Meister ‘Dieter’ fucks ass of tourist on terrace of spanish hotel
SITGES, SPAIN — When I spent a week in Sitges with two of my best friends, we decided to do exactly what one’s supposed to do in Sitges: get a tan and sleep around. Not that we openly agreed to a competition. But it was obvious from the start that we had an ambition as to how many tricks each of us would be bedding during our stay. It also became increasingly apparent that I wasn’t going to come out as a winner. We were already halfway into the week and I was still the one who’d fall asleep first in our crammed hotel room, much to the chagrin of my friends who hoped to use it as a fuck-pad.
One particular night after an especially humiliating turn at El Horno, one of the slightly butcher local hangouts, I stumbled outside to take a last chance on Sitges’ beach promenade. At night the otherwise family-friendly promenade is one of the biggest outdoor cruising areas ever known to man. And for people who were in a similarly desperate situation to mine, it’s also the last resort for finding a fuck for the night. My fuck would be Dieter.
Dieter approached me as I was strolling up and down the promenade. He was handsome, but not strikingly beautiful. He wasn’t buff, but he wasn’t fat either, just well built with a sexy hint of love handles, and a full bush of curly auburn chest hair that spilled out of his unbuttoned polo shirt. Probably in his early forties, he was slightly balding. He was strikingly masculine, in a very serious, German kind of way. Dieter cut right to the chase: he was staying at the Hotel Calipolis, the fanciest hotel in Sitges and, coincidentally, the first hotel on the promenade. He wanted me to come up to his room. The hotel was literally ten meters away from where we were standing. Sure enough I said yes.
As soon as we entered his room on the hotel’s 10th floor, Dieter got straight down to business: he jumped on the bed, dropped his loose-fitting shorts and what I saw in the middle of a bushy heart of pubic hair was a large and rock-hard uncut German dick that I was ordered to suck in a rather authoritative tone. Turns out, Dieter seemed to enjoy being somewhat domineering: as he ordered me to suck harder and deeper he tried to turn my head towards the closet mirror so I could see what a ‘Schlampe’ I was, which is what he repeatedly called me. Not that I minded particularly; given my sex record for the week so far, it was a compliment, if not a turn-on. I was also still a little drunk, and definitely liking it.
As I was kneeling naked on the bed, dutifully servicing my new-found German master, the hotel room door suddenly swung open. Dieter’s friend, an older guy from London who he was sharing the room with, walked in with a slight look of disbelief. After all, the first thing he saw was my ass flung high into the air with Dieter’s face about to be buried deep within it as he was shouting German insults. We quickly realized that neither of us was particularly interested in a threesome. There was also no way his friend would leave. In a quick turn of Germanic pragmatism, Dieter dragged me out on the terrace, which overlooked the sea. As he pushed me, naked as we were, over the wall that separated their terrace from an unused open-air utility space on the hotel’s setback floor, I realized that public sex was another item high on Dieter’s turn-on list. In fact, despite the rising sun and slightly chilly weather, Dieter was harder than ever. He bent me over the ledge of the terrace and slowly started fucking me. Dieter was pretty big and he kept on yelling at me in German as he literally pounded my goose-bump covered ass over an empty flowerbox filled with earth and broken tiles. As I was ecstatically groaning at every one of Dieter’s heavy thrusts, I tried to carefully examine whether we could actually be seen by someone else – a neighbor, a hotel guest, a maid… Not that Dieter would have cared. He was clearly in a different world. When the distant noise of a coast-guard helicopter came closer, Dieter finally came inside my ass, breaking into a long and loud moan that I was sure would wake up the whole of Sitges. I quickly came right after. My arms and knees were sore from hanging over the terrace’s concrete balustrade, but I certainly didn’t mind. Exhausted, Dieter hung heavily on top of me, playfully accusing me of dragging him into this outdoor sextravaganza, 21-year-old slut that he thought I was. Little did he know that he had just broken my gay holiday man-hymen. It was probably six a.m. when I left the hotel with a bag of warm croissants.
Originally published in BUTT 16