Chapter 8
When Jeff came back from Guadalajara it was nearly dark. He switched on some lights and dropped his packages of art supplies on the nearest chair. Then he saw Anna's note on the long table.
He read it and grimaced. He had mixed feelings about the whole deal. Though he and Anna were more or less engaged, they stoutly maintained their own identities and their personal freedom. He was doing his own thing in Mexico, and she was doing hers. Only, at this point he wasn't quite sure what Anna's thing was. He shrugged and tore up the note.
Jeff slept badly that night. The bed felt empty, and his dreams were troubled, though indistinct.
The next morning was like other sunny mornings at San Tomas, almost monotonously lovely. Even after a cool shower Jeff felt an annoying throbbing in his temples, so he swallowed a couple of aspirins and washed them down with instant coffee. A nagging irritation bugged him as he thought of Anna, but after he cooked some eggs and bacon and drank another cup of coffee he felt much better.
The morning got away from him and noon came swiftly, so engrossed he was in filling in some of his recent sketches. He was sitting in the patio, working over a large pad propped against the leather-covered table when he heard a faint hiss of leather against the tiles.
"Buenos dias, Jeff."
He whirled about to look into the smiling face of Concha.
"Hello, Concha. How do you like this?" He held the sketch up and she came forward.
She was relaxed around him now, and unhesitantly she pressed her hip against the back of his chair as she stretched her arm forward as if to sense the drawing with her amber fingers. He felt her breath drifting lightly downward across his bare shoulders.
"It is very pretty, Jeff." Her voice was soft and rich, and he looked up at her, his interest distracted from his work.
"So are you, querida," he said.
Her eyes widened as they flashed at him, and for a second he was sorry he had called her darling. Too fast, man, he chided himself. Young girls here are kept in tight check. But in spite of the apricot flush in her cheeks, her smile was not angry.
He stared at her intently. "What strange, lovely eyes you have, Concha."
The flush in her cheeks darkened, and she dropped her thick lashes over her eyes and turned partly away.
"They're lovely," he repeated, sincerely.
She looked back toward him, wonder in her expression, "The boys in the village call me Ojos-locos, crazy-eyes," she said. Obviously she wasn't flattered by the name.
Jeff stood up. "Let me see," he requested, and obediently the girl opened her eyes wide and looked up at him. Jeff had a momentary feeling that he was plunging into some dark deep pool lost in a jungle.
"Tropical," he breathed.
"What?" she asked.
"Nothing," he grinned and touched her cheek very lightly. It was the inky pupils which at certain times looked like the ace of clubs, a cluster of magnetic blackness rather than a single defined round dot. That, and the unbelievable size of her eyes when she opened them wide.
Relief and gratitude gleamed now in her eyes as she realized that El Rizo was not making fun of her. He genuinely thought she had pretty eyes, and he should know. He was an artista.
"Thank you, Jeff," she said.
For a moment more they stood looking at one another, and he was strongly tempted to bend and kiss her generous lips, smooth as purple grapes.
"I must work now," she said, turning away. "I will bring you some lunch in a little moment." She flashed a glance of open admiration down his muscular body, then went inside the house.
Jeff's headache was completely gone, replaced by a feeling of elation. But his mind was no longer on his work. He dropped the pad on the table and walked over to the edge of the patio, to stand in the sun.
Concha was much shorter than he had thought. He had never noticed it before because her body was so perfectly and delightfully proportioned, a woman's body lushly curved and exciting. Yet when she had stood next to him, her head had not even come to the top of his shoulders. Unconsciously he rubbed a hand over his groin and sighed deeply.
The warmth of the overhead sun was inviting. Some rolled-up fiber mats were propped in a corner of the patio, and Jeff went over and got one and unrolled it on the lawn just beyond the edge of the patio. He was just getting ready to stretch out on it when Concha came out with a tray.
"Your lunch, Jeff," she announced. Her eyes were unmistakably brighter now, with the same excitement they had reflected on the bus that time when she and Jeff had flirted across the aisle. And her smile was a mischievous curve. "Join me?" he invited, going over and sitting down by the equipal table.
"Thank you. I have much work to do." But her expression clearly showed that she would like to accept his invitation.
As he munched the sandwich and drank the frosty beer, Jeff heard her singing softly in the kitchen. Her voice was rich and well-timbred, not shrill like that of so many Mexican singers, and the song she was singing was inevitably-of love. Jeff smiled.
When he finished eating, he went out on the lawn and stretched lazily on the mat. He slipped into a semicoma, his mind as relaxed as his muscles.
The singing of Concha became fainter, then died away. In a few moments it seemed to begin again, and slowly it sank into Jeff's half-sleeping mind that now the sound was coming from somewhere beyond the low stone wall at the end of the lawn. Noiselessly he got up and went to the wall and looked over. Below him and a few yards to the left Concha was on the edge of the lake. She was kneeling in the sand while she scrubbed away at a bedspread. A wide flat rock was her washboard. Her miniskirt was hiked up about her waist to keep it from dragging in the water, and her long black hair fairly glittered in the blinding sun's rays. Her golden-brown thighs were bare to the bottoms of her bright blue panties, and the smooth skin seemed to flash, too, with her flexing movements.
He hurried back to the patio and picked up his sketch pad and a crayon. The girl was so absorbed in her work she wasn't aware of Jeff as he propped a leg on the low wall and sketched away.
Suddenly Jeff sighted a rolling motion in the water a few yards out and to one side of the working girl. Shading his eyes against the glare of the water, he made out the shape of a watersnake. The creature was about four feet long, and though he was reasonably sure it wasn't a poisonous species, it was heading toward Concha. He dropped his pad and crayon and stepped up on the wall.
"Concha!" he called, and jumped to the sand below.
The girl whirled about as he hit the beach near her.
"A snake!" he said, pointing toward the undulating form gliding toward her.
She gave a sharp cry, and springing to her feet she ran to him. With her eyes still turned toward the snake she threw herself into his arms, and he clasped her shuddering body close to him.
"There, there," he said soothingly. "It won't bother you."
"I have much fear of snakes," she said in a quavering voice, her hands squeezing into his ribs as she pressed closer to him.
Her body was warm from the sun, and a fine dampness of perspiration covered her forehead and upper body, transferring to Jeff's naked chest and arms as he continued to hold her close. He also became aware of the fact that her short miniskirt was still hiked up about her waist, and her smooth plump thighs were planted solidly against his bare legs.
Finally she stopped shivering and made a little gesture as if she would pull away from him. As she raised her face from his chest and looked up, he bent and kissed her. Her soft lips were still at first from the suddenness of his move, but her brief effort to break away from him died, and she yielded her body inward to his compelling pressure, and her lips moved under his. Her arms slipped about him and tightened, and he felt the twin projections of her tits pressing solidly against him.
After a few moments he raised his head to catch his breath. Concha's kiss-swollen lips remained parted, and her eyes closed, and she hung in his arms as if she were half-fainting. Swiftly he scooped her up in his arms and went up the mild slope of the narrow beach, through the gate and into the casa. In the darkness of the interior, she opened her eyes and looked up at the intent face above her. Not fear, but a sort of resignation shone in their ebony depths as Jeff laid her on his bed.
For a moment he felt a twinge of remorse. This wasn't passion, her surrender. It was fatalism, born of centuries of servitude to male domination in a culture that still viewed women as only instruments for man's pleasure and for childbearing. Then, as if reading his mind, Concha smiled, and the resignation was replaced by a look of anticipation. It was the right place, the right time, and they were the only man and woman on earth.
He dropped on the bed and stretching out beside her he began to caress her gently. She interrupted his caresses by rolling toward him and putting her arms about his neck tightly and drawing his face against hers.
"Soy virgen," she whispered in his ear. I am virgin.
He believed her. "I won't hurt you," he said huskily, and reaching up her back he unsnapped the catch behind her neck and unzipped the light blouse. She rolled upward to allow him to pull it over her head, then lay across him while he unsnapped her bra and threw it to one side.
Slow, slow, he told himself as he cupped a handful of well-formed breast, so firm it was almost hard. He squeezed it and Concha sighed as if he were pressing air from her body. She murmured something, so softly he didn't understand, and then her wide soft lips covered his in an impassioned kiss, inexperienced but excitingly eager. *
Slowly, he reminded himself again. Holding her close, he relaxed and kissed her while he fondled her tit. The small pointed nipple. gradually swelled and poked the palm of his hand like a rubbery thimble. Sliding downward, he took the nipple in his mouth and sucked it lightly, then harder, and washed it with his tongue.
"Rizot Rizo!" she sighed, running her hand through his short curly hair. Hesitancy, nervousness, they all vanished under the overpowering sensations quickening her nerves and filling her with ecstasy. She kept murmuring endearments while his hand dropped along her deeply curved young body and stroked her bare thigh.
Carefully he avoided shoving his hand right into the V of her thighs. Time, time, take your time, he cautioned himself, moving to her other nipple and nibbling it into eager erection. Her hands continued to caress his hair and cheeks and neck, then gradually they moved downward along his bare shoulders, uncertainly at first, then with instinctive sureness.
His cock was shoving painfully against the confines of his shorts, so Jeff rolled to one side far enough that he could unzip the shorts. Still nibbling and sucking her nipples, he pushed his unfastened shorts down below his knees, then kicked them off. His stiff rod slammed up against his belly, and when he rolled back toward Concha, the hard but velvety head rubbed against her thigh.
She shuddered a long slow shudder that seemed to start in her lower legs and travel like a wave up through her body, to escape her parted lips in a shivering sigh. Her eyes were closed again.
Jeff's groping fingers found the catch of her miniskirt at the waist, and in a moment he had it unfastened. He released her swollen nipple and got up on his knees to drag the garment down over her valentine-curved hips. Through the sheer fabric of her blue panties he saw the heavy bush of coal-black hair covering her mound. After he had pulled the skirt down her unresisting legs and off her feet, he was still kneeling over her and feasting his eyes on her near-naked beauty. She lay quietly, her long black lashes tipping the curve of her cheek, and her teeth gleaming through her open lips.
Jeff bent forward and hooked his fingers into the waistband, then buried his face in her belly as he drew the panties down over her hips and thighs. Again she quivered as his tongue thrust hotly into her belly-button, and then she was completely naked.
Her legs trembled slightly as she anticipated that he would force them apart and get between them, but instead, he lay down beside her again, facing toward her, and put his arms about her, drawing her close against him. His upright cock lay like a long hard ridge between their pressed bellies, and she began to tremble almost as violently as when the snake had frightened her.
"I won't hurt you. I won't hurt you," he said, and her trembling diminished somewhat. He tilted her head until her lips were near his, then he kissed her, softly at first, then with increasing urgency until her breath was hotly mingling with his and the tip of her tongue imitated his, darting between her own open lips to pry into his mouth and explore the moist depths.
His cock lay upright between them, along his belly, but higher on her stomach because of the difference in their height. He ran his hand down the slope of her back and out over the delicious curve of her resilient asscheeks, trailing his fingers lightly in the crevice between them until she shuddered. Gradually he moved his caressing hand inward across her hip toward the front of her thigh, glued against his.
Slowly, with just the minimum of pressure, he shoved inward with his hips, sliding his hard cock upward between their tight-pressed bodies as if it were imprisoned in a pussy.
"Ohhhhhhhhhh!" she moaned, dragging her lips reluctantly from his, then pushing her face into the hollow of his neck. Her fingers clutched feverishly at his neck and back, and her nails dug into his skin.
Jeff barely felt it. Instead he was keenly in tune with her increasing passion, feeling her surging blood through his skin just as he felt the humid warmth of her naked body against his. Her breath was almost like steam against his neck, and she babbled his name between moans of ecstasy.
He pushed lightly at her hip and she let herself drop away far enough for his hand to slide between them and across her love-mound.
"Mmmmmmmmmmrnm?" she groaned, her teeth set into his neck, but without breaking the skin.
It was probably the first time any man had ever had his hand over her pussy, Jeff realized, and he kept his movements carefully slow, exerting practically no pressure at first It was a plentiful cluster of hair covering her well-padded mound, and he laced his fingers through the thicket and along the inside of her thighs, like a flower unfolding its petals, she moved her legs apart for his hand to have clear access to her tender slot.
"Ahhhhh, Jeffffff!" she cried softly, and he felt the hot tears from her eyes running down his throat and spilling onto his chest.
That wasn't the only moisture he was encountering, either. My God, he thought, as his fingers finally parted the mat of hair and penetrated the outer lips of her cunt, she was a fountain between her legs. It was the juiciest pussy he had ever touched in his life. Even at her hottest, Anna never got this wet. The slippery love-juice was running over the palm of his hand as he carefully inserted his middle finger between the slick puffy lips and felt for the narrow cunt entrance.
He restrained himself from crawling between her legs and shoving his impatient cock right into her honeypot. It would be easy, the thing was so lubricated already. But he had promised her, and Concha was a sweet girl, more than just a casual pickup. He had promised not to hurt her, and if it was possible, he would keep his promise.
He moved his head down and captured a nipple in his lips, and her legs spread farther apart as she rolled over on her back. A continuing sound, half-wail, half-sigh, came through her throat, and her eyes were now partly open, but glazed and sightless. All her senses were focused in her nerves, exulting in the ecstatic stimulation they were receiving.
Jeffs finger found her clitoris, hidden beneath the upper juncture of her pussy lips, and he stroked and teased it until her legs jerked in an agony of exquisite pleasure.
"I can't stand it, Jeff. I can't stand it!" she babbled. He stopped for a moment until she had calmed somewhat, and her legs stretched out again, but farther apart than before. Then he glided his finger between the juicy lips again. There was far less resistance now; her passion was drowning out all caution and fear. He stroked the small inner lips, pressed together to keep intruders out of her virginal love-canal, and they parted easily, too. It felt to Jeff as if he were forcing his finger into a tight, oil-soaked rubber hose as he squirmed his fingertip into the orifice. As it sank almost to the first knuckle, the muscles in the sheath clenched convulsively, instinctively, and he marveled at the strength of them. Jesus, he thought, if he ever did get his cock in that tight passage, he might get it pinched off.
He waited until the spasm ceased and her cunt relaxed, then he pushed his finger in deeper. Abruptly it stopped.
"Don't hurt me, lover!" she hissed, closing her thighs together on his head.
"I won't hurt you, darling," he said gently, and her thighs slowly spread apart again. "Trust me," he went on, shifting his body until he lay between her thighs, his raging cockhead brushing the wet mass of hair curling over her pussy. "I'll just touch you with it." Holding his thick shaft as if it were a delicate instrument, he poised the tip of the head between her juicy cunt-lips and stroked it up and down the slit until it was slippery wet. Braced on his knees and one elbow, he continued to stroke between the spreading outer lips, touching her rampant little clit at the top, then down to linger over the tight-lipped orifice.
"Lover! Lover! Lover!" she breathed over and over, her high-tilted breasts heaving with passion. Her hips began to writhe and squirm in natural response to the irresistible stimulation of his cockhead prodding at the sensitive entrance to her channel.
Maybe, he thought as he felt the increasing ache in his ravenous cock and balls, maybe she really doesn't have a cherry. He slowed his up and down stroking and pressed the head firmly against the rubbery little lips of her cunt-mouth. Then he leaned into her, prying the lips apart with his wedge-shaped tool. Like powerful elastic bands the mouth yielded until the head was almost in. Encouraged, Jeff moved back and forth in the shortest possible strokes, to get her accustomed to the feel of fucking. But he pushed too hard on one stroke, and she cried out.
"You're hurting me, Jeff!"
She wasn't faking. He could tell. So he backed out again and let her recover her confidence. When she put her arms about his neck and drew him down for a long, sensual kiss, he began stroking again, this time rubbing her clit instead of trying to penetrate her pussy canal. In a few minutes she began to twitch and jerk, and her hips thrust up spasmodically against him as if she were begging for the muscular pole to be rammed into her.
"Aaaaaaiiiiiiiiii!" she screeched abruptiy, tearing her lips from his and thrusting a hand into her hair to twist and pull at it. Concha was coming with a vengeance.
Jeff kept stroking and her ass slammed up and down wildly, although she stifled her wails with her clenched fist against her mouth. And then she was panting and begging him to stop.
"Enough, lover! Enough!" She stared at him wide-eyed and pleading, but with a gleam of satisfaction in her strange eyes, too. Marvelous! Miraculous! Just like a real fuck, she had floated on climax after climax. And Curly had kept his promise. He hadn't hurt her.
Far from feeling noble, Jeff was suffering the pangs of a stone-ache in his frustrated balls. His aching dong was harder than ever, and the skin was stretched tight over the turgid shaft.
"I'm hurting," he said huskily, looking at her.
She seemed to understand, for she circled her arms about his hips and drew him down against her so that his cock rode between their bellies like before. Only this time she was active. Locking her heels behind his knees, she thrust up with her belly, squeezing the trapped cock upward between them, then sliding down, then up again.
It wasn't as good as the real thing, but it was relief, and at the moment all Jeff could think of was relief. Matching his movements to hers, he pumped away. His superheated rod needed very little more stimulation, and the tight, moist pressure on it and the sliding motion did the trick.
Concha sensed his approaching orgasm and she tightened herself about him even tighter, and as the creamy sperm shot all over her belly, bathing them both, she laughed deep in her throat. She was giving pleasure to her man.
As the powerful spurts weakened and ceased, Jeff collapsed on her small but cushiony body and panted as if exhausted. She stroked his hair lovingly, crooning a wordless song while he gradually got his wind back, and his pulse-rate slowed to normal. He raised his head and looked deep into her huge dark eyes, and smiled.
She smiled back at him, a deep contentment in her expression. "I love you," she said softly.
The next morning Cal and Ada dropped in.
"Where'd you guys come from?" Jeff greeted them warmly. "Drop your sleeping bag. My casa is your casa."
"What a pad!" Ada marveled, looking around the roomy interior, while Jeff made coffee in the kitchen, "Hey! Where's Anna?"
"Shut up!" Cal snapped, his black eyes narrow and hostile. In his philosophy, such questions were a no-no.
Ada not only shut up; she went quietly out to the patio and sat down.
"It's okay, Cal," Jeff said. He shrugged. "She bailed out on me a couple of days ago. Left a note saying she was doing some village-hopping with some people." It sounded very vague, he realized, as he briefly recited what little he knew.
"You guys might as well crash here," Jeff said. "Lots of room."
But Cal shook his head. "Thanks, man, but negative. An old 'Nam buddy has a pad right in the middle of the town, and I want to soak up a little of that atmosphere for a day or two. But I'll be in touch. Let's see some of your work."
In spite of Jeff's urging that they stay, Cal got up after a while and shouldered his pack. "I'll be in touch." And peering keenly into the other's eyes, he added, "Hang loose, man."
When they were gone the place suddenly seemed de-pressingly empty to Jeff. Concha would not be in until noon. And Anna-. He shut his mind to half-formed thoughts. Filling his coffee cup again, he picked up his sketch pad and settled himself on the patio to try to capture the serenity of the ancient volcanic mountains on the far side of the lake.