**Author's note:**
Welcome to Ibiza - where the sun's hot, the nights are wild, and the girls didn't come for rest. This is Episode 1 of an erotic holiday series that follows four friends, one unforgettable week, and all the ways a good time can get complicated.
Each episode dives deeper into one of the girls - her temptations, her choices, her sex. Expect friendships, tension and teasing - and the messy truths that emerge when the cocktails wear off.
In episode one Hannah sets the tone. But she's just the beginning.
Next up: Libby. The quiet one. But maybe the dirtiest of them all....
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Chapter 1: Wheels down
The heat hit them like a blast from a furnace the second they stepped off the plane.
Hot, dry, and overbearing. It was the kind of Mediterranean summer weather that made clothes cling and foreheads glisten with sweat before they'd even found baggage reclaim.
"Jesus," Jess muttered, fanning herself with her boarding pass. "I've had foreplay that felt less intense."
Hannah led the pack through the terminal with sunglasses already on, hair loose, linen shirt unbuttoned just enough to flash the lilac bikini beneath. She was on a mission, and she hadn't even had a drink yet.
Behind her, Libby adjusted the strap on her holdall and looked around with a quiet kind of alertness. Blonde bun tied high, white vest cropped tight across her toned frame. She didn't say much, but her eyes were busy - clocking arms, abs, biceps. Anything and everything that piqued her interest.
Meg brought up the rear, her pastel-pink suitcase veering left every few steps. Her crop top clung to the curve of her tits, and her denim shorts barely covered anything that mattered. She said nothing, just smiled quietly at the chaos, eyes bright behind oversized tortoiseshell sunglasses.
Jess looked like she'd already had god-knows how many vodkas because she had. At the airport, on the flight. Even on the way to the airport. Her Ray-Bans were on and she had a vape in hand. Her tanned legs - fake tan, of course - were crossed in irritation as they waited for the coach to load. She hated package holidays. She also secretly loved them, though she'd never admit it.
"Tell me again why we booked a fucking package deal?" she asked, deadpan.
"Because we're not billionaires," Hannah shot back. "And because I wanted a pool, a beach, and at least one guy to call me a filthy bitch in broken English by Wednesday."
"Classy," Jess grinned. "You aiming for that before or after the foam party?"
***
The transfer coach was full of laughter and the smell of airport perfume samples and spilled tequila miniatures. Hannah grabbed the back row, obviously. Libby slid into the window seat beside her, eyes out on the vista misted by heat haze. Meg and Jess sat opposite, Jess already half-sprawled.
Phones came out and messages pinged. Their group chat - "Ibiza: Slut Edition" - was alive with bikini pics, TikToks, and voice notes from girls who'd been to the same resort the month before. Recommendations of where to go, and where to avoid.
"Are we doing the boat party or not?" Meg asked, thumbing through the latest promo vid.
Hannah snatched her phone. "Absolutely. I'm getting drunk, getting fucked, and getting tan lines that look like they've been drawn on."
Libby grinned, biting her straw. "How will you manage that? You're not even gonna wear a top half the time."
Jess raised a brow. "Please. You think she's the wildcard? Wait till Meg has her first mojito. She'll be doing body shots off the lifeguard."
Meg flushed pink but didn't deny it. She just slipped her headphones in and smiled to herself.
***
They all knew each other too well to be anything other than themselves. The
real
them.
Four girls, three years out of uni, scattered across the country but still as tight as they had been back then.
They'd met during that chaotic first week of Freshers - bonded over bad wine and media studies bullshit. Shared a flat in the second and third years. Passed assignments, swapped boyfriends, argued over who left their fake lashes in the bathroom sink.
Now they were professionals - sort of.
Hannah worked in PR and made even brunch sound like a launch event. Libby was a photographer for a news agency - sharp, fast, good under pressure. Jess wrote snarky features for a magazine. Meg taught Year 3 in a primary school.
But this week none of that mattered. This week was about heat and alcohol and not being the girls they were back home.
Or at least, not the girls they'd let themselves become.
***
The coach rounded a bend, revealing a stretch of beautiful Ibizan coastline - whitewashed villas, quaint little squares, palm trees swaying in slow motion.
There was silence. Then Hannah leaned forward, dropped her voice a touch, and said: "Alright. Girls. Promise me something."
Libby looked up from her camera roll. Jess raised one painted brow and Meg slipped her headphones off.
"One week," Hannah said. "That's it. Seven days. To drink. To fuck. To dance til we fucking drop. And to never apologise for any of it."
There was a short pause, then Libby smiled, tongue against her teeth. Jess exhaled a puff of strawberry vape. Meg, slowly, nodded.
"Deal," they said.
-x-x-
Chapter 2: The hotel
Just half an hour earlier, they'd been winding through postcard-perfect countryside - whitewashed fincas, olive groves, dusty roads lined with wildflowers. But as the coach crested the final hill, the landscape had changed: beachside villas giving way to neon signs, cocktail bars, mopeds weaving between flip-flopped tourists. San Antonio blared - loud, brash and bursting with as much hedonism as your body could take.
The coach hissed to a halt outside the hotel entrance, tyres crunching over pale gravel, the sunshine burning white against glass and stone. The girls stepped down one by one, blinking into the glare.
The hotel rose in front of them in layers of shimmering white: flat rooftops, smoked-glass balconies, flashes of pink bougainvillea curling round concrete columns. Reggaeton pulsed from the pool bar beyond the lobby, mixing with the high-pitched laughter of girls and boys already half-cut and sun-drenched.
"I could shag to this playlist," Jess said, eyes hidden behind her Ray-Bans. "That's always a good sign."
Meg giggled. "You could shag to anything."
Inside, the lobby was cool marble. Someone was checking in with half a hen party in tow. Another girl was asleep across a suitcase, head lolled to one side, bra strap showing. A fit staff member in a tight polo shirt handed out welcome cocktails. Hannah took hers with a wink.
"Gracias, cariño."
The guy blushed. Jess smirked. Libby sipped hers politely, already distracted by the view through the sliding doors - a glimpse of the pool area, all sunlight and shimmer and bare skin on loungers. Meg took a quiet sip and gave a small, happy sigh.
They didn't hang about. Hannah had hustled them into top floor rooms with a sea view, using what she called her London PR voice. She tossed the keys onto the bed and turned to face the others, hands on hips.
"This," she said, "is where the filth begins."
***
They exploded out of their travel gear like time was rationed.The room was instantly cluttered with open cases, bikinis flung across beds, flip-flops skidding on tiled floors. The balcony doors were wide open, letting in sun and sea breeze and the muffled thump of poolside bass.
Hannah changed first, sliding into a bright blue thong bikini so minimal it looked more like a suggestion than clothing. The top cupped her tits just enough to be legal. She tied a sheer sarong low on her hips and misted herself in coconut oil like she was in an ad.
Libby followed, pulling on a black ribbed two-piece with a sporty cut - simple, functional, but tight in all the right places. She added a backwards cap and left it at that. No makeup, no effort - but still irresistible.
Jess emerged from the bathroom in leopard-print bottoms and a black crop tee, knotted just under her tits, nipples visible through the thin cotton. Hair up, sliders on, zero fucks given.
"Where's my drink? I look way too fuckable to be sober," she said with a tantalising smile.
Meg stood in front of the full-length mirror in a tight white bikini, gold hoop details at the hips and cleavage. Her big tits looked dangerous in that top - one bounce too many and it would all be over. She threw on an oversized shirt, left it open, and shrugged.
"I don't want to cause a scene."
"You'll cause a fucking riot," Hannah said, spritzing perfume over her neck. "Now let's go."
***
The poolside bar was everything they wanted: thumping music, icy margaritas, half-naked bodies, and enough sunshine and heat to make every movement feel lazy and slow.
They found loungers near the water's edge and ordered drinks. Libby set her camera down beside her but didn't reach for it. She was too busy scanning the scene - not for photos, but for possibilities.
Jess was already flirting with the bartender, a Greek guy with a sleeve tattoo and a tight arse. "Do you come with the cocktails, or is that an add-on?" she asked, straight-faced.
He grinned. "Only for regulars."
Libby sipped her drink. Meg stretched out on her lounger, sunglasses on, shirt open, skin already gleaming. Hannah watched the pool with a quiet, calculating look - eyes flicking from torso to torso like a connoisseur in pursuit of her first squeeze.
They hadn't been there long when
he
appeared.
They didn't see him at first but they picked up on the reaction. A cluster of women - and a few men - turning toward the far edge of the pool where the stone tiles met the water. Someone hit pause on their conversation. Even the bartender seemed to look over his shoulder.
Rio
.
That's what the badge on his yellow muscle vest said, not that any of them would've needed it.
He was standing barefoot on the tiles, shirtless, loose black shorts hanging low on his hips. Mixed heritage, his skin was golden-brown, glowing under the late afternoon sun. Ripped didn't even begin to cover it - his chest was thick, his abs etched and glistening, his arms full of dangerous power.
