Being a gay travel blogger is fun and always the best excuse to come back to Maspalomas, this time i had to check a new hotel there, will tell you about it in my blog later, but the fun part first...
Monday
I landed tired, but Maspalomas doesn’t forgive excuses. The Yumbo was pumping: sweaty torsos, harnesses, and eyes that stripped you naked. Two drinks in and I was already locked in a bathroom with two blond Swedish boys on their knees. They took turns like starving dogs: one swallowed me whole, gagging happily, while the other licked my balls and pushed a finger up my ass. I moaned quietly, grabbing their heads, until I exploded in the throat of the one who could take me deepest. His friend smiled with cum dripping down his face. Maspalomas had just started wrecking me… and I loved it.
Tuesday
I woke up hungover, hard as a rock. I hit the nude beach and let the sun roast me. Between the dunes, everything is instinct: a glance, a nod, and you know. A tattooed Italian followed me into the sand. He grabbed my neck and pushed his cock against my lips. I knelt, swallowing him until my jaw hurt, while he held me by the hair. Then he flipped me around and fucked me hard against a bush, my knees burning on the sand, my body on fire. I came all over the ground while he pumped me full from behind. Walked back to my hotel smiling like an idiot.
Wednesday
I went to a sauna. The steam was thick, but the smell of sex was everywhere. A young Canarian boy led me into a cabin and shoved his cock in me while I braced against the wall. Suddenly another guy joined, sucking my chest, while the first pounded me harder. Soon there were five of us: hands everywhere, mouths on skin, hard cocks sliding in every hole they could find. I came all over one guy’s chest while another was still drilling me. I stumbled out drenched in sweat, weak in the legs, and satisfied beyond words.
Thursday
I told myself I’d rest. But in Maspalomas, there’s no such thing. I met a Portuguese guy at Yumbo with a cheeky smile and a perfect ass. We barely danced, just kissed and touched until we ended up at his place. This time it was different: slow kisses, long sucking, endless teasing. I fucked him while staring into his eyes, his moans in Portuguese turning me on even more. I came twice that night, soaked in sweat, feeling something tender in the middle of all the filth.
Friday
Back to the dunes. Three huge Germans surrounded me without a word. One pulled my hair, another shoved me against a bush, the third dropped his shorts right in front of me. I didn’t resist. They used me like a toy, one in my mouth, one in my ass, the other waiting his turn. They held me tight, pushed me around, filled me from every angle. When it was over, I collapsed in the sand, bruised, sweaty, covered in their marks—and happier than I’d ever been.
Saturday
Final big night. At a beach club I met an Italian and his Argentine boyfriend. The three of us ended up naked in their hotel pool under the moonlight. We kissed, we laughed, we touched everything. They took turns sucking me, one stroking my cock while the other spread me open. They fucked me in the shallow water, my body sliding against theirs as I moaned into the night. We came in a wet, messy pile, exhausted and smiling. The perfect climax to a wild week.
Sunday
I woke up late, covered in scratches, bruises, sunburn, and cum stains that still lingered on my skin. I walked along the beach at sunset, watching new guys arrive, ready to begin what for me was ending. I wrote in my notebook:
Maspalomas isn’t a destination. It’s a vice. A carnival of sex, a place where time stops and the body takes control. If you want to know true freedom, come here.
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