Mexican Experience

This story happened whilst I was living in Mexico. The company I work for had offices in Los Angeles, Houston, and Phoenix. I had moved to LA 18 months previously and almost immediately found employment with my current firm.

My family background is from a conservative small town near Fresno in California. It was a predominantly white area of the world, and I grew up on a farm miles from anywhere. As a consequence of the isolation, and being the eldest of a large family (I have 6 younger siblings), I had a fairly stunted social maturity. I found it hard to make friends in LA, and so tended to put in long hours at work, which of course then impeded further any chance of developing much of a social calendar.

I fairly jumped at the chance to get out of LA, even if it meant moving to Mexico. Our company had begun aggressively marketing to the Hispanic community in California, and had grand visions of expanding south of the border. A small office had been set up in Acapulco and soon I found myself settling into a fairly quiet existence in a small villa on the outskirts of town that my Western salary could afford.

One thing I loved about Mexico was the clear warm nights that occurred most of the year round. Another thing I enjoyed was watching the Mexican men. Perhaps perving would be a better word. I quickly discovered that I was a bit of a sucker for the dark handsome looks of the locals. Even the women, I had to admit, were amazing, with their smooth olive complexions and curvaceous figures. But I was strictly hetero in those days, and found myself often engaged in “man-watching”. Indeed, I probably could have listed it as one of my hobbies at that time.

Not that this helped me meet any good men. I enjoyed looking, but I didn’t really like the way they treated their womenfolk. This was still very much a male-dominated and chauvinist society. Though I lived alone I was rarely lonely. Book-reading was my passion, and I liked nothing better than to sit under my verandah in a comfy chair on a warm evening with a good book in hand. I was even contemplating writing one myself.

One Sunday afternoon I was doing some laundry when I heard a knock at the door. I was surprised since I wasn’t expecting anyone and I hadn’t heard a car arrive. I opened the door to a young man wearing a dusty suit and perspiring in the heat. I judged he was a couple of years younger than myself. He took off his hat as I opened the door. I noticed a horse tied up to my verandah post.

“Excuse me, senorita.” His English was heavily accented. “You interested in vacuum machine?”

Now as it happened I didn’t really need a new vacuum cleaner, but I felt sorry for him. It looked like he had been out in the heat trying to drum up business. On horseback no less! My house was on the outskirts of town, and I wondered if he was allowed to take the animal any further toward the city centre.

“I sell you good vacuum cleaner,” he said earnestly. “Very nice. Very good job.” Sweat was trickling down his face.

I invited him in. He wiped his face with a red bandana and stepped inside with me. The ceiling fans were on, and it felt at least 10 degrees cooler.

“Come and sit down.” I gestured toward the front sitting room. He took a seat on one of the low sofas.

“What’s your name?” I enquired.

“Fernandez. Yours?”

“Louisa.” I gave him the Spanish version of my name. Everyone referred to me like that down here.

He smiled at me and I couldn’t help thinking that he looked damn cute. His suit was stained from all the riding and appeared to be a size or two small. It made me wonder if he had borrowed it for the day in order to look “professional”. He had tousled black hair and a smooth, clean-shaven face. It looked like he had a strong, powerful chest but his hands were delicate, almost feminine.

“Would you like a cold drink?” I asked.

“Oh, yes please, senorita. I been to…” he paused and frowned, “sixteen houses today. It very hot.”

Now it was my turn to smile. “I’ve got some water in the refrigerator.”

In the kitchen I poured two tall glasses of iced water, then returned to the sitting room. I bent slightly to hand him his drink and I saw that he gawked unashamedly down the front of my top. I felt my cheeks flush and my nipples stiffen, and I quickly straightened up. Fernandez acted like nothing had happened and so did I.

I went to sit on the lounge chair opposite him. I was aware that he was speaking to me, but my mind drifted off into why I was so flustered by this young man checking out my ample bosom. I didn’t see myself as a sexual prude, but I had to admit my sexual experiences were very limited. There had been a couple of months of heavy petting with a boyfriend in my final year of high school, which culminated in the uncomfortable loss of my virginity in one of our hay barns. There had also been the unsatisfying penetration at a Drive-In by a blind date that I hadn’t been able to say no to.

Despite these paltry experiences, I told myself that I had a normal female sex drive. So what if I wasn’t in the sack every weekend? I’m just more selective than some others I knew. At least I masturbated, and surely not all girls did that. Yeah ok, so it was only once every couple of months, though perhaps more frequent than that since I had been in Mexico.

I admit I am very plain in appearances, but I liked to think I had a pretty good pair of breasts, and have been known on occasion to flaunt them. By habit I am a very conservative dresser, but today I happened to be wearing a fairly low-cut loose summer dress and I’m sure Fernandez would have got a good eyeful of my white lacy bra.

Suddenly I snapped back to the present and realised the young Mexican was winding up a big spiel about the glories of this new vacuum cleaner.

“So. What do you think?” he concluded.

“I, ah…think it sounds great,” I bluffed. “Very, um, impressive.”

He smiled broadly, completely oblivious to the fact that I hadn’t heard one word of his sales pitch.

“Good. Good,” he said. “I bring round tonight to show you.”

“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that.”

“No trouble, senorita. No trouble.”

I really didn’t want a new vacuum cleaner, but I was feeling so guilty about not listening to him that I found I couldn’t refuse his offer. Oh well, at least I hadn’t agreed to buy it or anything.

Fernandez stood up. His glass was empty, mine still full. I noticed he was looking down my top again but I didn’t care.

“Thank you, senorita. I will return around 7 o’clock. Will your husband be here also?”

“Um, no. No, I’m not married.”

A strange look passed over his face but I didn’t really pay it any attention. He extended a hand. I rose from my seat and shook it.

“I’ll see you tonight then,” I said.

“Yes, Luisa.” It was the first time he had used my name.

On the porch he untied his horse and swung easily in the saddle. He paused for several long seconds just staring at me from up there, a hungry look in his eyes. He seemed to be devouring me completely with his eyes. I shivered, feeling very self-conscious. Then he called “Adios”, and with a gentle nudge the horse turned and trotted away. I stayed on the porch and watched him go.

I returned to my laundry and then scrubbed the kitchen and bathroom floors. I had been putting off such household chores for some time, and once I had started it made sense to do them all. I was getting pretty sweaty with the effort. Then I noticed that the shower could do with a good scrub down to. I stripped off my skirt and top and hopped into the shower recess. I felt much cooler and freer and made a mental note to do more bathroom cleaning in just my underwear.

After I had finished it made sense to shower off, both the screen and myself. As I stepped back into the bedroom I realised it was nearly 6.30 – only half an hour until Fernandez returned. The heat of the day was receding, and I slipped on a long cool summer dress and sandals. I went over to the mirror to brush my hair. As I stared at my reflection, I wondered if men found me attractive. I leant forward and tried to mimic the view I would have given Fernandez earlier. I looked down at the cleavage I revealed. I think my breasts are my best physical asset and suddenly I didn’t want to cover them in the plain tan bra I had changed into.

Rummaging through my underwear drawer, I found the see-through purple pair and matching knickers. I brought them over to the mirror. I slipped my arms out of the dress and let the top slide down to my waist. I undid the bra and tossed it aside. My eyes lingered on my breasts, and unconsciously my hands began to gently caress them. Rarely did I really savour their beauty. When masturbating I would bring myself off by clitoral stimulation exclusively. Now as I watched myself in the mirror, it was as if the hands belonged to another, as they massaged the smooth soft mounds. A faceless lover was here in the room, slowly stoking the fires of sexual arousal. I closed my eyes as fingernails gently raked over the skin of my chest and down under my breasts. I sighed, reveling in the physical sensation. Now the hands were grabbing large handfuls of breast - kneading, massaging. My nipples were hard and erect. The fingers were pulling at them, stretching them, making them harder still.

I opened my eyes again and looked at the hands on my breasts. Then I imagined that it was a man standing behind me with his arms around me. It was Fernandez, tenderly loving me.

Fernandez! With a jolt I snapped out of my reverie and looked at the clock. Quarter to seven. I moved quickly now, putting on the purple see-through bra and pulling up my dress. The purple knickers were still on the dresser. There was no real logical reason to wear matching underwear, but having got them out I wanted to wear them also. Quickly I pulled down the panties I was wearing and slipped the others on.

I hurried downstairs and looked out the window. There was no-one there. It was only ten to seven though. I composed myself and went into the kitchen to prepare some things for dinner. I got out several chicken thighs from the freezer and put them into the microwave to defrost. Then I chose various spices I would use for the cooking. You got out enough chicken for two part of my mind said. Are you planning on asking him to stay? Of course not the other part replied.

Soon there was a knock at the door. On the porch was Fernandez, his horse again tied to one of the posts.

“Hello, senorita.”

“Hello again.” A slight uncomfortable pause followed. “Please come in.”

“Thank you.”

Fernandez was wearing a loose white, long-sleeved shirt, very open at the collar. He had several golden pendants around his neck. His khaki slacks were positively sparkling clean compared to his previous suit. In all, he presented a much dapper figure. Yet his manner was more stiff and formal than before. I wondered at this as I turned to him after closing the front door.

He didn’t look me in the eye, and shuffled his feet nervously. “Can we go into the kitchen?”

“Um, sure,” I replied and led the way. He followed me down the hall and into the kitchen.

It didn’t cross my mind until later that he hadn’t brought the vacuum cleaner that he was supposed to be showing me. Perhaps some part off my brain recognised the situation for what it was because in some way I wasn’t surprised when he drew a knife on me.

“Don’t do anything silly,” Fernandez said.

“What like pull a knife on someone?” I shot back coolly. I surprised myself with such wit and audacity. My heart was thumping loudly in my ears, but I wasn’t panicking. In fact, I found I was somewhat detached form the scene – present, yet somehow an observer only.

The young Mexican held the knife casually near his side. My eyes were drawn to the bulge at his crotch. I know people say rape is more about power than sex. This, I could tell, was going to be about sex.

He spoke, and voice came from far away. “Just do exactly as I say, ok senorita? You might enjoy this too.”

His groin seemed to hold my attention more than the knife did. He noticed that my eyes hadn’t left his crotch.

Fernandez smiled. “Take it out,” he said, “and kiss it.”

I found myself on my knees before him, reaching out with unsteady hands to unfasten his fly. His dick was sticking out one of the legs of his white briefs. Lifting the cotton material up, his circumcised penis sprung free, reaching boldly for the sky. My hands were drawn to the shaft, warm and pulsating softly. Initially I was aware of the cold steel only inches away from my face. I’m not sure which encouraged me on more though, the carrot or the stick.

I stroked his cock slowly with both hands. It was so big. It was so hard. It was so….male. I began to kiss the purple head gently, then lick the underside surface. Soon I was taking as much of him into my mouth as I could. One hand kept pumping the base of his shaft, while the other traveled to his scrotal sack. I felt his balls rise up as the skin tightened around them.

I did that, I thought to myself and, oddly, I was pleased. I slurped away hungrily at his cock and hoped he wouldn’t get rough with me.

After a while, he detached himself from my mouth.

“Get up,” he ordered. I stood facing him, dividing my attention now between both his weapons. “Take your clothes off.”

I looked him directly in the eye and saw no trace of fear, only excitement.

“Off,” he said again.

I lifted my dress up and over my head and I heard the sharp intake of breath. My see-through underwear had surprised him. The dress crumpled in a heap next to me. I reached down to release the buckle of one of my sandals.

“No,” Fernandez said. “Leave them.”

I shrugged and reached behind to unclasp my bra. I slipped my arms free of the straps but the bra stayed in place, held by my erect nipples. I had to physically push them off my breasts. Fernandez stepped up close to me. I felt the blade at my left hip, cold against my skin. He hooked the knife under the thin strip of lace at my waist and then jerked his hand upwards. The blade tore through it easily and the fabric fluttered to the ground.

He stepped back, presumably to survey his handiwork or something. He seemed to like what he saw. He motioned in the direction of my kitchen table. “Hop up there.”

I went over to the table and sat on the edge. I looked back to Fernandez, uncertain what he wanted me to do. He came up close. He reached behind me and cleared some space on the table.

“Lie down,” he instructed.

I lay back on the wooden table. He opened my legs, exposing my cunt. He stabbed the knife into the table next to my hip and then went down on me. There was no denying how wet I was. I bit my lip as his tongue parted my labial folds, lapping at my juices and teasing the entrance to my love canal. He moved his tongue to my clit and flicked back and forth, sending tremors through my body. Fuck he knew how to turn a girl on! Part of me began fighting the stimulation he was giving me. Surely it wasn’t proper to come whilst being raped was it?

Nevertheless my arousal continued to grow as he nibbled and sucked on my clitoris. Then he moved his oral attentions back to my cunt and drove his tongue deeply inside me. I was squirming on the table by now. Part of me told myself it was a futile attempt to get away, but the truth was I wanted that tongue on as much of me as I could get.

I opened my eyes and looked down my body. His dark curly hair was between my open legs, and I couldn’t help it. I grabbed his head and pushed it into me while mashing my pussy into his face. Waves after wave of orgasm exploded through me and I bucked like a mad thing on the table.

As my climax receded, I came to realise I was panting and clenching my fists. Fernandez was getting up off his knees. He was smiling and pulling down his pants. He stepped up to the table and I eagerly grabbed his dick and brought it to my opening. He slid in easily, burying himself to the hilt with one powerful thrust. I cried out, and continued to cry out with each subsequent thrust. He quickly built up speed until he was slamming hard and fast and deep. I held onto my breasts and tried to meet his every stroke. Soon his cries mingled with mine and then he shot his load deep, deep within me.

He didn’t stay inside me long. He pulled out but it was some time before his sperm came trickling out. He quickly pulled his trousers up and muttered “thank you”.

He left me like that, sprawled on my kitchen table, a cunt full of spunk, a mess of emotions, but basking in post-orgasmic afterglow. The knife was still stuck in the table beside me.

I still have that knife. I’m not sure why I kept it - a warning? a caution? a memento? It lives in my bedside table. Along with certain other implements.