Chapter 11
Richard Waywright and Senor Sanchez loathed each other on first sight.
Sanchez, because he immediately recognized in Ben's boss a very hip gringo, one who knew his way around the world and its women, one smooth and sophisticated enough to take care of himself with no problem whatsoever. And therefore, dangerous to him.
Waywright, because he saw in Senor Sanchez the prototypical Mexican male with the machismo syndrome, forever on the prowl for new female flesh to work over, uncompromising and unforgiving when it came to slights about his masculinity, deadly as a cobra when cornered.
Ben sensed the immediate hostility that passed between the two men, like invisible daggers being thrown at each other. He was pleased; Waywright was in his corner now (so he mistakenly thought), and things could not help but get better.
Angela was of mixed emotions, to say the least, about this unexpected turn of events, the addition, so to speak, to her stud stable. Here she was, the center of attention from not two but three men (four if the late Juan Lopez was counted). She had never paid that much attention to Richard Waywright before, having seen him only a few times at company parties or similar affairs. Yet, Waywright's smoothly aggressive, sophisticated masculinity, more subtle than Ben's but more direct than the Senor's, was a refreshing change from what she was discovering was a sticky situation.
And Waywright was clever enough to ingratiate himself with Angela from the very first.
For, he so arranged things that Ben and Ricardo were absent on various errands at the same time. While they were so absent, he slipped several tequila margaritas down Angela's throat-by room service, of course-and, under the guise of helping her husband "straighten out his sex life," slipped her something else.
Before Angela realized what was happening, she found herself in bed with Richard. As he calmly told her, "Just pretend that I'm your husband, who loves you truly, and who is the best man of all of us. I'm doing this for your husband, who is the best accountant we have in the company. His well-being means that much to us, so you can see the personal sacrifice that I'm making myself, to fly all the way to Acapulco and try to extricate you and your husband from this untenable position. Do you understand, Angela?"
All this he said, while he was giving her a straight-ahead fuck, him on top of her, his cock jammed tightly into her vagina, her breasts jabbing him in the chest, his face buried in her hair and whispering such words into her shell-shocked ears. Her vagina was wet with come, she was having an orgasm just as casually as if anyone's cock was stuffed into her vagina, and as her arms tightened their grip around his back, she was not sure just what was happening ... she didn't really know who he was ... or even who she was.
She was just fucking. She loved to fuck.
And she loved it when Richard rammed her with his cock, twisting it inside her vagina like a knife, making sure that she felt a brief sting of pain before he came, before his sperm screamed out to mingle with her orgasmic bliss.
When he did come, it was with the power of an oil drill, driving deep inside her and pinning her helplessly against the mattress. He fucked her until she was ready to collapse, before finally pulling out and helping her get dressed again, in preparation for the return of her husband and Senor Sanchez.
Fucked her with finesse. ... And machismo....