Latinas Second Honeymoon

Eighth Installment in the "Latina" Series of Erotic Tales

I noticed Latina the moment that the big, pale-purple Lincoln Town Car pulled into the parking lot of our hotel, on that evening. Sure, it was hard not to notice a PURPLE Lincoln. But it was the female occupant of the front passenger seat that REALLY caught my eye. At 47, she was still in good shape, maybe 10 pounds heavier than the skinny models you see in all those glamorous magazines, but certainly easy on the eyes. She was 5 feet 2 inches tall, and if I had to guess at her proportions, I would say they were about 38-28-36. Being a hot day, her skimpy outfit really showed all of her assets to their best advantage as I spied her seated form through the car window.

When I finally looked up from her shapely legs and generous bust, I realized that she had the most beautifully-shimmering, wavy dark brown (almost black) hair, down to her shoulders. Hers was a very pretty dark complexion, and she wore the reddest lipstick that I have ever seen.

The sparkle in her eye is what really made me notice her, though--the kind of sparkle that broadcasts to anyone, observant enough to notice, how much she enjoys the fun of sex, anytime and anywhere. I barely noticed Frank, as he emerged from the driver's seat, and as he walked around to the passenger side. In fact, I didn't really notice Frank at all, until he lovingly opened the passenger door for his wife.

I don't normally notice the male guests of our hotel, but I found myself sizing- up Frank from head to toe. His complexion was much lighter, more Northern European, than Latina's. But I could see why she fell in love with him. At 5 feet 10 inches, Frank was trim, maybe 5 to 10 pounds overweight, but certainly not fat by anyone's definition. His broad shoulders and strong arms showed that he worked out enough to stay fit and healthy, without being obsessive enough to develop the bulging muscles of a body-builder. His nicely-tanned arms, and even his fingers, were covered in brown hair that was turning red in the sunlight, which made him look decidedly masculine. His dark-blue jeans shorts revealed long, trim legs, legs strengthened by daily lunchtime walks, legs that were also covered with dark hair. I could understand how Frank's healthy, but not overly-developed, good looks might appeal to a pretty woman like Latina.

At 42, Frank's gold-rimmed glasses and receding hairline, reflected his intelligence and creativity. The pen and notebook in his shirt pocket told me that he is the type of creative writer, who never wants to be too far from being able to jot down details of story ideas, ideas that might pop into his head at the most unpredictable moments. I was to later observe first-hand, that Frank's creativity extends not only to writing, but also to how he makes love with his sexy Latina wife.

As Frank opened the door for Latina, I got my first good look at her entire delicious body. She swung her dark, shapely legs over the sides of the car seat, and out the doorway. Her khaki shorts showed plenty of leg, and were nicely set off with green socks and brown hiking boots. Her deep-purple T-shirt, with its white graphics depicting wolves howling in the woods, curved outward in all the right places, just barely and tantalizingly hinting at the 38-C bust concealed underneath. When she stood up outside of their car, and she started walking toward our hotel lobby, I admired the way that her back curved smoothly into a nice, firm, round ass, which then gracefully curved back inward, to end at those gorgeous, dark legs. Her shorts were just a little too long for me to see the sharply-defined crease that I just KNEW had to be at the juncture of her fine legs and curvy ass, the kind of creases that young women in cutoff shorts LOVE to show to all the horny males whom they walk past.

From my vantage point, those smooth legs seemed to go on forever, despite her being a relatively-short woman. I noticed Frank watching his wife's legs, too, and I was certain that he was thinking about those legs wrapped around his waist, or maybe around his neck.

All in all, I could see, from Latina's outfit, that she was an outdoors sort of woman. I like the outdoors myself--in fact, I prefer it to indoors. So an outdoorsy woman, like Latina, really appealed to my animal lust. She obviously enjoyed hiking in the woods, probably enjoyed camping too, although tonight she was pampering herself by staying in our luxury lake-side hotel, not in a tent. Besides hiking, I wondered whether Frank and Latina had ever enjoyed any other kinds of vigorous physical activity in the great outdoors. Maybe they would hike down through the woods behind our hotel, and (I hoped) they would then make love, right at the side of the lake, where I could hide behind a tree and watch their passion, without them ever noticing me.

As I peered in through the big plate-glass window of our hotel lobby, I first noticed how bedraggled Frank and Latina looked. They had obviously spent many long hours in the car, just to get to our lake-side hotel, and now one of our luxury hotel rooms was JUST what they needed, to rekindle their spirits. The sad look of disappointment on their faces, told me that the hotel desk clerk had just told them, that we had no more rooms available that night. So I scurried over to an open window, to hear what they were saying.

"You folks look really tired," I overhead the desk clerk saying. "I wish I could help you. But all we have left is the honeymoon cabin."

"A second honeymoon!" Latina exclaimed, her sad face brightening into a very appealing smile now. "That sounds wonderful!" Brad gazed lovingly, longingly into Latina's eyes, obviously lost in dreamy memories of the couple's FIRST honeymoon. "Mmm, I'd like that, too, honey."

"It's $150 for the night." the desk clerk responded in a flat, matter-of-fact monotone, not catching Latina's contagious enthusiasm.

"Oh, gee," Frank's face dropped, "That's really more than we have budgeted for this stay. But you're the fourth hotel we've tried, everybody's booked. Can we put this on our MasterCard?"

"Tell you what," the hotel clerk whispered, beaming conspiratorially at them. "I can see you folks are tired and really need a room. I'll let you have the honeymoon cabin at half price, $75 for just tonight. Will that help you out?"

Latina gazed soulfully into Frank's eyes, silently pleading with him to take the deal. She licked her lips suggestively, some sort of secret signal, that hinted at where her tongue might lick, once the pair got settled into their cabin. Now I noticed a tiny patch of dry, white crust at one edge of Latina's lips, and Frank's untucked shirt, and his shorts in slight disarray, and I wondered whether Latina's tongue might have ALREADY performed some magic on Frank, to relieve the stress and tedium of their long drive to our hotel.

Watching Latina's suggestive lip-licking, and seductive hip-swaying, as she nervously shifted her weight from one foot to the other, Frank couldn't get his wallet out fast enough now. He eagerly handed the desk clerk four crisp, new twenty-dollar bills, fresh from the automatic teller machine, and the clerk handed him back a slightly-crumpled 5 dollar bill in change, along with a room key and a map of the hotel grounds.

Frank and Latina emerged from the hotel lobby, back into our parking lot. Pointing his electronic key at their pale-purple Lincoln, Frank pressed a button, and the trunk lid popped opened. They each grabbed a suitcase out of the trunk, and Frank gently pushed the trunk lid part-way down. With a soft electrical hum, the trunk lid moved downward on its own, then automatically closed and locked, with a gentle click.

Each with a suitcase in hand, Frank and Latina trudged down the long outdoor stairway leading to the honeymoon cabin behind our high-rise hotel. Although lower-down the hill than the hotel, the cabin still offers a spectacular view of the lake, a view which few of our honeymoon cabin guests ever take enough time away from each other, to admire and enjoy. A short walk from the cabin, through the woods, brings you right to the lake shore, where I have observed a few of our more-adventurous honeymooners, lustfully devouring each other beside, or sometimes even in, the lake.

I followed Latina and Frank quietly down the long, stone stairway, following at a safe enough distance to remain unobserved. Besides, Frank and Latina were too busy making googly eyes at each other, to turn around and notice me following them. They were obviously very deeply in love, and I knew just where to position myself, between the cabin and the lake, to gaze into their bedroom window, so I could watch their passion unfold. OK, so sue me, I'm a shameless voyeur. I only hoped that Frank and Latina would give me a good show.

At first, the view through their window was boring. They unpacked their suitcases, and they folded things away in the drawers, or hung them in the closet. As they moved around the room, they would pause each time their paths crossed, to wrap their arms around each other and smooch. Their kisses were soft and gentle pecks on the lips at first, but after three or four such kisses, I noticed that they started to let their tongues wrestle playfully, as they kissed. I wondered how long I would have to wait, until I could see them get to the good stuff.

The living room of our hotel's honeymoon cabin has a fire place on one side, always kept full of logs and kindling, so our honeymooners need only toss a lit match into the fireplace, to get a warm, romantic fire going. Beside the fireplace is a long, comfortable couch, its back facing toward the lake, and strategically placed to face a large television.

Frank lit a fire in the fireplace, and they both sat down on the couch. Frank switched on the TV, the fireplace to their left starting to warm them both up. I silently cursed, wondering when they would EVER get passionate, and knowing that if they ever did, the high back of the couch would prevent my seeing what they were doing. I silently hoped that their long, tiring drive to our hotel hadn't made them TOO tired to put on a live sex show, just for my prying eyes.

As Frank impatiently clicked through the TV channels, I could hear Latina's sweet, melodic, feminine voice quietly saying "No" to several programs. Then Frank joined in, his deeply-masculine baritone voice saying "No" to the next several channels he clicked through. Then the TV got up into the higher, cable channel numbers, finally hitting an adult-movie channel. Both shouted "Yeah!" in unison, then Frank and Latina turned toward each other, clenched in a tight hug, and kissed passionately for about a minute, before settling in to watch the movie. They sat side-by-side on the couch, kicked off their shoes, and rested their sock-covered feet on the coffee table, watching the movie, their arms around each other. Oh well, at least I could see the on-scene sex action, even if I couldn't watch Latina and Frank go at it.

The movie was the typical dreck of X-rated movies. A very pretty, but ditzy, black airline ticket agent, dressed in a navy-blue jacket, with matching miniskirt and cap, was welcoming a white, ex-professional football player to their airline, and she handed him a ticket. The ex-football guy still had broad shoulders and powerful arm muscles. "Come fly with us again," she called cheerily, as he headed toward the airport ramp, leading to the plane.

"Thanks," he said, "I will." Then something made him turn around and head back to the counter. "I don't want to wait until my return flight," he said, leaning over the counter, and planting a forceful kiss on the ticket agent's lips. "Ohhh!" the ticket agent moaned, startled, but obviously pleased by the football jock's sudden display of affection.

The muscular jock walked around behind the counter, to join the black ticket agent. He unbuttoned and removed her navy-blue suit jacket, revealing a tight, frilly white blouse underneath. His hands began massaging her blouse, directly over her breasts. Now he knelt on his knees, facing her, between the agent and the ticket counter. He lifted the hem of her navy-blue skirt, slid himself under her, and pulled the skirt back down over both of them. The camera showed his head moving around under her skirt, and I could hear him making loud, slurping noises.

Then I heard an even louder slurp, but this one did not seem to be coming from the TV. I did my best to peer in, over the couch, but I couldn't see much. What I DID see was Frank, on his knees, facing Latina, his back to the TV. Her khaki hiking shorts were open and he was slowly sliding them off of her, first revealing her hairy bush, and finally dropping until her shorts were bunched up around her ankles, almost blending in with her green socks.

I could tell that Frank's mouth was open, and I could see a little bit of his tongue protruding past his lips, but I could not actually see the tip of his tongue, licking its way along the entrance to Latina's excited little pussy.

As I continued to peer-in, through the lake-side window of our hotel's honeymoon cabin, Frank's head dropped down out of my line of sight now, then his head slowly raised back into my field of vision, accompanied by another, even-louder, "SSSLUUURRRP!" followed almost immediately by Latina's long, low, groaning moan, of her own obvious pleasure.

The cable-TV movie now cut to the cockpit of the airplane, presumably the same plane on which the otherwise-distracted football hunk was supposed to be a passenger. The co-pilot is strapped into the right-hand seat of the cockpit, but the left seat is obviously devoid of any pilot. A very shapely young Asian- American flight attendant now enters the cockpit. "The pilot sent me in here to keep you entertained, until he can get here to fly the plane," she bubbles cheerily. She takes off her navy-blue blazer, and she sits down in the pilot's chair, tossing her jacket over the back of the seat. "I've always wondered what it would feel like, to sit in the pilot's seat." She crosses her legs, which are exposed halfway up her thighs, with only a very-short navy blue miniskirt covering the very tops of her legs.

"I wonder that, too," the co-pilot replied. "I never get to fly the plane."

"You NEVER get to fly the plane?" the flight attendant echoed.

"I NEVER get to fly the plane!" the co-pilot pouted.

"Well, maybe we can do something else, until the pilot gets here, to take your mind off the fact that you NEVER get to fly the plane."

I began to wonder how many more times the script-writer had to tell us that this poor schlub of a co-pilot never gets to do any flying. Or were the actors stalling, until one of them could remember their next line?

"What KIND of something else?" the co-pilot asked in mock innocence.

"Well, you could fly ME," she cooed. "I'll ALWAYS let you fly ME."

Geez, was this miserable dialog REALLY in the script, or were these porno actors simply ad-libbing this garbage?

The co-pilot reached over to the pilot's seat, and with great finger dexterity, he slowly unbuttoned her sheer, white blouse, through which her hard, jutting, excited nipples were already visible. He then delicately pulled her blouse open, revealing big, firm, young breasts, with no bra to hide anything.

The Asian-American flight attendant stood up now, slid her arms out of her blouse, and tossed the blouse onto the pilot's seat. The camera focused on the pilot's seat for a long while, long enough to bring your attention back to the fact that the pilot was still missing, and to make you wonder where that pilot could be. Then the camera panned back to the flight attendant, now with her bare back to the camera, revealing acres of soft, young, sexy flesh. Now she removed her very short navy-blue miniskirt, revealing the tight, shapely, sexy curves of her small ass. She tossed the skirt on top of her blouse, on the pilot's seat. She began to walk slowly toward the airplane's instrument panel, crossing her legs in front of her as she slunk, cat-like, across the cockpit, her leg crossings revealing first one, then the other, of the delicate little creases, where her legs meet her ass cheeks, as she walked away, with her smooth back turned toward the camera.

Now this hot, young flight attendant turned to her right, to walk parallel to the instrument panel, toward the co-pilot. As the camera showed her in side-profile, I could see her long, lean legs, her big, jutting pear-shaped breasts, and just a hint of her carefully-trimmed black pussy hair, every time her left leg moved forward of her right. When she was even with the co-pilot, she turned to face the camera, and I could see everything now. Her breasts sloped down to end in perfect, soft, creamy-white globes. Her long, black hair softly caressed the tops of her breasts, and was cut to just the right length, so as not to block the view of her big, pink areolas, and her long, hard, excited nipples. Her black pubic hair ran up in a thick, straight, vertical line from her pussy, halfway to her navel, reminding me of a Mohawk haircut.

The camera looked down from the cockpit ceiling now, as the flight attendant knelt to her knees facing the co-pilot, unbuckled his belt, unzipped his navy- blue trousers, and began to lick at his balls and his exposed shaft, then sucked hungrily, eagerly on his throbbing cock.

Meanwhile, back in the honeymoon cabin, where I was peering in through the window, Frank was licking Latina's clit at an even faster pace than before, and she was moaning and groaning much more loudly, and more frequently too. She let out a loud scream, while thrusting her pussy forward into Frank's face, and I heard one final, loud "SSSLUUURRRP!" before Frank stood up from licking Latina's sweet pussy. Frank's face was now completely smeared with the shiny cream of Latina's passion, and I could see his semi-hard cock starting to wag excitedly, like a puppy's tail, as I heard him "Mmmm!" and "Aaahh!" over her sweet taste, and the sweeter satisfaction of knowing, that his talented tongue had coaxed so much goo, out of her innermost depths.

Now Frank sat down on the couch, and Latina stood up, facing him, and facing the window where I was observing them, letting me see her perfect round 38-C bust- line. I couldn't help admiring her wide, red-brown areolas, capped with very hard 1/2-inch long nipples. Now Latina knelt facing Frank. In other words, they traded places from where each had just been. As Frank sat on the couch, I could see his cock sticking straight out, from between his wide-open legs, and I knew I would get to see this action a little better than when Frank was eating-out Latina, only moments before.

Sure enough, Latina's long tongue was soon swirling, circling, and slurping all over the purple head of Frank's cock, a purple almost as dark as the wolf T-shirt she had been wearing, and a much deeper, richer purple than the pale-purple Lincoln Town Car in which they had pulled up to our hotel. As Latina frantically licked him, desperately hungry to suck his creamy load down her throat, I wondered whether it was the color of Frank's swollen cock head that made this chick love purple so much.

Next, Latina moved down and began sweetly, tenderly, oh-so-lovingly suck his balls ever-so-gently into her mouth, while delicately holding his excited cock in her slender fingers. I could tell she enjoyed pleasing him, almost as much as she had enjoyed being the receiver of pleasure a few moments earlier. How I wished at that moment that I had my very own female willing to do as much for me, and I would have gladly done anything for her, too. For now, at least, I would have to be content just to be an observer.

And what a show I was observing! I now watched her loving tongue's agonizingly- slow upward lick from the balls she had been so joyously nibbling, up along the length of his pulsating and stiffening shaft.