The Price of the Countryside
I had traveled to the countryside to escape the suffocating stress of the city, seeking refuge at my grandparents’ estate where my cousin, Paty, was staying. The first few days were a blur of laughter and liberation. In a fit of hedonism, I spent my travel funds far too quickly on drinks and dancing, ignoring the dwindling balance in my wallet. I had joked to Paty, while riding home in a stranger’s truck, that I would do anything to get enough money to return to the city.
The driver, a distinguished man in his sixties named Ernesto, had overheard me. He didn’t laugh; instead, he gave me a look of intense, focused desire. For days afterward, he would drive past the house, his eyes lingering on me, teasingly asking if I was officially broke yet. When the desperation finally hit, I stepped out to meet him. His offer was simple: financial support in exchange for total submission to his desires.
The tension peaked on a Friday afternoon while Paty was away. I invited Ernesto inside, and the moment the door closed, the atmosphere shifted into something electric. He told me that my bold claim of doing anything had kept him awake at night. To test my resolve, he asked me to find something provocative to wear from Paty’s wardrobe. I found a tiny, floral lace thong that left nothing to the imagination, the fabric straining against my skin as I stepped back into the living room.
Ernesto was already waiting, stripped of his trousers, his arousal thick and imposing. The sight of him sent a surge of heat through my veins. I climbed onto him, feeling the friction of his hardness against my curves. We shared a feverish kiss before he guided me down, demanding I taste him. I obeyed eagerly, savoring the size and saltiness of him, my tongue tracing every inch until he groaned in desperation.
He flipped me over, guiding me onto the sofa in a provocative position, my hips arched high. As he slid into me, the initial sharpness of the intrusion quickly melted into an overwhelming sense of fullness. He moved with a rhythmic, powerful intensity that made me cry out, begging him to treat me like his plaything. I felt every inch of him stretching me, filling the void with a pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.
Eventually, he sat back and pulled me on top of him. I rode him with a frantic energy, the friction building toward an inevitable peak. I whispered pleas for him to fill me, to leave his mark inside me. When he finally succumbed, the warmth of his release flooded my core, leaving me breathless and shaking. As we cleaned up, Ernesto handed me a generous sum of money—more than enough for my ticket home—and whispered that he wanted me as his private companion until the day I left. I kissed him deeply, knowing I would be calling him again very soon.