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THIS IS A REALLY LONG STORY WITH ACTUAL SEX AT THE END. IF YOU’RE LOOKING FOR A QUICKIE, THIS ISN’T IT.
Of course, all good things must eventually come to an end. In my case, that “end” came quickly and drastically.
My wife connected the dots between calling me at the hotel and not reaching me at several different ungodly hours, as well as Laura’s incessant pestering about when we would all get together and see each other, and how much she enjoyed bumping into me in Washington, DC. Needless to say I denied everything, and continue doing so to this date, but my wife suspects.
I had been offered a consultancy in Mexico which would involve a weeklong stay in the capital, a week in Cancun, a week in Acapulco and a week in Ixtapa. At my wife’s insistence, I had been putting it off and off, but now that she apparently thought she caught me with my hands in the cookie jar, she adopted a blasé attitude, and insisted a little time away from each other might be just what the doctor ordered.
I tied-up some loose ends at home and negotiated a great deal with the Mexican company.
The trip turned out to be fabulous, and indeed, just what the doctor ordered.
The first-class trip ended by being picked up in a limo and driven to the Four Seasons Hotel. Mexico City, as some of you know, is a HUGE place. I’m talking a population of more than 25 million people just in the city itself. The hotel is beautiful, but a little too downtownish, if you know what I mean. It’s half a block off the major thoroughfare, and well, just a little too busy for me. Regardless, the room I was in, which was being paid by the Mexican company, was a US$495/night room. Again, gorgeous surroundings, excellent service and exquisite meals.
I settled in that evening, called home to say hello, and after reading a few pages of my book, I fell fast asleep. The next day was completely routine as I met the CEO and we got down to business. I met some nice people the first week and was invited to join a small group for happy hour on Friday evening. Totally uneventful, yet it allowed me to get out and about and gather my bearings.
I returned to the hotel with a slight buzz and alone. After I showered and got ready for bed, I surfed the channels and found some porn. As I laid down however, I decided to spice up my night by giving Nicky a call. I hadn’t seen or spoken to her in a month, and although we e-mailed each other every now and then, I always kept the electronic correspondence as clean as possible, lest someone catch us.
As fate would have it, despite the hour time difference, she wasn’t in her dorm room and I was reluctant to ring her cell phone and interrupt the fun I assumed she was having. Consequently, I watched an hour of porn, had a happy ending, and fell into a deep and relaxing eight-hour trance.
I did all the touristy stuff on Saturday and Sunday, read to my heart’s content, and Monday flew off to Ixtapa.
The company I was “working” for booked me at La Casa Que Canta in Zihautenejo, a small fishing village outside the resort town of Ixtapa. What a hotel! I mean WOW! The view was breathtaking, the lay out extraordinary, and the service & food excellent.
The first day proved to be very, very productive. After “working” and getting settled down, I changed into more casual attire and decided to sip on a margarita poolside and watch the sun disappear into the Pacific Ocean. Despite it being a Monday in October, the area surrounding the pool was full. Of course, there were only five or six tables, but full never the less. A couple over here, a group of three over there, a guy on the other side alone, etc. etc. You get the picture. Having no-where to sit, I made my way to the tiny bar which I think had two or three stools, ordered my margarita, and sank into my book as I enjoyed the ocean breeze and the smooth drink.
Not five minutes later, low and behold, a young lady, maybe 23 or 24 years of age, comes up next to me and shoots off in Spanish words which where completely indistinguishable to me. My perplexed look obviously indicated that I didn’t have a clue and she switched to accented English.
“I’m so sorry….but there are no tables available, are these seats taken?”
“No, no, please join me.”
Since she asked for seats in plural, I assumed she would be meeting someone, and she took the stool furthest away (leaving one stool in between).
“Is the margarita good?” she asked.
“Delicious”, I responded.
She ordered one, and I decided to leave her alone, expecting to see her companion at any moment.
Every now and then I would steal glances at her over the edge of my book. She was wearing a huge hat and large sunglasses, too large for my taste. However, she had a white linen blouse unbuttoned in the front with some other white thing underneath, and low ride white linen pants. Every time she leaned over for a sip, the pants inched southward down her butt. She had dirty blond hair, bordering on brown, and the hands and feet, ohhh the hands and feet.
For the young readers out there, you can tell a lot about a woman escort ataşehir by just observing these two indicators. Her feet were dainty and perfectly pedicured and her hands where wrinkle-free and the manicure was equally as nice. Notwithstanding her stature, which was shorter than I prefer, she was a very elegant and refined looking young lady, and I loved how she carried herself. To boot, she had great lips. Not huge ones like Angelina Jolie, but just the rest size so you can imagine them wrapped around your cock.
As I set my book down and polished off my first margarita, I decided to return to my trustworthy vodka, and ordered one on the rocks with lime. She seemed to take advantage of my momentary pause in reading and struck up a conversation.
“You seem to be enjoying your book.”
“Is it that obvious?” I asked back.
“The expressions on your face give you away. I wish I would like reading half as much as you.”
“Oh your young. I really didn’t get into it until I graduated from college and started traveling back and forth for work. In fact, up until I was 21 or 22, I hated reading”
“Well let me thank you in advance for the compliment, but just how young do you think I am?”
“Couldn’t be a day over 20.” I said.
That earned me a beautiful smile followed by a heartfelt laugh.
“Oh, you’re good.”
“What do you mean?” I said.
“Not a day over 20, I love you.” she remarked as she patted my hand.
“Well, as I tell my clients, perception is reality.”
And having broken the ice, we drank and chatted until it was dark outside.
As darkness fell, off came the hat and the sunglasses and I was immediately taken in by her beautiful eyes. They were a cross between very light blue and gray, and contrasted exquisitely with her golden tan.
She confessed to being 25 and being married to a man that was a work-a-holic and gave her all the material things she needed and wanted. We moved to the first table that became available and as the drinks flowed and the conversation continued, it became obvious that she had everything except the attention of her husband.
She said that throughout her college days she always enjoyed the company of older men, and that when she graduated and started working, she became immediately attracted to her boss. They started dating, had an intense relationship, and he eventually proposed marriage. To a 22-year-old girl, it was the life everyone dreamed of (or so she thought). He was wealthy, powerful and good-looking. Although her family repeatedly advised her not to marry someone so old (he was 46 at the time), she was madly in love. Of course, after the honeymoon ended, she remembered exactly how much time he spent at the office and traveling.
At first, she would accompany him on his business trips, but she soon became bored being alone all day and well into the night as he attended his meetings and other engagements. She had now been married for two years, and while her friends where clubbing and having a blast, she was at alone at home watching TV.
Although she was forthcoming with relatively intimate information, she always maintained her lady-like composure, never used foul language, and when we realized nightfall was upon us, she ordered the check and said she had to call it a night. I insisted that she let me pick up the tab, but she wouldn’t allow it.
She signed the check, said goodnight gracefully, and left.
As she moved away I was able to settle my gaze on that delicious ass of hers. She was thin and stood approximately 5’5″. She couldn’t have weighed more than 110 to 115 pounds. Her breasts appeared rather small, but her ass was magnificent.
Unfortunately, she didn’t look back, and disappeared into the hotel. I genuinely felt that we had hit off, and hoped we would bump into each again.
I had dinner alone and read before I fell asleep.
Tuesday went well, but no mystery lady. I hung out by the pool all evening and nothing. I asked the bartender who she was and he didn’t have a clue. Maybe she had checked out already.
Come Wednesday, seeing as how the bartender hadn’t seen her at all for the past two days I assumed she had already left, and decided to try my luck out on the town. By 3:30 I was done with work so I decided to get back to the hotel, change, and see the fishing village. Quaint is really the only word to describe it.
After walking around for an hour or so, BOOM, I bumped into you know who, looking fabulous. Short white shorts, white sandals, and a pastel colored t-shirt along with the $900 LV handbag my wife wanted for Christmas.
She recognized me thank God, and we chatted some before I invited her for a sunset drink at a local restaurant.
“Which one do you have in mind?” she asked.
“I don’t have the slightest, but I’m hoping maybe you can guide me.”
“I have just the place,” she said as we walked a few blocks to the west side of the bay and came upon a small terrace outside a restaurant that looked out onto the beach.
The restaurant didn’t say much, I mean it wasn’t going kadıköy escort to win a Michelin award or anything, but it was, again, quaint.
After the waiter took our order and left, proper introductions were forthcoming.
“By the way, I’m Marisol” she said as she extended her hand towards me.
“I’m Michael, pleasure to meet you Marisol. I was afraid I wouldn’t see you again.”
“Afraid, why’s that?”
“Well, I thought you had checked out already and left.”
She grinned and said, “I’m not a guest at the hotel, I own a small apartment a block away, so every now and then I have a meal or drink there.”
“Oohhhh. How nice.”
“It is. Whenever my husband’s away, I try to come down as often as possible to get away from the city and catch up on my tan.”
We then got into her husband’s line of work as well as mine, and next thing I know, it’s already 8:00 in the evening.
“Would you have dinner with me?” I asked.
“Why not?” was her response.
I insisted that she order and we got a meal fit for a king. We had grilled lobster tails, bbq shrimp, calamari, octopus, everything. It was awesome. When it was eleven she said it was getting late and that she should head home. I asked if she minded if I ordered my kahlua and cream which I always have after a great meal, and she said I could have it at her place. Perfect.
The check was unbelievably low, something like $60 for seven solid hours of drinking and the seafood feast.
As I was about to wave a cab down she said she had a car. We walked a few blocks to her Range Rover and where sitting in her apartment five minutes later.
This woman obviously had a white-fixation. The plush carpeting was white, the furniture was white and the walls…white. Had it not been for the immense floor to ceiling window looking out towards the ocean, I would have felt I was in an insane asylum.
As I took in my surroundings, she kicked her sandals off and told me to make myself at home. She pointed me towards the bar, and then excused herself.
“What would you like me to make you?” I asked as I look around the bar.
When she responded “love” my heart skipped a beat. I may have been wrong, but I swore that’s what she said.
She poked her head from around a corner and asked, “what did you say?”
“I uhhhh, uhh, asked what you wanted to drink.”
“Oh…umhh…I’ll have whatever you having” she said as she headed off.
I found two glasses, poured some kahlua in them and went to the kitchen for ice and cream.
The “apartment” was actually a two-story townhouse. The main floor which I was on had a small entrance which opened up to a very nice living area which was next to the dining area, both areas faced the huge window which looked out to a very nice deck, hot tub and small wet bar. The view was exceptional.
To the rear of the living and dining areas was the ultramodern kitchen and behind it, a set of stairs to the second floor.
Turning a sound system on nowadays requires an electrical engineering degree from MIT. It had an amp, an iPod, cd player, etc. etc. I decided against making a fool of myself.
As I made my way onto the deck and took in the gorgeous starlit sky, she called out to me asking me for her drink.
As I turned around I saw this Mexican beauty in a tiny bikini looking around for the drink I had just made for her.
“I have it out here” I said.
As she came outside and closer to me I realized that when she was barefoot, she was really, really short. However, I also noticed her breasts weren’t THAT small. Maybe 32B.
I handed her her drink and she handed me a swimsuit. As she took her first sip, she cooed and remarked, “you older guys always know the best drinks. She then held her hand out and said, “I think you’re the same size as my husband…put these on and we’ll take a dip in the tub, ok?”
Luckily, we were the same size, and when I got back to the deck she was already in the tub.
Before I got in, I refreshed her drink which she had already pounded down, and then inched myself down into the water.
You’re not going to believe me, but we watched the sun rise out there. No sex, nothing, just awesome conversation. Hours and hours of talking about everything and anything and not a dull or silent moment. When night turned to day, I said I had to go.
By the time I dried off and changed back into real clothes, I went out to say goodbye but she was fast asleep on the hammock.
I let myself out and returned to my hotel.
Thursday was awful. I felt like I had the worst hangover. With only two hours of sleep in the morning, I was behind all day.
I got back to my hotel at 4:00 and fell asleep, and didn’t wake up until the next day.
Come Friday I was feeling completely rested. I could have run a marathon. Lots of sleep under my belt, and no drinking made me feel like a champ.
After work I decided to freshen up at the hotel and then visit my lovely Marisol.
I reached her apartment at around 5:30 and rang the doorbell. No answer. I knew she or someone maltepe escort bayan was home because the music was blasting. I rang the doorbell again and nothing. I made my way around the back to see if I could catch her up on the deck but there was no way I could see up there.
I came around the front again and rang the bell but still nothing. I tried the door, and although the handle was indeed locked, the door had apparently not shut all the way, and slowly opened…until it reached the chain’s limit. Damn.
The last thing that occurred to me was to run around back, which was no easy endeavor. The placement of the house on the cliff made for an odd sort of back entrance, but I reached it, knocked, looked through the window, and nothing. I turned the door handle and voila…I was in like flint.
I said hello again from the kitchen entrance, but nothing. Honestly, I could have gone in with a jackhammer pounding away and nobody would have heard me over the music.
I closed the door behind me and let myself in. She wasn’t anywhere on the first floor. The question now became, should I go upstairs.
Curiosity got the best of me and I headed up the carpeted stairs. The worse that could happen was that she kick me out, right?
As soon as I reached the second floor I heard the moaning. It was the simplest of layouts, a small corridor and a door at each end…bedroom one and bedroom two. I assumed her bedroom faced the ocean so I headed west. The door was wide open and as I looked inside, there was nobody there!
It was definitely her bedroom though. Again, all white, huge bed, all the accouterments, etc. etc. The moaning was increasing in intensity, so I decided to check out the back bedroom. Indeed, as I neared the opened door, the moaning was coming from there.
I walked up slowly and peaked inside. Not at all what I expected to see. The room was outfitted as an exercise room. There were weights, a stairmaster and a treadmill. However, off to one side, in the corner, was this young brunette, who I’m certain couldn’t have been a day over 20, buck naked, sitting atop a half barrel, with her hair in her face, fucking herself silly on what I later discovered was a sybian.
She would shiver and shudder each time an orgasm would slam through her, and then she would sit up straight and rub her breasts and lean as far back as the dick inside her allowed. She went on and on for at least fifteen minutes like this until she leaned forward, grabbed the control panel off the floor and apparently turned the machine off. She rested for a moment and then lifted herself off the dildo. She then sat on the floor, still a little out of breath, and played with the controls. At first, almost indiscernibly, the dildo vibrated, and as she increased the speed it obviously vibrated more, but following that, came the clincher, when she pressed another button, it started rotating! Now that’s something she can’t get from a guy. Anyway, apparently fully recovered from her orgasms, she crawled towards a bag near her and took out a two-headed dildo. A normal size one for upfront and a smaller one for the rear. She took the dildo on the machine off, and snapped the new one on. She got some lube, and rubbed it sensually all over both shafts. With that done, she climbed back aboard, and slowly, very slowly, let herself down.
She had beautiful features. Her hair was black as night, her breasts where magnificent looking and she had gorgeous skin color. Unfortunately, with her disheveled hair, I was unable to completely appreciate her face.
“Ugghhhhh” she groaned.
She slowly started moving up and down, and when she had the rhythm just right, she leaned forward, picked up the control, and turned it on.
She was in a daze. She started riding it harder and harder, and every now and then she would turn the speed up a notch, and finally, five or six minutes later, just when it couldn’t get any better, she leaned over to her right and brought up a massager and placed it directly on her clit. She screamed at the top of her lungs and exploded into a minute-long orgasm.
She twitched and moaned for a good while, and finally shut everything off and rested again on the floor.
Of course, with the show that I had just witnessed, I had a hard on like no other. I waited a few minutes to see if she was going to go another round but, after moving a round a little on the floor, she fell asleep.
I decided now was probably the best time to make my exit, lest I be caught trespassing and peeping in a foreign country.
I left the same way I came in and walked back to the hotel. I was contemplating a good masturbatory session but opted on waiting out the evening to see if any opportunities presented themselves.
I freshened up in my room and out of habit, checked my e-mail. Boom….one from Nicky.
PLEASE CALL ASAP.
Thinking the worse, I picked up the phone and rang her. It turns out it was really nothing important…she had seen my number on her caller id the week before and was waiting for me to call again. We chatted for a long while, and when I told where I was she was green with envy. Saying she had always dreamt about going to Cancun, and that she could have a long weekend with me if I so wanted. Was she kidding? I told her I would get all the flight info and get back to her.
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