tagGroup SexFor My Birthday Ch. 04

For My Birthday Ch. 04

byRoboboy©

I got up from the bed and went into the bathroom to clean up. When I returned, there was no sight of Maria Rosa. I padded off down the hallway in search of her, leaving my wife lying alongside Jordi in the big bed.

I found Maria Rosa in the kitchen, making coffee. I came up behind her and put my arms around her hourglass waist, catching her magnificent breasts in my hands. As soon as she got the coffee started she turned in my arms and we kissed. Her mouth felt so good and natural. I remembered our first long kiss in the water. When had that been? Two days ago? It seemed like longer than that.

We broke off the kiss. Backing away from me a few inches, Maria Rosa stood with just her nipples touching my chest.

"I thought I saw a look of concern on your face, earlier," she said. "Are you worried about Julie and Jordi?"

"I don't know," I replied honestly. "I get such pleasure out of seeing her like this. I've never seen her enjoy sex this much – the orgasms she had last night and this morning were mind-blowing, and frankly, they turned me on. On the other hand, I'm a little worried about her obsession with Jordi's cock. It's the biggest cock she's ever seen – the biggest either of us has ever seen – and although she's never much concerned herself with size, she seems to be fixated on that cock. You should have seen her before you woke up: First she stared at it, then basically made love to it until Jordi was hard. But then, when I fucked her, she was totally into doing it with me."

"Do you feel jealous when she's with Jordi?"

"No, I honestly feel no jealousy toward Jordi; I just don't want Julie to become so fixated on having that cock in her that she loses all perspective."

"Maybe it's not Jordi's cock that she's so excited about, but her newfound sexuality. Or rather, not just Jordi's cock," she added with a smile.

"It's true, she's completely changed, sexually," I said, remembering her playing with Margarita the day before. "I mean, she's always been sexy and uninhibited in bed with me, but now she seems to be ..."

"Open to more? Excited about more?" Maria Rosa finished my sentence for me.

"Yes. Excited about more."

"I've got an idea. We could test to see if Julie's obsession is with just Jordi or with expanding her sexual horizons in general. If it's Jordi, you and I have a problem: we have to calm that down a little, and if that isn't possible, bring it to an end. After all, we each want to keep our spouses, don't we?"

"Well, I certainly do."

"And so do I; I love Jordi. On the other hand, if her obsession is with expanding her sex life, then maybe you have a problem, or maybe not; but I don't."

I laughed. "I think I could deal with that. OK, what's your idea?"

"Jordi and I sometimes go to a club in Barcelona, a club for swingers called 6 y 9. We don't go often, but we generally have a good time when we do. Today's Saturday, so there should be a good crowd there tonight. Why don't we all go together and see what happens? At the very worst – or maybe very best," she corrected herself with a smile, "we four can play together again. But maybe Julie will discover it's not just Jordi's cock she's in love with."

"But all cocks?" I suggested.

"Sí. In love with all cocks," she said. "Like me."

I pulled her to me and we kissed again. I had to say, Maria Rosa was one of the best kissers I'd ever met, in addition to being one of the most beautiful. And I loved the feeling of those breasts against me.

"OK," I said when we broke from the kiss. "I'm game. I'll have to ask Julie, but I'm sure she'll agree. She seems to be up for anything, these days."

"Like you," Maria Rosa teased me. She reached out and cradled my cock in her hand. It was half-hard again, after the talk about swinging and then our intimate kiss.

The coffee was ready, and we took four mugs of it back to the bedroom. Jordi and Julie were lying in each others' arms, sound asleep. Julie had her hand on Jordi's limp cock; I wondered if she'd tried to get him up again and had failed. Probably not; she didn't look disappointed in her sleep.

We woke our respective spouses with gentle kisses, and handed them their coffee. None of us seemed to have much to say. After awhile the coffee ran low and we all walked, naked, back to the kitchen.

"How about a Full English Breakfast?" Maria Rosa offered. "Eggs, bacon, toast, orange juice, coffee?"

"That sounds like an American breakfast," Julie pointed out.

"I know," replied Jordi. "But that's what it's called over here – a Full English Breakfast. In Spain, when you see signs saying 'Full English Breakfast' outside bars and restaurants, it means you've just entered one of the enclaves of British ex-pats."

"Are there many of those enclaves?" Julie asked.

"Dozens. They're all over the Costa del Sol. When the price of real estate in Britain went through the roof a few years ago, it became very inexpensive for Brits to buy property in Spain, so lots of them did so. Then when they retired, they moved down here, where the cost of living is lower and the sun shines."

"And," Maria Rosa continued, "the more came here, the easier it was for even more to come – no need to deal with Spanish language and customs. In those enclaves, you hear almost nothing but English spoken."

"Is that a concern to you Spaniards?" I asked.

"Not really," Jordi said. "They stick to themselves, mainly. Eventually, as the Spanish cost of living rises to British levels, they'll go back. Or if not, die off. Most of them, their families didn't come with them, at least not to stay. Also, they're welcome because they bring money. No, the real immigration concern is the illegals from Morocco. They're exactly the opposite of the Brits: They bring no money, won't go back, will propagate, and don't stick to themselves – as we saw yesterday."

I thought about this. "Maybe you shouldn't worry too much. Most Americans are descendents of people who arrived there penniless – or worse, in slavery – had children, and didn't go back. Some of them became the mainstays of criminal activity, and all of them were resented, even persecuted. Now their children's children are Senators and Supreme Court Justices. One of them is even President of the United States. Overall, I'd say new blood strengthens a culture, not weakens it."

Jordi smiled. "A very liberal attitude. I'm inclined to agree with you, but I think there are many Americans who wouldn't. Especially, I understand, in Arizona."

"You're right," Julie chimed in. "People are always afraid of anything or anybody different from themselves. So we eat tacos and burritos, hire hardworking, illegal Mexican immigrants to do our yardwork, and then rail against the Government for allowing them in. Go figure."

"We saw something like that here in Catalunya," Jordi said, "during the Franco regime. Franco hated Catalans because of our liberal attitudes – Catalunya almost unanimously opposed his illegal takeover in the 30's – so he had a problem: We were prosperous and he needed the tax revenue, so he couldn't just step on us, though his police were brutally repressive. You know the castle on the hill, Montjuic? That was Franco's prison, and you could hear the screams of torture victims from there at night, sometimes.

"Anyway, Franco's solution to the Catalan problem was to move large numbers of people from the south, mainly Málaga, which was very poor, to here. Barcelona went from almost 100% Catalan speakers to about 70%, and the percentage has continued to decrease since Franco died. The Catalans were upset and resisted this influx of poor Castilian-speaking people. But economically, we boomed as a result of the new imports. Add a cheap, hard-working labor force to a well-developed economy and you've got a great mix, despite what racial or social purists would tell you."

"Enough politics; breakfast is ready," Maria Rosa announced. "Come and get it." And we did.

After we finished breakfast, Jordi drove Julie and me back to our hotel. Jordi said what a great time he had had with Julie and gave us his cellphone number so we could call him if we wanted to get together again. I knew he hadn't had a chance to talk alone with Maria Rosa since she and I had discussed the swingers club, and I planned to call him as soon as we all had a chance to talk about it.

It was already past noon, and we both needed a nap. I thought I'd let the topic of going to a swingers club wait for until we were rested. We practically fell into bed, on our own sides, and fell fast asleep.

When we awoke it was already late afternoon. Neither of us felt particularly energetic. We each had brought books with us that we had yet to open, so we decided to simply relax and read a little. We did so for an hour or more, then Julie got up and went to the fridge.

"Want some champagne? I'm afraid that's all we've got to drink," Julie said.

"Sure, if you will. It's been kind of a nothing-but-champagne vacation so far, hasn't it?"

"Not complaining, I hope?"

"Not at all. Just sayin'."

"Happy?"

"Pretty much. Maybe a little worried."

"About me, and Jordi's cock?"

"You said it, I didn't."

"I'm only worried about that if you are. Remember, you can set the limits."

"I don't think I'm ready to do that, yet. As long as you remember to 'dance with the guy what brung ya.'"

"I know who brung me, and I know whom I'm going home with," Julie replied a little testily.

"OK by me. New topic, though not unrelated: Are you up for getting together with Jordi and Maria Rosa again tonight?"

"Sure! What's up?"

"Well, there might be some sex involved ..."

"No, really? How refreshingly different!"

"Actually, this might be a little different. There's a swingers club here in Barcelona that they go to sometimes. They're planning to go tonight and Maria Rosa asked if we want to go with them." That wasn't exactly what Maria Rosa had said, but I wanted to go.

"If they go there sometimes, it must be OK. Are we expected to have sex with the other people there?"

"As I understand it, we can if we want, or not. If somebody comes on to you and you don't want to have sex with him, you can just say so. Jordi and I will make sure that's that."

"Well, if worst comes to worst we can have sex again with Jordi and Maria Rosa," she mused.

"That's almost an echo of what Maria Rosa said."

"But before we go out with them, I'd like it if we had dinner together, just the two of us."

"I'd like that, too," I said.

It wasn't time for dinner yet, but it was a beautiful evening for a walk. This time we sauntered up the Ramblas. The living statues, mimes and jugglers were out in full on this fine Saturday evening, and each had a knot of spectators gathered around. Julie's favorite living statue was a guy sitting on a toilet with a book in his hand. If you dropped a Euro coin in the box at his feet, he made some delightfully rude sounds. Occasionally he broke his fixed position, sat up and looked as if he were passing a particularly hard stool, straining and grimacing; then he would lapse back into the standard pose of a man reading on a toilet.

"You see the expression on his face, just then?" I asked Julie.

"Sure. All scrunched up, like he was really concentrating."

"That's the way you looked this morning when you had that incredible orgasm."

She punched me in the arm, and I had no idea why. It was true!

We stopped at a bar on Placa Catalunya and had one of those anise drinks Jordi had introduced us to, while we watched the colorful crowd pass by.

"The guidebook says," Julie told me, "that if you sit here long enough, everyone you've ever met will pass by."

"Just like the Place de l'Opera in Paris?" I asked.

"Just like. Do you suppose all these people go to the Place de l'Opera first and then come here, or the other way around?"

"Judging from what we've experienced so far, I'll bet they come here first."

"Paris must seem like an anticlimax. Oops. Somehow, everything I say seems to have a sexual significance."

"I'm not complaining."

Three different sets of musicians stopped in front of our table and played for us. The keyboardist was not bad; the violinist was really good – he sounded as if he might play in the local orchestra; and the two guys with the accordion and harmonica were terrible. We rewarded them all, handsomely.

We paid tourist prices for the drinks and then walked hand in hand back down the Ramblas, stopping at a little well with a drinking fountain next to it. At Julie's suggestion, we both drank from the fountain.

"Time for me to tell you something else from the guidebook," she said.

"OK, go."

"There's a legend that if you drink from this fountain, you'll come back to Barcelona."

"Anything in there about Jordi and his magnificent cock?"

"Well, not explicitly," she replied. "But maybe the reason for the legend is that generally, people have other reasons for coming back."

"You mean, in addition to the water."

"In addition to that."

"And Jordi's cock."

"Mmmm."

This time, instead of taking my hand, Julie put her arm around my waist and I put mine around her shoulders. We ambled contentedly back to the waterfront, past the "statues", the jugglers, the violinists, and even the shell games, without stopping. At that moment I realized that whatever had happened and whatever might happen, we were happy together.

In defiance of Jordi's opinion, we ate at the Rey de Camarones on the waterfront by the marina. I told Julie about what I had seen of the boats and live-aboards there.

"Is that something you'd like to do someday, after we retire?" she asked.

"I'm not sure. We'd have to learn how to sail," I replied.

"You'd have to learn how to sail. I'd have to learn how to fly here to meet you."

After an excellent shrimp dinner we ordered the kind of cognac Jordi had bought for us the other night.

"Very good sir," the waiter said approvingly. That's a very good brandy; not many people know of it."

By "people" he probably meant "tourists", but that didn't worry me. We watched other tourists, and some locals, walk by while the owners of the restaurants stood out front and practically dragged them in.

"According to the guidebook," Julie began.

"No! Not another thing from the guidebook!"

"If you would only learn to read, I wouldn't have to tell you these things," she replied calmly.

"Now, as I was saying: According to the guidebook there's only thing you can say to those guys that they have no answer to."

"What's that? 'I don't have any money?'"

"No, because they won't believe you, rich American that they know you to be."

"How can they tell I'm an American?"

"Let's see. Your shorts, when every European male over the age of 6 wears long pants in the evenings?"

"Other than that."

"OK, how about the virginal wife on your arm?"

"You've got me there. Virginal. I'll have to remember that."

"Do. Anyway, the one thing you can say that they can't dispute is simply 'I've eaten dinner already.' Everybody understands that nobody could eat two Barcelona dinners in the same evening."

"I'll have to remember that. Alternatively, you could just let them drag you into the restaurant to enjoy a good meal."

"That's an alternative."

The brandy arrived, and it was as good as ever. As we sipped it, Julie said, "Time for a recheck. How do you feel about what happened last night?"

"I had a great time with Maria Rosa, though you may not have noticed."

"Well, I didn't hear you complaining but I'll admit that my attention was elsewhere. And this morning?"

"At first I was a little concerned about what appeared to be your fixation on Jordi's cock. No, fixation is too mild. Obsession?"

"I'm sorry, baby. I didn't mean to go too overboard, but ..."

"But later, when I fucked you to a mind-shattering orgasm, I was happier."

"I'm glad of that, then. As you know, I had a great time last night and this morning."

"You mean, other than coming for half an hour on end and at a higher level than I've ever seen you?"

"Actually, other than that it was pretty vanilla. Except the lamb; that was excellent."

I asked for the bill and the waiter brought it immediately. I checked it, remembering how people get robbed in Barcelona. It was correct except that the brandy wasn't included. I was pretty sure it was expensive brandy, and I didn't want to let the restaurant take the hit. I called the waiter over.

"The brandy isn't on here."

"No, sir. That drink is a chapito, a gift from the owner."

"Does everybody get a chapito?"

"No sir. Only preferred customers."

"Did he say why we deserved it? We've never been here before."

"Sí. He said because your wife is beautiful and because you didn't tell him you had already eaten dinner."

So much for private conversations, I thought. And from the gleam in the waiter's eye, it appeared that the bit about having eaten wasn't the only thing he had overheard.

We used the hotel phone to call the number Jordi had given us. He promised to pick us up around 10.

"Meaning 11?"

"Well, maybe 10:30."

"OK. What's appropriate dress?"

"For you, the same as you wore last night, golf shirt and trousers. For Julie, anything sexy." Bring just 40 Euros, the price of admission, plus maybe another 10 for drinks. You don't want to get robbed."

"Got it. I have a golf shirt I haven't worn yet, and I'm sure Julie will think of something."

He chuckled. "I'm sure she will."

We had plenty of time before Jordi was expected. I thought of asking Julie if she'd like an hors d'oeuvre before the main course, but didn't.

She must have read my thoughts, because she came over and put her arms around my neck.

"Kiss me," she said, and when I did she stuck her tongue in my mouth, pressing her breasts against my shirtfront.

"We need showers before we go," she said. "Will you scrub my back for me?"

"Sure," I replied, following her into the bathroom and trying not to step on the clothing she was discarding.

She turned the shower on and adjusted the temperature, then stepped into it. I finished undressing and stepped in behind her. She handed me the soap and turned her back.

As I scrubbed her back and ass, she reached up and took down the shower head. I reached around her and soaped her breasts, especially the nipples, as she held the shower head against her crotch. Soon she was slightly hunched over and moaning softly. By now I was hard and so I soaped my cock. I decided that it needed a good lathering and then a good rubbing, to get really clean. It took me some time to build to an orgasm – maybe cumming four or five times in the previous 24 hours had something to do with that. In any case, Julie came first, leaning over against the wall. Her moans turned into low howls as her body twitched and then bucked. I was afraid she'd slip and fall in the tub, so I stopped masturbating and put my hands on her waist. A moment later, when she had calmed down, she put the shower head back where it belonged and turned to me. Seeing my hard cock, she bent and kissed it.

"I love your cock, too, you know," she said, then took it into her mouth and deep-throated it.

I was almost there already, and the sensation of her tight throat and sucking lips, so familiar yet so potent, immediately brought me to a climax. She swallowed the first gob, then pumped my cock fast with her hand, her eyes closed. My jism spurted out onto her face, her breasts, and her stomach. She licked off the parts she could reach and rinsed off the rest.

"Now for your back," she said matter-of-factly. She picked up the soap and damned if she didn't scrub my back. It felt great.

We were ready by 10 o'clock. Julie had donned a shimmering, light blue dress that barely covered her panty-less crotch and I was wearing the regulation golf shirt and long pants. While we waited for the other couple, we sipped yet another bottle of champagne.

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