Barcelona, My Cruel Mistress: The Big O

By A.C. Johnson

Based on the erotic adventures of A.C. Johnson, "The Big O" is the first book in the BARCELONA, MY CRUEL MISTRESS series. As a Canadian living and loving in the sumptuous Spanish city, she began operating under the premise that when practiced respectfully, sex is good. Pleasure is good. Life is good. This saucy memoir explores her successes and monumental failures in her first exhilarating steps off the erotic beaten path.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Sep 16, 2014
• ISBN: 9781312525672

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Barcelona, My Cruel Mistress: The Big O

BARCELONA, MY CRUEL MISTRESS: The Big O

Copyright © 2014, by A.C. Johnson

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher.

ISBN: 978-1-312-52567-2

PART ONE

The Game

Unnggghh..., he grunted into his cell phone. His breath was increasingly punctuated by guttural noises, indicating that for him at least, the afternoon's juego[1] had begun. Rhythmic thumping left no doubt that he was already touching himself. Big surprise. I had first seen him on the webcam a couple of weeks earlier and since then his hand had rarely left his cock zone in my virtual presence. I had no trouble imagining it then. He would be sitting behind the locked door of his home office somewhere down the Mediterranean coast toward Sitges. His terrycloth robe would be flung open, with one expert fist kneading his scrotum and thickening shaft, while the other gripped the phone. Will you take me all in your mouth? he finally managed in accented English. The last girl who took all was Canadian, like you. Mmmmmmm…I love Canadians. You get horny when I deep fuck your face? 

I followed his tacky porno monologue as politely as I could manage. I was the one to initiate the game, after all. I had asked him to be specific about his expectations for our upcoming adventure, but just then I was not in the mood for porno-bimbo role playing. He continued with the sexy talk, ignoring my obvious disinterest,  Will you swallow all my hot cum? Mmmmmmmmm... More guttural noises followed, apparently expressing more than any words could. The fact of the matter was that this face-fucking fantasy he was suddenly so keen on was of little interest to me. The correlation between watering eyes and gagging tonsils, and my sexual pleasure, was absurd. Heh. Heh. I offered, a nondescript chortle meant to mark my position as vaguely as possible. He was so deeply absorbed in his pleasure by then, that he probably wouldn't even have noticed if I'd hung up the phone.

I was aware that I was using him with these juegos[2], and I admit to feeling the odd pang of guilt about it. But now he was talking about swallowing cum? This concept was fine for fantasy play, but the idea of me gargling this stranger's spunk in real life? That was beyond ludicrous. Even without knowing the full details of his sexual lifestyle, my instincts told me that this was not a risk worth taking. In fact, I was not at all certain of what games, if any, I would be up to playing with him in person. It all depended on our chemistry: the way our skins felt together, and how that match would play out was anyone's guess. 

What was clear was that Agus had materialized at a very opportune moment in my life. It would not have been an exaggeration (though I am prone to exaggerate) to say that my whole life had been leading up to that moment. After some steady victories, as well as few notable setbacks, my quest for sexual liberation was finally in full swing -quite literally. I was preparing to meet my biggest challenge yet: my first taste test of Barcelona's Swinger scene. I fancied myself to be on the highest of moral missions, a sort of sexual crusade to the mystical realm of the perverted. As I'd imagined it (and I am prone to imaginings), in this holy land of libertinism I would be forever changed; irrevocably opened in some way I could not yet articulate, but longed for. I had to know what kind of people could be found at the idealogical heart of the that community. What inspired their desire to live so far outside the bounds of traditional relationships? More importantly, was that a lifestyle that could work for me? What would it feel like to abandon myself to a room of naked partner-swappers? I knew that to advance further in my quest, I needed answers to these and other questions that had been forming during my last fevered months of sexual experimentation.

Mmmmmmmm... You like cum? Agus tried again to elicit my participation in his cumtastic reverie. I shifted strategies and tried distracting him with the practicalities of our first face-to-face -or cock-to-face, as he was apparently imagining.

Errr...Where shall we meet? I asked, keeping the growing distaste from my voice. I feel ready to take this step with you. I did, and I was. It was a step down a road I was dying to travel, but this was not how I was meant to be traveling it, or at least it wasn't how I'd been imaging it for so long.

---

[1]  game 

[2]  games

The Guide

I had first been introduced to the concept of swinging by my now long-vanished lover we'll call, C. Yes, The Mysterious Mr. C was a most worldly lover and so with very little time and effort, he managed to set my world ablaze with passion, only to later leave me floundering in the ashes. Ours is a truly remarkable story that must be told, but it deserves a book of its own. For purposes of this current tale, let's just say I fell deeply in love and matured exponentially under the sexual tutelage of that man. He had spent the last twenty years of his forty-some in the liberal mecca of Amsterdam, partaking in every kind of kinky activity known to man. He was a veritable encyclopedia of sexual knowledge, and possessed a highly enlightened way of perceiving love; though as it turned out, his methodology was profoundly flawed.

Upon first hearing C's beautiful tales of swinging and the kinds of human interactions that took place within that movement, my fate was sealed. Having a Swinger encounter became my love-life's central objective, toward which all my lesser endeavors were angled. I still had my work cut out for me though. I would need some time to prepare for an adventure so full of potential emotional triggers and tests of my self-esteem. By late December of my third year in Barcelona I finally felt ready, but as C was about to stage one of his cruel disappearing acts -this time leaving me to think he'd gone off to die of cancer- my aspirations would have to wait some months more. I didn't give up though, despite my devastation at the loss of my lover, and my rage when I finally had to admit  he'd lied to me. I resolved to keep moving forward, not relinquishing my ambitions because my guide had left his post. Anyway, the solution was not so complicated. I only needed to find another willing soul to accompany me where I could not yet conceive of going alone.

Agustino had fulfilled the minimum requirements for the job. He was no stranger to the Swingers scene, he was willing to wait -only slightly impatiently- until I was ready, and overall he gave me a good vibe. In his photo and video images he appeared handsome. He was rapado[3] (the preferred term for the large population of Spanish men who suffer the effects of an early balding gene). He had chic, look-at-me-I’m-a-modern-metrosexual glasses and a decent body that sagged a little, but looked good for his forty-one years. His sexual appetite was immense, that much was obvious by the frequency and exuberance with which he exhibited himself on his webcam. Mostly, he didn’t find it necessary to show me his face while pleasuring himself. Only occasionally would he zoom out to let me see the grimace of his wolf teeth as he came, allegedly thinking about me through all those ones and zeros.

In all truth, he had reminded me of the worldly Mr. C. Maybe that’s why I trusted him (not that C was trustworthy, of course) and chose him above the other candidates. Though that unsexy talk debacle cast some doubt upon