Linda spent the afternoon in the narrow winding lanes of Raval, Barcelona's red light district. Returning to the hotel--it actually had the look of an old private residence--she carried several designer bags filled with toys. And she had a tremendous fire in her loins, a fire she blamed on her ex-lover. Leaving her goodies on her bed in her room, Linda slipped down the hall to the suite where Brad and Nina stayed.
It was after 7:00 in the evening and she knew from what they had said downstairs that SeΓ±or Adams could be found in his room. Knocking gently, she waited. No answer came and she knocked harder. Again, no one came to the door. Putting an ear to the door, she heard the steady sound of someone snoring. "Bastard," she muttered angrily. Brad Adams was the soundest sleeper she knew. Trying the door, she found it locked.
In a rage, she headed back downstairs, her short red skirt swishing against her hips. In less than twenty minutes, Linda stood back outside Brad's room, the taste of the Spanish clerk's cum in her mouth. After a demonstration of her ability to deep throat his inadequate cock, inadequate in comparison to Brad's throbbing muscle, the clerk had happily gave her Mr. Adam's key. In addition to the key, she carried one bag of toy's from her Spanish red light run.