Fully ruined
The sun was a molten ball overhead as I followed Hernández through the dense jungle, my boots sinking into the damp earth with every step.
He moved with the easy confidence of someone who knew every twist and turn of this ancient land—and every inch of his own body, if the way his shirt clung to his sweat-slicked muscles was any indication.
The guide had offered to show me the lesser-known sites near Chichén Itzá, and I'd jumped at the chance, though I hadn't expected the detour we were about to take. We ducked under a low-hanging vine, and suddenly, the jungle opened up into a clearing where the ruins of a small temple stood, half-consumed by time and vines.
But it wasn't the crumbling stone that made my breath catch—it was the walls. They were covered in intricate carvings, and while some depicted gods and rituals, others were unmistakably—erotic. Couples tangled in positions that made my cheeks flush, my pulse quicken, despite being an archaeological graduate.
Hernández grinned, catching my wide-eyed stare.
"Ms Cecelia, you like?" he asked, his voice rough with amusement.
His dark eyes raked over me, lingering on the way my tank top stuck to my skin, the way my nipples betrayed my arousal beneath the thin fabric.
I swallowed hard. "I—I didn't expect this."
He stepped closer, his body heat radiating against me.
"The Maya weren't shy about pleasure," he murmured, trailing a finger along one of the carvings—a woman on her knees, her mouth wrapped around a man's cock, her hands gripping his thighs.
"They believed it was a gift from the gods."
My fingers twitched at my sides. "And do you believe that?"
His smirk was wicked.
"I believe in this."
Before I could react, his hands were on me, pulling me against his chest. His mouth crashed into mine, hot and demanding, his tongue sliding between my lips like he owned them.
I moaned into the kiss, my hands flying up to grip his shoulders, my nails digging into his skin as he backed me against the nearest wall.
The carvings seemed to watch us as Hernández yanked my tank top over my head, his calloused hands cupping my breasts through my red bra.
"Fuck, Ms Cecelia, you're perfect," he growled, his thumbs brushing over my nipples, making them harden instantly.
He didn't waste time—he unhooked my bra, letting it fall to the ground, and then his mouth was on me, sucking one nipple into his hot, wet gob, while his fingers pinched the other.
"Oh god—" I gasped, my head falling back against the stone.
His free hand slid down my stomach, popping the button of my shorts before shoving them—and my panties—down my hips.
His fingers found my fuzz, my landing strip, leading to my pussy, already slick and demanding for him.
"You're so wet for me," he groaned, sliding two fingers inside me in one smooth thrust.
The squelch, the juicy slosh. The combo of fingers, air, flesh, and squishy girly jus.
"Uhuh! Uhh!"
I cried out, my hips bucking against his hand.
"That's it, chula, ride my fingers."
I couldn't think, couldn't breathe—all I could do was writhe against him, my nails raking down his back as pleasure coiled tight in my belly. His thumb circled my clit in maddening rotations. Dense, deep delight, rich like jungle foliage. Hernández didn't let me luxuriate. He dropped to his knees in front of me, his hands gripping my thighs as he buried his face between them.
His tongue was a fucking miracle—long, wet, relentless—as he lapped at my pussy, drinking down my juices like a parched man at a bar.
"Oohh, mmm, mmm," my response.
I tangled my fingers in his dark curly hair, grinding my mound against his mouth as he worked me over, his fingers joining his tongue, stretching me, preparing me for what was coming.
"Fuck, I need you inside me," I panted, tugging at his shirt until he ripped it off, revealing the chiselled planes of his chest, the dark trail of hair leading down to his waistband.
I made quick work of his belt, his zipper, and then his cock sprang free, thick and serpent-like in my hand.
Hernández groaned as I stroked him, his hips jerking forward.
"You want this?" he growled, positioning himself at my slit.
I nodded, biting my lip as he teased me, the head of his dick pressing just inside before pulling back—the delectable, the delicate; the near give-and-take.
Stiff pecker rubbed against wet, pleading, musky pussy lips.
I whimpered, wrapping my legs around his waist. "I need you now."
With a snarl, he slammed into me, filling me in one rough thrust.
"Orrghh!"
I screamed, my back arching off the wall as he pounded into me, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside me: over and over.
The carvings blurred in my vision, the erotic scenes on the walls feeling like a mirror to what we were doing—raw, unfiltered, filthy.
Our sexual rumble in the jungle.
"You feel so good," he grunted, his hands gripping my ass as he lifted me higher, changing the angle so his cock dragged against my G-spot with every thrust.
"Take my dick, mija. Take it like a good girl—in your ass."
Ruins around me, a ruin behind me, my anal past; a one-time rough disaster. Drinking, University parties and poor prep have a lot to answer for.
The humidity, his press, the frangipani scent, something triggered me to re-try.
Consent in a kiss to his earlobe. He spun me. My hands were touching ancient sculptures of breasts and cock as Hernández mussed my arsehole.
His tongue bewitched my balloon knot rills. He spat deep and generously, circling to build sensation and relaxation. If the Gods once knew universal secrets, Hernández knew the needs of a woman's arse.
"Mmm, yes, mmm, yes, mmm."
When he rose and plied his meat sword at my rilled indent, I gasped.
"Ooohhh!"
Could a meeting of a flesh entranceway and manly stiffness feel so good?
Good, it rose to better!
"Arrgghh! Ooff! Augh! Yes, yes! Hngg! Hngg!"
The raw flinch hit me first. The tightness does not give to the wanted.
For a second, the combo does feel wrong. An uncomfortable accommodation.
Then my butthole expanded, suddenly opening like the sun between clouds, to a loud macaw screech.
The rippling delight followed. The tug, the pull, my ring joining the pecker filling my bliss, enamoured shute.
Spasms of raw raunch as my rills clenched around him, draining his cock as pleasure crashed over me with the speed of the ancient Mayan game of Pitz.
"Hngggh! Hngggh!"
My arse was beautifully ruined. Raw and gaped in the best fem-way.
Hernández wasn't far behind—with a guttural groan, he buried himself to the hilt in my rear space and came, his hot release flooding me. My hands were still pinned against the wall.
He spun me. His mouth crashed into mine in a desperate, hungry kiss.
A macaw raaaak broke the moment ahead of voices on the nearby entry track.
Our rapid dress, tuck and messy tidy followed.
Hernández pretended to point to a higher macaw god sculpture sticking out of the temple wall.
The aged tour group stood to the side, their portly guide starting with the temple's age and dimensions.
I tapped Hernández's arm, saying, "Anything even deeper in," pointing to a narrow, no-signpost track between thick foliage.
"Oh, yes, Ms Cecelia, very private, around a thirty-minute trek."
"Let's go," I said, "I can cope with another ruin."