by Unknown
I have to admit that I got pissed in the English pub. Well, it was happy hour, and pisco sours are a lot more alcoholic than I had thought judging from the one I had as an aperitif in the posh seafood restaurant in Miraflores. The trouble is, once you launch into a series of five of anything made from a large measure of spirits, getting pissed is fairly inevitable.
But I’m not a quitter and managed a couple of beers with dinner, where we had a great time, getting mixed up in a multinational group of fellow backpackers. It set the tone for the next few days, though apart from the booze and the laughs we managed to do the local sightseeing and explored the valley, which was breathtaking. Finally when Robbie was on one of his daily trips to the internet café – he was a real line freak – Red and I spent the afternoon in my room.
The S&M crowd use the expression ‘vanilla sex’ to describe normal straight sex. I suddenly found out why. Fucking Red was really nice, or as he would say, rilly, rilly nice, but after Carlos it lacked a bit of edge, a bit of spice. I tried not to make comparisons, though, and did enjoy taking charge myself, which after being totally helpless and passive was great. I rode him every way I knew how, with the holdups having him almost creaming his combats before he even got inside me – girlies in black stockings being, frankly, rare on the backpacker circuit.
And man, was he big. If ever a man was well named, etc. Everything else about him was, so I shouldn’t have been surprised by the girth and length of his cock. The first time we fucked, after he’d calmed down at the sight of the stockings, I was happy purely to sit on him for a few minutes, moving minutely, just to feel the rock-solid hugeness of him inside me. He got off even more on my admiration – I suppose Australian girls are a bit tight with the compliments – and it was good. You could even say that after Carlos it was unrestrained, abandoned lust, but something was missing . . . such as the restraints.
It was inevitable that we would team up for the Inca Trail. The guys had a big tent – they had to, otherwise the two of them wouldn’t fit in it – and said one more wouldn’t make much difference. We queued up for our train tickets and set off before the crack of dawn one Monday morning.
The train journey was surreal. Women in traditional dress got on at every stop, selling all sorts of food. One sat almost opposite us carving slices off a lump of hot roast meat, just there on her lap, and you had to wonder what else had been on that skirt; the smell was not appetising. The train filled up and people sat on the floor, even one woman nursing a baby. Then we got to kilometre 88, the start of the trail, and shouldering our rucksacks we picked our way as delicately as we could through the mob, fearful the train would set off again with us still on it.
The first day’s walking was fairly easy and we stopped at a campsite along with several others who had been on the train. You’re not supposed to build fires on the trail but a group of crazy French guys did anyway – I guess that’s why they’re insisting on people going in organised groups – and after we’d eaten our packet soup and pasta everyone gathered round it. One of the French guys had, believe it or not, a guitar and played old Simon and Garfunkel songs, in which thanks to my hippy mother I was word perfect.
Red kept plucking at my sleeve and suggesting we turn in, obviously wanting to screw before Robbie joined us, but I was having too much fun. By the time tiredness kicked in, and I always find that without drink it seems to do so earlier than usual, Robbie was already heading into the bushes with his torch for a last pee.
Modesty has to go out of the window when you’re three in a tent, and I didn’t think Robbie was looking, or even interested, as I stripped off my bra to put on the fine cotton Indian top I wore as a nightshirt. It was easy enough to wriggle out of my knickers while in the sleeping bag. But after turning over and back six times, Red reached over and pulled my hand on to his cock, which was doing a pretty good impersonation of Huayna Picchu, the phallus-shaped mountain behind Macchu Picchu itself.
‘He’s asleep,’ he whispered. ‘Bliss, I’m dying to get inside you. Look, he’s got his back to us.’
OK, it was tacky. But he did have his back to us, and if you’ve ever camped you’ll know that lying almost on the bare earth with just a canvas roof over you brings out the most elemental urges. As I had tried every position but the missionary with Red I lay on my back and submitted to him, raising my arms above my head and moaning with gratitude when he grasped them firmly in one hand.
‘Hey, keep the noise down, guys,’ said Robbie. I froze, but his voice was tolerant and almost amused. Red smiled down and winked at me as his cock nudged at me. I wasn’t really ready for him and he realised and spat on his hand and rubbed the slippery wetness over my clit with feathery strokes.
There was movement from Robbie’s direction and his torch clicked on. The next thing was the sound of his voice, reading from one of the guidebooks. I guessed he was just trying to forestall any embarrassment on either side by drowning us out but let me tell you when there’s one hand holding your wrists together and one teasing your clit, the smell of a campfire outside and someone still strumming on the guitar, the addition of a deep, husky voice with an Australian accent talking about Incas only feet away is enough to get you there. I lifted my legs to pull Red inside me as I felt my muscles ready to pulse and as his cock rearranged the flesh of my now-wet pussy the muscles exploded around him.
Try as I might to keep quiet I couldn’t stop a low moan escape from my throat as the orgasm tore through me. At the same time, feeling the strength of my contractions around his cock, Red let out a startled ‘Jesus!’ and Robbie turned up the volume and his voice washed over me with the helpless convulsions of my sex and I was in Inca heaven.
The next day’s walk was hard. As we climbed higher we got slower and were easily overtaken by porters carrying around three packs each for the wimps in the tour groups. More than once I regretted hooking up with the guys as otherwise I’d be swinging along with nothing but a daypack, able to appreciate the flowers in the cloud forest rather than the load on my back.
Robbie acted as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened the night before and while Red was chatting with a couple of Uruguayan guys in Spanish I decided to bite the bullet.
‘What you were reading last night, about the Incas, that’s so amazing. That they were so many and were just conquered so quickly by so few Spaniards; how on earth did it happen?’
‘This book’s got a theory about that. After you’d finished I carried on reading it.’
‘Look, I hope you weren’t embarrassed,’ I interrupted. ‘Just say, honestly.’
He turned to me, smiling conspiratorially. ‘No worries, Bliss. I quite enjoyed it. How about you?’
‘Shit. You know what, Robbie? Your voice gave it that little edge, you know?’
He gave a gravelly laugh. ‘And do you know what, Bliss? You’re starting to sound like an Aussie.’
‘Yeah, well, I’m one of life’s natural mimics,’ I sighed, trying not to make it sound like a question.
‘Sure. Well I’ll read to you tonight too if you like.’
‘So what is this theory about the Incas?’
‘Well, there’s two options. One is that they thought the Spanish were Gods and so they bowed before them. The other is that they read in the stars that their time had come to an end and so just gave up.’
‘Wow. So what else have you got to read?’
He laughed again. ‘Wait and see.’
It turned out nobody was in the mood for reading, or sex, that night. Despite coping reasonably well with climbing to over 14,000 feet, we were all knackered when we got to the campsite. After cooking the pasta we turned in and I don’t think I was the only one to go straight to sleep.
The following night, however, we felt a bit better. For one thing we had been mainly descending, and for another we had reached the hotel where we got chicken and chips for dinner rather than pasta, washed down with cold, delicious beer. Whether it was due to a couple of days’ abstinence or t
he altitude had made us lightheaded, after a couple of bottles we were all a bit giggly and ready to call it a day.
It was still early and not completely dark as we got into the sleeping bags. I wondered if Red was horny, because I certainly was. Without waiting to see if there was anything to drown out, Robbie began reading aloud. Seeing as Red didn’t complain that he was trying to sleep, I guessed he was feeling the same way and reached out. Even through the sleeping bag I could feel his hardness and in the dim light he smiled and unzipped the bag.
He made to move towards me but I beat him to it and straddled him, bending to kiss him long and hard. His hands came up to my breasts and he rubbed my nipples through the thin cotton, then pinched them harder. I liked it but as he’d had a cold shower in the hostel I decided I wanted a taste of him and slid down and settled my mouth around his cock. Starting to suck him gently I was able to concentrate on what Robbie was saying just inches away from me.
‘The Inca priests selected the prettiest young girls to train for priestesshood. The first of the initiation rites was conducted by the priestesses. The girls, all virgins, would be bound naked in the inner sanctum of the temple and anointed with precious oil on their breasts and vaginal area. Their clitorises would be stimulated so that they reached orgasm, and this went on day after day so that they became accustomed to climaxing quickly. In the second phase the oil was applied to the anus and the priestesses would gently insert a gold phallus into it in imitation of copulation, which would continue until the phalluses could be inserted easily.’
Never mind the trainee priestesses, my juices were flowing like a mountain stream. Robbie must have picked that passage of the book deliberately to get me going. I didn’t know whether or not Red was listening or whether he was just enjoying my mouth action, but when he whispered, ‘Turn round, Bliss,’ I was more than happy to oblige and lowered myself happily over his mouth. It gave me a chance to notice that Robbie had abandoned his face to the tent wall position, however, and was interspersing his reading with looking unashamedly at us. As Red’s tongue started to lap at my clit I decided I had no shame either and before getting down to his cock again I smiled at Robbie and moulded my hands round my tits like a page three girl. He smiled back and went on with his reading.
‘The girls would then practise the masturbation and anal penetration with each other, as once they reached the priesthood they would be required to train the new initiates. Finally they were taught the arts of love by performing cunnilingus on the priestesses and each other, and then they were taught how to perform fellatio on the phalluses.’
Inspired by the Inca rites and Red’s questing tongue my own performance of fellatio was practically deep throat, though with the size of Red’s real live phallus there was only so far it could go. It was far enough for him, however, as he lifted me off his face and I knew he wanted me down on his cock, right now. He unwrapped the rubber and passed it to me and without losing any more time I put it on and sank down happily on to his magnitude. Sure, I could have turned and faced him, but that wasn’t what I wanted. What I wanted was to half turn so I could watch Robbie watching us; I could hardly have turned away from Red if we were face to face.
‘Once the initiates were deemed to be experts in the art of love, the priest would initiate them. Two at a time they would come to him and demonstrate to him their ability to please each other with hands and tongues. They then took turns to excite the priest with their mouths and once he was fully aroused they would be bent over the stone altar and he would penetrate one and then the other. However they were not worthy of receiving his seed and the priestess who had initiated them would receive that from the priest.’
Robbie had moved forwards in his sleeping bag and put the book down as, moving slowly up and down on Red’s prick, I lifted my top over my head and held my arms up, my wrists tangled in the cotton, knotted at the nape of my neck. His eyes were on my tits. I dropped the top and massaged them as he picked up the book again, though he kept glancing up at me.
‘The new priestesses would remain, technically, virgins unless one was chosen as the sacrifice, which was every new moon. Then before plunging the dagger in her breast the priest would penetrate her vagina. He would manually stimulate her to orgasm when he reached it himself and the death blow would come at the moment of their mutual climax.’
I had started my own manual stimulation before he’d even got to that point and moved faster and more urgently up and down on Red’s cock. Not long after the priest and priestess reached their mutual climax so did Red and I.
Breathless, I peeled myself off Red and putting my top on got back in to my sleeping bag, suddenly feeling slightly embarrassed at my wanton exhibitionism.
‘I never read that bit before,’ said Red ingenuously as he tied the condom tight. ‘What book’s that in, mate?’
Robbie laughed his throaty, almost dirty, laugh. ‘The one in my head, mate.’
Well, we had to laugh, though silently I blessed him for his shrewd instincts at what turned me on. I wondered if voyeurism was reward enough for him, or whether I should give him a special treat in thanks. But not yet.
Chapter Four
Dear Kip, Have managed to get over Carlos and the thrills of bondeeism/bondageism – what the hell – with a new hobby, exhibitionism. Really owe you now, not only for introducing me to Carlos and so the first, but also for putting Rachel out of action so that I can indulge in the second. PS Macchu Picchu is stunning.
I was in the restaurant of the Macchu Picchu hotel, having lunched with the French Simon and Garfunkel fans, and lingered over coffee with a couple of postcards. Red and Robbie had deemed the set price menu too expensive and had wandered back up to the ruins with the remains of our trek food: stale rolls, a tin of tuna and some disgusting local chocolate. I wasn’t going to let a few quid stand in the way of my awesome Macchu Picchu experience so we’d gone our own way for a bit.
I’m an artist, not a writer, and there was no way I could put the day into words, hence the flippant card. The walk to the sun gate, the first sight of the ruins and the magical atmosphere had captivated me like nothing ever before, and I wasn’t going to attempt to describe it. In part that was why I had decided to have lunch in the restaurant when the others ducked out; I wanted to be alone to savour the experience, though thanks to the entente cordiale that didn’t last long. Solitary at last I went through the motions of writing cards though my mind was still in the ruins.
The noise in the café was starting to get to me, however, and I decided to make the most of the visit and wander round a bit more on my own. Following the crowd outside the café I realised that instead of going back to the ruins I was heading to the car park. Just as I made to turn back I saw a group of men in suits getting into a car. Nothing strange about that, except that the one who was doing the talking was Carlos.
Calling him, I ran towards the car but the doors had closed and it started off. The tinted windows meant that I couldn’t see him and I assumed he hadn’t seen me, unless he didn’t want to introduce a girl he’d initiated into the rites of bondage to business colleagues.
But why was he there? I couldn’t see how visiting Macchu Picchu was helping Peru with its development. The puzzle was still bugging me when I bumped into Red and Robbie a couple of minutes later.
‘I don’t understand why he didn’t tell me he’d be here. After all, it wasn’t that long ago I saw him, and he knew I was planning to do the Trail,’ I said, having explained to them – without bringing in the sexual aspect of our acquaintance – that I’d seen my friend from Lima.
‘I think I saw those guys before walking round the grounds of the hotel,’ said Robbie. ‘Four of them, two in white suits, two dark?’
‘That’s right. Carlos is the one in cream with a ponytail. I’m sure it was him because of his hair.’
‘So how do you know this guy?’ asked Red casually.
I told him about Kip and Carlos.
‘And what does he do?’<
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‘He works for some aid agency – no, not aid, development agency, helping the locals set up industry and so on. It’s called ETP. I’m not really sure what they do.’
‘Sounds very altruistic,’ said Robbie a touch acerbically. I wasn’t sure why; after all if anyone needed to be jealous of Carlos it was Red and not him. Still it was no skin off my nose.
‘Not that it matters. I’m supposed to be seeing him in Chile, in a few weeks time.’
‘Hey, don’t say you’re going to ditch me in Chile,’ said Red in mock dismay.
‘You should be so lucky to last that long. We’ll have gone our separate ways by then, anyway.’
We had already vaguely discussed our future itineraries. I was definitely going to have a look at Bolivia, even if it was only for a couple of days, while they had said they might go and see Lake Titicaca but after that they would head straight for Chile. Still, that was further down the line. We got the bus down to the station and waited for the crowded, smelly, slow train back to Cuzco.
Just because you’ve spent a few days with a couple of guys, fucking one and putting on a live sex show for the other, it doesn’t entitle you to any claim on their time, I know, but when I found them both out next morning and what’s more not back by the next day I felt a bit peeved. Knocking round town on my own wasn’t so much fun and, let’s face it, after Macchu Picchu anything would be an anti-climax. Still on the second day I bumped into the Uruguayans and amused myself by practising my Spanish with them and flirting slightly. All right, flirting outrageously. I was almost minded to go back to their guesthouse with them for a pidgin Spanish threesome but I thought maybe my erotic life was running just a little wild and instead made do with lots of kisses on cheeks and went back to mine alone.