This erotic short story was written for SnakkOmSex. If you would like to read Norwegian language stories click here.
For more English language stories click here.

So, I’m sitting there on the hood of my beat-up Skoda, halfway through a lousy microwaved burrito from this gas station just off the N-332, right on the edge of Torrevieja, Spain. You know, that little coastal spot where half the folks are sunburnt British retirees and the other half are locals who look like they’ve just checked out of life. I’m trying not to drip salsa all over my jeans, and that’s when I notice her. Nothing dramatic or anything, just this girl pulling up in a rusty old Volkswagen Golf at the pump across from me. The gas station’s a Repsol, like every other one around here, with those annoying flickering fluorescent lights that make everything look even crappier than it is. It’s late, like 11 p.m., and the air’s got that mix of diesel and sea salt. Me, I’m just Miguel, 34, hauling furniture for a moving company the past six years. I’ve got a bit of a gut now from too many after-work beers, and my hairline’s not exactly a winner. I’m coming back from a long delivery in Alicante, starving, but too cheap to hit up a real restaurant. So here I am, scarfing down this sad burrito, when I catch her glancing over. Not like she’s into me or anything, more like she’s trying to figure out if I’m some weirdo. And honestly, I probably look the part, unshaved, wearing a stained work polo.

Her name, I’d find out later, is Sofia. She’s maybe in her late 20s, short, with dark hair pulled back in a messy bun. She’s got on a tank top and some cut-off shorts that look like they’ve seen better days. She’s got this tired, don’t-even-try-it kind of vibe, like she just finished a double shift at one of those beachfront bars on Paseo Marítimo. Not “hot” like those fake Instagram girls, nah, her arms are a bit thick, and there’s this old, jagged scar on her knee. But there’s something about her, I don’t know, maybe the way she moves, all sharp and no-bullshit, that keeps me sneaking looks while I pretend to mess with my phone. I finish the burrito, ball up the wrapper, and chuck it at the trash can by the station door. Miss, obviously, ‘cause I’m a total idiot. I hop off the hood to grab it, and that’s when she pipes up. “Hey, you always toss your trash like that, or just when you think nobody’s looking?” Her voice is rough, kinda smoky, and her Spanish has that quick, clipped Alicante accent. I turn around, half-embarrassed, half-pissed, and see her leaning on her car, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised like she’s just waiting for me to say something dumb.

“Didn’t mean to,” I mutter, snatching the wrapper and stuffing it in the bin. “Long day. My brain’s shot.” I figured that’d be it, conversation over, but nope, she’s still staring at me. Like she’s making up her mind about something. “You’re not from around here, are you?” she says, more like she’s stating it than asking. I shrug. “Close enough. Live up in Guardamar, but I work all over. What about you?” “Born and raised,” she says, nodding toward the town. “Still stuck here. And you look like you move stuff for a living.” I let out a little snort. “Yeah, furniture. Guessed that from this ugly polo, huh?” She smirks, but it’s not friendly, more like she’s mocking me. “That, and the way you’re slouched. Looks like your back’s trashed.” She’s not wrong. I’ve got this constant ache from hauling couches and mattresses all day. I don’t admit it, though. Just nod, like, yeah, sure, whatever.

Then she catches me off guard. “I’m grabbing a drink at El Rincón after this. You look like you could use one. Or you just gonna sit there looking pathetic?” El Rincón’s this dive bar off Calle del Mar, a real hole-in-the-wall spot by the old port. Beer’s cheap, crowd’s mostly old fishermen and broke expats. I’ve had plenty of Estrellas there after crappy days. I blink at her, not sure if she’s for real or just screwing with me. “You don’t even know me,” I say, scratching the back of my neck. “What if I’m some crazy guy?” She rolls her eyes. “If you are, I’ll deal with it. I’ve handled worse. So, you coming or what?” No sweetness in her voice, nothing flirty. Just straight-up, like she doesn’t care one way or another. I probably should’ve said no. I’m wiped out, got an early start tomorrow, and I don’t need to be drinking with some random girl who might be more hassle than she’s worth. But, I don’t know, I’m bored, and something about her attitude just gets to me. Can’t shake it. “Fine,” I say, trying to play it cool, like I don’t care either. “But I’m not buying your drinks.” She lets out this short, rough laugh. “Good. I don’t need your cash.” Then she hops back in her Golf, fires it up, and peels out without even checking if I’m following.

I stand there for a second, feeling like a complete dumbass, then get in my car and drive after her. The streets of Torrevieja are dead quiet this late, just a few drunk tourists stumbling back to their rentals near Playa del Cura, and the odd scooter zipping by. I know the way to El Rincón without even thinking, past the Mercadona on Avenida de las Habaneras, then a left onto the tighter roads by the harbor. When I pull up, her car’s already there, parked all crooked outside the bar like she couldn’t care less about the lines. El Rincón looks the same as always, paint peeling off the sign, a couple of cheap plastic chairs out front where some old dude’s smoking a cigarette and staring into space.

Man, the inside of that place reeked of stale beer and fried calamari, same as always. I spotted Paco behind the bar, this grizzled old guy I’ve seen a million times, just wiping down the counter like he couldn’t care less who walked in. Didn’t even glance my way. Sofia was already tucked into a corner table, a Mahou bottle sitting in front of her, thumbing through her phone like she forgot she even asked me to show up. I snagged a beer from Paco, tossed him a crumpled five-euro note, and plopped down across from her without so much as a “hey, mind if I sit?” She barely looked up, just gave a little nod, like, yeah, of course you’re here. I took a swig and blurted out, “So, what’s your deal?” My voice sounded rougher than I meant it to, probably ‘cause I was still kinda mad at myself for even coming. She just shrugged, eyes still on her phone. “No deal. Didn’t wanna drink by myself tonight. You looked sad enough to drag along.” “Wow, thanks a lot,” I grumbled under my breath, but I didn’t budge. There was something about being there, in that dingy bar with the busted fan humming overhead and the faint sound of waves rolling in from the port, that felt… I don’t know, real. Not awesome, not awful, just… raw, you know?

Finally, she put her phone down and looked at me. Her eyes were dark, sharp, like she could cut right through any nonsense I might try to pull. Out of nowhere, she goes, “You got a girlfriend or anything?” I shook my head. “Nah. You?” That smirk of hers came back, not exactly friendly. “Not into guys like that. But, you know, I’ve got needs.” I didn’t know what to say to that. My brain just kinda froze for a second, trying to figure out if she meant what I thought she did. I’m not a complete idiot, but I’m no smooth operator either. I took another sip of my beer, feeling the cold bottle sweaty in my hand, and tried to act casual. “Yeah, don’t we all,” I mumbled, probably sounding like a total dumbass. She didn’t laugh, didn’t even crack a smile, just kept staring at me. The air between us got thick all of a sudden, not lovey-dovey or anything sappy, just… heavy, like something was about to go down, or maybe it wouldn’t, and I had no clue which way it’d swing. Outside, I could hear the old smoker hacking up a lung, this wet, nasty cough, and the faint clink of bottles as Paco did whatever behind the bar.

Sofia leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, and I couldn’t help but notice her tank top ride up a tiny bit, showing just a sliver of skin above her shorts. I didn’t gawk, okay, maybe I glanced for like half a second, but I wasn’t drooling or nothing. I just… saw it. And I’m pretty sure she caught me looking, ‘cause that smirk of hers got a little sharper, like she’d busted me. “So, Miguel,” she said, using my name for the first time since I told her earlier, her voice low, almost too calm. “You gonna sit there all night acting like you don’t wanna know what’s on my mind, or you gonna ask?” My stomach did this weird flip, not ‘cause I was nervous or anything, but ‘cause I knew whatever came next wasn’t gonna be easy or safe. And honestly, I wasn’t sure I was ready to find out. I shifted in my seat, the cheap plastic creaking under me, and took a long pull from my Mahou. The beer was ice-cold, but it didn’t do a damn thing to cool off this weird heat building up in my chest. Her question just hung there, like a challenge I wasn’t sure I wanted to take on. I’m not some slick guy with a bunch of clever lines up my sleeve. Truth is, I felt a bit out of my league, like I was stepping into something I couldn’t handle. But I wasn’t about to chicken out either, not with her staring at me like that, all sharp and unapologetic.

“What’re you thinking, then?” I finally said, my voice coming out rougher than I wanted. I set the bottle down a little too hard on the sticky table, the glass clinking loud enough to make me cringe a bit. She didn’t even flinch, just tilted her head like she was sizing me up, figuring out if I was worth the hassle. “I’m thinking,” she said, real slow, dragging it out, “that I’m bored as hell, and you’re here, and maybe we could do something about that.” Her eyes didn’t waver, didn’t soften one bit. It wasn’t some sweet invite; it was more like she was stating a fact, like she’d already decided and I was just playing catch-up. My throat felt tight, and I swallowed hard, trying to wrap my head around if I’d heard her right. I mean, I’m not clueless, I got what she was hinting at, but it still hit me like a slap, straight-up and raw. I scratched the back of my neck, dumb habit I can’t kick, and tried to keep my face from giving me away. “Yeah? Like what?” I asked, playing dumb, stalling for time. My heart was thumping now, not out of fear or anything, but ‘cause there was this buzz in the air, this pull I couldn’t shake off.

Sofia didn’t answer right off. She just stood up, grabbed her empty bottle, and jerked her chin toward the door. “C’mon. Not here.” I didn’t argue. Didn’t even overthink it. I chugged the rest of my beer in one go, tossed a couple euros on the table for Paco, and followed her out. The night air smacked me as soon as we stepped outside El Rincón, cooler than inside but still kinda muggy, with that salty smell from the harbor hanging around. The old smoker was still out there, hunched over on a plastic chair, cigarette glowing in the dark. He didn’t look at us, and I didn’t give a crap. Sofia didn’t head for her car like I figured she might. Nah, she walked right past it, cutting down this narrow alley off Calle del Mar, her flip-flops smacking against the cracked pavement. I trailed behind, my work boots clomping way louder, feeling like some awkward jackass just tagging along.

Man, that alley was barely lit, just a couple of flickering streetlights throwing long, creepy shadows everywhere. It reeked like piss and rotting trash, probably from those nasty bins behind the bar, but honestly, I didn’t give a damn. My eyes were glued to her, how her shoulders swayed, how those shorts clung to her ass as she walked ahead. I swear I’m not some creep, okay, it’s just… hard not to notice, you know? She stopped right at the end of the alley, where it spilled out into this little gravel lot by the port. You know, the kind of sketchy spot where kids probably sneak off to smoke weed or whatever. There was this low concrete wall, all chipped up and covered in graffiti, stuff like “Javi 2021” and some badly drawn dick. She leaned against it, arms crossed, and gave me that same intense, challenging look. “So,” she said, her voice low, almost like a growl, “you in or not?” No games, no messing around. My mouth went dry as hell, but I nodded and stepped closer. “Yeah. I’m in.” I didn’t even know exactly what I was signing up for, not the details anyway, but my feet were moving like they’d already made up their mind before my head did.

She didn’t smile or say another word. Just reached out, grabbed the front of my polo, and yanked me toward her. Our mouths smashed together, rough and sloppy, teeth clacking for a second ‘til we figured out the angle. She tasted like cheap beer and something kinda minty, gum from earlier, maybe, and her lips were rough, chapped, not all soft and perfect like in movies. Didn’t care one bit. My hands went to her hips, gripping through the denim of her shorts, feeling the heat of her skin underneath. Her hands slid up to my shoulders, then one got tangled in my hair, pulling just hard enough to sting a little. It wasn’t sweet or gentle, just raw and hungry, like we both had something to get out of our systems. I pushed her back against the wall, not rough but firm, and she let out a quick grunt without breaking the kiss. My knee kinda nudged between her legs on instinct, no real plan, and she shifted, pressing against it, her breath catching for a split second. I could feel myself getting hard already, straining against my jeans, and I’m pretty sure she noticed ‘cause she ground her hips forward, rubbing against me in a way that made my head spin. “Fuck,” I mumbled into her mouth, and she let out this low, rough laugh, more like a huff. “Shut up,” she snapped, but there was this heat in her voice, this need.

Her hands dropped to my belt, fumbling with the buckle, fingers quick but kinda clumsy, like she was impatient as hell. I let her do her thing while my hands slid under her tank top, finding bare skin, a little sweaty from the sticky, humid night. Her stomach wasn’t some flat, toned thing, just soft, real, and I liked that way more than I thought I would. I shoved the fabric up higher, exposing her bra, plain black, no fancy lace or anything, and she didn’t stop me, just arched a little to make it easier. My belt finally came loose with a little clink, and she tugged at my jeans, popping the button and dragging the zipper down. I groaned, low in my throat, when her hand slipped inside, over my boxers, grabbing me through the fabric. She wasn’t gentle, just gripped hard, stroking once, twice, sizing me up. “Not bad,” she muttered, almost like she was talking to herself, and I wasn’t sure if I should feel good about that or annoyed. Didn’t have time to overthink it, though, ‘cause my hands were busy too, shoving at her shorts, trying to get them down over her hips. They were tight as hell, got stuck for a second, and we both kinda fumbled, half-laughing, half-cursing under our breath. Finally, they slid down to her thighs, showing plain cotton panties, damp right in the middle. I could smell her, musky and sharp, not bad at all, just… real, and it hit me in a way I didn’t see coming, made my mouth water.

I hooked a finger under the waistband of her panties, pulling them aside, not even bothering to take ‘em off. Her pussy was right there, dark hair trimmed short, lips already slick when I brushed my fingers over her. She hissed, grabbing my wrist, not to stop me, but to push me harder, showing me where she wanted it. “Don’t tease,” she snapped, and I didn’t. I rubbed circles over her clit, feeling her twitch under my touch. My other hand was on her tit now, squeezing through the bra, feeling her nipple hard even through the fabric. She was breathing fast, shallow little gasps, and so was I, my dick throbbing in my boxers, still stuck there ‘til she decided to do something about it. Then, outta nowhere, she shoved my hand away, not ‘cause she didn’t like it, but ‘cause she was done waiting. Her fingers hooked into my boxers, yanking them down just enough to free me. My cock sprang out, hard as hell, and she wrapped her hand around it, skin on skin this time, her grip tight, almost too damn tight. I grunted, hips jerking forward on their own, and she smirked with that same sharp look before spitting into her palm and stroking me for real. The wet slide of her hand, the rough calluses on her fingers, it was messy, not perfect, but fuck, it felt good.

I pushed closer, pinning her harder against the wall, one hand bracing on the concrete next to her head. My jeans were still half-on, bunched at my thighs, and her shorts were tangled around her knees, but neither of us gave a shit. I slid my fingers back down between her legs, pushing two inside her without warning, feeling how wet and tight she was. She gasped, a sharp, real sound, and her hand tightened on my dick, almost painful. “Fuck, go easy,” she muttered, but her hips rocked against my hand, telling me she didn’t really mean it. We were a damn mess, grinding against each other, half-dressed in this shitty alley by the port, the faint sound of waves mixing with our heavy breathing.

Man, I could feel it building already, this pressure, my balls tightening way too damn quick, but I didn’t wanna stop, not even close. I slid my fingers out, all slick and shiny, and grabbed her thigh, kinda pulling her leg up to hook around my hip. She caught on fast, wrapping it tighter, opening herself up more for me. My dick brushed against her, just bare, no condom or anything, and for like half a second, I thought about saying something, asking, you know? But she didn’t say a word, just yanked me closer, her hand guiding me right where she wanted. I pushed in slow at first, just the tip, feeling her stretch around me, so hot and wet and stupidly tight. She let out this low moan, her head tipping back against the wall, and I couldn’t help it, I thrust deeper, not soft, not careful, just needing to be all the way in. Her nails dug into my shoulder through my shirt, these sharp little stabs of pain, and I groaned, my hips snapping forward harder. We weren’t even in rhythm, not really, just kinda fumbling through it, but who cares? It was raw, messy, real as hell, the kind of thing you don’t overthink ‘til way later.

Her other leg tried to come up, wrap around me, but the angle was all wrong, and we damn near tipped over, my boots slipping a bit on the gravel. I caught us just in time, one hand slamming against the wall, the other under her ass, holding her up as best I could. We kept going, still fucking, her breath hot and panting against my neck, my dick buried deep, feeling every little clench of her around me. Then, out of nowhere, she bit down on my shoulder, hard as hell, not playful at all, like she needed something to grip onto. I grunted, that pain mixing with the heat of her pussy squeezing me, and it shoved me way closer to the edge than I wanted, way too fast. No way I was lasting, not with her moving like that, her hips jerking against mine, her breathing all ragged and uneven. My jeans were still half-down, rubbing rough against my thighs every time I moved, and her shorts were tangled somewhere around her ankles now, one flip-flop gone, probably kicked off into the gravel. Didn’t care. She didn’t either.

“Harder,” she hissed, her voice cutting sharp through the fog in my brain. Her hands were on my back, nails scratching through my polo, probably leaving marks I’d feel tomorrow. I didn’t argue, just slammed into her with everything I had, the concrete wall scraping my knuckles where I braced myself. Her body jolted with every thrust, her tits bouncing under that cheap bra, and I could feel the sweat between us, my shirt sticking to my chest, her skin all damp under my hands. She smelled like salt and something sharp, maybe some cheap body spray, mixed with the gross alley stink of garbage and sea air from the port nearby. It wasn’t sexy, not like in some dumb movie, just real, gritty, like life always is.

I shifted, trying to hoist her higher against the wall, get a better angle or whatever. One of her legs slipped a little, and she muttered, “Mierda,” under her breath as we fumbled to fix it. My dick slid out for a second, all slick with her, and I could see it in the dim streetlight, red, hard, glistening with her wetness, veins popping like I hadn’t been this turned on in forever. She didn’t even wait, just grabbed me with one hand, guiding me back in, impatient as hell, her fingers sticky as they brushed against me. I pushed in again, deeper this time, feeling her walls clench tight, and she made this sound, half-moan, half-growl, that twisted something in my gut. I wasn’t thinking about anything but her, the way she sucked me in, all wet and hot, the friction building with every sloppy thrust. No condom, no nothing, just skin on skin, and yeah, I knew it was stupid, knew it somewhere in the back of my head, but right then? Didn’t give a shit. Neither did she, I guess, ‘cause she didn’t say a damn thing about it, just kept moving with me, hips rolling, chasing whatever she was after.

I could tell she was getting close, her breaths shorter, sharper, her body tensing up under me. My hand slid down between us, clumsy as hell, finding her clit again, rubbing hard with my thumb, not fancy, just pressure, ‘cause I wanted her to come before I completely lost it. “Fuck, yes, there,” she gasped, her voice cracking a bit, and her head tipped back, hitting the wall with a dull little thunk. Her eyes were half-shut, mouth open, and I watched her face twist as she came, not pretty or whatever, just raw, teeth gritted, this low, guttural sound ripping out of her. Her pussy clamped down on me, pulsing hard, and that was it, I couldn’t hold back, didn’t even try. I thrust once, twice more, hard and uneven, and then I was coming too, spilling inside her, hot and thick, my balls tightening as I groaned into her neck. It wasn’t some big, dramatic thing, just a release, messy and fast, my hips jerking through the aftershocks as I emptied into her.

We stayed like that for a few seconds, just panting, stuck together by sweat and… well, everything else, my dick still half-hard inside her. My legs felt shaky, like I’d just run a damn mile, and my back was screaming from holding her up against that wall. Her legs slid down slow, feet hitting the gravel, and I pulled out, feeling the wet mess drip between us, some on my jeans, some on her thighs. She didn’t even flinch, didn’t say a word, just tugged her panties back into place, not bothering to clean up or anything. I stuffed myself back into my boxers, zipping up with hands that felt like they weren’t even mine. There was cum and her wetness on my fingers, all sticky, and I just wiped them on my shirt without thinking, not giving a crap. She bent down, grabbing her shorts and yanking them up, struggling a little with the tight denim.

Man, her hair was all over the place, strands plastered to her sweaty forehead, and she just looked… regular, you know? Not some glowing goddess or any of that nonsense, just a person who’d messed around in an alley and was ready to get on with her night. I didn’t have a clue what to say, didn’t even wanna open my mouth, and honestly, she didn’t seem to care either way. She spotted her missing flip-flop a couple feet off, kicked it back on her foot, and stood up straight, wiping her hands like she’d just finished washing dishes or something. “Alright,” she said, her voice flat as hell, not a drop of warmth or anything in it. “I’m going back to my car. Gotta work early.” Didn’t even glance at me while she said it, just started walking up the alley toward Calle del Mar, her steps all steady like nothing had even happened.

I just stood there for a beat, feeling this dull ache in my back, the damp patch on my jeans, and this weird hollow thing in my chest. Not sad, not regret, just… empty, I guess. Didn’t call after her, didn’t try to chase her down. What was I gonna say anyway? It’s not like we were about to exchange numbers or act like this was some big deal. I fiddled with my belt, the buckle clinking way too loud in the quiet, and took a quick look around the gravel lot. That dumb graffiti on the wall was staring right at me, some stupid drawing of a dick that looked even lamer now than it did earlier. I could hear the faint sound of waves lapping at the harbor, a scooter buzzing off somewhere down Avenida de las Habaneras. My skin felt all sticky, shirt damp with sweat, and I knew I’d probably smell like her the whole drive back to Guardamar. Didn’t bug me, though. Didn’t feel like much of anything was bugging me right then.

I started walking back to my Skoda, parked outside El Rincón, my boots crunching on the uneven pavement. That old smoker guy was gone, just left a nasty ashtray full of cigarette butts on the plastic chair. Through the grimy window of the bar, I could see Paco still wiping down the counter, looking as bored as ever. Sofia’s Golf was already pulling out of its crooked parking spot, headlights slicing through the dark as she turned onto the main road without so much as a glance back. Didn’t wave, didn’t even think about it. Just unlocked my car, slid into the driver’s seat, and sat there for a minute, staring at the dashboard like an idiot. My phone buzzed in my pocket, probably my boss texting about tomorrow’s delivery schedule or some crap. Didn’t bother checking it. Instead, I reached into the glove compartment, grabbed a half-empty pack of Ducados, and lit one up, cracking the window just enough to let the smoke drift out into the sticky night air.

That first drag burned my throat, bitter as hell, but familiar, you know? I exhaled real slow, watching the gray haze float up toward the ceiling. Then, without really thinking about it, I turned the key in the ignition. The engine sputtered to life like it always does, and I pulled out onto the road, heading north toward home. Somewhere up ahead, a seagull let out this loud, pointless screech over the empty lot by Playa del Cura. Just another noise in the night, I guess.