Chapter 12: Tourist One Hundred, Francesca, with Appetizers Carlie and Melissa

My trip to Mexico had been, let’s say, eventful. Not only had I significantly added to my ‘virgin count’ and packed another box with trophy-panties, but I’d also left behind dozens of surprises growing inside unsuspecting young babes. Throw in some of the most mind-blowing sex of my life and hours of wildly erotic personal footage to relive it all, and you’d call that a success. Sure, the airline industry had to shuffle things around to cover for two flight attendants suddenly on maternity leave, but that was hardly a global crisis. And yes, the Mexican school system found itself in the middle of a scandal involving a handful of unexpectedly pregnant students, but eventually, the drama would give way to the joys of baby showers and lullabies.

Yes, those daring gang-bangs had been an incredible rush, no denying that, but they had also pushed me to my limits. Sure, there is nothing quite like the ego boost of being at the center of a virgin free-for-all, but, if I am being honest, it did not quite compare to the raw intensity of a one-on-one session with a drop-dead gorgeous chick. There is only so much I can give, literally, in a single day, and while the variety was intoxicating, it also had a way of tipping over into pure sensory overload. One day, I am sure I will chase that wild, almost surreal high again, the kind you only get from taking on a room full of sexy young women, but for now, I was satisfied. My appetite was sated, and I promised myself to focus on quality over quantity, at least for a little while.

Of course, I was still as horny as ever. Every time I saw one of those college chicks strut by with their tight little asses or nipples poking through their tops, my mind was right back to imagining what it would be like to have them. But I had to admit, when I found myself scribbling down names just to keep track of who I had fucked that day, it hit me: maybe it was time to slow down. Not stop, obviously, just cut back to something more reasonable. A couple of new babes a week, not every single day. One or two girls at a time, not a parade of them. Most guys would still call that outrageous, but for me, it felt like moderation.

Talking of taking notes: as an organized scientist, I meticulously documented every detail of my exploits. Every movie of my sexual escapades, every picture of my conquests, along with their names, addresses, birthdays, and social media accounts, was methodically cataloged in an ever-expanding database. I routinely monitored their social media feeds for any hint of pregnancies or newborns, updating the records with each addition to my growing legacy. This obsessive record-keeping did more than just appease my scientific mind; it gave me an undeniable thrill. Every child I fathered sparked a rush of joy, a deep and primal sense of satisfaction that never lost its edge.

So basically, I was back to the routine I had perfected before. Whenever I had a free minute and a fresh load in my balls, I made it my mission to knock up tourists in the bathrooms of fancy restaurants and hotels. The more experience I gained, the bolder I became, pushing boundaries to the edge of pure recklessness. It was inevitable that eventually, we’d be caught mid-romp by other women using the restroom. I learned that a quick shot of tx34 could turn what started as a problem into an opportunity - namely, a hot threesome.

While tx34 was an excellent solution for smoothing over any issues with women, it didn’t have the same effect on men, apart from making them even less inhibited. Fortunately, being in the ladies’ room acted as a perfect safeguard against male interference, helping me avoid awkward or potentially dangerous encounters with the unsuspecting boyfriends or husbands waiting upstairs.

As exciting and “productive” as these quickies were, they began to lose their spark over time. The more I indulged, the less fulfilling they became, and I noticed myself becoming increasingly selective with each conquest. I was no longer interested in just adding numbers to my list. Now, it was about the quality of the conquest, the thrill of seducing women who were so stunning, so unattainable to most men, that they felt like trophies in every sense of the word. Each encounter had to be more memorable than the last, a step closer to perfection.

Today, I was celebrating my 100th trophy wife victim. To make the occasion unforgettable, I devoted several days to the hunt, combing through the most exclusive restaurants, bars, and hotels in town, carefully assessing my options and waiting for the right one to cross my path. Finally, I found her: a strikingly beautiful, slender, and statuesque woman with a jaw-dropping bust. Her face was unmistakable, gracing the covers of countless magazines.

Even someone as ignorant with tabloids new: her name was Francesca, and at just twenty-two years old, she was already hailed as one of the most breathtaking and sought-after models of our time. A true sex-bomb, she was the ultimate choice for such a milestone.

She was accompanied by a man at least twenty years her senior, who, from their behavior and the matching rings they wore, appeared to be her husband. I watched the odd couple sitting at their table, each absorbed in their own little world. If there had ever been love in that marriage, it seemed to have fizzled out entirely. They sat there like strangers, barely acknowledging each other’s presence. How any man could sit across from a goddess like Francesca, casually scrolling through his phone as if she were invisible, was beyond my comprehension.

Well, I mused, at least his obliviousness worked in my favor. He wouldn’t notice if she took a few minutes longer in the restroom than usual. I kept my eyes on them, waiting, but she remained seated, sipping her drink with no urgency. I was just about ready to give up when, finally, she stood and made her way toward the restroom in the basement. My heart skipped a beat.

Seeing her upright was another level entirely. Her impossibly long legs, the kind only a professional model could possess, carried her with effortless grace. Every movement highlighted the taut definition of her body, the perfect proportions, the undeniable magnetism of her presence. She was breathtaking, pure and simple.

My hands trembled with anticipation as I stood and followed her. As always, I lingered outside the restroom until she had finished her business and washed her hands. Through a crack in the door, I caught sight of her figure, tall, elegant, perfection in motion. With my tx34 laced perfume bottle in hand, I stepped inside.

“Hey, do you fancy a quick fuck?” I said, delivering my usual bold and daring greeting as I gave her a quick spray. Just like the ninety-nine women before her, her expression shifted rapidly: confusion melting into surprise, surprise turning to anger, then fear - before finally giving way to the familiar signs of excitement, lust, and undeniable desire as the drug worked its magic in her brain, pushing her ‘horny web’ into overdrive.

What followed was nothing short of extraordinary, a memory etched into my mind as one of the most intoxicating encounters of my life. I spun her around once her arousal became unmistakable, positioning her to face the mirror. With a practiced motion, I lifted her skirt and slid her thong aside, preparing to take her from behind. Instinctively, she parted her legs slightly, revealing her deliciously smooth, bare snatch, every bit as breathtaking as the rest of her.

Her thin, delicate labial lips nestled perfectly in the wide gap between her smooth, toned thighs - so flawlessly youthful and innocent, it was as if she were far younger than her twenty-two years and not married to a man in his late forties. What made her even more unique was the way her pussy tilted in what I like to call “backwards-facing,” the rare kind of anatomy that allows for easy access from behind without her needing to bend much, if at all. It’s a feature I’ve only ever seen paired with a wide thigh gap - and Francesca was one of those lucky babes who had it all.

From the moment I plunged into her, her pussy was unlike anything I’d ever experienced: impossibly tight, gripping me with an unrelenting force, like her inner muscles had been trained just for this. Every thrust was met with a resistance that made me wonder if she’d ever been properly taken before. Had her husband been neglecting her, or was he cursed with a pencil dick? I didn’t know, and I didn’t care - all I knew was that I was in heaven.

To celebrate the milestone, I didn’t rush it, holding back the primal urge to finish quickly despite the risk of being caught. This time, I savored every moment, focusing on pushing her to the edge over and over, giving her wave after wave of shattering orgasms. Her body quivered uncontrollably under my control, her moans growing louder and more desperate with every thrust, her breathless cries rising with need, over and over, until she was utterly spent.

Her athletic ass worked with an almost supernatural strength, her muscles clenching and flexing in perfect rhythm, pulling me deeper with every motion. It was as though her body was designed to milk me for everything I had, and I could barely hold back the primal groans that rose in my throat.

She didn’t speak much, just gasps and moans that echoed like a melody in the cramped restroom, each sound fueling my desire. Her breath came in ragged bursts, her head tilting back as her angelic face twisted in pure, unrestrained bliss. The contrast between the delicate beauty of her features and the raw ecstasy in her expression was utterly intoxicating, almost unreal. “Oh my God, your dick is so big! It feels incredible,” she whispered breathlessly at one point, her words like fuel to the fire: the exact praise every man dreams of hearing while pounding a gorgeous new babe. Her firm tits, big like cantaloupes, bounced hypnotically with every thrust, their silky smoothness irresistible as my hands cupped them, savoring their perfect shape and the radiant warmth of her skin. Her body was a masterpiece of toned muscles and soft curves, her skin so impossibly smooth and velvety it could rival the flawless softness of a newborn baby. Her impossibly long, sculpted legs framed me as I drove into her from behind, her body responding with an eagerness that felt as though it had been designed solely for my pleasure.

I caught a glimpse of us in the mirror and paused for just a second, savoring the sight. Her slender figure was arched in perfect submission, her hands gripping the edge of the sink for support, her ass high in the air as I claimed her from behind. Her hair clung to her damp neck, her sweat-slicked skin glowing under the dim light. Her jugs, as I drove into her harder, bounced with an almost hypnotic rhythm, each perfect movement adding to the symphony of raw lust between us.

The way her cunt clenched around me when she peaked was enough to drive me insane, each spasm gripping me tighter, pulling me deeper into her slick, molten heat. My breath caught as the pressure built to an unbearable intensity, teetering on the brink of release, my entire body consumed by the overwhelming need to let go. I couldn’t hold back any longer. The dam broke, and I erupted inside her, pumping her full with a force so consuming it left my legs trembling under the weight of my climax.

My hips moved instinctively, driving into her with rhythmic urgency, each burst accompanied by the powerful flex of my glutes, pushing me deeper with every primal thrust. I was no longer in control. My body had fully surrendered to the animalistic program evolution had hard-wired into the male brain, executing the biological script to seed and inseminate. Each pulse of release sent waves of shuddering pleasure through my body, raw and all-consuming, coursing through every nerve as I emptied myself completely into her fertile womb.

Every cell in my brain lit up with signals of joy, contentment, and fulfillment, an overwhelming sense of having accomplished something essential, something innate. After all, I had just fulfilled my most basic, primal role in nature’s script: spreading my genes, inseminating a perfectly receptive female.

As the last waves of our shared orgasm faded, she slumped forward over the sink, her body trembling, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Her face was flushed and glowing, a mix of exhaustion and ecstasy etched into her delicate features. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the rhythmic hum of her breathing, broken by a soft, breathless laugh as she straightened slightly and glanced back at me in the mirror.

“I never knew sex could be like that,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “It was ... God, it was incredible. Thank you.”

I didn’t respond immediately, busy retrieving her panties from the floor and pocketing them while she was still caught in the afterglow. My hidden cameras, carefully placed earlier, were quickly removed and stashed. She didn’t seem to notice, her mind still lost in the haze of pleasure.

As she leaned back against the sink, her legs unsteady, she looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and awe. “Who ... who are you?” she asked softly, her voice tinged with genuine wonder.

Normally, I would have dodged the question or made something up, but something about the intensity of the moment pushed me to be uncharacteristically honest. “Tom,” I said simply, meeting her gaze in the mirror.

She smiled faintly, her lips curling into a dazed, satisfied grin. “Tom,” she repeated, as if committing it to memory, her flushed face framed by strands of damp hair.

While she lingered, still recovering, I moved with precision, rifling through her purse as discreetly as possible. I snapped a few more pictures of her dripping cunt, still glistening with the evidence of our encounter, then spotted her ID and credit card. Memorizing the details quickly, I pocketed her room key card on impulse, all while she adjusted her skirt and smoothed her hair.

Satisfied with my haul, I gave her a final glance, my expression calm and collected. “Take your time,” I said with a faint smirk. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Leaving her to compose herself in the restroom, I slipped out and made my way back to my table, adrenaline coursing through me as I mentally cataloged the treasures I had just secured. I finished my salad casually, keeping one eye on the restroom door as I waited for her to return. It took her a few minutes - she likely needed to fix her makeup and regain her composure. When she finally emerged, there was a slight shift in her stride, almost imperceptible, but I knew the truth. Walking without panties and carrying a full load of my seed inside her was undoubtedly uncomfortable, but no one else seemed to notice. I couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of her chair bearing the inevitable evidence of our encounter as the sperm slowly leaked from her.

Back at the table, she tried her best to rejoin the conversation with her husband, her voice polite, her demeanor poised, but her eyes betrayed her. She couldn’t resist glancing in my direction, those burning, hungry eyes locking onto me whenever her husband looked away. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen a woman try to mask the aftereffects of infidelity while sitting across from her clueless partner. Most of the women I’d impregnated had returned to their tables flustered, embarrassed, their faces red with guilt as they tried to act normal. But Francesca was different.

There wasn’t a shred of shame or regret in her expression, just an intense, unbroken passion that defied logic. She was confident, even bold, as if she wasn’t just unbothered by what we had done but was savoring it. Her lips curled into faint smiles that she tried to suppress, her gaze lingering on me longer than it should.

There was something about her I couldn’t put my finger on, something that set her apart from all the others. She wasn’t just another conquest; she had an air of intrigue, a spark that made her feel unfinished in the best possible way. As I watched her, it became clear that walking away wasn’t an option. Our delightful little restroom encounter was merely the beginning, a tantalizing appetizer for something far more satisfying.

When her husband excused himself to go to the bathroom, I seized the moment. Walking confidently to her table, I leaned in and kissed her deeply, my hand slipping under her blouse to squeeze her firm, sensitive nipples. She gasped but didn’t pull away immediately, letting the kiss linger just a few seconds too long for her protests to sound convincing when she finally muttered, “Stop ... we can’t.”

Ignoring her half-hearted words, and emboldened by the seclusion of her corner table, I slid into the seat next to her and let my hand travel beneath the table, finding her still-dripping cunt. My fingers slid between her slick folds as my body shielded the view from anyone passing by. Her breath hitched, her cheeks flushed with desire as I rubbed her clit with practiced precision, each motion reigniting the fire I had stoked earlier.

“You’re insane, Tom,” she gasped, her voice trembling with a mix of disbelief and raw need. “What are you doing to me?”

Our little rendezvous downstairs had given her the best orgasms of her life, six, to be precise, each one building on the last, leaving her completely undone. Now, her body responded to my touch as if it were starving, her legs parting instinctively, her nails clawing at the tablecloth in a desperate attempt to stay composed.

“Come for me, Francesca,” I murmured, my lips grazing her ear, my voice low and commanding. “Your pathetic husband could walk in any second.”

A shudder ran through her, her chest rising sharply as her trembling became impossible to control. I leaned closer, my fingers working her dripping clit with relentless precision. “Feel that cum inside you, still warm. Remember how my fat cock filled you. Let it take over.”

It didn’t take long. Her thighs started to quiver, clamping tightly around my hand as the tension in her body snapped. I circled her clit faster, harder, and her whole body bucked against me, her face buried in the napkin to muffle the stifled cry that escaped as her orgasm tore through her. Her chest heaved, her head tilted back, and her eyes fluttered shut. When the orgasm hit, her entire body convulsed, her legs jerking uncontrollably beneath the table. Her eyes rolled back in ecstasy, and she bit down on the cotton napkin she pressed to her mouth to stifle the scream of pleasure that threatened to spill out.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her husband returning. I leaned in close and whispered into her ear, “I want more of you.” Her face turned a deep shade of red, her breath coming in short, ragged bursts as she looked at me with wide, lust-filled eyes. I stood up casually, slipping away before her husband could see me, leaving her flushed and breathless, still trembling from the intensity of her climax.

I felt unstoppable. She had let me finger her right in a secluded area of a busy restaurant, fully aware her husband could return at any moment. Francesca, a world-famous model, the sexiest woman I had ever laid eyes on, was dripping with desire for me, her lust consuming her completely.

Sure, tx34 had been the spark that ignited her fire, but it didn’t fully explain the way she looked at me, the way her body surrendered so willingly, or the hunger in her eyes. This wasn’t just physical arousal. It was something more. She seemed utterly captivated, almost infatuated, as if I had cast some kind of spell over her.

But as I left the restaurant and walked through the park, replaying every detail of her flawless face, her body, her abandon, a flicker of unease crept in. What if it wasn’t her under my spell? What if it was me, ensnared by her? Drawn in, like sailors to the siren’s call, risking everything for a glimpse of the forbidden. The thought gripped me, a gnawing fear that I was no longer in control, that I was the one being played, driven by something I couldn’t fully understand.

I had already inseminated her, fulfilling my ultimate purpose, spreading my seed into her fertile womb. The mission was complete. So what was driving me now? Recklessness? Ego? Desire? None of it mattered because here I was, unable (or unwilling?) to resist the pull she had on me.

My hand brushed against the hotel key card I had snatched from her purse earlier, its sharp edge pressing against the inside of my pocket. I couldn’t fully explain why I had taken it, but that impulsive act triggered a dangerous idea. I could go to her hotel, right now. I could go to her hotel right now. I could turn this night into something far beyond a simple milestone. I could make her 100th trophy wife experience truly unforgettable, something that would burn itself into both our memories forever.

I felt the weight of the key card, a tangible reminder of what I had taken and what I could take again. She wasn’t just another conquest. she was different, magnetic, and I wanted more. Was it foolish? Absolutely. Reckless? Without a doubt. But the thought of turning back didn’t cross my mind for a second.

I strolled toward her hotel, the most exclusive five-star establishment in the city, my steps steady, my mind racing. Was I risking everything for nothing more than a second taste of her? Perhaps. But the temptation was irresistible. The thought of having her again, this time without interruptions, without limits, was enough to silence any sense of reason.

She was my 100th trophy wife, and I was determined to make her more than just a fleeting memory. I was going to make her into something truly exquisite, a conquest unlike any before, one worthy of the milestone. As I approached the grand entrance of the hotel, the card in my pocket felt heavier than ever. It was madness, but it was my fate.

At the reception desk, I found myself waiting behind an American couple and their two strikingly beautiful daughters. The family seemed embroiled in a disagreement over their rooms. Apparently, they had booked adjoining ones, but the hotel had switched them to different floors. The parents argued persistently, though the staff eventually smoothed things over with vouchers for the bar, insisting that there simply wasn’t any other way as they were fully booked.

As the conflict dragged on, my eyes couldn’t help but wander to the daughters. They had a fresh, radiant energy that was captivating, their youthful innocence amplified by their lighthearted giggles and vibrant expressions. Their slender frames were accentuated by their fitted dresses, each one subtly teasing at the promise of womanhood, balanced by an aura of untouched purity that set them apart from the polished elegance of someone like Francesca.

There was a fleeting temptation, an idea to abandon my plan for Francesca and follow these two virgins instead. I overheard their names, Carlie and Melissa, when their parents called after them. As they turned to head toward their respective rooms, their youthful allure felt magnetic, their every movement brimming with natural vitality. Their fresh-faced charm was tantalizing, but what truly captivated me were their impossibly large tits, so out of place on their petite frames, jugs that seemed more fitting for a mature woman in her mid-twenties. I had even caught their birthdates earlier as they gave them to the front desk, confirming they were just within the legal age of consent, though their innocence made them seem untouched.

For a moment, the thought of seducing these barely legal teens hovered tantalizingly in my mind, the allure of their fresh-faced charm whispering promises of new conquests, added with the thrill of claiming the ultimate prize of breaking their cherries. But the idea faded almost as quickly as it came. Francesca was waiting. She wasn’t just another conquest; she was the milestone, the one who could elevate my entire journey. My focus sharpened as I reminded myself of the real prize, the true jewel I had come to claim.

Interestingly, the two delicious girls had been given a room not far from where Francesca and her husband were staying. That small detail planted an idea in my mind, one that was as thrilling as it was audacious. Could I have all three? These two young hotties as appetizers, with Francesca as the main course and dessert? If I played this right, it might even eliminate the need to book my own room, saving me the danger of leaving a paper trail. The thought lingered, tempting and reckless, as I considered how the night might unfold if everything fell into place.

As the family finally left the reception area, I watched the two smoking-hot girls ascend the steps, their firm, bouncing tits straining against their tight tops, clearly braless despite their impressive size. Their youthful firmness was an irresistible magnet for my desire, and I turned away from the check-in counter before it was my turn, heading to the bar instead, unwilling to let this opportunity pass me by.

Nursing an exorbitantly expensive cocktail, I let the plan take shape in my mind. The logistics felt thrilling: hopping between rooms, switching my attention from Carlie to Melissa to Francesca, and weaving it all together without a hitch. The challenge of pulling it off only made the idea more tempting. How could I get Carlie and Melissa out of their room for long enough to use it for Francesca? Could I seduce all three without the others noticing?

Some time later, still immersed in thoughts about the logistics of the night, I caught sight of Francesca and her husband returning to the hotel lobby out of the corner of my eye. They didn’t notice me sitting at the bar and headed straight to their room, their icy demeanor toward each other confirming just how little warmth there was between them. Francesca’s unhappy marriage was glaringly obvious, and it stirred a wave of unexpected affection in me. A flicker of sadness for the emptiness she seemed trapped in, and an irresistible urge to rescue her, to give her the passion she so clearly lacked. A goddess like her deserved more: she deserved to be worshipped, to be truly happy!

An hour later, with my plan fully formed, I approached Carlie and Melissa’s door, the bottle of tx34-laced perfume in hand. The thrill of what I was about to attempt coursed through me, each step tightening the knot of anticipation in my chest. My pulse quickened as I knocked, the reckless audacity of my plan only adding to the rush.

Carlie, the older of the two, opened the door wearing a simple nightgown, her braless C-cup breasts pressing proudly against the thin fabric with perky firmness, both nipples poking through with their youthful puffiness, screaming fertility and an irresistible blossoming charm. The sight made my dick twitch, a primal reaction I barely managed to suppress.

Forcing myself to look away from her captivating cleavage, I feigned innocence, putting on a polite, slightly embarrassed expression. “Wrong door,” I muttered, letting my voice sound apologetic. “Sorry to interrupt.”

Carlie smiled understandingly, her relaxed expression putting me at ease. Before she could close the door, I added casually, “Here, take a sample to offset the inconvenience,” and sprayed the perfume lightly on her outstretched wrist before she had a chance to object, taking her completely by surprise.

Her smile faltered for a moment, confusion flickering across her face as the effects of tx34 began to take hold. Her cheeks flushed, her breathing quickened, and her nipples visibly stiffened beneath the thin fabric of her nightgown. She seemed unaccustomed to the sudden surge of arousal, her expression wavering between bewilderment and something deeper, something more instinctive.

Our eyes locked, the charged silence between us growing heavier with each passing second. Her lips parted slightly, her tongue darting out unconsciously to wet them, her body betraying her confusion with a reaction that she couldn’t quite process. The innocence in her hesitation only heightened the tension, making the moment even more electric.

Slowly, keeping my gaze on hers, I reached up and let my fingers brush against her magnificent melons, teasing the outline of her stiff, puffy nipple through the fabric. I circled the firm, raised area beneath her areola, the delicious feature that gave her nipples their blossoming, youthful charm. Her breath hitched, a soft gasp escaping her lips, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, her chest rose slightly toward my touch, her body betraying her uncertainty. I gently pinched the sensitive peak, feeling its tautness under my fingers. Her eyes widened, locking onto mine, searching for an explanation, as though trying to understand the unfamiliar sensations taking over her.

Stepping up the game, my other hand moved with practiced ease under the hem of her nightgown. My fingers trailed along the smooth, velvety warmth of her thigh, lingering just enough to feel her shiver before sliding higher. When I made contact with her virgin slit, already slick and inviting, another gasp tore from her lips.

Her body trembled, her thighs parting slightly even as her breath quickened, caught between instinct and reason. If pinching a stranger’s nipples was already an act that shattered every boundary of decency, the way she allowed my fingers to explore her clit without the slightest protest erased any remaining doubt. In that moment, her last chance to stop this from evolving into a fully sexual encounter slipped away.