us. We chatted about everything under the sun, teaching each other various dirty words from our native languages. I sat with them like that until late evening, completely losing track of time.

Finally reaching my phone, which I had conveniently forgotten in my bag, I saw several messages from my husband and Alena. My husband wrote dryly that he and our daughter were fine and wished me good night. I was a little upset that he didn't even ask about my day.

Alena wrote that she and Igor were going to bed and that there was some paella left for me in the fridge.

I was having a good time and was glad no one was rushing me home. Inside, I felt a kind of forgotten youthful freedom. As if I had asked my mom for a sleepover at a friend's but actually ran off to a late date with my future husband. Realizing that soon I would have to return under the gray St. Petersburg sky, where a mountain of worries and obligations awaited me, I decided not to limit myself in the pleasure of spending more time in the company of young people. I wanted romance and adventure.

I decided to suggest the guys change the scenery and watch the sunset by the sea. They readily supported my idea and started gathering things for a beach picnic, taking fruits and drinks with them.

The walk to the sea was short—the path from André's house also led to the rocky descent that Alena, Igor, and I usually took.

Finding ourselves on a secluded beach, surrounded by rocky ledges and the sea, we spread out a large blanket, got comfortable, and began to contemplate the fantastic view of the sea and sky painted in bright pink hues. José had brought a guitar from home and started playing pleasant Spanish compositions, filling the general atmosphere with romance. I drank wine and enjoyed the music, the pleasant light breeze blowing from the sea, and the sunset sky. The wine spread a gentle warmth through my body.

The sun completely disappeared below the horizon, and it began to get dark.

The only other beachgoers besides us—a couple sitting nearby—left the beach after watching the sunset. We were left as a foursome. The guys decided to go for a swim and started calling me to join them. I didn't have a swimsuit; I would have had to go home for it, and not wanting to wake my housemates, I dismissed the idea. Whether it was the complete feeling of trust and safety I felt in the guys' company or the wine I'd drunk, I wasn't too worried about my swimming attire.

I asked the guys to turn away and, standing with my back to them, took off my dress, remaining in my bra and panties. After a brief hesitation, I took off my underwear, remaining completely naked. Covering my chest and crotch, I headed to the sea and, walking in up to my neck, shouted to the trio that they could look now. Of course, I had no confidence that they had complied with my request, and to be honest, I didn't even want them to. I liked the attention of three young men. The thought that they might have secretly been looking at my body turned me on. The guys followed me into the water, and it was noticeable that they were showing more and more interest in me: joking, splashing water, always trying to be the center of attention.

After a while, I got a bit cold and decided it was time to get out of the water. I again asked the guys to turn away, but this time I decided not even to cover myself. Slowly and leisurely, I walked out of the water and just as unhurriedly walked to our spot, feeling the men's gazes on me.

I liked feeling desired, and at that moment, I wasn't thinking about the consequences at all. I dried myself with a towel, wrapped it around my body, and sat on the blanket.

The guys remained in the water, discussing something. Apparently having made some decision, the trio returned to our spot.

André sat down next to me, asking if I was cold. I shook my head. Despite my answer, he took a blanket out of the bag and offered it instead of the wet towel. I agreed. He wrapped me up and carefully put his arm around my waist. Goosebumps ran down my body.

André began stroking my back through the blanket fabric. He slightly lowered the blanket from my shoulder and kissed it. Not meeting any resistance, he continued covering me with kisses, moving higher towards my neck. Complete silence fell on the beach, broken only by the sound of the sea and the touch of André's lips on my skin.

For a moment, my foggy mind seemed to awaken, and I began to realize where this could all end. However, the long absence of intimacy with a man and the wine did their job—all the impulses from my mind simply began to dissolve in the wave of rising excitement.

I felt my body being caressed by two people now. A shiver ran through my body. My nipples hardened, and a strong pull began in my lower abdomen. I closed my eyes, and a sweet moan involuntarily escaped my lips. One pair of hands began kneading my breasts through the blanket fabric, the other pair lifted the lower part of the blanket and reached my thighs. I leaned back into someone's embrace and, turning towards the stranger, merged with him in a kiss. Opening my eyes, I saw it was José.

Meanwhile, André took the blanket fabric near my chest and began slowly unwrapping me. Exposing my breasts, on which my hardened nipples were standing erect, he greedily pressed his lips to my mounds. He sharply pulled the remaining part of the blanket off me, leaving me completely naked before the gaze of the aroused men. The caresses were reflected in me with drawn-out moans, my breathing quickened, my mind began to leave my body. I remained on my back in José's embrace, with whom we continued to kiss. André covered my neck, chest, and stomach with kisses.

I arched my back, letting out a loud moan that could be heard around despite the sound of the sea. José squeezed my breast with moderate force, passing my nipples between his fingers. I came intensely, writhing and trying to gulp air, my breath knocked out by the prolonged kiss with José.

André, meanwhile, stopped, giving me a moment to catch my breath. The men continued stroking my body but seemed to be waiting for some further signals from me that we could continue.

"Everything okay?" he suddenly asked me. I nodded in response.

"We can stop at any moment if you ask," André continued.

"Could you have warned me earlier?" I joked stupidly and pulled him to me for a kiss in gratitude for the pleasure he had given me.

I had no plans to stop. I wanted all of them, each one. There was no room left for shame or fear in me. I absolutely loved everything.

André pressed against my body and firmly squeezed my buttocks with his palms. José, meanwhile, began taking something out of the bag, and I saw out of the corner of my eye a pack of condoms being thrown onto the blanket.

"So, fucking me on the beach tonight was part of the guys' plans," flashed through my head.

It dawned on me that Carlos wasn't nearby. I looked around and saw that he was standing on the edge of the blanket on his knees. His swim trunks were bulging noticeably in the crotch area, his gaze was clouded. What was happening clearly aroused him, but he didn't want to cheat on his girlfriend.

André began kissing my neck and earlobe. Through the fabric of his swim trunks, I began squeezing and caressing his cock. Then I felt a tongue slide down my neck from behind—José had joined the process again. He slowly descended with kisses down my back. André pulled down his swim trunks, and my eyes were met with a cock of medium length but quite thick.

I slowly leaned towards it, arching my back, giving José the opportunity to observe my pussy in all its glory. Running my tongue along the base of the cock, then licking the frenulum and head, I began giving André a blowjob. He grabbed my head with his hands and helped set a comfortable pace for himself.

I made eye contact with Carlos, who was watching the scene spellbound. Looking him in the eyes, I demonstratively took André's cock all the way in, pressing my lips to the very base. My mind was finally taken over by the depraved slut who had lived somewhere in the depths of my consciousness until today. I liked teasing Carlos, and I wanted to involve him in the process.

I continued working diligently with my mouth when I suddenly felt a palm land on my back, making me arch a little. Realizing that José was about to enter me from behind, I spread my legs and stuck out my butt.

A moment later, I felt something hard slide along my labia and carefully begin to enter my wet flesh. A moan escaped my lips. José's cock plunged into me completely with a gentle thrust—there was plenty of lubrication.

He began moving smoothly inside me, holding me by the waist. André, meanwhile, apparently getting even more turned on by what was happening, began pushing his cock deeper and more diligently into my mouth, gathering my hair in his fist. José directed his fingers to my clitoris and began massaging it, intensifying my pleasure.

We continued having sex, remaining in that position. José took me with smooth thrusts, occasionally playing with my breasts. André began moving his hips more actively towards me, enjoying the blowjob.

At some point, André gripped my hair tighter, let out a strong moan more like a growl, and I felt his cock begin to pulsate. I released him from my mouth and, continuing to caress his penis with my hand, directed it towards myself. Hot fluid poured over my neck and chest.

José's fingers, meanwhile, had done their job—my orgasm