Chapter 9
Senor Sanchez, his bags packed and his airline ticket for Acapulco in the pocket of his suit coat, was just stepping out the door of his home when his servant suddenly called from the living room, "Senor Sanchez, you have a telephone call from your wife!"
He did not even break stride, but whispered a few words to his chauffeur, who was waiting for him in the garage with the Rolls Royce. Senor Sanchez sat down in the front seat, as usual, while his chauffeur went into the house to talk to his servant. There were the sounds of a few brief blows landed, a couple of whimpers ... then, the chauffeur returned, and informed his employer that the servant had told Mrs. Sanchez that he husband had been called away on "urgent business" and would let her know later where he was and when he would return.
"Did you express my indignation with him, for calling me by name instead of checking with me first, as he was always instructed to do?" Ricardo asked his chauffeur.
"Yes, Senor Sanchez, I reprimanded him for you. He assured me that he would not make such a foolish mistake again."
"That is good. Well, I will not give him his Christmas bonus this year for such a foolish mistake. That will teach him a lesson. If I were not so softhearted, I would discharge him on the spot."
"Si, you are a wonderful employer, Senor Sanchez."
"Gracias." He frowned, reached inside his coat pocket for his airline ticket. He had just had a change of mind. He handed the ticket to the chauffeur, telling him to give it to the servant and have it returned to the airline for credit. He had decided, instead, to drive, rather than fly, to Acapulco.
Several minutes later, the chauffeur returned, with a traveling bag of his own. He told his employer that he had done as ordered.
They took off. Senor Sanchez switched his position to the back seat for the long drive. It was not quite noon, and the drive took at least six or seven hours to cover the 250 miles from Mexico City to Acapulco, over a concrete four-lane highway and through some of the most beautiful mountain scenery in Mexico. It would be a pleasant drive.
The air-conditioning was the loudest noise in the car, and Ricardo ordered the chauffeur, whose name was Hernando, to turn on the portable cas sette recorder that he had recently had equipped in the vehicle. Soon, the romantic music of Mantovanni and Jackie Gleason, with shimmering strings and old standard melodies, filled the car. Ricardo leaned back, and mixed himself some Kaluha on the rocks, Kaluha being the coffee liqueur of Mexico, smooth and potent, as easy to imbibe as creme dementhe. He let the thick liquid flow down his throat; Soon, he thought, we shall have lunch in one of the suburbs on the way. No hurry ... just a pleasurable drive. But ... even though I shall soon be seeing the SeHora Brinkman again, it would be even more pleasurable to have a companion for the trip ... a female companion.
He sipped some more Kaluha.
He wondered what Angela would say when he arrived. He knew where they were staying, even the exact room number. He had ways of finding things out.
He wondered what Ben would say. Well, he would handle Ben as he had handled him before. That young man is no match for an experienced fellow such as myself, he reasoned ... if I want to take his wife away from him, I will have no trouble from him ... I think I will see if I can persuade her to remain in Mexico a little longer ... as my mistress, of course ... she is certainly in the throes of addiction to machismo, that is for sure ... perhaps she will come down with some disease, and I will have to arrange a "rest cure" for her ... her husband cannot protest to that ... well, we shall see.
The car continued its traveling. Hernando was an excellent driver, fast but efficient, no jerky stops and starts, everything smooth as Senor Sanchez liked it. They were approaching the outskirts of the city....
Then he saw something that made him quickly call to Hernando, "Stop!"
The car stopped, pulling over to the side of the road.
What Senor Sanchez saw was a who; a young, long-haired blonde girl dressed in simulated buckskin, the latest fad of the hippies-he thought indeed she was a hippie, a species that, due to a particularly unique form of Mexican harassment, was not too welcome in Mexico at this time-who had her right thumb jerked forward in the traditional gesture of bumming a lift. Something about her innocent-looking countenance, her easy manner, reminded him of Angela Brinkman.
When she saw the car stop, she hurried forward, her coltish gait bringing her to the rear door in a few seconds. In a breathless girlish voice, she asked, in tourist Spanish, "May I have a ride to Oaxaca?"
"I speak English fluently, better than you speak Spanish," Ricardo chided her.
"OK," she cheerfully replied. "Are you going to Oaxaca?"
"By a fortuitous circumstance, yes. Would you like a ride?"
"Uh ... yeah, sure." She glanced over her shoulder, her face turning slightly red with guilt, as a long-haired young man, also dressed in buck skin, climbed from behind a road sign and clambered toward the car. She said, apologetically, "Can my boy friend come along?"
So that is it, thought Senor Sanchez; the old "girl on the highway" game, flagging down a car by herself and then suddenly producing a "boy friend" or two ... or more ... who was hidden all the time. Using sex to sell the unsuspecting driver that he would have her company all to himself....
Senor Sanchez quickly decided that he wanted the girl's company-all to himself.
He grabbed her by the wrist and, yanking her off her feet with a sudden show of strength, pulled her into the car, slamming the door and ordering Hernando to drive away. Hernando, cool in emergencies, stepped on the accelerator and pressed the button that automatically locked all the doors. The Rolls pulled away in a cloud of dust, as the hippie youth, several feet too late to catch up, grabbed some loose rocks and heaved them at the rapidly-disappearing vehicle. The rocks too fell short, and in a few seconds his raging figure was a speck of dust in the distance.
The girl, too frightened to scream, just huddled in the opposite corner of the rear seat, her head in her hands, crying softly. Her legs looked neatly tapered, though covered by the buckskin pants; before she had hidden her face, Ricardo had observed that it was of a pleasing oval dimension, with a few girlish freckles and twinkling blue eyes and long, pursed lips that were not pouting but were still thick and long enough to make her look like a sexy teen-ager. Which he thought she was; however, he didn't care. He knew that she had no time to check his auto's license, nor had her friend; she would not know his name, and recognition out of the millions of Mexico City inhabitants would be almost impossible. No, he was clear; and, she was here. Beside him, a desirable female, and he meant to fuck her but good.
"My young sweet girl, please do not carry on so," he said, his voice almost grandfatherly in its solicitous syllables. "I mean you no harm. I simply wanted a traveling companion for the day, and you conveniently came along and made my day complete. Besides...." He paused for a grand effect. "You were not being scrupulously fair, since you had a young friend concealed behind a sign. That, I think, was most unfair of you. In fact, I think that you owe me an apology for such gross deception ... and I want that apology ... now."
The girl looked up from her crying, her face still wet with tears, her eyes open in amazement. "Me ... apologize to you ... for kidnapping me?"
He smiled sadly, as he slapped her on both cheeks, his hand one continuous circle of motion.
"When I say, apologize, I expect you to apologize."
From the look in his eyes, she realized that he would not hesitate to use more force, if he thought it necessary. And she was not unfamiliar with machismo, having been an American student at the University of Mexico for the past year. She remembered the code, much like that of the Mafia, and, also realizing that she was indeed his prisoner if he chose to keep her in that status, said, her mouth drooping in resignation. "All right ... I ... apologize...."
He pulled a silk handkerchief from his suit, and gently daubed the tears away from her face. His touch was firm but gentle, and she did not draw back. He offered her a drink of Kaluha; she thought it would help her nerves, accepted, and sipped the smooth, chocolate-brown liqueur.
They talked for a while, as the car sped through the beautiful Mexican countryside, its fall colorations of brilliant reds, amber browns, and golden yellows-plus the still green grass that grows almost everywhere in the verdant country-and soon the girl was full of Kaluha, full of no less than six large, delightful glasses of the smooth liqueur-and the time was close to mid-afternoon, as they drove up and down the magnificent mountains. As she felt the liqueur affecting her bodily responses, so also did she hear the romantic music spreading into her ears, feel the sophisticated hands of Senor Sanchez undressing her-until, her voluptuous body was nude on the seat beside him, and her small but firm conical breasts were revealed to have nice taut nipples pointing right at him. She no longer hated him, if she ever had; indeed, she was looking at him with increased interest, and respect as well. It was amazing how well machismo worked in Mexico, even upon foreigners who had been but little exposed to it, Senor Sanchez thought, as he watched the girl's smile deepen while he played with her nipples, flicking them with his thumb as if he were snapping his fingers upon them.
He had not even removed his necktie. He was still fully clothed.
"Undress me, Martha," he said (that was her name-she had mentioned it in their previous conversation).
Almost automatically, like a robot, she reached for him, and removed his coat ... then his shirt and tie....
She stood, rather sat, gazing at the thick mounds of black curly hair on his chest. She tangled her fingers in them, as if she were a child who had just discovered a new toy. She stuck her nose in them ... then began to lick at his chest, without his prompting, like a dog desiring affection from his master, while Ricardo thought, That is the American female all the way ... break them in properly, break them down the right way ... and they immediately start crawling all over you ... ah, these American females ... they are made for machismo.
"Please finish undressing me," he said.
She unzipped his fly, unbuttoned his belt, and pulled off his pants ... until she got to his shoes, which she removed, then finished pulling his pants off. Next his socks ... his shorts ... and there he was, as naked as she, his cock dangling loose like a piece of rope.
There was a reason for his lack of an erection. For he had willed it so. He wanted her to really work for it, to bring it up to its fully erect length herself.
She needed no prompting on that score. She took one look, and was on it in a flash.
But he had moved. Now he was lying stretched out on the full length of the rear seat. To suck him off, she would have to kneel on the floor. That was the way he had planned it, and that was the way he wanted it ... and she understood.
She knelt down, her hair falling over his stomach, dusting him like a finely tailored cloth, and put her lips to his cock.
"Tongue, please," he reprimanded her.
She moved her mouth back, sticking out a short tongue that darted, almost bird like, over the tip of his cock. She licked around the tip in a circular motion, and his penis began to rise to the occasion. Her tongue was soft and wet, and it felt very, very good. She came down to the base along the foreskin route, and tenderly kissed his balls when she got there, one at a time, sniffing his bush and rubbing his scrotum with her rabbit like nose.
"Very nice, very nice," he said, approvingly.
Moving back to the tip of his prick, she opened her mouth and began to suck his prick inside her sucking mouth. Inch by inch, she sucked him inside her mouth, his cock scraping the roof of her mouth as her tongue helped him slide inside. Her mouth began to move like a vagina, up and down, side to side ... sucking, always sucking ... he could feel his balls getting fuller, his cock getting harder ... her throat made strange little moans ... she was getting him ready to go, and so was she....
He lay back, relaxing, enjoying her efforts. So fine, he thought ... that is the way I like it ... let her do the heavy work ... then I collect the prize....
She instinctively sensed when he was ready, and looked at him, questioningly. In reply, he stretched, moved his body so that he was sitting up in the seat now, spread his legs, and motioned for her to join him in a variation on the lotus position. Having studied some Zen at one time, she understood what he wanted, and was soon squatting in front of him, slowly pushing her bristling vagina over his vibrating cock....
His hands gripping her buttocks, squeezing the juicy flesh between his appraising fingers, he pulled her body, her vagina, into him, and his cock slid past her lips with a minimum of difficulty. He did not even have to check the temperature to know that she was wet enough; he was long experienced in such matters. She placed her arms around his neck, her hands gripping him on the shoulders, and pulled herself into him so that his cock slid easily, inch by inch, inside her waiting vagina. It was nice and snug, very tight, yet he felt no pain at getting inside; the girl, and gravity, were working in his favor. He could feel her breasts pressing against him, and he let her put her head on his shoulder, like a niece getting a gift from her uncle for being a good girl.
He bit her on the tip of her nose.
She didn't even flinch, and he thought, Very good indeed, I have her well trained now.
"Orgasm, please," he said, in an authoritative tone of voice.
As if on cue, she began to let her liquid rush down upon his cock, her vaginal walls palpitating violently as they closed about his cock. She began to swivel her hips as if dancing, her motions pulling his cock this way and that, as his sperm began to rise, ready to explode in a short time....
She came in a fiery burst of liquid, moaning and breathing simultaneously, her body thrusting itself and rubbing him, her vagina crying for his cock to explode and join her in orgasmic bliss. Her mouth was kissing him all over his shoulders, cheeks, ears ... she was begging him to come, to come join her.
But he waited for what he thought was the climatic moment. It was a tribute to his self-discipline that he was almost always able to do it this way, and this was not one of the exceptions.
When he was ready to come, he came, releasing his sperm in a jolting, jabbing burst that nearly knocked her right off the car seat. He stabbed her with his cock like Jack the Ripper taking care of his female victims, driving deep into her vagina, hitting her so hard that his cock almost punctured through her backside. It was a hard-driving, almost brutal fuck that he gave her; but she took it, absorbed it like cushioned springs, and even cried for more ... and more....
But she received no more. They were less than a hundred miles from Acapulco now, and he had no further use for her.
After she dressed, he simply barked some brief orders to Hernando in Spanish, such rapid-fire Spanish that she could not follow it, of that he made sure. At the next small town-actually, more of a roadside catina than anything else-he placed enough pesos to equal $25 American in her hand and, when Hernando stopped the car, he propelled her hard against him. He waited, patiently, perhaps longer than usual, for her to get into, not her second but her third orgasm. He really wanted to give her something to remember him by.
She was all over him, her arms and legs fondling him, but he extricated himself and pushed her outside, not hard but firmly so that she had no choice but to jump out or fall on her ass. He said, "Adios, muchacha-you were very good, and now you may rejoin your boy friend in Mexico City and tell him that you have been thoroughly fucked by a real man, for a change." Then the Rolls drove off, leaving the startled girl, still staring dumbly at the dinero in her hand, her face shocked and incredulous in its expression.
He dressed, reclined, drank another Kaluha. Soon, he would be seeing Senora Brinkman again.
To that, he waved his Kaluha, as if in a silent toast, and drained the glass.