Barcelona Beauties Ch. 03

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Hairy

Note: The first installment of Barcelona beauties describes all the characters and how the story began.

3: Llora

After the bout with Carmen, I noticed that the women who had taken me for granted seemed to regard me with a more appreciative eye. In general they were more chummy with me. Bilan didn’t warm up much and Chhaya was afraid to meet my gaze but everyone else showed me real warmth. Maybe it was just the portraits and the cooking but I didn’t think so. One day I was in the kitchen when I heard Yara enter the dining room and ask Farah, “Is the stud cooking tonight?”

“Oh yeah, Dr. Love is making sauce.”

They laughed and then I heard Yara say, “Oh shit, is he…?” And then I didn’t hear anything else.

At any rate I was now firmly entrenched in the house, and not just the patio, by virtue of my culinary skills which were now deemed indispensable to a decent meal. One evening I was cooking with Llora. She was helping me practice Catalan while showing me how to make fideu, a dish similar to the more famous paella but made with small noodles instead of rice. She was a kind and open person, and really attractive although eclipsed by the glamour or intensity of some of the other women.

Everyone gathered for a glass of wine (except Chhaya who didn’t drink) while we waited for the fideu. I opened a nice bottle of Penedès from the region and poured refills for those who needed them. Farah was already buzzed and called out, “yoo-hoo, houseboy, I require service.”

I gave her a look and said, “be careful what you ask for,” getting a laugh from the others at Farah’s expense. Farah brushed off the teasing and thanked me for the wine in a less boisterous voice. Farah probably rubbed some people the wrong way but I really didn’t mind her loudness. In a way, her volume matched her appearance with her hot cocoa body, wild Short links hair and emerald eyes. Besides, I certainly didn’t mind being teased by such a beauty.

Llora came out with the fideu, pa amb tomàquet (crusty bread rubbed with tomato), and asparagus with romesco sauce. Everyone praised Llora’s cooking and she was quick to acknowledge my contribution even though I had really just followed her directions.

Llora went on, “and Claude already speaks Catalan, and he’s only been here four months.” She was being generous about my language skills but I appreciated the encouragement.

Sylvie put in, “I would like to learn it. It is very close to Provencal which my grandmother speaks. I don’t know when I will have time.”

Farah scoffed, “well it’s not a very useful language and its not pretty at all. Besides they all speak Spanish so why bother?”

I saw Llora’s face fall. She was deeply hurt and turned away. Now I was pissed at Farah. “Farah,” I said. “what you said is very hurtful. The Catalan language was banned during the dictatorship and even afterwards many people felt ashamed to speak their own native tongue in their own land” (I had learned the history in class.) “English, Spanish or French aren’t in danger of extinction,” I continued, “but Catalan was headed that way. I think we should respect and support the efforts to maintain the Catalan language.”

Wow. I had just given a political speech and corrected the bossy Farah. Sylvie put in, “Claude is right. Provencal is dying out and it’s probably too late to save it. My grandmother is very sad to think about it.”

Llora was quietly crying and went out to the patio. Farah tried to defend herself, saying, “I didn’t mean to offend anyone, I was just…”

“Farah, unless the next thing that comes out of your mouth is an apology, I think you should Short link just be quiet,” said Carmen forcefully. I was still mad that Farah had wounded Llora in this way and then tried to make excuses. I followed Llora onto the patio.

Llora’s eyes were still teary. She spoke to me in Catalan: “I so appreciate what you said. After all my parents and grandparents went through in the Civil War and the dictatorship, to be told that everything they suffered is, is frivolous…” I was amazed that I understood her perfectly.

I took Llora’s hand to comfort her and spoke to her in halting Catalan: “I feel bad about this.”

“You have nothing to feel bad about,” she interrupted. “By saying what you said and by making the effort to learn…” Llora started to cry again and I held her to me. Llora hugged me tightly and let out a sigh. Her full breasts pressed against my chest and she laid her head on my shoulder. “Let’s go for a walk,” she suggested.

Speaking (mostly in Catalan) about our lives and the world, Llora and I walked hand in hand to the cathedral, to the plaça Sant Jaume, and down the narrow lanes where we got lost and found again several times until about one in the morning when we returned to the house.

In the dark patio, Llora turned to me and said: “I thought that you and Vesna…but she said that she doesn’t want a boyfriend. And then with Carmen. But she also said that it is not like that. I also, don’t want a boyfriend. But I don’t want to be alone tonight. You are so kind. Will you…?”

“Of course,” I consented. I found Llora attractive but with her laidback energy I was still thinking that she just wanted to snuggle all night. I could live with that.

When we got to Llora’s room there was a note on the door from Farah. It read: “Em sap greu” or, “I’m sorry,” in Catalan. Llora and I smiled at each other. She closed the door and slowly removed her clothes. She didn’t try to be seductive and somehow that was just a new kind of hotness to me. Naked in the moonlight coming through the window, Llora approached me and gently removed my clothes. She embraced me and rubbed her soft breasts against me. She gently kissed my neck and then my lips.

“I’m still on my period,” she said without embarrassment. “But I would like to please you.”

Llora slid her hand down to my cock, already standing at attention. She gently pushed me to sit down on the bed and then knelt before me, gazing at my cock while she held it softly. Llora then put her mouth next to my cock and breathed on it. I could feel the heat coming from her mouth and she hadn’t even touched me with her lips. She then rubbed her silky black hair over my cock while holding my balls with both hands. This made me so hard I could have almost cum right in her hair. Then Llora breathed on my cock again, and placed her tongue against the tip of my cock, tapping the head with her tongue while breathing on it and slowly stroking me with her soft hands.

Her stroking became regular and the tapping became licking and soon my cock head was dripping with Llora’s saliva and my precum. This sexual encounter was almost more like meditation than what I had thought of as hot sex. But Llora’s technique kept me on the edge for ages.

When I finally came it was like an electric jolt. Llora kept licking my cock head while I pumped out my cum into her mouth and all over her lips. Llora closed her eyes in pleasure and rubbed my wet cock on her face until I was soft again.

“Lie down” she softly directed me and went out to the bathroom. When she returned she smelled freshly washed. Llora took a warm wet washcloth and gently cleaned my cock, and balls and even my ass. When she lay down beside me, Llora said, “You have the other women. I don’t want to ask anything. But if I can ever give you pleasure. I would like to take care of you.” I fell asleep in perfect peace.

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