This is madness, Nancy thought, as she stretched out on a deck chair by the hotel swimming pool, rubbing lotion on her body, using sunglasses to protect her eyes from the bright glare of the afternoon sun.
She had arrived early in the morning, checking in at the Miami Beach hotel and registering for the teacher's convention before noon.
The convention was the excuse for the trip, the ruse to fool her husband. He was a good man but he did not understand her hunger, even taking away her E-mail so she could not correspond on line with anyone. Yet, she had managed, writing the author of her favorite erotic stories through the private messaging, sending him a public phone number and a time to call even specifying her time zone.
To her surprise he had called and she was thrilled at the deep sound of his voice, trying to imagine what he looked like, her mind imagining them fucking wildly in a hotel room, she becoming his willing slut.
From that first conversation, they continued in contact as he set up an E-mail for her, providing her with a name and password, using his own mail as an alternate verification source, so she could have a secret mailbox and correspond with him, telling him how much she liked his erotic stories.
They corresponded for weeks, every message charged with sexual images, every line she wrote or read making her wet. Boldly, she had sent him a photo of herself wearing a two piece brown bathing suit, the same one she wore now as she waited for him, for her favorite author.
They had continued talking by phone. She had bought a disposable cell phone at Wal Mart, calling a number he had provided and he told her how he would use her, fingering her, fondling her ass and tits, his cock entering her mouth, her cunt, her rosebud rear hole. Alone at home she had stretched out naked in her bed, playing with herself, moaning as his voice echoed in her ear with promised lust and orgasmic pleasure. She experienced orgasm after orgasm, burying her fingers into the wet folds of her mound, finger fucking herself as the Cuban described his tongue licking her clit, his cock impaling her ass, his meat ramming into the folds of her hungry, middle aged cunt. It had been sensational and she had made up her mind that she wanted him, wanted him totally, to be fucked by him and used in any way he desired.
The night before her trip to Florida she had masturbated as she showered, rubbing the soap bar up and down the folds of her cunt as she pretended that the hard soap was the head of a creamy prick, his prick, the one that was going to impale her in a Miami Beach hotel while her unsuspecting husband was back home, at work, unaware of her depravity. Her masturbation had concluded with a gut wrenching orgasm on her knees, the stream of water from the shower head cooling her as she moaned with her release.
This is madness, she thought as she glanced at the singles and couples in the hotel pool. I have come here to see a man I have never met, a stranger. Is he going to be as good as the stories he writes, use me as he controls me and teases me? This is insane but I want to give myself to him; I want to be used by him in a way I have never been taken, not even by my husband. I am here to be his toy, to be owned totally for a couple of days, defiled, used and abused and just thinking about it makes me wet.
Nancy looked around her at the men and women splashing in the pool or stretched out on deck chairs. Some of the younger men reminded her of her high school students and a woman with a thong bikini made her self conscious, aware of her age even though she kept herself in good shape and knew she was still desirable, still fuckable.
Where is he? He said he would meet me poolside in the afternoon, she thought as she panicked for a moment, hoping her trip would not be wasted.
Perhaps he's here already, looking at me. Could he be the balding man by the pool bar, the one wearing the Bermuda shorts? He has been looking this way, checking me out. Or perhaps he is the one stretched out in the deck chair on the other side, the one with the blue swim trunks? I hope he shows up soon before I lose my nerve.
Nancy felt a presence walking behind her, someone walking towards her. She gulped, not daring to turn her head, both excited and afraid of the unknown.
The Cuban was suddenly next to her, looking down. He was dressed in sandals, black shorts and a royal blue beach shirt. He had a full beard and wore sunglasses, big in a bear sort of way, about six feet and a couple of hundred pounds. His crotch was at eye level with Nancy and her eyes moved up from his thighs to his face. She could not see his eyes, hidden behind the dark sunglasses, but could feel his eyes burning her as he stared at her, appraising her body stretched out on the deck chair.
Even though she was wearing a rather conservative two piece brown suit, Nancy felt totally naked.
"Hello, Nancy," he said with the same deep voice that had made her wet over the phone.
"Hello yourself," she answered nervously.
The Cuban sat on a deck chair next to Nancy, lighting a cigarette. He did not speak as he puffed silently, staring at her.
He was inspecting her, looking at her breasts, the nipples hard against the soft fabric of her top and between her legs, at the slit mound outlined on the swimming suit. Nancy kept quiet, shifting nervously on the deck chair.
"What's your room number?" he asked.
"Eight eleven."
"Go there and wait for me," he instructed, "Get some ice and I'll be there in a few minutes after I stop at the hotel store and pick up some liquor."
As she walked away, Nancy could feel him staring at her ass, appraising her rear, running in his mind the list of things he could do, and would do, to her behind.
She ran the ice errand quickly before going into her room to wait for him, for the man who would use her without her husband's knowledge.
This is madness, she thought, but I'm as wet as a twenty year old groupie waiting for a rock star. I am here to be his toy because by his words alone, on e-mail or phone, he knows my soul, can see into my being and understands the fiber of my hunger. Do I really want to do this? Yes, I do. I am looking forward to being used.
She had left the door open and he strolled in, carrying a bottle of premixed pina coladas. The Cuban locked the door and began preparing two drinks as he stared at her.
"Remove your sunglasses," he said, "I want to see your face. Ah, yes, you have very pretty green eyes and I also like your short brown hair. It's nice."
"Thank you. I like you also."
Nancy had expected him to make a move as soon a he entered the room but the man did not seem in a hurry.
"Let's go out in the terrace," he said, "and talk for a while we smoke a bowl of the good stuff and drink these pina coladas. Oh and don't put the shades back on; I want to look at those green eyes while I talk to you."
They sat side by side on a rattan couch in the balcony, yet he did not touch her as he passed her the lit pipe, as they talked. The weed and the liquor kicked in and the conversation was about sex, raw lust, making her more excited than she already felt.
