Episode Transcript
[00:00:00] Speaker A: Hi, I'm Vicki. I would like to introduce you to my podcast Vicky Erotic Tales where the imagination will make you come for more. Relax. Get comfortable yourself prepared to get wet with this new erotic story I will share with you today. But first I want to remember that you can support this podcast by showing your love to the Venmo, Zelle or PayPal accounts on the description or by visiting my online store app vickytoys.com and finding something special for you or your loved ones. Now a short message from our sponsors.
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[00:01:48] Speaker A: Our story today is titled Biking in the Mountains.
I'm sure you will love it.
We are now at that time of year when here in Mexico you often get temperatures over 30, with glorious sun at midday and then storms and quite a chilly evening.
Last week I went out on my bike as I have often done over recent weeks, trying to do some exercise in the now cooler evening air. Over the autumn I have had to go to the gym and exercise inside where they at least had air conditioning. But now at last I can get out.
I was home early from work. Instead of driving back to my flat in Barcelona, I had taken my car to work with the express intention of driving out of the city to my village and my house there. I got there at around six in the afternoon. Perfect timing.
I parked the car in the road and let myself into the garden. My garden is small and perhaps a little overgrown, trees around the edges and well grown bushes. Still, I like it like that, as no one can see in and it affords me privacy.
I opened the front door, dropped my document case and computer and happily ran up the stairs to my room.
There I stripped off my work clothes and pulled out my cycling stuff. I have a lovely outfit a friend gave to me of red cycling shorts with a matching sleeveless white and red top. They go with my cycling helmet and with my bike.
I have even bought myself some red and white glasses.
The whole things look surprisingly good. I know that it is for doing exercise, but it doesn't take much to coordinate these things. Some male readers I know are scratching their head at this, but for me, looking good is important.
I put on my shoes and climbed down to the garage, the petal fastenings on the bottom making a racket on my wooden parquet floors. In the garage, my bike hangs on a hook on the wall. I heaved it down and hit the remote for the garage door.
Brilliant sunshine spilled into the garage, leaving me momentarily blind. Then I put my glasses on and my eyes adjusted to it. I wheeled the bike out. Another click on the remote and the door silently closed behind me.
My garage is at the back of the house, so I got on my bike, clicked my foot into the pedal and hit the button for the gate at the end of the drive.
By the time I had ridden down there, it was already open.
By gate I mean a large, high aluminum door that shuts off the end of my drive.
When the gate is open, my garden is exposed. It is weird having the gate open sometimes, as normally, I always park outside.
When I do, the garden feels odd.
As I rode out, I hit the button again, causing the gate to slowly close behind me. The remote went into the pocket on the back of my shirt and I was off.
I had decided to head out of the village along a path past the cemetery and then to follow a track I know that heads up into the hills, then loops around before returning by the same road past the cemetery.
It was a long ride, but I was feeling strong and optimistic that it would not leave me too exhausted.
A lot of my female friends from Barcelona and even some from the village have told me that they would not feel safe cycling alone in the hills, but I have to say I have never had reason to worry about it and I love all the scenery.
Most of the route is made up of tracks between olive groves. These are normally very stony wheeled tracks with a high part in the middle and low stone walls on either side.
After about 20 minutes or so, I got to the highest part of the ride, where the road up into the mountain starts. I was hot and sweaty and my legs were burning nicely.
I had pulled down the zip on my cycling shirt. I could feel the Lycra sticking to my back and how the sides and straps of my cotton exercise bra were soaked.
I paused briefly, drank some water and then happily launched myself down the next track. This one is a long downhill run over stones along a dry river, which is really exhilarating. You must watch out for the larger rocks as if you hit them, you can come off with nasty consequences.
I bounced and shuddered down the track and as I neared my village I could see dark storm clouds rolling in. You could not miss how much darker it was getting. I got to the turn off towards the village and the first drops of rain started to splatter down wetly.
Where I live, rain is not a terribly frequent thing. However, when it does rain, it often does so with great vehemence. This was one of those occasions as suddenly the heavens opened and a real downpour started.
The rain soaked me instantly, dripping off the end of my nose and running into my mouth. When I opened it, it was hard to see, but what there was to see was obscured by the downpour.
The track I was following would soon meet the cemetery road, but in the meantime the quantity of rain falling was turning it into a small river rather than a negotiable track. I then saw just in front of me, a big oak, spanish oak that is different from the us ones, but big nonetheless.
I headed for it. It was just off the track and took grateful refuge under its branches.
I have to say, I was not really annoyed about the rain. I was not cold or anything. In fact, I left my bike there and stood out under it for a while, enjoying the feeling of the biggest heavy drops impacting on my skin.
I was dressed all in Lycra and I knew that when it stopped, I would be able to cycle home with no problems.
Then I saw another person appear heading for the tree like I had from the same direction I had come from. She too was on a bike, but unlike me, hers was a typical old fashioned type thing with a basket on the front.
Also unlike me, she was not dressed for the rain. She had on a sort of white hippie cotton top, sleeveless, with bits of lace around the edges and the shoulders. This went with her long hippie skirt right down to her ankles, which was made from a multi coloured tie dyed cotton material.
She had on small, cute flip flops with seashells on the straps. I could see them easily as she had the skirt up round her knees as she tried to push her bicycle through the torrent towards the shelter of the tree.
In the basket on the front of the bicycle she had a large type of cotton sack woven out of a raffia type material. Like me, she was totally sodden, but unlike me, her clothes stuck to her and made walking difficult for her. To the bicycle obviously weighed a ton and was getting stuck in the growing mud. Her blonde hair hung down around her face in rat tails plastered to her shoulders and back.
I had never seen her before.
I could see that she was petite, her skirt was plastered to slim legs, and that she had an exceedingly small waist. Her soaked blouse showed me that firstly, she wore no bra, and secondly, she had small breasts like a schoolgirl.
From what I could see of her face, she had white skin with the typical flush of color over her cheeks, exaggerated in that moment from the effort of pushing the bike through the torrent. I could not see her eyes, but I bet to myself they would be grey or blue.
All of this I took in in a single glance, because the next instant I was boldly splashing into the tumbling water to help her. She seemed startled when I grabbed hold of the handlebars. You push, I will pull, I said to her. Come on. She brightened a little and flashed me a smile as with a heave, we got the bike moving again.
By now the water was over my ankles and it had quite a force on it. We struggled, heaved, and pushed, and eventually the bike rode up the slight rise that was the roots of the oak. I helped her prop it against the trunk of the tree and she collapsed onto the ground next to me.
She was muttering something and seemed to be swearing and cursing.
I sat down next to her, pulling my knees up and wrapping my arms around them.
Finally, once she had vented her frustration, she turned to me. Much as gracious, she said in Spanish. I smiled back at her. I had lost my bet. Her eyes were in fact green, a delicate light green that would probably seem to be an unusual color depending on the light.
Her skin was indeed white, obviously a recent arrival as she had no tan at all. And this is the end of autumn.
Hey, that is okay, answered. Are you new around here? A lovely smile split her face. You speak English? She must have totally missed that. I had already spoken in English to her with a smile on her face. She was really lovely, delicate and youthful, with those lovely eyes that seemed to draw my gaze deep into them.
Of course, I said. A lot of the locals do. Not many of the ones I have spoken to, she replied ruefully.
We chatted about the locals, about the weather, obviously, and how awful it was at that moment. She explained that she wanted to go to the next town over from my village, not too far by bicycle, and I said that the rain would probably peter out soon.
The way it was pelting down made that seem unlikely, but I knew that these autumn storms never lasted too long. As I told her this, the rain did indeed start to slack off.
We stood up.
I looked across at her. Her blouse was now practically seeing through and it was plastered to her chest, outlining her small breasts and a pair of extremely hard nipples perfectly. Her dress was also clinging to her thighs and legs and dripped water pathetically.
The bottom half of it was brown and plastered with mud.
She lifted 1ft. I seem to have lost something, she said as she showed me one bare foot. Her sandals would by now be long gone in the flood, and there was no way she could cycle along the main road looking as she did. She would be accosted at best or arrested at worst.
I tell you what, I said brightly. Why do not you come home with me for now? You can get dry and I have some other sandals you can have.
I only live about five minutes from here and honestly, I do not think you are going to be able to carry on as you are. She smiled at me again and said happily, really?
Oh, that's great. Thanks a lot.
We waited a few minutes more, chatting happily about innocent things. She told me her name was Sandra. I asked her if she was spanish and she told me that in fact she was venezuelan. She had come over with her parents and was trying to learn English and then find a job.
She had been at university in the US but had left. As she had discovered, she did not like it.
Her hippie like appearance fitted with what she told me about wanting to be an artist or to work in the theater.
I reckon she was about 19, maybe early twenties.
She was impressed when I told her about me managing the family company, but quickly made it clear that my type of highly stressed business life would be something she would not be able stand. Finally the rain fell to the point where we both felt we could try to make the village.
We got up and I suggested that she pull her skirt up through her legs and tuck it into the waistband. She liked this idea and said it made her feel she had been working in rice fields or something. She was bubbly and seemed incredibly happy despite the rude shock our weather had given her.
We pushed our bicycles down what was left of the track till we came to the cemetery road proper. That one was covered with cement, so we got on our bikes and headed down towards the village. We wheeled in past the first houses and soon arrived at my gate.
I fished out the remote control and was delighted to see that it worked despite having been absolutely soaked. The gate slid open and sandra exclaimed, wow. When she saw the garden and the house.
This is really lovely, she said as she pushed her bike in through the gate. I hit the button again and the gate trundle closed again behind us.
As I said at the start, my garden is actually really cute, a riot of plants and trees that makes it look luxuriant and intimate. There are not many open spaces, but it is really attractive. We left the bikes in the drive and walked across the grass to my front door.
The key I always keep inside a false stone in the flower bin front of the door, so I soon had the door open.
Sandra paused, looked in through the door at my polished parquet, and said, I cannot go in there.
She sounded quite despondent. Don't worry, I said. I'll go in and open up. You go round the back and I'll meet you at the back door.
She set off round the house and I quickly went in and grabbed a couple of towels from the downstairs shower.
At the back door I opened and ushered her into the kitchen. I have a shower here, downstairs. You can clean off there. Here, take a towel.
Hang on, she replied, and then, to my amazement and delight, she quickly unhitched her skirt and let it drop down her legs until it was a muddy pile on the floor. Then she stripped off her white top, pulling it up and off over her head. Her total lack of inhibitions gave me quite a buzz, but her body, as I have said, was very slim, nymph like, if you know what I mean, almost boyish, apart from her small breasts and the minute bright red tango she was wearing, she took the towel out of my hands. I had totally forgotten that I was going to hand it to her and stood there looking at me.
It was only a couple of seconds, but it took me that long to click. Oh yes, the shower is the second on the right.
Okay, great, she said with a bright smile, and she picked her way down the corridor, being careful not to touch anything with her muddy legs. Behind her she left a trail of small, delicate, wet footprints.
When I heard the water start, I snapped out of my idiot state and quickly grabbed her clothes, the skirt I put straight on to wash and the blouse I left soaking. Then I hastily headed upstairs to my bathroom and stripped off all my cycling gear.
I jumped into my own shower, and as the water cascaded down over me, my mind was running at a thousand miles an hour. Was she? Could she really want? Why had she stripped off like that?
I shampooed my hair and soaked myself all over. The water felt great, but I did not take my time as I wanted to get downstairs as soon as possible out of the shower and dryer. I left my hair damp hanging down my back and wondered what I should wear.
Sandra would only have her towel, so I got hold of a cotton top and shorts of mine for her and then I put on a top and some shorts for me. I thought about underwear but then thought she probably would not want any of mine. As an afterthought, I did not put any on either.
Then I went back down the stairs. The door to the shower was open and Sandra was not in the bathroom. I peeked around the door of the sitting room and there she was. She had wrapped the towel around her, just under her arms, and was walking around looking at my pictures and photos. Her hair, like mine, hung down her back, still damp.
The towel just covered her bottom but left her lovely slim legs bare. I walked in boldly and as she turned I offered her the clothes. She made no move to take them but immediately asked me, is this you in this photo?
The photo she was referring to is one of me, taken on a beach by an old boyfriend of mine. It is almost sunset and the light is illuminating my body in lovely tons of gold and yellow as I am lying on the beach, just where the waves are breaking.
It is a great photo that I had had enlarged and has a definite erotic quality to it. Yes, yes, it is me, I replied a little awkwardly as she was still staring at it. You are really beautiful, she said.
I smiled in reply but said nothing.
Normally with other women, I am the one who takes a more aggressive role. I often pick up my female partners and actively seduce them.
Sandra was different. I knew she was no child, but she had this childlike air about her of innocence and fragility that made me hesitate at the same time as it turned me on tremendously.
Still smiling back at me, she took the clothes from me but then dropped them onto the sofa behind her.
I have not thanked you for rescuing me, she said. In fact, as she said this, she dropped her eyes and tilted her face down. She looked almost ashamed, but then she looked up at me coquettishly.
There was no doubt she was coming onto me.
How can I possibly thank you? She asked me. She took a step closer and reached out to take the end of one of the strands of my hair. She was standing remarkably close to me now the fabric of the towel over her breasts almost touched my top.
Let me thank you properly, she breathed.
I was struck dumb and stood rooted to the spot. She leaned forward towards me and her lips reached up to mine. She brushed my mouth with her lips, lightly and delicately.
Then she did it again with slightly more pressure. I was about to respond when she ducked her head and I felt her lips on the skin of my neck, on my left hand side. She kept on giving me feather like kisses, kisses that were more like a caress.
I started to raise my hands, but hers found mine and held me still. Please do not move, she told me.
She covered my neck with kisses, returning every few kisses to kiss my own lips. I had come out in goosebumps and was starting to feel aroused. I could feel my nipples hardening a little. She kissed down over my shoulders and then across the front of my chest. Above the line of my chest, her hands still lightly held my wrists, and her kisses landed delicately on the skin, just at the top of the swell of my breasts.
She pulled away slightly and holding my wrists, she swiveled me round to her right, leaving me facing my fireplace.
The mantelpiece was in front of me.
She reached round me and placed one first one of my hands on the mantelpiece. And then, reaching round my other side, she placed my other hand there too.
I got the message that she did not want me to move.
Looking slightly back over my shoulder, I saw the towel she had been wrapped in land on the sofa on top of the clothes I had brought down for her. She was now naked behind me. I played the game and made no move to look at her. But inside I was dying to see her naked body.
She started to rain kisses on my shoulders again. She delicately collected my hair and hung it over my right shoulder so she could continue kissing the back of my neck. The delicacy of her kisses and the thought of her naked behind me were now really exciting to me.
I could feel the cotton in my top rubbing against my now hard nipples. I was starting to feel warm and very sexy.
Then I felt her take hold of my top at the sides and start to pull it up. It caught on my breast at the front and she slipped her hands around me to help the front part of my top over my breast so she could continue pulling it up my body.
Her hand lightly touched the skin of my breast and I involuntarily shivered at the contact.
I raised my hands, my movements synchronized to her wishes, and she slipped my top up over my head and off my arms.
It joined the other clothes and the towel on the sofa. I replaced my hands on the mantelpiece and stayed petrified, my mind spinning as I awaited her touch. She continued kissing me, working from my neck, down my spine. Her kisses now were not so light. They had more urgency and force. And I could feel the imprint they left on my skin.
A pause, and then I felt something different. Two hard points brush my back. I realized they could only be her nipples rubbing against the skin of my back. She brushed my back with her nipples. And then I felt her arms on either side of my chest and she leaned into me. Suddenly, after her ever so delicate kisses, I overloaded on the intensity of feeling. Her naked chest and stomach pressed against me.
I could feel her nipples, her breasts, and the warm skin of her stomach. Clearly, her hands on my ribs seemed hot to me.
She pressed against me, and as she rubbed herself against me, her mouth came back to my shoulders and neck once again. I made a move to turn and she quickly reached round me and placed my hands firmly back on the mantelpiece.
Then she ran her hands up from mine, up my arms to my shoulders and then onto my chest. Her hands were resting on my chest, just above my breasts.
She continued kissing my neck and shoulders. And then slowly, so slowly, she ran her hands down onto the swell of my breasts, down their slope and onto my erect nipples. She kept her palms flat. And once she had my nipples centered on her palms. She teased them by rotating her palms. She teased them by rotating her palms across them.
I have overly sensitive nipples and her movements created waves of pleasure that ran all through me.
I moaned with pleasure and inclined my head back towards hers. Seeking more contact, she avoided me and continued the friction on my excited nipples. I pushed my pelvis back into her, pushing into her stomach and her own pelvic area.
We fit together well. I could feel her thighs against mine. She pushed forward into me. Then she opened her fingers wide and cupped each of my breasts completely with her open hands. She gripped them firmly and pushed herself forward against me.
I felt so aroused, really excited, hot, ready for real contact. But I knew she wanted to keep on playing her game. She relaxed her grip on my breasts and used her fingers to pinch my nipples lightly. This made me wriggle against her and gasp a little.
Then she pinched them really quite fiercely. This caught me by surprise and I bucked against the pressure of her body on mine.
She released one hand and gave me a sharp slap on the right cheek of my bottom. She then pinched my nipple again with her left hand and held onto it squeezing hard and then softly for a while.
I guessed her right hand was ready to slap me again if I moved. And then when I did not, she put it back on my breast and continued pinching both of my nipples.
I have never been crazy about people tugging on my nipples. Lots of guys think more pressure equals more pleasure, and this is not my case. But in this situation, I found her rough treatment exciting.
Her nipples were hard against my back and I knew that she was just as excited as me. Her fingers dwelt on my now afflicted nipples a while longer until each squeeze made me gasp. Then finally, she let go.
She placed her hands on my hips and I felt her body separate from mine. Then I felt her squat down beside me. Looking down, I could see her knees on either side of my feet. Then she knelt on the carpet behind me.
Her hands on my hips, took hold of the waistband of my cotton shorts and started to inch them down over my bottom.
She took her time and it was very provocative. All I could think of was what she was going to do next. When she had my shorts halfway down, she edged backwards and pulled me after her.
I instinctively knew I should not take my hands off the mantelpiece. And so as she pulled me backwards, I ended up bending over with my body leant over and my arse sticking out behind me. Once she was happy, she slowly continued pulling my shorts down.
I could imagine the effect she was looking for with my bum stuck out, my legs slightly apart and my shorts coming down. She would get a lovely view of my rear with my sex exposed, peeking out from between the cheeks of my ass.
I was, as I normally am, totally waxed, so nothing would stop her from seeing my sex, my excited sex, its lips, by then a little swollen and probably shining lightly with my own wetness, stood there with her behind me, seeing just how excited she had made me was a really erotic, sensual feeling.
I pushed myself backwards towards her, pushing my sex at her, blatantly asking for her to touch it.
Sandra seemed to study me for a while with that same smile on her face. Then, supposedly having liked what she saw, she leaned forward and I felt her tongue slide wetly over the tight pocket hole of my anise.
She toyed with it, licking all round and pushing lightly against it. Then she gave it a resounding kiss before taking her tongue downwards.
She reached the start of the lips of my sex and ran her wet tongue along their sticky, wet outlines, down the left side and then up the right, but without touching my clit at all.
Then she wetly inserted her tongue between the lips of my sex and used it in her mouth to seek out each of my labia minority. The whole of my sex was responding to her touch and opening up with my excitement.
She continues running her tongue around my different parts. But avoided both the entrance to my pussy and my clit.
I squirmed under her touch, but she held me firmly with her hands on my hips. I could feel her face pushed up hard against my ass as she pleasured my sex.
Finally, she used her tongue to penetrate me. And excited as I was, I could feel as she darted her tongue in and out of my sex. How she was coating her face with my wetness.
I could feel how the cheeks of her face now slipped around against the cheeks of my ass.
She tongue fucked me for a minute or so. And then reached up with her hands to once again pinch my nipples.
Not expecting this again I once more bucked under her touch. But this time it only drove my sex harder against her tongue. And feeling her tongue slide inside me a little made me moan even more. I was getting really excited and started to desperately need her to work on my clit.
I need not have worried. She seemed to have my needs calmly calculated. She leaned back from me and pulled me away from the fireplace. She twirled me round. Seeing as I was so worked up, I accepted her indications meekly.
She pushed me towards one of my armchairs.
She crawled after me and when I felt the armchair behind my calves. She reached where I was and pushed me back so that I sat down heavily.
She was now kneeling on the carpet in front of me. My sofa and armchairs are old fashioned with high round arms and big cushions. Very english in style.
Predictably and unconsciously fulfilling one of the fantasies I had had when I chose the sofa and chairs. She placed her hands on my knees, separated them and bent them back towards my chest. She then spread my legs even further apart. Until I had one leg draped over each arm of the armchair.
Then she dug her hands in under my bottom and pulled me towards her.
The final effect was that I was half lying in the chair with my bottom almost on the edge. My knees were up around my ears somewhere. As my ankles rested on the arms of my sex lay open in front of her.
First she reached up and played delicately with my nipples. She toyed with them, caressing and flicking. She quickly brought me back to a state of high excitement. And then she placed her hands on my thighs, effectively. The underside of my thighs. Considering my position, she edged closer. Her eyes locked on my sex. Her mouth lowered towards me half open with the point of her tongue just showing.
I could see the wetness of my excitement still shining on her face. She was flushed, a red bloom showing in her face, down her neck and even across the top of her chest. I got a quick glimpse of her breasts and I saw she had exceptionally long heart, erect nipples.
Her mouth settled onto my clit. I felt her breath on me. Her lips brushed my sex. Then her tongue began to caress my hot, needy clit.
She flicked at it slowly, pushing with her tongue so that my clit was slightly flattened. Until, by virtue of its own erect stayed. It escaped the pressure of her wet tongue. Each flick was an explosion for me. A wave of pleasure that broke over my whole body and made me stiffen.
All the muscles in my thighs, legs, arse and stomach were tensed. I heaved mightily under each caress. But I could not possibly escape. Just in case, she moved her hands up and held onto my ankles, imprisoning me.
She started running her tongue in circles around my clit. Running over it at the end of each circle. She pushed on it, caressed it, caught it with her lips, sucked on it. She played me like an instrument. And she was a master at this style of music.
I was going crazy and inevitably I started to feel the beginnings of an orgasm.
Perhaps it was the way I was so tense. The way I could not keep my arse on the cushion. I do not know what, but she recognized that I was going to come. She kept up her attack on my clip, but let go of my ankles.
As my orgasm started to really build past the point where I could delay it. I felt a hard finger or two slip wetly inside me.
She slipped them past my labia and deep inside me. My orgasm was now making me writhe and buck. She pumped her fingers inside me and then turned her hand upside down so that the ends of her fingers were facing upwards.
As she fucked me with her hand. I could feel her fingers sliding over my g spot every time they ran inside me.
This added buzz, coupled with her tongue made me lift my ass and hips fully off the cushion. I felt my sex tighten on her fingers. And just as I started to come hard with her free left hand. She pinched me viciously on my left nipple, pulling at my nipple and twisting it too.
The combination of sensations made me lose all control. I was almost convulsing as I came, in a way I had never done before. Without realizing it, I clamped my legs onto her head. Trapping her face against me and her hand inside me.
I took hold of her hand on my breast, but did not break her grip on my nipple.
I think I screamed, though I am not sure. I writhed and spasmed and jerked and ended up sliding off the sofa.
When I could once again think about who I was and where I was or anything at all, I found myself on the floor, lying partly on top of Sandra. I had my hips and legs on top of her, my shoulders and head on the floor.
Our faces were relatively close, so when I opened my eyes, I was looking straight into hers. She had that same smile, though perhaps now even wider on her face.
Her pupils seemed dilated. She smelled of me. She was wet with my sex and seemed so, so sexy. I reached across and grabbed the back of her neck. I kissed her hard, passionately, but also aggressively. My tongue invaded her mouth and her tongue fought back against mine.
I felt I wanted to almost hurt her with the kiss, to transmit to her the depth of pleasure she had given me in the way I kissed her. We kissed each other hungrily, like this, and then finally, I let her go.
We gazed at each other with idiot smiles on our faces.
Let us have a drink, she said.
I have some cava, I answered. Wait a minute and I will be back. We can refresh ourselves. And then? Then, I told her with a smile. Then it is your turn.
Fine, she said as she rolled onto her back and stretched sexily. I cannot wait.
[00:28:36] Speaker B: This is the end of this story. But there is always more. Just gently press the follow button or visit vickytoys.com. remember, you can always show your love by checking in the Venn, Moselle or PayPal accounts on the description. Bye.
