Chapter 2
Mexico City is a cosmopolitan, cultured, classy metropolis of more than six million Senors, Senoras, and Senoritas that sits 7,000 feet up in the south-center of the country. It is in the Federal District, the seat of government, and no Mexican calls it Mexico City ... rather, simply Mexico.
The actual downtown area, which can be roughly compared to Times Square in New York, has as its Broadway the Avenida Juarez. For its Upper East Side, located approximately one mile away, there is the Paseo de la Reforma, a magnificent double-laned thoroughfare -lined with trees and populated with some of the smartest-and most expensive-hotels, restaurants, and shops.
For most American visitors to Mexico, there is only one hotel on the Reforma at which to stay ... that is, for those who wish to take America's luxurious living habits with them and who are willing to pay $30 and more a day for that dubious privilege. That hotel is the Continental Hilton ... and all one needs to say about any Hilton Hotel is simply that this is a Hilton Hotel, and that's that.
Naturally, it was the Continental Hilton where Ben Brinkman and bride (used bride for the past two years) were staying on their first evening in Mexico City. A warm, summery evening in late October, with the temperature hovering in the upper 60s. A very romantic night as are most nights in Mexico.
And, as befits an American couple in a foreign country, they were spending this first evening in Mexico in a typically American way.
They were having an argument.
Ben was reclining in a chair, still wearing his suit, but with his tie loosened, his only compromise with casual living. Angela, on the contrary, was bouncing herself upon the bed much like an accomplished gymnast, and she was quite naked, almost shamelessly so, as her delightfully rounded buttocks connected with the bedsprings. Her eyes were dancing, her smile was infectious. And she was feeling the best she had felt in months, since finally she had gotten her husband away from his all-consuming job, and here they were in romantic Mexico on a two-week vacation.
That was why they were having an argument.
It had started an hour ago, when Ben had left her to go to the hotel desk to make some sightseeing arrangements for tomorrow. After half an hour had passed, Angela had become concerned-she did not like to be kept waiting for anyone or anything-and had looked for her husband. She had located him in the manager's office, where he was engaged in a long and engrossing conversation with the night manager, whose English was flawless, concerning a subject quite dear to Ben's heart-that of double-entry bookkeeping. Always the accountant, Ben was discussing a particular item in the liquid assets column when Angela appeared, took quiet note of the proceedings, and proceeded to shuffle her husband back to the room but fast-by the simple expedient of making a play for the assistant manager.
"Angela," Ben said, his voice flat as a window ledge. "I wish you'd remember that Mexico is a very conservative country, and someone might be looking in our window and see you naked. Why don't you pull down the shades?"
Mischievously, her eyes glittering with a touch of the teaser, she replied, "If you're so worried, pull them down yourself. Anyway, I'm on vacation ... even if you aren't!"
"What do you mean by that? Of course I'm on vacation, too."
"Oh, yeah? Call that personal audit of yours with the night manager a vacation? I've spent better vacations in school!"
"We were just discussing a little business...."
"Business? That's your trouble Ben-you can't ever seem to forget business, not even on vacation. Especially a vacation that you promised me would be our second honeymoon."
He frowned, then shook his head. "I guess you're right. I'm sorry...."
She laughed, her voice mocking and ironic, and said, "Well, I'm sorry too." Then, she sat on the edge of the bed, her bounteous breasts just a few feet away from her husband's close-watching eyes-he could not help but notice that her nipples were almost tumescent-and said, her expression suddenly serious, "You know, Ben ... if I can't have my second honeymoon maybe I'll pick up my first divorce instead."
Like window shades on a tight spring, his eyes popped open, and he clasped his hands together as if in prayer. "Divorce? Now, just what brought that up?"
Her mouth pouting, she replied, "Well, we've all heard how easy it is to get a Mexican divorce. Just get a Mexican lawyer, stay in town for a few days, have a judge sign a piece of paper-and that's all there is to it." She threw a pillow at him; he instinctively opened his hands and caught it, and she got up from the bed and climbed on her husband, her dampening pussy pressed against the pillow, her thrusting breasts resting on top, now just inches from his staring eyes and perplexed expression, as she opened her mouth into an "O", breathed on him a few times, and murmured, "If I get a Mexican divorce, I can seduce the assistant manager-you talk business with him, I make love with him." Pause. "Of course ... I don't really need a divorce to seduce him ... do I?" She bounced off her husband, threw on her black negligee-the one with the "V" slit in front that reached right down to her navel-put on a pair of pink slippers, and winked suggestively, saying, "Maybe I'll just pay him a quick visit right now ... I've heard that Mexican men really like to fuck...." Her voice began to rise, an instrument tuning up, each scale sounding higher than the previous one, " ... and I really feel like fucking ... fucking all night long ... and if I can't get it at home ... I'll get it somewhere else...."
Like two notes played on an instrument with intense vibrato, these last two words hovered in the room for several seconds before the sound died away.
Ben, twisting nervously, thought, She's right, she's really right this time ... but it was only a few hours ago that I made it with the stewardess ... I don't know if I can get it up now or not ... and I certainly can't tell her about the stewardess ... not now ... not ever.
Ben was usually a one-time-a-night kind of husband ... twice on rare occasions. Where business was concerned, sex always took a back seat with Ben. That was always his problem.
Angela could see indecision written on his face-and perspiration forming on his forehead. She walked over to him, shaking her ass in the sexiest way possible, and when she reached him, she pulled up her negligee so that her thick blonde bush, damp with desire, was just a few inches from his wide-staring eyes. She purred, "I think I've got a beautiful cunt, Ben ... don't you think I've got a beautiful cunt...." Pause. " ... but first ... wouldn't you like to eat my beautiful cunt...."
She pushed her pussy lips directly over the lips of her husband's mouth, her vaginal hairs intertwining with the hairs of his mustache. It tickled; he sneezed.
She grabbed him by his hair, her fingernails scratching his scalp, and said, "Don't you sneeze in Angela's cunt like that! That's not nice, Ben, not nice to Angela at all. Ben ... kiss and make up ... lick those nasty nose germs out of Angela's beautiful cunt ... please...."
Ben was feeling electrical shock waves pulsating throughout his body ... his penis was now growing stiff and straight ... the musky odor of her vagina was permeating his nostrils, even the very pores of his skin.
His tongue snaked out as if released from a spring, and he dipped deeply into the soft, wet membranes of her vagina, tasting the sweet nectar of her sex, rolling the juices on his tongue and gulping them down like a fast cup of coffee. At the same time, his thin lips, the lips of his mouth, were pressed like suction cups against her thick lips, the lips of her vagina, sucking softly, his hands now gripping the smooth, rounded surfaces of her buttocks.
From her loving cup, her loving vagina, he drank deep draughts of her love liquor, letting the beautiful brew sluice down his thirsty throat. It had been so long ... so, so long.
When he was finished, many long minutes later, she pulled her pussy away, and he licked the last drops from his lips. His hands automatically dropped to his crotch; his cock, like a young adult, was now full grown, ready to strike deep into her vagina.
Amazing, he thought, I'll be making it twice in one evening ... Mexico is turning out OK so far ... maybe this vacation will turn out to be the best thing that's ever happened to me ... maybe our marriage will be saved ... our marriage must be saved.
He stopped thinking. He let instinct take over, as he slowly, meticulously undressed himself. He hung up his jacket and trousers in the closet; yet, uncharacteristically, he allowed his shirt and tie and underclothing to lie right on the floor where they had fallen.
Tripping over the chair, he fell into bed next to his awaiting wife, who had removed her negligee. She grabbed him and kissed him full on the mouth, her long blonde hair covering his face like a yellow-gold shroud, her pliant lips pressing firmly against his, her tiny tongue tickling his. This time he did not sneeze, not even when her Crest-brushed teeth bit into his lower lip and left almost indelible marks thereupon.
They broke their kiss; she climbed on top of him, shoving her vagina over his cock, pushing down hard yet with such an assist from gravity that it was only seconds later when she felt his full length inside her hungry, insatiable mouth that lived between her legs.
She was moaning softly to herself, riding him like a child on a seesaw ... up and down ... down and up ... over and over and over and over.
She felt her orgasm begin, and the waterfall flowed within her ... she covered his face with kisses and blonde hair and blue eyes, her fingernails digging bloodily into his shoulders ... her vagina walls expanded and contracted, squeezing her juice all over his still-stiff penis ... she thrashed in the throes of her orgasm, and cried, "Ben ... come on, Ben ... come ... come with me, Ben ... Ben, you bastard ... fuck me ... fuckmefuckmefuckme...."
Beneath her, he strained, fighting gravity all the way, forcing his sperm to flow. By the time he got himself going, she was just starting her third orgasmic chain reaction, and she was perspiring so much that she almost slid right off him.
He grabbed her buttocks, his fingers pressing deep into her yielding flesh, holding her firmly as an automobile steering wheel. Finally, he exploded, ramming his cock hard and deep into her vagina, until she felt as if he would break right through her ass and come right out her rear, like a pin placed through a butterfly. She moaned incoherently, and clutched her husband even more tightly, squeezing every last drop of sperm that she could washrag-wring from him.
For several more minutes, she continued to lie on top of him. His penis was flaccid now, but it was still buried deep within her, and she loved the feeling that it was still there, soft or not. She mumbled, "Oh ... that was a good fuck ... oh Ben, I'm glad I finally got your mind off business ... oh, I'm so glad we came to Mexico ... oh, Ben, you were beautiful...." Pause. "Ben ... Ben, are you listening ... Ben...."
Her answer was a snore ... slow, steady snoring.