This story was automatically created with AI assistance. All characters are adults. 18+.
The air in Lisbon was heavy with the last traces of summer, and I stood in the tasca, surrounded by the familiar sounds of fado music that always made me melancholy. It was a place where I had often lost myself when I needed to think, and today was no exception. I had just received an invitation to the wedding of an old university friend, and the thoughts of our shared years overwhelmed me. We had lost touch after going our separate ways into different careers, and I wondered how he was doing. I ordered a port wine and let my gaze wander through the room when I suddenly spotted a familiar figure — it was him, my old friend, now walking directly toward me.
His smile was still the same, warm and inviting, and I immediately felt transported back to our student days. We embraced warmly, and I noticed he had barely changed, apart from the fine lines around his eyes that spoke of years and laughter. We sat down at a table, and I learned he wanted me to be his best man, while I told him about my role as a doctor and my work in a Lisbon hospital. The conversation flowed easily, and I realized the years of our separation had blown away like dust. As we talked about the wedding, he mentioned that his bride was a beautiful woman, and I saw his eyes light up when he spoke of her. I couldn’t help feeling a little jealous, though I knew it was irrational. After all, I was just the old university friend coming to the wedding to stand by him as his best man, not the bride herself.
The music in the background grew softer, and we began to talk about our past. I told him about my profession, about the long hours in the clinic and the challenges I faced daily. He listened attentively, and I saw him looking at me with a mixture of curiosity and admiration. Suddenly, I became aware of my own role — I was the doctor who cared for others’ health, but I had forgotten to care for my own. The realization hit me like a blow, and I suddenly felt vulnerable. My friend noticed and took my hand, and in that moment, I felt a connection that reached beyond the years. The tension between us was almost tangible, and I knew I was putting myself in danger, but I couldn’t help turning toward him.
The night progressed, and we lost ourselves in conversation. I told him about my dreams, about the things I still wanted to achieve, and he listened to me with an attention I had rarely experienced. The music in the background grew louder, and we began to move, our bodies drawing closer and closer. I felt his warmth, his proximity, and suddenly I was aware that I was being watched — not by him, but by myself. I saw us both, how we embraced, how our lips met, and I felt a lust I hadn’t felt in a long time. It was as if I stood outside my body, watching us both make love, our bodies moving, our souls connecting. The experience was breathtaking, and I knew I would never break free from this moment.
His hand slid under the table and landed on my thigh. I felt the heat of his fingers through the thin fabric of my dress. My breath caught as he slowly moved higher, further and further, until he reached between my legs. His fingers pressed gently against the wet spot that was already visible through the fabric. “You’re so wet,” he whispered hoarsely in my ear. “I can barely believe you react to me like this.” I moaned softly as he pushed the fabric aside and placed his fingers directly on my slit. They were warm, demanding, and I felt them exploring me, gliding through the wet lips of my pussy. “Yes,” I breathed, “I want you, now, here.”
He stood up, pulled me up, and led me through the dimly lit alley behind the tasca. The air was cool, but my body burned with desire. He pressed me against the rough wall, his mouth coming onto mine, demanding, greedy. His tongue pushed between my lips, and I tasted the port wine still lingering on his mouth. His hands found my breasts, gripped them firmly, pressed them through the fabric. I felt my nipples harden, and I arched toward him. “Undress me,” I commanded, and he obeyed. He unbuttoned my dress, pulled it over my shoulders, until my bare breasts shimmered in the moonlight. His mouth immediately found a nipple, sucked on it, bit gently, while his fingers kneaded the other. I threw my head back, moaned loudly into the night. “Keep going,” I whispered, “I need you.”
He dropped to his knees, pushed my dress up, and pulled my panties down. The wet fabric stuck to my skin, and as he exposed me, I felt the cool air on my hot pussy. He spread my legs, and I felt his breath brushing over my labia. Then his tongue dove between them, licking along my wet slit, finding my clit and circling it slowly. I trembled, grabbed his hair, pressed him harder against me. “Oh god, yes, lick me,” I moaned, as his tongue penetrated deeper into me, opening my pussy, lapping up my juice. His fingers found my opening, entered me, two fingers stretching me while his tongue kept working my clit. I felt the wave building inside me, a deep pulsing that flooded through me. “I’m coming,” I panted, “I’m about to come.” His fingers pushed deeper, curled inside me, hit exactly the spot that made me explode. My body arched up, a scream of pleasure escaped me, as my juice flowed onto his tongue and fingers. He kept licking me until the trembling subsided and I leaned exhausted against the wall.
But he wasn’t finished yet. He stood up, his erection pressing against his pants, a hard, thick cock that craved me. He opened his belt, dropped his pants, and his cock sprang out, swollen, with a thick glans gleaming in the moonlight. “Now I want to be inside you,” he said roughly, and I felt his hard shaft against my legs. He turned me around, pressed me against the wall, spread my legs with his knees. I bent forward, presenting myself.
Voices from the community
No voices yet — be the first to say what turned you on.
