Havana Nights Read online

  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.

  Then, she stopped, suddenly, and looked up at me, not moving her head very far away from my swollen dick and its bulbous red head, and brushed it with her hair. She looked me in the eyes and smiled.

  I pulsed and exploded, unable to delay the obvious inevitable. She moved her head and opened her mouth; down she went impaling her own throat as I shook. I thought briefly that my legs would never work again. I was going to have to be wheeled away from this table, and I only hoped I had enough presence of mind to refasten my pants and collect myself into them before I was carried babbling out of the Paladar.

  As I waited, she licked. Nothing was left. Clean and wet and now feeling the night air, I relaxed in the chair. She sat up and smiled. I pulled her to me and kissed her deeply. The kiss lingered for some time and then, we were disturbed by the waiter...desert? Coffee?

  Desert

  Victoria said she was not hungry and the staff chuckled a bit. She made a comment to the woman near us and the lose translation was something like three balls wo
rth. Then, she giggled. I looked at her surprised about sharing this intimate secret. But, I was more surprised by the closeness of the woman to our little event.

  Then, I was surprised by the bobbing head under the table at which the woman was seated. A man was obviously under the tablecloth busy in her lap. The staff had left the coffee and flan on our table and was nowhere to be seen at this moment. The woman looked at me and whipped back the tablecloth to reveal a partially naked man, working on her crotch. She was obviously heaving now.

  She began to whimper and move her hips. Victoria stood up, lifted the rear of her dress, and moved to my lap. I freed myself, was surprised to see my state of arousal, and let her sit back onto me, swallowing me this time with another set of her lips. She moved slowly at first then ground her ass into my lap. I spread my legs to get more depth or rather length exposed. I put both hands on her hips and pressed her into my lap, getting her deeply, and hearing a gush of air from her mouth.

  I reached up to grab her tits under the dress. I briefly considered her modesty and exposing her fulsome bosoms. I craved spinning her around, so I could suck on her nipples. But, my unsatisfied displaced anger surfaced again and took her by the leash and pulled it hard. And she began to whimper. She looked fearful.

  I forced her back into the special chair, but this time, a large dildo had been fixed to the seat about where her ass would be. It was bigger than me and long, and she looked at it with some fear. Then, slowly, she turned and began to sit on it, asshole opened and slowly devouring it. She grimaced as her ass swallowed it. She knew she would be sore from this and sat anyway.. She then saw the Hitachi and squirmed down to press her clit against it. Her relief from the pain from the monster in her ass was in the excitement of the vibrator that now hummed beneath her. She came and came again. And two men appeared and picked up the chair now and carried it to the center of the room. No one else could be seen there. But, she was sure there were more people around.

  Once in the center of the room she realized the chair had no middle closure. It was open, like a toilet seat. And, the back could rock a bit back, tilted somewhat but forcing forward her tits and providing a way to spread her legs. I stood before her and forced her feet up onto the seat of the chair, so her legs were spread and her womanhood totally exposed and unprotected. I then took the jap clip off of her nipple and labia and put one on each of her cunt lips and pulled her pussy open. I splayed her lips open so her clit and vagina was exposed. I was planning to whip her. I leaned over and told her that was my plan and she recoiled, but was forced by the chair to remain exposed. Now the lack of a safe word became a concern.

  I asked if she wanted to be tied. But, she said no, and I told her that when she moved and covered herself, if she did not reposition herself quickly, she would be tied. She assured me she would present herself for whatever was coming.

  And, so once again the single tail emerged...and it began...once on the clit, a few on the thighs. Again on the clit and then the nipples and so it continued. She wiggled as well as the gargantuan impaled her ass. It continued until she cried, and then came uncontrollably shivering. And, then for a few more whips. With each strike, she shook at the pain and then opened herself. She stood up at one point and took off her dress. She was signaling her complete surrender to whatever I wanted to do to her. She was presenting her body as a canvas of sorts. Clearly, she was confirming complete concession of control. Naked now, vagina and clit sore to the point of pain from the whipping, nipples tormented from whipping, ass impaled by Gargantua indicating subjugation. She had nothing left to hide or protect.

  As she felt the effect of the lash on her pussy and tits, she convulsed and shook with sexual arousal. She went into a zone like her body was displaced from her mind. The feeling was so intense she could only ask for more in a babble of sexual drunkenness.

  She muttered stop, but I did not. She muttered she could not take any more, but the flicks continued on her nipples and clit. And, she came again.

  She woke up as it were lying on the floor. She was being massaged with lavender scented oil and her vagina and tits were sore to the touch. Walking and other simple activities were going to be reminders of the actions of the evening.

  I was sipping coffee watching Victoria be massaged and waited until she began to moan a bit and move around slowly. She had napped for 15 minutes or so. As she shook off the nap grogginess, I motioned to her to come over to me. She staggered slowly and then, standing she slowly walked over, gingerly, carefully as she felt the effects of the pussy whipping when she walked.

  I considered three things as I watched my beautiful defiled and whipped Victoria walk. First, as I always did, I wondered how I was so lucky to have found her. Second, I wondered why she took all of this attention and abuse. Third, I wondered why I liked do it all to her. Clearly, she liked it and I liked that she liked it. But, I did wonder, none the less. And, as long as she liked it, I would keep doing it.

  Victoria was a remarkable woman in her own right. She had that luscious light brown skin, not quite tan, and just a brown sugar coating and athletic body. She took care of herself as she aged. Smooth, wrinkle-free soft skin, toned musculature, long well proportioned limbs and natural breasts, fully upturned. She was an on air news commentator for Telemudo. She escaped from Casto's Cuba in one of the waves of immigration he allowed, and she had made her way to Mexico and used her looks and intelligence to advance herself.

  These interludes we arranged for ourselves had been occurring every few months. We both enjoyed escaping to Havana especially or some other city on the Island along the southern coast where neither of us would be recognized. We did frequent the same bars and restaurants; however, because discretion came with familiarity there and we craved the attention and services, familiarity enabled us to enjoy. We were not known by our real names in those places and used only cash, normally euros. We believed we were generally anonymous and behaved that way. We were respectful but also oblivious. We hoped that one day Cuba would be open to the world again, at least our portion of it, but also feared such openness would pull back the curtain our secrets.

  The conflict of our love for Cuba and the anonymous escapes we so enjoyed was the common conversation we enjoyed when we were not sexually ravaging each other or sleeping. It seemed the overarching conversation as well with our contemporaries during our escapes at dinner, while we visited our few common friends there and in quiet gatherings in the few public places we visited. I often wondered whether we had been recognized, but the people had resisted letting us know, preserving a mystery from us about ourselves.

  Our favorite places to visit became the farms outside of Trinidad along the southwestern coast. These farms were vestiges of the 50s, sucked back in time because modern equipment and means were not available. Horses, other livestock and rudimentary tractors common in the 50s before Castro were still the implements used. The large haciendas of the former wealthy farmers had been consigned to destruction of the elements of age and lack of maintenance, reclaimed by nature standing just as relics. We were able to find one especially out of the way and surreptitiously pay some trusted locals to repair and maintain the modest residence. We had to smuggle hard currency into the country to pay for our simple luxury such as it was. We were considering visiting our place as we lied on the floor of the Paladar to which Victoria had returned and on which Victoria was being massaged. We spoke quietly about calling Esteban, having him collect us and traveling the four hours out of Havana to our place. The thought of watching Victoria ride our horses naked was particularly inviting. But, not this weekend, unfortunately. We concluded why spend 10 hours traveling when other delights were close at hand.

  I trailed my hand down to her hair arrow one-way sign. I wondered why so many women have shaved themselves naked there. As I allowed my fingers to make hair circles, she moaned a little, or so I thought, and I played with the beginning of her cunt. I separated the lips at the top softly. She definitely moaned now. And I gently touched
her swollen clit. She moaned more, and recoiled slightly. She was sore from our earlier exploits, but still she had given up her safe word. I felt her softly again and she felt wet, and oh so warm. I worked down to her labia lips and felt for the opening we had not used earlier. As I did this, our attendants moved away and back into the shadows.

  I worked my way around to that special spot between her legs. I loved to lick her pussy, and I especially loved to eat her after she had been whipped, because she was so sensitive and reactive. I lied down next to her as she enjoyed the soft touches in her private places. Then, I rolled her over on top of me and moved her up to kiss her breasts. I sucked the nipples and drew the entirety of each breast into my mouth, or so it seemed, and squeezed her nipple against the back of my throat. This was one of my favorite deserts. I drew her up, slowly, kissing and licking her body as she moved up. She knew she was going to sit on my face. She called this naked mustache riding; I told her she spent so much time riding my lips she had rubbed off the hair so no mustache would grow. I do so love the taste of her. She cheated a little, kind of worming her way up, because she wanted what was coming next with some urgency. Looking at her pussy was a wonderful view. It made me hard as Chinese algebra.

  My tongue found the folds of her soft, but beaten skin and luxuriously licked them slowly, softly, along the length, and then down the middle splitting them. As they opened to reveal her pinkness, the taste of her consumed my sense of reason. Animalistic urges over took my deliberate planning, and I veritably dived into her head first. I so wanted to tease her. But her scent drew me into her like an oversized magnet might draw a horseshoe. Slowly, at first and then as momentum built up, smack flush against the face of the energy emitter. I have never been able to moderate that attraction. I felt helpless against it really. But I so loved the taste and reaction of her to the licking and attention. She was soon rocking back and forth and leaning back pressing herself into my face. At this point I was the captive. And, there was no escape. The prison had no walls, just this pink window. I impaled her on my nose and tongue. She moaned and wiggled and twisted and bore down with her weight on me.