Brit Girl and The American Tourist

The Bell at Sapperton... God, I loved that place. It was the kind of pub that just seeped into your bones, all old stone and the scent of brewing beer. I felt like royalty pouring pints behind that worn wooden bar. And me? Well, I'm Lily. Twenty-four, a redhead -- the kind that burns bright, if you know what I mean. Long, wavy, the colour of a sunset after a bloody good storm. And blessed, I certainly am, with a figure that draws eyes like moths to a flame. Tonight, I'd slipped into my tightest jeans, the ones that hug my curves just so, and a low-cut tank top that leaves little to the imagination, especially when I lean over to serve.

And then he walked in.

Bloody hell.

Tall, all sharp angles softened by a hint of weariness, the type that comes from too much power and too little time. He was older, maybe late forties, or fifties? That tailored suit, slightly rumpled, screamed: "Business trip gone rogue." Dark hair, styled just enough to look effortless, and eyes... those eyes just ate you up. He scanned the pub, a slow perusal that made my skin prickle, lingering just a beat too long when he found me. I pretended to polish a glass, the metal suddenly scorching against my fingers, but a little smirk danced on my lips all the same.

"What can I get you, love?" I asked, leaning on the bar, letting my chest do its thing. Was I being obvious? Did I even care?

He opened his mouth; an American accent.  Delicious.  Unexpected, like a shot of whiskey in your tea. "First," he drawled, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "what's good around here?"

"Well," I purred, arching a brow, "depends if you're after something smooth, something strong, or just somethin' to sip while you eye up the barmaid." My gaze ran down him, a silent invitation.

He chuckled, a low rumble that vibrated in my chest. "Guess subtlety isn't my thing, huh?"

"Clearly," I said, pouring him a pint of the local ale. I could feel his eyes on me, tracing the curve of my waist as I moved. Turning slightly, I smirked over my shoulder, "Enjoying the view, are you?"

"Absolutely," he replied, completely unashamed. "It's... captivating."

I slid his pint across the bar, leaning in a little closer, my elbows resting on the counter. "So, what brings a Yank like you to a sleepy little place like this?" I knew I was flirting. I wanted to be flirting.

"Just travelling around. Figured I'd stop for a drink," he said, tasting the ale. His eyes widened slightly. "Wow--that's good stuff."

"Told you," I said, a warm smile playing on my lips. "Where are you staying?"

He shrugged, that careless movement making his suit jacket pull tight across his shoulders. "Some B&B up the road. You Brits call them that, right?"

"Yeah, we do. But honestly, those places can be pretty hit or miss," I said, biting my lip lightly. "If you're looking for something better, I've got a spare room at mine. Might save you from dodgy sausages in the morning." My voice was low, husky, pitched just for him.

His eyebrows rose, clearly intrigued, his eyes dropping for a tantalizing moment to the swell of my breasts. "Quite the offer. Although I was curious about trying a 'full English'--never had one."

"Oh, you've gotta be careful," I teased softly, like sharing a secret. "Some places serve sausages you could build houses with. If you want the real deal, you're better off letting me cook."

He leaned in, his breath warm against my ear. "Are you as good in the kitchen as you are behind the bar?"

"Only one way to find out," I shot back, my eyes glinting wickedly. My gash began to moisten already.

His gaze lingered, hot and appreciative, making my clitoris throb. "Guess I'd be crazy to pass that up. But tell me--do I get an actual bed, or do you usually offer your guests somewhere... cosier?"

I laughed softly, shaking my head, my long hair cascading down my shoulders. "You're really bold, aren't you? Keep that up, you'll be stuck with the cat on the sofa." My slit was practically begging for him, and I knew he could feel it. This night was going to be very, very interesting and possibly even a new thrilling experience for me.

He raised his pint in a mock toast, those dark eyes promising all sorts of delicious trouble. "Well, darling Lily, maybe I'm a bit tired of the usual, a little tired of playing it safe. So, I'll risk a little bold for the chance to taste some of that spice you're offering." I felt a shiver run through me, and my gash pulsed again.

He chuckled, that deep American sound rumbling in his chest, and lifted his pint glass a fraction higher. "Worth every risk, wouldn't you say?"

I couldn't help but let my eyes roll, just a little. Playful, mind you. "Drink your pint, Romeo," I teased, the words catching on the air between us. "Takes more than a bit of charm to get between my legs, you know." Though, truth be told, his charm was already doing a bloody good job.

His eyes snagged on mine, that slow, confident smile spreading across his face like warm honey. A shiver, not unpleasant at all, danced down my spine. Not that I'd let on. The pub was starting to empty out, chairs scraping, voices fading. My shift was almost done, thank God, and this man... Daniel... he had more than piqued my interest. He'd properly set it alight.

"So," he finally murmured, his voice dropping an octave, becoming all velvet and sin, "do you make a habit of inviting just any old stranger back for the night, or am I, perhaps, a little bit special?"

A grin spread across my face, cheeky as you like. "Oh, all the time, darling. Just can't resist a bit of lost Yankee charm wandering in off the street." However, again, not entirely a lie. There was something about him...

"Handsome, huh? I'll take that," he said, his gaze dropping, lingering a little too long, a little too boldly, on my chest.

"Don't get cocky," I warned, my voice softening despite myself. "By the way, I'm Lily. And eyes are up here, love." Though, did I really mind where his eyes were? Not really.

He smiled then, a proper warm one, pulling his gaze back up to meet mine. "Beautiful name for a beautiful girl. And you look far too young to be working in a place like this, Lily."

"And you, Romeo?" I countered, pointedly ignoring the flattery. "What do I call this handsome Yank who's about to be making his own breakfast if he doesn't learn some manners?"

He chuckled again, finally dragging his eyes away from my breasts. "The name's Daniel. And don't you worry about me, Lily, I clean up very well. Both in general," he paused, a knowing glint in his eye, "and in the kitchen, if you need an extra hand."

"Daniel," I repeated, letting his name roll around in my mouth. It suited him, didn't it? Strong, solid, like the man himself. "Well, Daniel, if you're so keen on proving your kitchen skills, you might want to know what time I usually get up. Unless you're planning on raiding my fridge at dawn?"

He leaned closer then, leaning right into my space, his breath ghosting warm over my ear, sending delicious shivers down my neck. "Depends," he whispered, his voice a low, thrilling rumble. "What time do you usually get up... and what exactly are you wearing when you do?"

A heat, immediate and insistent, flared low in my belly. Bloody hell. This was escalating faster than a runaway train, and I was enjoying every single, thrilling inch of it. "That," I breathed, my voice barely a whisper, "is information you'll have to earn."

He grinned, a flash of white teeth in the dim pub light, predatory and exciting all at once. "And how exactly does one 'earn' such valuable intel, Lily?"

I shrugged, trying to look nonchalant like this sort of thing happened all the time. But underneath, my heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe by telling me a bit about yourself. For instance... how old are you, Daniel?"

He paused, his eyes flickering for the briefest of seconds, a shadow passing across his face. Then, smooth as you like, he answered, "Fifty-one. Does that bother you?"

My smile didn't waver, not for a second. "Not particularly. I've always had a bit of a thing for older men. Though," I added, tilting my head, letting my eyes drop down to his belt buckle and then back up, a teasing glint in my own eyes, "you sure you can still, you know, keep up?" Twenty-four and fifty-one. A proper gap. But something about the way he held himself, the confidence that radiated off him in waves, made the numbers seem... irrelevant. Exciting, even.

He raised a thick eyebrow, that playful glint returning, stronger than ever. "Oh darlin'," he purred, his voice like warm whiskey, "don't you worry your pretty little head about me keeping up. I assure you, I have plenty of stamina." He paused, letting the suggestive words hang deliciously in the air, then leaned impossibly closer, his breath tickling my ear again. "But I'm curious... since we're laying our cards on the table, how old are you, Lily? Someone as vibrant and full of life as yourself?"

I met his gaze head-on, unflinching. "Twenty-four. Surprised?"

His lips curled into a slow, knowing smile that sent another shiver right down to my toes. "Intrigued. Definitely not surprised." He reached out then, his fingers brushing against mine resting on the sticky bar, sending a jolt of pure electricity right through my skin. "The age difference... it adds a certain spice, don't you think?"

I didn't pull my hand away. Bloody hell, no. "It could," I conceded, my voice husky now, "Or it could be a right disaster waiting to happen. Now, if you don't mind, I actually have work to do, my American friend. Meet me after my shift at 7 PM, out front, and I'll show you your room back at mine."

"Or," he countered, his voice low and suggestive, his fingers now tracing circles on the back of my hand, "you could show me yours."

My breath hitched. Oh, he was good. Bloody good. "Cheeky," I whispered, but there was no real heat behind it. Just a delicious thrill. "Seven o'clock, Daniel. Don't be late." I pulled my hand away then before I did something utterly unprofessional and dragged him into the back storeroom right there and then.

The rest of my shift dragged by, each pint pulled, and each order taken was slow, tick-tock countdown to seven o'clock. My knickers were already damp, a traitorous little thrill of anticipation thrumming between my legs.

The bell above the pub door chimed, snapping me from my hazy thoughts. Seven o'clock. Right on time. My gaze shot to the entrance, and there he was, Daniel, looking even more... substantial than he had earlier. The dim pub light hadn't done him justice. Now, under the slightly harsher, early evening glow, I could see the crinkle of laugh lines around his eyes, the way his shirt stretched just so across his chest. Bloody hell, he was handsome. Handsome and... experienced. You could just tell, couldn't you? Like he knew things, important things a girl needed to know.

He spotted me across the near-empty pub and a slow smile spread across his face, the kind of smile that made you feel like you were the only woman in the world, the only one he wanted to see. Was that a tremor I felt in my knickers again? Christ, this man was dangerous.

"Lily," he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the air and straight into my chest. He reached me quickly, his presence filling the space around me. "Ready to escape this place?"

"Desperate," I admitted, a little breathlessly. "Another hour in here and I might have started drinking the dregs myself."

He chuckled, the sound warm and rich. "Lead the way, then."

We stepped out into the cool evening air, the London sounds a welcome change from the pub's chatter. As we walked, not touching yet, but close, my senses felt heightened. Could he smell my perfume? Could he feel the heat radiating off me? Did he know how much I wanted him already?

"So, your place is far?" he asked, his voice casual, but I could feel the undercurrent of anticipation.

"Nah, just around the corner," I said, gesturing vaguely. "Up a few flights of stairs, mind you. Hope you're fit enough, Romeo."

He laughed again, a deep, throaty sound. "For you, Lily? I could climb Everest."

Cheeky bastard. I liked it.

My flat was small, typical London really, but it was mine. As I fumbled for my keys, my hand was shaking just the tiniest bit. Nerves? Excitement? Oh, it was definitely excitement.

"Home sweet home," I announced, pushing the door open and stepping inside. I flicked on the light, revealing the small living room. Nothing fancy, but clean, cozy. Me.

He stepped in after me, his presence immediately filling the space. He looked around, taking it all in. "Nice," he said, his eyes lingering on me though, not the room. "Very... you."

"Is that a good thing?" I asked, trying to sound light, but my heart was hammering.

He stepped closer, and this time he did touch me, his fingers lightly tracing the line of my jaw. "Definitely a good thing," he murmured, his gaze intense. "Very, very good."

Then he kissed me.

Not a tentative, polite kiss. No. This was a kiss that demanded attention, a kiss that promised things. His lips were firm, warm, and tasted faintly of beer and something else... something uniquely Daniel. My breath hitched in my throat as his tongue slipped into my mouth, exploring, teasing, taking. It was like a jolt of electricity, right through me, making my toes curl in my shoes. Was this really happening? Was this gorgeous, older man really kissing me like this in my doorway?

I tangled my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. I could feel his body against mine, solid, warm, sending shivers of pleasure through me. His hand moved from my jaw, sliding down my neck, over my collarbone, and then... cupping my breast through my thin top.

A moan escaped my lips, involuntary, raw. He pulled back just enough to look into my eyes, his own dark and blazing. "You feel good, Lily," he breathed, his voice husky. "So fucking good."

"You too, Daniel," I whispered back, my voice trembling. "God, you feel so good."

His fingers kneaded my breast, sending sparks of desire shooting down to my core. Was he going to stop there? Was he going to make me wait? Please, no.

"Let's... let's get more comfortable, yeah?" I managed, my voice thick with need.

He grinned, that knowing, sexy grin. "My pleasure."

He followed me into the bedroom, which, let's be honest, wasn't much bigger than the living room. But it held my bed, and right now, that bed looked like paradise.

I turned to face him, standing in the dim light filtering through the blinds. "So," I said, my voice a little shaky. "Where do we start?" Was that too forward? Did it matter? I was past caring about playing it cool. I wanted him. Now.

His eyes raked over me, slow, appreciative, making me burn under his gaze. "How about... we start with you?"

He reached for the hem of my top, his fingers brushing against my bare skin as he lifted it slowly, deliberately, inch by tantalizing inch. The cool air kissed my skin as the fabric slid up, revealing my bra, a lacy black thing I'd chosen this morning, just in case... Just in case a handsome Yank walked into my pub and changed everything.

He paused, his eyes feasting on my breasts, outlined by the black lace. "Beautiful," he murmured, his voice reverent. "Absolutely beautiful."

His fingers moved to the front clasp of my bra, his touch sending shivers down my spine. He unhooked it with a flick of his wrist, and my breasts spilled free, heavy, aching. Were they as swollen as they felt? God, I hoped so.

He reached out, his palm cupping one breast, his thumb gently stroking my nipple. A gasp escaped my lips as a wave of sensation washed over me. "And they feel even better than they look," he whispered, his eyes locked on mine. "Soft, full... perfect."

He leaned in, his lips brushing against my nipple, sending another jolt of pure pleasure through me. His teeth gently nipped at the sensitive flesh, and I moaned, my head falling back. "Daniel..."

He moved to my other breast, lavishing the same attention, sucking, teasing, sending waves of heat spiraling through my body. His hands moved to my waist, then lower, his fingers finding the button of my jeans.

"Mind if I?" he murmured, his eyes questioning, but his fingers already busy.

"Please," I breathed, my voice barely audible.

He unbuttoned my jeans, then slowly, painstakingly, pulled down the zipper. The denim slid down my hips, taking my knickers with them. And then I was standing there, practically naked in front of him, exposed, vulnerable, and utterly, utterly turned on.

His gaze devoured me, lingering on the triangle of dark curls at the apex of my thighs, then lower, to my bare legs. "You are... exquisite, Lily," he said, his voice thick with desire. "Every inch of you."

He knelt before me, his hands tracing the curve of my hips, then moving lower, his fingers brushing against the soft skin of my inner thighs. My breath hitched. Was he...?

He parted my legs slightly, his gaze fixed on my most vulnerable spot. "May I?" he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Did he even need to ask? My legs trembled, begging him closer. "Yes," I breathed, the word lost in a rush of air. "Oh God, yes."

And then his mouth was there.

Hot, wet, insistent. His tongue found my clit, teasing, flicking, sending sparks of pure fire through me. I gasped, my hands gripping his shoulders for support as my knees threatened to buckle. Was this real? Was he actually doing this? Right here, right now?

"Oh, Daniel..." I moaned, my head thrown back, my body arching towards him, desperate for more. His tongue danced over me, licked, sucked, creating a whirlwind of sensations that threatened to overwhelm me.

"Does that feel good, Lily?" he murmured against my slit, his breath hot and moist against my swollen flesh. "Tell me if it feels good."

"God, yes," I gasped, my voice ragged. "So good. Don't stop. Please don't stop."

He didn't. He moved his hands to cup my arse, holding me in place, urging me closer as his tongue worked its magic. He was relentless, insistent, exploring every inch of my gash, teasing my labia, sucking on my clitoris until it throbbed with a desperate, aching need. Was this what heaven felt like? Because it was fucking close.

"Tell me what you want, Lily," he whispered between licks, his voice low and demanding. "Tell me what you need."

"I want... I want you to..." I stammered, my mind blank with pleasure. What did I want? Everything. I wanted everything he was offering, and more. "I want you to eat fanny and fuck it, baby," I finally managed, the words tumbling out in a rush.

His head lifted, just a fraction, and I saw a flicker of something in his eyes. Confusion? Was "fanny" not a universal term then? Bloody hell, was this going to be awkward? "You know," I breathed out, still reeling from the exquisite torture his mouth had been inflicting, "fanny... down there. British slang, you know? pussy." I managed to get out, my voice still thick and shaky.

His brows furrowed for a split second, and a charmingly perplexed look crossed his face. American, right? Of course, he wouldn't be familiar with all our slang. "Oh," he said, a slow smile spreading across his lips as understanding dawned. "Fanny. Gotcha. Like...  pussy pussy?" He emphasized the word, making it sound deliciously dirty in his American accent.

Did that confusion turn him off? Not a chance. In fact, it seemed to add a spark of amusement, a playful edge to the already intense desire burning in his eyes. He chuckled softly, a low rumble in his chest that vibrated against my skin. "British slang, huh? Well, Lily, I gotta say, your British fanny is driving me absolutely wild. Lay down honey, I am about to feast on it. Need to get you soaked for my cock."

His words, coated in that delicious American drawl, sent a fresh wave of heat flooding through me.  Soaked for his cock. Just the thought of it made my thighs clench involuntarily. "Oh, you are?" I managed to breathe out, a playful smirk tugging at my lips despite the overwhelming pleasure still radiating from between my legs. "And here I thought you Americans were all about... well, I don't know, baseball and apple pie."

He chuckled again, a deeper, throatier sound this time. "Honey, I can appreciate a good apple pie, but right now? Right now, all I'm thinking about is tasting more of your British fanny. And the only pie you getting is a creampie," He emphasized "fanny" again, drawing it out, and it sounded so naughty coming from him, so utterly, gloriously wrong in the best possible way. Was it possible to get even wetter? Because I swear, I felt myself slickening just from his words. Especially when he talked about creampies.

"Right, let's do this," he got his head between my thighs.

Right, let's do this. Those words rumbled from his chest, and before I could even draw another breath, his head dipped back down between my legs. It was like plunging headfirst into a furnace. His tongue, already warm and wet from my own juices, was instantly back on my clit, that insistent, rhythmic flicking sending shockwaves through my core. Had I imagined the brief pause? Because now, he was back with a vengeance, like he was making up for lost time, for that tiny moment of confusion.

And God, did it feel good. Better than good. It felt like coming home, like finally scratching an itch I hadn't even realised was driving me mad. My hips lifted instinctively, trying to get closer, to burrow myself into his mouth, to absorb every last ounce of pleasure he was so generously doling out. My breath hitched, then grew shallow, ragged. Was I even breathing properly? Did it matter?

"Daniel..." I managed, my voice a strained whisper, barely audible above the rush of blood in my ears. "Oh, fuck, Daniel..." Was that all I could say? Just his name, laced with desperation? Apparently so, because words seemed to have abandoned me completely, leaving me a whimpering, writhing mess of pure sensation.

He seemed to understand though, didn't he? He must have felt the tremors running through me, the way my inner muscles clenched and released, the desperate little noises escaping my lips. He didn't stop, didn't falter. If anything, he seemed to intensify his efforts, pressing closer, his hands now gripping my thighs, holding me open, vulnerable, exposed, and utterly, deliciously his.

He licked and sucked, teased and tormented, each stroke of his tongue pushing me closer and closer to the edge. Was I going to come? Right here? Right now? It felt imminent, a tidal wave of pleasure building, threatening to crash and overwhelm me. My vision tunnelled, the room fading to black around the edges, all senses focusing on that one spot, that unbelievably sensitive little bud of pleasure that Daniel was worshipping with his mouth.

"Nearly there, baby?" he murmured against my skin, his breath hot and wet. Did he know? Could he feel it too, the tension coiling tighter and tighter within me? "Tell me when you're close, Lily. Tell me what you want me to do."

"Yes... oh God, yes..." I gasped, my fingernails digging into his shoulders. "Closer... harder... please..." Was I begging? Probably. Did I care? Not in the slightest. All that mattered was this, this incredible feeling, this man, this moment.

And then, just as I thought I'd shatter into a million pieces, just as the orgasm was poised to explode, he lifted his head. What the...? Was he stopping? No, please no, not now, not when I was so close, so desperate.

But instead of pulling away, he shifted, rising to kneel between my legs. My eyes fluttered open, dazed, confused, and then widened as I saw what he was doing. He was unbuttoning his jeans, his fingers deft and quick, the sound of the zipper a soft rasp in the suddenly quiet room.

And then his cock was out.

Oh.

My breath caught in my throat. It was huge. Thick and heavy, already straining against its own skin, the head a dark, engorged purple. Had it always been this big? Or was it just the contrast with the delicate vulnerability he'd just been exploring that made it seem so... enormous?

He didn't say a word, just knelt there, offering himself to me, his eyes locked on mine, burning with an intensity that mirrored the fire raging between my legs. Was this real? Was this really happening? This gorgeous American man, with his incredible mouth and... that.

He reached out, his hand gently cupping my thigh, his fingers tracing slow circles against my skin, sending shivers rippling upwards. "Ready for me, Lily?" he asked, his voice low and husky, a delicious rumble that resonated deep within me.

Ready? Was I ready? My body screamed yes. Every nerve ending, every pulse, every breath was a resounding, desperate yes. My fanny was slick, throbbing, aching for him. Was he going to put that inside me now? Was this it?

He shifted again, positioning himself between my legs, the head of his cock nudging against my wet slit. Oh God. Just the feeling of it there, hard and insistent, sent another jolt of pure electricity through me. My hips lifted again, instinctively, guiding him, begging him to push in, to fill me up, to take me, to make me his.

"Just tell me if it hurts, baby," he whispered, his breath warm against my inner thigh. "But I don't think it will." And there was such confidence in his voice, such a delicious certainty, that I believed him. I wanted to believe him. I needed to believe him.

And then, with one slow, deliberate thrust, he began to slide inside.

"Ahhhhhhhh," I let out a long moan. It was true. Every word, every whispered promise, every naughty insinuation had been leading to this. This moment. This incredible, stretching, filling sensation. His cock was inside me. Really inside me. Was this what it felt like to be truly taken? To be possessed in the most deliciously consensual way imaginable?

It wasn't painful, not even a little bit. Just... full. Gloriously, achingly full. He'd been right; it didn't hurt. It was more... pressure. A delicious, insistent pressure that spread outwards, stretching me in ways I hadn't known I could be stretched. My British pussy, taking on a monster of an American cock. Was that even possible? To feel this open, this receptive, this... welcoming?

He paused there, just inside, letting me adjust, letting my body get used to his size. Did he know how much I was enjoying this stillness? How every nerve ending was singing, buzzing with anticipation for what was to come? His hands were still on my thighs, firm and steady, holding me exactly where he wanted me. And oh God, did I want to be here. Exactly here.

"Feels good, baby?" he murmured, his voice rough with passion, right in my ear. Did it feel good? Was the sky blue? Was the sun hot? Did breathing feel good? This was beyond good. This was intoxicating.

I could only manage a breathy, "Mmm-hmmm." Words seemed inadequate, clumsy, utterly unable to capture the tsunami of sensations crashing through me.

And then he moved. Slowly, deliberately. Inch by exquisite inch, he pushed deeper. Each slide of his cock inside me was a fresh wave of pleasure, each stretch of my inner walls sending sparks flying through my body. Was this real? Was this actually happening to me? This American Adonis with his incredible mouth and unbelievable cock, filling me up like I was born to be filled?

My hands moved from his shoulders down his back, tracing the hard muscles beneath his skin. He was solid, so beautifully solid. I could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension in his muscles, the sheer raw power of him contained, just for a moment, within my body.

He reached his full depth, and I gasped again, a sharp intake of breath that was half pleasure, half awe. It felt... immense. Like he was filling every empty space inside me, stretching me to my very limit, and yet it felt utterly, perfectly right. This was where he belonged. Inside me.

He stayed still for another moment, letting us both adjust to the new reality of being joined, of being one. I could feel his heart pounding against mine, hear his breathing quicken, feel the tremor of excitement running through him. Was he feeling this too? This incredible, overwhelming connection?

Then, he started to move again. This time, a slow, rhythmic rocking, a deep, steady thrust that sent ripples of pleasure through my core. He was inside me, and now he was moving, and oh God, it was even better than I could have imagined.

"Tell me if it's too much," he whispered again, but he was still moving, each thrust a little deeper, a little stronger. Too much? Was he mad? This was perfect. More than perfect. This was... everything.

"No," I managed, my voice thick with desire. "Don't stop. Please don't stop." Was that begging again? Who cared? All that mattered was this feeling, this incredible, mind-blowing sensation of him inside me.

He chuckled, a low, satisfied sound deep in his chest. "Didn't think it would be," he murmured, and then he picked up the pace. The slow, deliberate thrusts became faster, deeper, more insistent. My hips started to move with his, instinctively matching his rhythm, craving more, needing more.

With each thrust, I felt myself unravelling, each push taking me closer and closer to the edge. My breath came in ragged gasps, my head fell back against the pillows, my vision blurring at the edges. Was this what it felt like to lose yourself completely? To surrender to pure, unadulterated pleasure?

"Daniel..." I moaned again, his name a mantra, a plea, a desperate sound ripped from my throat. "Oh, fuck, Daniel... harder..."

And he did. He pushed harder, deeper, his movements becoming more urgent, more demanding. My inner muscles clenched around him, gripping him tight, pulling him in deeper, begging him to take me over the edge. Was this it? Was this the moment I was going to shatter?

"You feel so good, Lily," he grunted, his voice strained now, thick with exertion. "So fucking tight... so wet..."

His words were like fuel to the fire already raging inside me. "Oh, Daniel... I'm... I'm..." I couldn't even finish the sentence. Words had completely deserted me, leaving me only with sensation, with pure, raw feeling.

Then he found it. That perfect rhythm, that perfect depth, that perfect angle. And everything exploded.

One thrust. Two. Three. Each one was a hammer blow against the wall of my control, shattering it piece by piece. My breath hitched, caught somewhere between a sob and a scream of pure, unadulterated pleasure. Was this what it felt like to be completely undone? To be taken apart, piece by delicious piece, and then put back together, stronger, hotter, utterly changed?

"Fuck, Lily," Daniel groaned, his voice ragged in my ear, "You are driving me wild." Was he? Because he felt like he was driving me someplace else entirely. Someplace wild and untamed, where only sensation mattered, where only this mattered. This feeling of him inside me, stretching me, filling me, owning me.

He pulled almost all the way out, teasing for a moment, and a whimper escaped my lips. No, no, don't stop. Don't you dare stop now. And then, with a guttural sound that vibrated right through my bones, he slammed back in, burying himself deep. Deeper than before? It felt like it. It felt like he was trying to touch my soul with his cock. Was that even possible?

"Daniel!" I cried out again, my nails digging into his shoulders, needing something to hold onto as the world started to tilt. He was relentless, each thrust harder than the last, each rhythm more demanding. My hips bucked up to meet him, instinctively, desperately, begging for more of that delicious pressure, that exquisite friction.

He was pounding me now, properly pounding. Not gentle anymore, not slow and teasing. This was raw, primal, a brutal rhythm that resonated deep within my gash. Did he know what he was doing to me? Could he feel the way my slit was clenching around him, milking him with every stroke? I hoped so. God, I hoped so.

"Tell me what you want, Lily," he grunted, his breath hot against my neck. What did I want? Right now, all I wanted was this. More of this. To be taken harder pushed further, brought right to the edge and then thrown over.

"Harder," I gasped, the word ripped from my throat. "Please, Daniel, harder... fuck me harder..." Was that what he wanted to hear? Because it was the truth. It was the only truth at this moment. I wanted him to be rough. I wanted him to be brutal. I wanted to feel every inch of his hard cock pounding against my walls.

And he listened. Oh, he listened. He grabbed my hips, held me steady, and thrust into me with a force that made me gasp again. My vision swam, the room blurring around the edges. Was I close? So close? I could feel it building, that pressure, that tightening coil of sensation deep in my core.

"You're so wet, baby," he growled, the words thick with lust. "So fucking wet for me." Was I? Could he feel it? The slickness, the heat, the sheer desperate need pouring out of my gash? My labia felt swollen, sensitive, and throbbing with anticipation. My clitoris, which had been singing since he first touched me, was now screaming, demanding release.

He changed his angle slightly, tilting his hips, and suddenly,  there it was. That spot. That perfect, agonizingly pleasurable spot he'd found. Every thrust now hit it, precisely, perfectly, sending electric shocks of pleasure shooting through my body.

"Oh, fuck... oh, fuck, Daniel..." I was losing it. I could feel it. That tremor started deep within my belly, spreading outwards, consuming me. My body tensed, coiled tighter and tighter, ready to spring.

"Come for me, baby," he urged, his voice low and urgent. "Come on, Lily, let go." Let go? Was he kidding? I was trying, desperately trying to hold on, to savour every last second of this exquisite agony. But it was too late. The wave was breaking.

One final, brutal thrust, deep and hard and right on that spot, and it hit me. Like a tidal wave crashing over me, obliterating everything. My body convulsed, muscles clenching around his cock in a series of spasms. "Ahhhhhhh!" The sound ripped from my throat, a long, shuddering cry of pure, unadulterated release.

Pleasure exploded through me, wave after wave after wave, washing over me, drowning me in sensation. I bucked beneath him, my body arching, clinging to him, needing him, even as I was already shattering into a million pieces. Was this what heaven felt like? Because if it was, I never wanted to leave.

And then... and then Daniel kept going. Was he even aware of the seismic shift that had just ripped through my body? Maybe he could feel it, the aftershocks still trembling through me, because his grip on my hips tightened, his thrusts becoming even deeper, even more insistent. Did he want more of this? More of me? God, I hoped so because even now, still reeling from that incredible release, a fresh wave of desire was already beginning to bloom in my core. Was I insatiable? With him, perhaps I was.

He was buried deep inside me, his cock thick and unyielding, a hot, pulsing anchor in my very center. And he wasn't slowing down. Not one bit. Each powerful lunge was like a fresh jolt of electricity, sparking new fires in places I hadn't even known existed a few minutes ago. Was it possible to come again so soon? With him, it felt not just possible, but inevitable.

"You feel so good, Lily," he grunted, words thick with exertion. "So fucking tight." Tight? Was I? I was melting, liquid heat pooling around him, and the way he said it, his voice rough and low, it did something to me. Did he know how much his words fueled the flames? "Don't stop now, Daniel," I gasped, my fingers tangling in his hair, pulling his head down closer to mine. "Please... don't stop."

He chuckled, a deep rumble that vibrated against my chest. "Stop? Baby, I'm just getting started." Was he teasing me? Or was that a promise? Because the way he was moving, the way he was pounding into me, it felt very much like a promise. His rhythm shifted slightly, becoming even more brutal, less about finesse and more about raw, unadulterated need. And I matched him, meeting each thrust with a desperate arch of my back, my legs wrapping tighter around his waist, pulling him in closer, deeper.

"Fuck," he groaned again, his voice strained, and I could feel his body tensing above me, muscles bunching and flexing with every powerful stroke. Was he close too? Could he feel the same spiraling intensity that was building in me? He leaned down, teeth scraping lightly against the sensitive skin of my neck, sending shivers of pure sensation down my spine. Was that a moan or a growl he let out against my skin? It was intoxicating.

"You're going to make me come, baby," he whispered, his breath hot and ragged against my ear. "Going to make me explode inside you." Explode? Inside me? The thought sent a fresh thrill through me, a primal, visceral excitement. Was that what I wanted? Oh yes. Yes, it was. I wanted him to lose control, to shatter inside me, to leave every last drop of himself within my depths.

"Do it," I urged, my voice a husky whisper, laced with a desperate plea. "Daniel, please... come inside me." Was that too forward? Too demanding? I didn't care. In this moment, there was nothing but raw desire, nothing but the burning need to feel him completely, utterly, mine.

He roared then, a sound that was part pleasure, part pain, part something wild and untamed. His thrusts became frantic, and desperate, each one pushing me closer and closer to the edge. My breath hitched, coming in ragged gasps, my vision blurring again, the world narrowing down to just him, just the feel of his body slamming into mine, just the hot, slick friction building and building.

"Lily... Lily..." he chanted my name like a prayer, a litany of lust. And then, with a final, earth-shattering thrust that almost lifted me off the bed, he went rigid. His body convulsed, muscles spasming against mine, and I felt it then, a hot, thick surge flood into me, filling me to overflowing. Load after load after load, he poured himself into me, his guttural cries echoing in the room, mingling with my own ragged breaths.

And as his climax washed over him, something happened in me too. Another wave, unexpected and fierce, crashed through me. Was it even possible? Another orgasm? But there it was, building again, the tightening coil of pleasure in my core, escalating, intensifying, until it burst forth in a fresh surge of sensation. My muscles clenched around his cock, milking him even harder, and wetness bloomed between my legs, soaking the sheets beneath me. Was I squirting? It felt like it. It felt like every nerve ending in my body was firing at once, a symphony of pure, unadulterated bliss.

We collapsed together, a tangled mess of limbs and sweat-slicked skin, his weight heavy on top of me, but I didn't care. I was breathless, sated, utterly spent. Was this real? Had this just happened? And even as the last tremors of pleasure subsided, a slow, warm satisfaction settled deep within me. His chest rose and fell heavily against mine, the rhythm slowly evening out, mirroring, or perhaps still dictating, the rhythm of my own breath. The air hung thick and warm between us, heavy with the scent of sex and sweat, and something else, something... elemental. Was this what the connection felt like? Truly, deeply, intimately connected?

He shifted slightly, just enough to ease his weight a fraction, but still remained intimately joined to me, his cock still deep inside, gloriously thick even in the aftermath. A lazy smile tugged at my lips. God, that had been incredible. Was he feeling it too? Could he possibly not be?

"Wow," I breathed, the word almost lost in the stillness of the room. "Just... wow." I reached up, tracing the strong line of his jaw, my fingers lingering on the stubble there, rough against my skin.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating in my chest. "Yeah," he agreed, his voice still husky, still laced with the remnants of passion. "Wow is right." He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead, then another to the tip of my nose. Was he going to kiss me again? On the lips this time? My heart gave a little hopeful flutter.

But instead of deepening the kiss, he pulled back just slightly, his eyes, those intense, dark eyes, meeting mine. And then he said it, the words that hung in the air like a lead weight, instantly cooling the heat that still simmered between us.

"So, listen, Lily," he began, his tone shifting, becoming more casual, almost... businesslike. Was I imagining it? "I, uh... I should probably mention, I'm only here for like, two more days."

"Fucking way to kill the mood," I finished silently in my head, the words a sharp slap against the lingering haze of pleasure. Two more days? Was that all this was to him? A fleeting holiday fling squeezed between sightseeing and whatever else Americans did on holiday? My chest tightened, the warm glow fading fast, replaced by a chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning.

He was still inside me, still gloriously present, but suddenly it felt... different. Less profound, more... transactional. Had I imagined the connection, the intensity in his eyes, the way he'd chanted my name like a prayer? Or was I just another notch on his belt, another story to tell back home?

My fingers, which had been tracing the strong contours of his jaw just seconds ago, now stilled. Was my smile faltering? I could feel the muscles in my face betraying my sudden shift in mood. He was looking at me, those dark eyes searching mine, maybe noticing the change. Did he even care?

"Two days?" I echoed, my voice sounding flatter than I intended, the huskiness of post-orgasm pleasure now edged with something sharper, something brittle. Was that disappointment he could hear? God, I hoped not. I didn't want to seem... needy. Pathetic.

He shifted again, this time withdrawing slowly, reluctantly, his thick cock sliding out of me with a soft, wet sound that was suddenly... deflating. The warmth that had filled me, that had throbbed and pulsed with his presence, was now just... gone. A cool breeze rushed in, kissing my suddenly exposed slit, a reminder of emptiness where just moments before there had been glorious fullness. Was this really happening? Was he really deflating this incredible moment with such... casual disregard?

He rolled off me, onto his back, stretching out like a satisfied lion, the muscles in his chest rippling. Handsome, yes, undeniably so. But now, the charm felt... rehearsed. The allure, manufactured. Was I being cynical? Or was I just seeing him clearly for the first time, the holiday veneer cracking to reveal... what exactly? Just another tourist, after all?

He glanced at me again, a half-smile playing on his lips, oblivious, it seemed, to the hurricane brewing inside me. "Yeah," he confirmed, stretching again, flexing those impressive biceps. "Gotta head back. Work and all that." Work? Was that it? Was our explosive, earth-shattering encounter just... a holiday perk before returning to spreadsheets and conference calls?

My labia, still swollen and sensitive, throbbed with a different kind of ache now. Not the sweet, pulsing ache of afterglow, but a dull, hollow thud of disappointment. My clitoris, still tingling from his relentless attention, felt strangely... mocked. Had I been naive to think it was more than just sex? Had I read too much into the moans, the whispers, the way he'd held me?

I lay there, naked and exposed, the sheets damp beneath me, feeling suddenly... foolish. Was this what I was, then? Just a temporary pleasure, a two-day diversion before he went back to his real life? And what about my real life? Had this meant anything to me? Just minutes ago, it had felt like... everything. Now? Now it felt like... nothing. Or worse, like something cheapened, something tarnished by his casual dismissal.

"Right," I managed, my voice tight, trying to inject a lightness I didn't feel. "Two days then." Was that all I was worth? Two days? The heat that had been radiating from my core just moments ago now felt ice-cold, a bitter frost spreading through my veins. Fuck. Fucking way to kill the mood indeed.

My heart hammered a harsh rhythm against my ribs, a stark counterpoint to the languid pulse still throbbing between my legs. Two days. It echoed in my mind, cold and dismissive, like the clatter of ice in an empty glass. Was that truly all I was to him? A fleeting pleasure, a momentary indulgence before real life barged back in?

He shifted again, turning his head towards me, and for a fleeting second, I thought I saw a flicker of something in his eyes. Regret? Amusement? It was gone too quickly to decipher, masked by a lazy grin that didn't quite reach their depths. "Hey, don't look so glum, love," he drawled, that American accent suddenly grating on my nerves. "It's been... incredible, right?" He reached out, his fingers trailing down my arm, sending a shiver that wasn't entirely pleasuring down my spine. Was he trying to placate me? Did he think a casual touch would smooth over the sting of his words?

"Incredible," I echoed, the word feeling thin and hollow, a pale imitation of the roaring fire that had consumed me just moments ago. Was it incredible for him too? Or just... convenient? Did he even hear the question hanging unspoken in the air between us?

His grin widened, a flash of white teeth against his tanned skin. "Hell yeah, incredible. Like something straight outta... well," he paused, a mischievous glint in his eye, "like you read on literotica. com, or something. You know what I mean?"

My stomach lurched. Literotica. com? Was that what he thought this was? Some cheap online fantasy brought to life? The raw, visceral connection we'd just shared, the moans ripped from my throat, the way he'd tasted me, explored me, filled me until I thought I'd shatter -- was that just fodder for some online wank fantasy to him?

Rage, hot and sudden, flared in my chest, battling with the lingering embers of desire. My fingers, still tingling from the feel of his skin, clenched into fists beneath the damp sheet. Did he have any idea how deeply he'd been inside me, not just physically, but... emotionally? Or was I a fool to even think that?

"Is that... is that what you think this is?" I managed, my voice tight, barely a whisper, laced with a tremor I couldn't quite control. My nipples, still sensitive from his mouth, hardened with a different kind of tension now, a tension of anger, of hurt.

He raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk dancing on his lips. "Hey, is that a bad thing? I mean, it's a compliment, right? You're telling me that was... forgettable?" He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear, and a part of me, damn it, a treacherous, yearning part, still responded to his nearness. "Because honey, I sure as hell ain't gonna forget the taste of you, the way you wrapped those legs around me..."

His words, though laced with a seductive edge, felt like sandpaper against my raw nerves. He was still talking about the physical, the purely carnal. Was that all he saw? Was I just a body to him, a vessel for pleasure, no different from the anonymous women on that bloody website he mentioned?

My thighs, still throbbing from his powerful thrusts, tightened involuntarily at the memory of his cock inside me, the glorious stretch, the insistent rhythm that had driven me to the edge and beyond. My gash felt swollen, tender, still humming with the echoes of his invasion. And my clitoris, oh god, my clitoris was still tingling, throbbing with a phantom pleasure that mocked me now.

"It's not... forgettable," I conceded, the words grudging, dragged from the depths of my disappointment. "But it's not... literotica. com either." Was it? Was I wrong to want more? Was I pathetic for wanting something real, something... meaningful, after that kind of intimacy?

He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest that vibrated against my skin, even though he wasn't touching me anymore. "Feisty Brit," he murmured, his eyes raking over my body, lingering on the curve of my breasts, the swell of my belly, the shadowed cleft between my legs. "I like that."

Did he really? Or did he just like the challenge? The game? Was this all just a game to him? Score a hot British girl on holiday, tick it off the checklist, and move on. My labia throbbed with a renewed ache, a dull, persistent throb of disillusionment. Was this the end of it? Was this all it amounted to -- a fleeting, intense encounter that meant everything to me, and seemingly so little to him?

My heart felt heavy, a lead weight in my chest. His compliment -- if you could even call it that -- hung in the air, a testament to the chasm between us. Was I really selling myself short, accepting this fleeting connection as something profound when it was just a holiday fling to him?

He shifted, and before I could gather my thoughts, his big hands cupped my breasts, his thumbs teasing my nipples into hard little peaks. "So, what do you say, Lily? One more for the road?"

The question, delivered with that lazy American charm, should have ignited a fire in me. Instead, a wave of sadness washed over me. One more for the road. As if I were a roadside attraction, a quick and easy thrill before he drove on.

But, oh god, his hands felt so good on my bare skin. My breasts, full and sensitive, ached for his touch. And that mischievous glint in his eyes... it was hard to resist.

"Daniel," I sighed, my voice betraying the turmoil inside me. "Two days aren't enough."

He paused, his fingers still gently caressing me. "Enough for what, love?"

My breath caught in my throat. Enough for me to fall for you? Enough for me to delude myself into thinking this could be something real.

"Enough," I whispered, "to even begin to know each other."

He smiled a genuine smile this time and leaned in to kiss me softly on the lips. "Maybe not. But we sure as hell know how to have a good time, don't we?"

And as his lips met mine again, as his fingers began to explore the curves of my body, I knew, deep down, that he was right. We did. Maybe I was just stupid to think this was more than a quick fondle.

Thanks for reading, I hope you all liked it mwah literotica! xxx <3