Havana Nights Read online

  Havana Nights

  Digital Version 1.0

  Copyright 2012 by Jessica Brooks

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced by any means whatsoever, without the express written permission from the author.

  The Hotel and Sweet Victoria

  The cigarette boat cut cleanly through the calm Gulf of Mexico under the full moon. I thought about the days before. The trial was consumptive and nearing an end. Office demands were showing up on my email and partners were offering opinions and taking charge. Then, an email, with a different heading and tone came over:

  To: Christopher.

  From: VE

  Re: meeting Friday

  Can you make a meeting Friday HNH 2200 advise return?

  There was only one person in the world who called me Christopher. I replied "yes," and the reply was "confirmed." Hurried flight arrangements followed. Then…waiting. Friday morning only one email message mattered. It came at 8:00 am.

  "Confirmed." That was all. The rest of my day had escaped my mind entirely. Only the flight time from LGA to key west was on my calendar. A wave hit the boat from starboard. A glancing blow but enough to bring me back. Sexual energy communicated in email.

  In the night sky,navigation was clear. The stars almost marked the heading to be navigated like the proverbial dotted line to x marks the spot. Standing in the cockpit, going 80 mph on the moon-lit water was scary enough. The risk of being intercepted by the coast guard was foremost in my mind. But, Victoria snuck into my thoughts as I wandered even in the critical concentration that it took to guide this boat missile on the water.

  Speed was not the point; adrenaline was. The hour it took to cover the distance between the lights of the keys and the beacon at Havana harbor seemed to pass in an instant. The salt taste in my mouth was palpable. I turned slightly south and east toward Veradero and thought about the 30 or so minutes it would take to cover the rest of the distance. I longed for a quiet dinner at La Bodeguita Del Medio tucked in one of the many corners of this exotic bar. At this hour, the natives would be in bed. Hard core“tourists”and working girls would be out. Max and Javier would certainly be there and I thought of the countless hours we played dominos and reminisced during my past visits.

  It was not me during the visits. Boarding the plane in New York cleansed me of my other self. Christopher had no allegiances or responsibilities beyond the physicality of just being. There was no legend, no anticipation, and no connection to anything or anyone except Victoria. There was no obligation except the immediate commitment for that time and in that place and for the defined tasks. I had no history or future beyond Friday night in Havana, until sometime Monday…just there and there.

  I called ahead to Esteban when I landed in Florida. He answered after several rings. It had been five months since we had seen each other, but the conversation was easy, as if we had had dinner yesterday. He would meet me at the pier in Havana harbor. I would see touchdown Jesus on the south shore hill as I rounded the point, throttled back a bit to limit the wake, and headed for the dock where Esteban would be waving a torch. The green sludge that was the liquid in this sanguine bay that once received Hemingway and his drinking buddies engulfed the bow of my boat. I hoped nothing important fell into the sludge.

  Esteban waved the torch, oblivious to the army personnel loitering near the dock, and I moved toward the light. I was coming in slowly but with no intention to stop at the dock. The plan was to swing in cut the engines, jump onto the dock, hand a line to him, have him jump on to "Oh By The Way," and take her out to a safe mooring. I was not supposed to be here and wanted to leave the smallest amount of evidence of my passing as possible.

  I hailed a cab after walking the short distance from the dock to the street. I also called Victoria’s cell phone and left a brief message. The National was the first stop. I needed a shower and some money.

  The almost familiar concierge gave me a key and a money clip. As I walked through the garden bar, I could not resist the first of what I expected to be several sweet mojitos. Juan called my name and put one in my hand. I continued to walk toward the elevator.

  It all seemed like I had never left. My room faced El Malecon and the Caribbean Sea. Cohiba Especiale cigars and lighter were on the desk. The lights were dimmed. The computer was set up. The windows were opened, allowing the warm moist tropical air to envelop me. There was a soft knock, as I got undressed. Victoria did not wait for me to answer. She swept into the room as if on a breeze. Just seeing her eased the lingering frustrations of the last several months.

  Victoria has such a presence. She is tall, with thin waist round hips, a rounder ass, and sumptuous tits. Somehow, sucking them never seemed like enough. Her brown nipples always seemed pointed. She had long black hair, with reddish tints, auburn highlights, and bright eyes. It had been 14 years since the day in March of 1997, when I first met her. The fact that she still came to me was a miraculous gift.

  She could see I was angry. It appeared to her that I was always angry at the start of our visits. She would say to me:“bring me your anger and I will turn it into passion.”I stood there wrapped in a towel. She approached slowly. She looked into my eyes, and began to sink to her knees. I held her eyes with mine as she reached for my balls and caressed them. The world began to disappear in that moment.

  She held eye contact with me as she found me and sucked me into her mouth, and I grew. She continued to hold me with her lips as I found the back of her throat. And she gagged I grew against her tonsils and she swallowed me. She continued to stare up to my eyes, and I down into hers as she felt me with her tongue.

  As happy at the moment as I was, I was still angry and reached down and grabbed her hair. Roughly and firmly I held her there and worked myself deeper into her throat. As my grip tightened on her hair, she put her hands behind her back. She was giving herself up to me. I jabbed my dick now hard down her throat one more time and then removed her head and twisted her back, exposing her chest. With my free hand I reached down, and freed her breasts from the restraints of her lace bodice. Then, I squeezed one and then the other nipple until she whimpered a bit. I dragged her to her feet with her nipples. I spun her around and firmly held her arms behind her back. I wondered why I even bothered to tie her. She would give herself up without the restraints. The effort to tie her always turned me on and so I tied her arms behind her back with rough thick gold cord from the drapes close by.

  Extra cord was left over from her hands and so I tied around her hips. Then, down between her legs to her ankles. I ran the cord roughly around her ankles and pulled them up and behind her so she was tied into an almost kneeling position. She could kneel or more importantly when on her back, not close her legs or if she were on her stomach, be bent over and accessible from the rear. In all events she could not use her hands to protect herself. She was spread and open to my approaches without defense, and she was becoming more wet as she lay there on the bed.

  I rolled her over on her back and worked my way down to her sweet pussy. Hair neatly trimmed to a directional arrow above her slit, I spread her lips with my tongue and began to enjoy what I had dreamed of since leaving Key West. I found her clit with my tongue and worked it, bit it once or twice and then sucked it deeply into my mouth. She flinched with the pain of the bites and shook with the anticipation of the stimulation of her pussy.

  As I continued to lick her, I moved around and positioned myself over her face. She sought and found my engorged member with her mouth and sucked it in. I wanted to fuck her mouth like it was her cunt or ass, and she knew what was next.

  As I worked ever more feverishly on her ever dampening pussy, she swallowed me more and more deeply. She came with a shudder. Then, she came violently. As she came
, I began to penetrate her mouth as I would her cunt or ass, and she came again. I thrust harder and deeper into her throat. I felt my dick pass her tonsils or so it seemed. Every one of her holes was wet now, almost sloppy and breasts were heaving.

  She struggled to lift her ass to my face. I brought my knees up alongside her head and pressed down with my dick to the point of choking her. She had no escape. She forced her ass onto my tongue, as she choked on my dick, and I rimmed her fine spotless ass with my fingers first, then tongue. I wanted to defile her ass and then fuck her mouth with my ass wetted dick.

  I sat up, moved away from her tied, as she was and began to feel her body, reaching down to feel her wet pussy, red face, running mascara, and glistening body. She was naked helpless and completely turned on.

  I spun around her and poised my dick on her asshole. Slowly, I pressed it into her, and she arched to receive it. Fully in now, we began to move, ever more urgently. She was aware she had to ask permission to cum, and she worked my dick into herself deeply to reach that point. When she began to ask; however, I stopped. I pulled out, and stood next to her. Then, I slowly rubbed her juice on her chest. I felt for her magic spot. Fingers inserted this time into her pussy, three probed into her, and she asked again and I stopped. Then, I slapped her open labia with my open hand. Smack! Again, and again. Each time she lifted up her crotch, rotated her ass to the sky and yelled.

  I noticed she seemed to be crying. She knew I was going to leave her unfulfilled for the moment. She had cum four or five times, by then, having lied to me. I knew she lied, and she knew she would be punished for that, harshly. But I really wanted to tease her until she seemed to lose control or begin endless begging to be fucked and used and well…whatever really. I then reached down and untied the knots that held her, and she wiggled out of the ropes.

  She relaxed and then rose off the bed, rubbing out the rope marks on her hands and feet. She knew that she would now have to present her pussy and tits for spanking for cumming without permission. She knew she would be spanked and marked. She was coy about it at first, almost teasing me into an angrier state. She seemed to love to feel my anger, and now she knew that she would feel it as she had so many times before, expressed on the softest and tenderest parts of her womanhood.

  I wanted to raise her attention to what was about to happen. After all, what good is punishment and training if the lesson is not made clear? The punishment would be what it always was; cane stroke and lashes, generally were the means. This time, it seemed twenty lashes with the single tail right on or above her cunt clit and around her cunt lips was what I wanted to inflict and, for the last two, she would be made to hold herself open, and I would tell her first and then inflict them right on her clit.

  As each lash reached her body, she cried out and held her legs open for each strike. When twenty had been administered, she kneeled and presented her tits. Sometimes, I hated marking them. But now, knowing how much pleasure she had stolen without permission, I had a sense of indignation. So, she was given ten each, on the nipples as much as I could. And, she presented them to me for each strike in defiant acceptance. When I was done, she was crying a bit, teary, really, and then stood up and modeled her marks for me.

  The Dress….

  I felt her marks and the heat of them, especially. I savored them as she turned, and I took time to feel her pussy and experience the wetness there. Her involuntary response of getting so wet confirmed that for all the crying and screaming, she loved what happened to her, and it stimulated her.

  As a gift to her, thanking her in part for her subservience to me, I presented her a velvet box. She stood there, naked, reddened with whip marks, dripping with sex moisture and opened it…a dress, a fun red summer dress. Loose fitting but one that would follow her accented shape. Subtle around her bust, drawn to her hips with a light string, and flowing to her ankles with lace and fine detailing, opaque in parts but open as well. As many times as I have given her a dress like this, she has never worn the garment twice, and she knew that. So, there was even more sexual excitement in her eyes as she pulled it over her head and put it on.

  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,“Dinner“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.