Havana Nights (2 page)

She excused herself to the bathroom and was back as quickly as she had left. The dress was all she would wear.  Perhaps more some other day, but for the foreseeable future, no matter where we were, just a simple dress and nothing else. Her parts were for me to use and play with.

I lied down on the bed and dozed off. I was awakened by the feeling of her licking my balls and my dick.  I looked down at her in the new red dress, holding my dick with her tongue.  I thought to myself
,
“
Dinne
r
“
and I wondered
,
“
where
?
”
 
Dinner would not be just a meal. It would have elements of a performance.

I recalled a paladar on the outskirts of Havana a short ride out of the main city to a quiet suburban place. Tree lined streets with homes that in the dark appeared to fit into the most expensive drives in South Florida. I called a cab.

The cab came quickly. As I approached the cab, I let her get to the door first but opened it for her. As she bent over to get in, I traced her leg and lifted the hem of the dress to expose her ass. She would put her naked ass on the seat.  Once seated, I offered her a dildo and commanded she put it in her ass.  The cab pulled away from the curb as she impaled herself.

Now she sat, being teased as the car bounced in the streets. The streets were bumpy and the cab had no suspension so every bump was magnified. At one point I made her sit directly over the transmission hump.  The ride was as much sexual stimulation as it was transportation. She did not want the ride to end when it did. She swooned in the cab from the orgasm she stole again without permission.

Unsteadily, drunk from the ride, she got out of the cab when it stopped. As she passed me, I felt for her ass under the dress. I offered her one more accessory: a long chain connected to two jap clips; she could chose, one for each cunt lip or for each nipple. The choice would be based on which was less sore from the whipping.  And, attached was a lead: a long lead that would extend up to the top of her dress, above and coming out from between her tits. It was an exotic leash.

We approached the house and saw the high wall that separated it from the road. It presented dramatic privacy. Once inside the wall, we were in the dimly lit garden with many tables some close some separated. I am sure she was concerned about being near other people for what might happen to her. I motioned to Estefan; he came to us, saw how Victoria was leashed, and we were seated at a table away from the main floor. As she sat, she lifted the dress so her naked ass made contact with the leather seat, and I saw that she has attached the clips to her cunt lips. So, I pulled them a bit and watched her flinch and moan. She was as much a prisoner of her tormenting clips as she was of me holding the chain.

I sat next to her and placed my hand on her thigh. She inched up the dress until the nakedness of her thigh was exposed.

And, so the hand inched closer to her pubis, and the directional arrow that was her hair. But first, it worked along the thigh, tracing as it were the muscle and the flesh and feeling the trembling.

The trembling was a bit of fear and a bit of excitement. Alternating or combined, also a bit of confusion. And in the confusion, the mindlessness of these encounters over the years provided the escape we both needed.

She let her mind wander back to the first meeting, a chance encounter in the Partagas Cigar factory behind the Capitolio in March 1997. She was a tour guide, taking foreigners on tours of Cuba's major city and hoping for hard currency tips. I appeared, at first, to be an American businessman, on a trip with my son and several colleagues and their sons buying Cuban contraband Cigars, oblivious to the people and conditions around them: curious, but not really connected, observant, but not conscious.

She had been invited to a dinner held that first evening by the Cuban Football Federation. She caught the eye of El Protero, the Keeper, a big black man who was a world class keeper in Cuba's hey day as a Soccer power. She sat at dinner between us and we began talking. The quiet conversation part in English, part in Spanish became a bond that led to this night, here in Havana, a return for both of us, an escape for both of us as well.

That night, I watched as she took El Protero in the ass several times right there in the main hall at dinner. He seemed to have an aversion to fucking her pussy. He liked to watch the pain in her face as she impaled her ass on his enormous cock. He would slowly move in her. And she would become more and more excited. He would not let her cum. Each time he was about to cum, she would slide down and swallow him, swallowing all of his seed as well. And, a few minutes later, he would be hard again, magically, and she would pull up her dress, and sit down on his lap, as he penetrated her.  There, in front of the group. Not many knew really what was going on. There were many women sitting in the laps of many men. And I sat as a passive observer. Now, I was not passive and these encounters were not a mere vacation, but sort of in isolation in their own bell jar, from the rest of humanity who clamored for attention.

She looked up at me, again, as she felt a slight pinch on the soft inner part of the thigh, her eyes reconnected with mine. I was staring at her eyes and continued to pinch her soft flesh, making her squirm and move on the large dildo impaled in her ass.

I was trying to consume her with my eyes, alone in this dark corner of the once sumptuous home that had been partially converted to an elegant restaurant garden. It was a walled garden adjunct to the home reclaimed from erosion from neglect by a family who earned hard currency from making foreigners Cuban food, music, and some passing and simplistic connection to the culture of the Island. It also provided a safe enclave away from the degeneration that characterized "new" Havana.

Couples, lovers mostly, or people playing lovers had come here to be alone, not fearful of intruding eyes or perhaps reality.

Guitars, singers and other instruments played lonely music softly in the background. Food was brought slowly, with drinks and soft conversation. Other couples and groups were visible, but not intrusive. I removed one clip from her cunt lip and put it on her labia, and took the other and placed it on one nipple, as it was painful there. And I could tug to remind and reinforce the pain.

Occasional glances said more about distance and isolation than connection, and once again, we lost each other in the moment and found each other in the relationship of our eyes, once again relaxing. She slipped her hand under the table and down toward my leg and sighed. She reached slowly along my tight pants to my package as it were. She traced the outline of my dick covered and almost restrained by the pants I wore. She could feel me move, enlarge slowly. She began to breath somewhat heavier as she did.

She lost herself again in the soulful sound of the music, the warmth of the night air, and the excitement of my enlargement. She then felt the pinch of my fingers on her nipple and looked down, to see my hand had worked up under her lose bodice to first caress and then when she did not notice, pinch her nipple. I also pulled the chain to fully engage her womanhood and then rock the chair so she could be reminded of the penetration of her ass.

Dinner and The Dress

She began the mental process of giving herself up to the feelings emanating from her body. For in allowing me to "use" her, she became lost in sexual feelings I caused her to enjoy. The sex, sometimes soft and engaging, sometimes brutal and harsh, was never boring. This relationship, such as it was over these years, was not for everyone, but it was for she and I in this dark simple warm place out of the view of the world.

She decided to allow it to consume her again, on this evening and for however long this encounter lasted. As she made that decision, almost rationally, she spread her legs slightly more, discernibly more, in a signal that she agreed, consented, gifted or perhaps capitulated to the demands and direction that would follow. She then leaned over and said
,
“
tonight, no safe word, do with me as you will
.
”

She too sought the adrenaline rush of the relationship. She had done this once before and still had the brand mark on the inside of one thigh...the
O
as it were from the hot end of a cigarette holder. She came when the burning started that night and extinguished the heat with her squirt.

I pinched her nipple again and looked into her eyes, which I had never left, and she leaned back and presented her breast by arching her back slightly. I squeezed more, not to the point of pain, but as if I was connecting to her through her breast, that I might always keep her close, but maintain the distance between us by this pressure on her nipple and soft breast.

My concentration on her was total at that moment, and she realized it would be from this point on until I lost consciousness in sleep, liquor, or even sex. I would consume her and protect her, enjoy her and allow her to enjoy herself. She knew I would stop whatever I was doing if she asked, but she did not want to ask, no matter what. I intended to consume her sex without limits.

Black bean soup appeared on the table with a salad of island fruit, obviously brought by people, but no one who made themselves obvious or intruded into their bell jar. The smell of sex emanated. The heat of sex pushed the temperature of the warm island night even higher. Sweat formed and was absorbed. Her lips parted as she felt my hand move back to her mound and part her lips to find her inner softness and wetness. Two fingers became three, and they rubbed and probed and pushed and found folds and openings and penetrations and provided releases.

As she came, I moved closer, arranged my hand now to have more access to her crotch and the skin between asshole and heaven.

As I massaged her clit, she moved her hips to allow more access to herself, working down in the chair. I motioned to Estafan, and he brought this hard back wooden chair with a partial leather seat and a discrete opening in the middle, exposing her ass and pussy to the air below. As the chair approached she rose up and waited till it was arranged at the table for her. Then, she resumed the seat in it. She remembered one night when she had been tied to a chair like this, and was penetrated by dildos, massaged by vibrators and tantalized by hands, she thought many more than she could count, in a session that when on for hours. She did not know what was going to happen next and did not really care.

In that moment, with that memory, she came, softly, stifling sound but moving, and grasping as it were at the hand penetrating her. She was for a moment mindful of the place, but then dismissive consumed by the feeling and shutting out the thought of other eyes watching her enjoy the feeling.

Dinner was presented as subtly as salad and black bean soup, Ropa Vieja , Plantain, Fried Yuca, some rice, a picked out lobster tail for my darling Victoria keeping in mind her love for all things anal. These were old favorites. Despite the allure of the food, the memories of home and my grandmother cooking, I was lost in Victoria's eyes and the smell of her arousal.

My hand trailed through her lips, around the wet bud of her love and through the inner lips. She heaved a little, spread her legs further and breathed out. I drew my fingers away and licked them. Sweet nectar as it was, desert came early. And, she reached for strip of the lobster meat, a string of it perfectly white, glistening as it was in butter and other juices.

She placed the tip of the string in her mouth and sucked it in, slowly. The butter pooled on her puckered lips. I leaned over and kissed it away. Actually, I sucked in so softly her lower lip and enjoyed the mixed taste of the butter, the lobster, and her pussy.

For a brief moment, I thought of defiling the taste with the pungent pork scented black bean soup, and then the sour cream struck. I placed a little on my lips and kissed her again. It was not as delicate as the lobster and butter, and, well, other juices. But, it was soft and a good texture for what was coming next. Her hand reached across and unsnapped the buttons on my pants. I was totally aroused for sure, but not released by the movement. I did stretch back a bit to provide more room.

I reached to her plate and speared some lobster and put it in her slightly open almost pouty mouth, a sweet mouth, gentle round shape, partially open, as if to invite the food or tease me with other fantasies.

She licked the sour cream that had spread across her lips and mine off and then sucked in the lobster again. Slowly, piece-by-piece, the lobster dance was played out on her lips: a piece, sucking in and then a soft gentle kiss. In between ,I tasted the yuca and plantain and the beef. She occupied her hands in my crotch, and with a significant development there for her efforts. One of the waiters came over and I had him clear some plates, order some Cafe Cubano, some very old rum, a cigar and some flan. I loved the flan, with the burned sugar. Then, I waved the waiter away and pushed back from the table a bit more, exposing me as the waiter turned to walk away.

We were alone now.  She bent over for her desert. She did not like sugar, and I am convinced she loved dick more than anything else I have seen her eat. Clearly, she felt it was my "turn" as it were and put her efforts into it and more. Sucking all the way down, licking my balls and generally making me feel like she was going to swallow me from my middle out. No matter how I tried to prolong the blissful state of this beautiful creature swallowing me and seemingly trying to devour more of me than even my physical self, I was becoming less and less able to restrain my building climax.