Chapter 13
Pablo And The Three Sistahs
Pablo's life was in an uproar. He felt as if he was on a runaway locomotive going down the side of a mountain, and it was picking up speed like crazy and heading for a horrific crash. Later, he imagined the news vans trying to get around police officers and cordons of yellow ribbon, with helicopters zooming in on the action. The single, dreadful phrase that kept flashing across his mind was; There Are No Survivors Here.
The forty-four year-old gulped as he stood on the balcony of the hotel where he worked, an entire twenty floors up. Reflectively, Pablo took in the relative serenity of the nighttime San Diego skyline. Until the frequent and disconcerting sounds of an airplane landing broke through his thoughts, anyway. That made him wish that the airport had been moved somewhere far, far away, back when city officials had the chance to do something about it.
Pablo thought back to late during the previous week, when he'd been at home and asleep on the foldout bed in the living room. Someone had climbed into the bed with him and woken him up. Groggily, the man could feel that person's form straddling his waist. Imagine his surprise when he discovered that person was his eighteen year-old daughter Amanda.
"If you try to stop me, I'm going to scream so loud it'll wake everybody in the house up!" Amanda had warned him.
Not wanting to add another incident to his steadily growing and incestuous collection, Pablo had blindly reached out in the dark. His hand had fallen upon a bare thigh. Reaching out further, he became aware of a bare abdomen and waist. That's when he realized that Amanda had climbed onto the couch-bed with him fully naked.
His bitter wife, Lorena, his oldest daughter Vicky and her little baby, and his son Junior were all in the house that night.
Pablo could feel his lips drying up, as if the words were hesitant to escape. Before he could even speak, Amanda started rocking her hips on him.
Through the barrier of his shorts, the reluctant father could feel his cock starting to get hard. He soon understood that a length of it was trapped awkwardly under the weight of his daughter's thigh. Instinctively, he reached into his shorts to straighten it out. Once he'd done this, Amanda adjusted her position as well, so that the covered beast was lying directly beneath her uncovered pussy.
His length grew, his girth widened, as if the cock had gained a life of its own. All of this was happening despite Pablo's best efforts to keep the monster subdued. Amanda's nude form writhed directly over it, defeating any efforts he made to prevent that part of him from waking up. It was taking all of Pablo's effort to keep from reaching out again, from running his hands over the young girl's thighs, or further up to grope at her breasts.
His daughter kept rocking her hips back and forth, sensuously, as if pretending his large cock wasn't merely pressed under her, but impaled deep within her. Amanda's hands stretched out, halting over the broad expanse of Pablo's chest. The young girl remained in this position for several minutes, continually rubbing on him. The sensations boiling within her body, and within her lust-filled mind, eventually brought her to a rising climax. Amanda's hands quivered on his chest, while her thighs tightened on his sides. Her muffled squeaks fought their way past her lips as she struggled to keep the forbidden union a secret from the rest of their family.
Amanda expelled some moisture on him, Pablo felt. Yet she still rocked over him until she was fully drained of orgasm. Wordlessly, like a shadow, Amanda slipped away from him, away from where he slept. In the dark his daughter quietly walked back into her room.
For much of that time, Pablo had been holding his breath. He waited until he heard the soft sound of the door to Amanda's room closing shut. That's when he reached down over the fabric of his moist shorts and found confirmation of his daughter's climax. He couldn't sleep with his shorts all wet from Amanda's cum. Neither did he have any boxers on underneath them. That prevented him from simply removing his shorts and balling them up somewhere. Pablo wasn't about to walk into his bedroom to get another pair, because his angry wife might wake up while he was in there. He imagined Lorena staring at the big wet spot on the front of his shorts. The vindictive woman would have probably laughed in his face, thinking he had masturbated out of sexless frustration. His only alternative, Pablo knew, was to walk outside and into the recreation room, and to don a pair of used shorts from his clothes hamper.
Well past midnight, and he found himself out of the house and digging through his dirty clothes. It was at that point that Pablo decided he had to get out of the house, very soon. He had to do this and before his illicit affairs with his three daughters, and his daughter-in-law, came back to haunt him. He was looking at the ruin of his entire life taking place in the very near future.
Pablo's thoughts came back to the present. That was the reason why he was working at the hotel now, late on a Saturday night. One of the other building engineers had taken a week's worth of vacation time from his two to eleven shifts. When Pablo heard about it, he gladly volunteered to change his schedule and take the hours.
He glanced down at his watch. It was 10:57 now. In the past he might have been overjoyed at the thought of leaving his job, but more recent erotic events were beginning to make him dread going back home.
"Pablo, do you copy?" A static-laden voice came through on the walkie attached to the man's belt.
He answered the call. "Yeah, this is Pablo."
"Got a call about a leaky shower head, in room 17-34. Can you take a look at it?"
"If I can do it in three minutes, sure." Pablo frowned. There was no way he'd make it to the room, check out the problem, and hurry back downstairs in time for him to clock out before eleven. "You know how this place is about overtime, right?"
There was a slight pause on the other end. "I didn't realize it was so late. I'll tell you what, go ahead and take a look at the room, and let me know what's going on there. I will clock you out on time, at exactly at eleven o'clock. Then you don't have to come back to the office. You can just drop your radio off at the gate and head on home. Deal?"
"Deal." Pablo agreed, clipping the radio back onto his belt, before turning to head back into the suite he'd been working in.
Since it was so close to the end of his shift, the engineer left all his tools and materials scattered about in the room. He locked up and, ignoring the lazy man's elevator, trotted down the stairwell by three levels to the seventeenth floor. At the correct landing, he checked his watch again. The timepiece told him it was now past eleven. Pablo grimaced because he hadn't even gotten to the right door yet. His many access keys jingled as he strode down the hallway. He reminded himself to turn those in at the security gate, at the same time he relieved himself of his radio. The older man stopped at room 17-34 and rapped his strong knuckles on the door.
The door cracked open a moment later, before a cute black face, female, peered through the narrow opening. Behind the young woman, Pablo could hear a boom-box pulsing out a heavy rap beat. "Hey, you're not Jimmy! Where's Jimmy?"
That was the name of the younger guy who'd gone on vacation.
Pablo answered, "He took the week off. You called about a leaky showerhead?"
"I didn't call nobody, my sister did." The woman said, as if it really mattered. She pulled the door open to allow Pablo inside. "She's right over there."
Pablo went inside. As he'd grown accustomed to doing whenever he walked into one of the suites, he took in the entirety of the room. It was a two queen-size beds deal, with bright white walls, dark red bed covers with graphics consisting of soft yellow blossoms and green stems, and matching curtains. The furniture was made of light oak, consisting of a small, round table and two chairs set by the glass balcony door, a nightstand and lamp between both beds, and against the far wall, a long dresser with an adjustable swivel stand bolted on top holding up a mid-size, flat screen television.
The black girl who'd opened the door looked to be in her early twenties. She was about five feet, five inches tall, with dark black skin and hair pulled back to fully expose her pretty face. The girl wore a pleasant gray tracksuit with a zippered, hooded sweater and form-fitting sweatpants.
In the far end of the suite, two other black girls stood beside the boom-box, set on the hotel's folding luggage stand. The first thing that crossed Pablo's mind was of the front desk getting calls regarding the loudness of the music. Since he was technically off duty already, he didn't allow himself to worry about it.
One of the other black girls was a big-boned woman, in her mid-twenties or thereabouts. She had rich ebony skin and wore a tight black blouse and equally tight jeans that nicely hugged her massive curves. She was performing a dance move, Pablo noticed, while the much slimmer girl next to her was doing her best to mimic it.
This last girl looked to be the youngest of all, with hair dyed in an unusual auburn-red, and light brown skin. This cute youngster was wearing tight bike shorts over her comparably leaner frame, and some kind of snug and colorful blouse. Pablo only got glimpses of it due to her black, hooded and partially unzipped sweater. Pablo guessed her to be either eighteen or nineteen.
"Jimmy ain't here!" The girl at the door called out, loud enough to be heard above the music.
The other girls paused from their dancing. The older of the two women stepped toward the newest arrival. "What you mean, Jimmy ain't here?"
The girl at the door said, "Ask him. I don't know."
The thick black woman walked directly up to Pablo, who was suddenly feeling out of place, but not quite intimidated. She placed her hands on her wide hips, and stared up into his face. "I demand an explanation!"
Pablo chuckled and gave her one. "Jimmy's on vacation this week. I'm taking over his shifts until he comes back."
The woman scrutinized him closely. "Did he say anything about us?"
Pablo shook his head. "Not a word. You called about a leaky showerhead?"
The woman was still looking him over, from top to bottom, and from side to side. "You look like a Mexican Tarzan. An old one, anyway." She glanced around Pablo, toward the girl still standing at the door. "What's that man's name, that Mexican man that used to come out on Fantasy Island? The one that used to greet all the people when they were first getting there, off the plane?"
