‘Hasta la muerte,’ he replied. ‘To the death.’ ‘And where is the Cuban?’ ‘I do not know, senorita.’ He must have noticed the heaviness of my breathing, the glazed look in my eye, the faint line of perspiration that had begun to form on my upper lip. I may even have taken the initiative myself — I no longer remember. What I do remember is the sensation that charged through me as I felt his delicate, slender fingers at the back of my neck, massaging the muscles gently, with an astonishingly knowing touch. Under other circumstances I undoubtedly would have reacted, would have removed his hand with a gentle smile, perhaps, or even have scolded him. But no such thought crossed my mind at that moment. The delightful, insistent massage was exactly what I needed, and almost immediately I found myself backing up so that the rounded crests of my buttocks brushed lightly against his groin. ‘Si, senorita,’ he murmured, and I could feel his breath on my neck. He was timing the pulses of his. Thinking to herself should I try and fight or should I let him do this to me. Then maybe he will leave. Glaring down at her he leans in close to her ear as if he had read her mind he responds to her “You can fight me or you can do what I tell you. You decide, but if you fight it’s not going to be fun for you.” Laughing he begins touching her again, moving his hands up and down her stomach and begins grabbing and rubbing her tits once again. Moving his fingers up to her hardening nipples, he leans forward taking one into his mouth sucking hard and then letting it begin to slip from his mouth slowly, biting down on it just before it escapes his lips. She cries out and he laughs. “You don’t like that?” he says. She shakes her head and whispers “No.” “Ok, then let me give you something that you will like and I want to make sure you are going to be quiet so I’m going to put something in your mouth to keep you that way.”Climbing off the bed he undoes his jeans pulling them down slightly.
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