Spanish Bull For Real

You might want to read Spanish Bull before you read this sequel. Then you will know why I had thrown my twenty three year old, petite, blonde wife, naked, into the sea on what was a busy Spanish beach, and what she had put me through the night before.

You will know about the way my wife ended up naked on a beach, where going topless, with just bikini bottoms, was as daring as it got, but where Sarah walked from the sea with not even a single blonde pubic curl to shield the neat, pink labia that peeped out from her slit.

You will also know how she punished me for losing the bikini bottom she had been wearing, when, having pulled it down her legs in a play fight in the sea, unthinkingly I threw it away from her, and it sank before she reached it, a punishment that made me believe that she was having dinner with a Spanish guy who had picked her up while she was sunbathing, still naked, on the same busy beach, and getting fucked by him, even though we had agreed that we would let nature take its course that holiday, and see if we could start a family.

You will know just how I felt, believing that that was what was happening, experiencing the torment of picturing her with this other guy, not knowing if they would use protection, and all too aware of the hard on that went with thinking about them fucking, and that would not go away, until after she got back, and I punished her for what she had put me through with another fucking, the hardest I had ever given her, and which she loved.

Lastly, you will know that the next morning, the same guy, Franco, had turned up on the beach, where Sarah had decided that if she could sunbathe naked the day before, she could do it that day as well. Another guy was with this Franco, and it turned out that Franco was just a gay hairdresser, his friend Carlos was not just his friend, but rather more, and that Sarah's 'dinner date' had been a late night appointment at Franco's salon to get highlights in her hair, Spanish hours being so much later than in London, followed by some midnight clubbing with Franco and Carlos, just to keep me waiting, and thinking something else was going on.

It was when the guys had gone on down the beach that Sarah had teasingly joked about the way I had been so turned on when I had thought that Franco had actually fucked her, and it was true. My cock had been rock solid all the time that I had been waiting for her to get back, and when she told me what it had been like with Franco, making it all up of course, all I had wanted to do was fuck her myself, like I said, giving her the hardest fucking ever.

It was when Sarah suggested that maybe she would find another guy for real when we were back in London, if that was it made me fuck her, that I picked her up, put her across my shoulders, carried her to the sea and threw her into the water, as punishment for a joke that went too far. So now that you are up to speed, read on.

Sarah stayed under the water for a long, slow motion thirty seconds. I watched as she floundered, before turning in the water, finding her feet on the sand, using her arms to help bring herself upright. Then she was standing, water streaming down her hair, and dripping from her breasts to fall in the water just an inch or two below them. She drew her hair back from her face, her mouth open as she gulped in air, but a smile formed rapidly.

Picking her up, putting her over my shoulder, and carrying her naked past other sunbathers, far enough and deep enough to throw her into the sea, legs and arms scrabbling in the air, splashing a mini tidal wave as she hit the water, I knew I had been taking a chance as to how she would react. Her smile said that things were fine. She really should not have said that bit about finding a guy when we got back to London.

Not that she had been wrong. There was no way that I would admit it to her, but all the time that I had thought that she was getting fucked by Franco, I had been turned on. It was not my choice. That was just how my cock had reacted. I had been hard as I watched her dress for him, stayed hard when she left to meet him, had to live with a rigid cock while walking in the town to get something to eat, and then in bed, when I was waiting for her to get back, my cock had stayed thick, stiff, and pulsating.

Of course I had been relieved when Franco and Carlos had turned up on the beach and I had realised that Sarah had played me, that nothing had happened with Franco, that he was gay, and that it had not been dinner followed by his place, but a late night appointment at a hair salon, followed by drinks at a club with Franco and Carlos. But when Sarah had got back and started describing what Franco supposedly had done to her, I had still been ready to give her the fuck of a life-time.

Just the same, teasing me about liking the way I had been turned on was one thing, but saying that once we were back in London, she would do it for real, was going too far. She deserved what I had just done, although as she stood there facing me, water dripping from her, I was remembering the day before, when she had decided to take revenge for being left naked in the sea, and wondered if she might do the same again. The smile that formed on her lips at least reassured me there were no hard feelings. Or so I thought.

Still smiling, my wife walked to me, reached up to put her arms around my neck, and looked up at me.

"You're really telling me you weren't turned on at all?" Sarah said.

The way she said it, it was not a question. It was a statement. She knew just how turned on I had been. I did not answer. There was no way that I was going to admit it. Instead I bent towards her, my hands holding her slender back and neat buttocks, my lips engaging softly with hers, and for that moment, there was no one else on the beach.

As we kissed, I felt her arm move down between our bodies. Under the water, Sarah's hand slipped inside my swimming shorts, finding my cock, not hard, but getting there. She still had her other hand on my shoulder, and we were still kissing, so it was with that one hand in my shorts that she caressed my cock to full erection. Taking advantage of my being waist deep in the water, my back to the beach, she then lowered the sides of my swimming shorts down past my hips, and eased the front over my erection, so that my cock was standing free, the head just a few inches below the surface of the water.

"Wouldn't you have liked it if Franco really had fucked me?" Sarah asked, still stroking my cock.

I did not answer, but Sarah put both of her hands back around my neck. She used the buoyancy of the water to lift herself, parting her legs on either side of my body, lifting herself, and locking her ankles behind my back. Instinctively, I moved my hands beneath her, taking her weight.

It was not deliberate, but my two hands, one under each of her perfect buttocks, held her open. All Sarah had to do was reach behind, angle my cock to her pussy, and let her body sink down onto it. In spite of the sea water, she was slick with her own secretions, and my cock slid inside so deep I could let go of her buttocks, her weight supported by her arms and legs, tight around me, by the buoyancy of the water, and the strength of my erect shaft lodged deep inside her, eight inches of unyielding support.

Behind me, I knew that there were several hundred people, sunbathing, strolling on the sand, playing beach tennis, reading, talking, and some of them would be looking out to sea, possibly even watching, but all that we were visibly doing was embracing each other. If anyone guessed what was going on beneath the surface, it really did not matter. Sarah's pussy felt delicious around my cock.

"I liked the way you fucked me," Sarah said, looking me in the eyes, still smiling. "I meant what I said. If that's how you fuck me when you think I've just come from someone else, then I really should do it. Maybe I shouldn't wait for London. Maybe I should do it here."

She gave me a mischievous, all knowing grin.

It did not matter whether Sarah genuinely meant what she was saying, or was just using her power to tease. I felt my cock react. It engorged to grow just that extra few millimetres in length, and maybe in girth as well, and it twitched, giving me an awesomely exquisite sensation where my cock head was deep inside her pussy.

Sarah had felt it too. She wriggled her butt, pushing down even harder to get every millimetre of my shaft inside her.

"You see!" she laughed.

I gave up. It really did not matter. Now, at least, from meeting Franco and his boyfriend on the beach, I knew that last night had been just a figment of her imagination. One year into our marriage, my wife was still faithful to her vows. I put one hand under her tight buttocks, and the other on one of her fine boned shoulders.

She was easy to lift. It is why I like petite. You can pick up petite, carry her, turn her every which way you want, and fuck her every which way you want. I had fucked Sarah standing up before, against a wall, and even without a wall, in the middle of our bedroom. She is that light. Even without the buoyancy of the water, she is so easy to pick up, and then lower onto my cock, and fuck. I have even turned her upside down, and held her, legs parted, while I have licked between her labia, and while, head down at my groin, she has sucked my cock.

So lifting Sarah with just one hand beneath her buttocks, while standing in the sea, was easy. I lifted her right to where only my cock head was inside her. Then I pushed down with the hand that was on her shoulder, ramming her onto my cock.

The cry that my wife gave was somewhere between a groan and a banshee shriek. I checked behind for anyone rushing to save what might have been a drowning woman, as Sarah clamped herself to me, still shuddering from the aftershock.

Shuddering she might have been, but Sarah likes it hard.

"Again," she said a moment later.

No one on the beach had seemed to notice, so I did it again. I raised her up, and rammed her down. Then I did it again. And again. And again.

It must have felt good for her, because while she controlled that scream, she whimpered every time I pushed her down, and it was not that long before she came. Mind you, it was at least as good for me.

Petite is tight around your cock, and each time I pushed her back down my cock slid fast and deep inside her pussy, the head forcing its way all the way back up and into her delicious inner depths, the tightness of her pussy pulling deliciously on my frenum, until the spasming of her pussy around my cock took me to the tipping point where I could not hold back, so that as she was still shuddering and quivering from her orgasm, and while still standing waist deep in the sea, my cock was firing white hot semen into my wife's delicious cunt.

We slowly calmed after the storm, Sarah's arms and legs still locked around me, our mouths locked again, and I thought how lucky I was to have this wonderful, gorgeous, sexy woman as my wife, to fuck and to hold, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, and all the other vows that we had made about being obedient and faithful and everything else.

Walking from the sea, my shorts adjusted, but Sarah still naked and unconcerned, I thought how amazing she was, not worrying what a beach full of people might think, when, for all she or I knew, alongside the water still trickling down her body, some of my come was almost certainly oozing from between her lower lips, her smooth, hairless pubis concealing nothing from anyone we passed.

Sarah might have been unconcerned, but I was still scanning the beach for any sign of officialdom, any indication that anyone might have seen, might have known what we had been doing, and might remonstrate with us. No one did, but I relaxed only when we were back at our towels, and Sarah was lying down, less conspicuous. Only then did I properly take in what we had just done. Inside, I smiled.

My faithful, obedient wife did not, however, let me forget about Franco, and what I had thought had happened the night before. For the next few days she would remind me with little comments, repeatedly saying that she knew that it had turned me on, and either asking me if I would like her to find a guy who was not gay, and do it for real, or just telling me that before the holiday was over, she would do it, because she knew that I would like it if she did.

She would talk about it on the beach, and I would have to turn over onto my front to hide the growing tent in my swimming shorts. She would say it over dinner, and I would grateful for the table cloth hiding the size of my cock pushing my trousers out of shape.

Mostly, or maybe I should say at greater length and with more descriptive detail, Sarah would talk about letting this imaginary guy fuck her while we were making love, and she revelled in the effect this had on me.

Hearing your wife talking about how it would feel to have another guy coming inside her is seriously hot, even if it is not what she should be saying. There are only two ways to stop her. One is to clamp your hand over her mouth. It is effective, but it restricts your movement, and you lose your rhythm fucking her. The other way is to slam your cock even harder, so that she cries out and moans and groans so much she cannot utter another word.

That second way is more enjoyable, but it is also exactly what she wants, so having learned how you will respond, as soon as you slow down, she will describe her fantasy even more, to make you fuck her hard like that again.

At first, Sarah said that she would wait until the last night of the holiday, but then she changed that, saying that we should enjoy our last night together, so maybe it would be better the night before.

She even left me one morning for an hour, calling in at the hair salon, saying that Franco might know someone who would enjoy fucking her. He might be a gay hairdresser, but he would have friends who would like to fuck a woman, even if it was just one night with her.

It got to our second last day.

At nine in the morning, we were still in bed.

Sarah's phone signalled an incoming text. I was turned away from her, but I sensed her pick up the phone and check it.

"Franco's found a guy for me," she said, putting down the phone.

I froze where I lay, or at least most of me did. My heart did not freeze. It started pounding, hard. My cock did not freeze either. It just grew, from flaccid to rigid, in milliseconds.

"He says to come by the salon around nine, after we've had dinner."

I kicked my brain into gear. I knew what was going on. Hearing her tell me what was in the text, my physical reaction had been instinctive, but I was not going to be caught twice. It was obviously just another wind up.

"Sure, fine," I said. "Sounds good."

My heart and cock might have reacted, but I was determined that I was not going to let Sarah play me yet again. Instinct, from between my legs, was telling me to turn around, mount her, and fuck her, but somehow I resisted the impulse. My head said not to give her the satisfaction. I do not mean the sexual satisfaction. I mean the satisfaction of being able to turn me on at will, but telling that someone else was going to fuck her.

I used the standard trick. I made myself think about some work issues waiting in my London office. Focusing hard on them enabled my erection to subside. Then I could turn over.

"Breakfast?" I asked. "Then the beach?"

Sarah did not give up. She was determined to get the reaction from me that she wanted. She asked me over our coffee, Spanish rolls and jam, whether I was really sure I did not mind. I assured her I was fine with it. One fictitious roll with a Spaniard would not affect our marriage.

She asked again on the beach. I hardly put down my book. If that was what she wanted, it was okay by me. She asked at lunch, a buffet of salads and cold meats. She was having spicy sausage with her salade mixte. As long as it was only sex, I said, I really did not care what kind of sausage she enjoyed.

Putting it simply, there was no way that I was going to let Sarah bluff me into a reaction a second time around. After dinner, she could just do her thing with Franco, pretend to be with this other guy, while I hit a couple of bars, and later, back at our hotel, we could enjoy her little fantasy while making out.

In fairness, Sarah put every effort into making me believe it was for real. Getting ready for dinner, she shaved every place she needed to while she was in the shower. I was shaving my own five o'clock shadow at the basin, and could see through the slightly misted shower glass. Watching your wife is a voyeuristic pleasure that is a husband's right.

The black silk dress she chose was even sexier than the one she had worn for Franco, or than any she had worn that holiday. The silk clung to her figure, moulding itself to her breasts and buttocks. Her nipples pushed against it, proving that there was nothing underneath the silk other than her slender body.

At the back, a silver button held the dress together at the neckline. Then, all the way from the neckline right to the cleft of her trim buttocks her back was bare. Even the sides of her breasts were bare. And as if that were not enough, the left hand side of the dress confirmed it as the serious fuck me dress that it so clearly was.

On the right, the silk curved around her waist, round her hip and over her buttocks, leaving the top half inch of buttock cleft displayed. On the left, only a pair of two inch silver chains held the front and back together, one just above her pelvis, and level with her pubis.

While the outlines of her nipple stubs, and her naked back, said that beneath the silk her breasts were bare, the absence of any fabric of any kind, crossing that exposed left side of her slender body, between the chains, said that her buttocks and pubis also were bare beneath the fine, black, knee length silk.

As Sarah moved around the bedroom, checking her hair, perfecting her lipstick, and slipping on black, high heeled, strappy shoes, the open left side of her dress bared her legs, and threatened to bare even more. Seated to do her make up, the front fell between her legs, dangerously close to her pubis. I wondered how it would be if she went clubbing, and what might be revealed on the dance floor. I also thought that this was no dress to wear outside if there were even the slightest breeze.

We made our way to the restaurant where we would eat before she left for Franco's salon, the front of Sarah's dress swaying as I had thought it would. A wicked side of my imagination wished that the light breeze playing with the hem was just a little stronger. My teasing wife deserved to be exposed.

What we ate for dinner does not matter. It was good, but slightly rushed, since Sarah was due at Franco's salon by nine o'clock. She checked her watch twice as we waited for our main courses, and again as we were finishing, saying that she would have to go, and that she did not have time for a desert. She also said that she needed to thank me. She could not believe that I was letting her do this. She would make it up to me. The act was good.

We had been sitting at an outside table, so her leaving me was smooth and easy. We both stood up. We kissed. She said that she would see me later. I told her to enjoy it, thinking of her sitting in the salon, whiling away the time with Franco and his boyfriend, until she could come back to the hotel and pretend that something more had happened.

As a parting shot, Sarah whispered into my ear.

"I thought I'd let him do it bare."

Then she broke away, grinned, and sauntered down the street. I watched her petite body weaving through the tourist crowd, tanned back, slender golden legs, the left lag flashing naked to her buttock, until she disappeared.