Two days later found me sitting in a rather nice hotel room waiting for madam to arrive. I had deliberately chosen not to bed her after our earlier meeting as it amused me to give her a couple of days to stew on her predicament. Besides, Pedro had paid for the hotel, so I knew that she would arrive eventually because her loving husband would drag her there if that proved necessary. Sure enough, and only about fifteen minutes or so after the appointed hour - this is Mexico when all is said and done - I heard a firm knock on the door and pausing only to stub out my cigarette I went to answer the summons.
To say that I did a double take as I opened the door is putting it mildly. Instead of seeing fat, forty Lupita I was greeted by a svelte vision of loveliness in her very late teens or early 20s. The vision was clad in white moccasins, a seriously expensive pair of jeans that hugged her ripe young frame in all the right places, topped by a white silk blouse that hung outside the jeans and barely contained her delightfully jiggle, melon-like boobs.
"Hola," said the vision. "Soy Fernanda - ¿hablas español?
Without waiting for a reply, she pushed Lupita into the room, walked in immediately behind her and closed the door. To be honest I hadn't even noticed the older woman, oozing as she was out of her dress.
"I speak a little English, she went on switching into that language, with a rather sweet Irish lilt to her accent. "I am the daughter of Pedro and Lupita," she concluded, taking the weight of her body on her right foot and rocking the other one from right to left and back again on the heel.
Looking at both women it was obvious that she was telling the truth. However the difference between them was more than the 20 year age gap. Fernanda had style, and that was something that her mother would never possess. To put Lupita in an English context, it was rather like taking a typical slapper from Middlesbrough, say, dressing her well and then expecting her to be anything other than mutton dressed as lamb. Lupita looked as if she should be making the bed, not getting ready to go in it.
Not that she was, by the way. She stood there in what should have been a rather nice silky black dress that was set off with a riot of red rose bud patterns all over it and glowered at me.
Fernanda sighed heavily. "My dad didn't think that mum would go through with it, so I am here to make sure that she does, Fernanda explained with a grin on her face and speaking Spanish obviously for her mother's benefit. Clearly there was no love lost between these two, I decided.
To buy myself some time while I figured the situation out I asked Fernanda where the Irish lilt had come from?
"In Dublin's fair city, where the girls are so pretty," she sang in a rather good voice. "I go there every year for English summer schools," she explained.
"Where the girls are so pretty, I first set me eyes on sweet Molly Malone," I sang, concluding the song's verse. "I am going to call you Moll from now on," I announced, and so I do to this day, whenever we meet.
The newly renamed girl cackled with delight and went over to the wall to remove a face mirror from its hook which she then placed on a table. She sat down, opened her bag and took out a small envelope. The whiet powder within it was then put opn the mirror and turned into a line with a few deft movements of a banknote. The note was then rolled up and the coke snorted.
Eyes sparkling, Molly looked at both of us, first one and then the other, her grin running from ear to ear. She didn't need to say anything as we both knew that the fucking was about to begin.
So, alas, did Lupita, the star of the matinee performance. She exploded in anger and let rip with a choice tirade of obscene Spanish aimed at her daughter who, it seemed, was letting the side down with her behaviour which was only fitting in a whore.
"And how many cocks did you suck, back when you worked in that fly-blown bar in that shithole of a town in the north?" My question was not purely speculative as Lupita had a northern accent, and the only way a slapper like that could get on was on her back, and a cantina would be the logical place for the teenage Lupita to meet trade.
My question must have hit home because madam raised both hands that had been clenched into fists, her head went back, and her mouth opened in a snarl. Clearly she planned to give me some of the same choice language that her daughter had just been treated to.
I didn't give her a chance. I grabbed both wrists, forced them down by her side, and then pushed her back against the wall. The funny thing was that I wasn't even angry. My plan was to calm her down before rutting her, but Lupita by then had become so angry that she wasn't thinking straight. She turned her head to the side so as not to look at me and then she looked down to blank me out of her vision completely.
"Now, now," I told her. "Remember that you are only back in your old trade for an afternoon. Look, even if you don't like me, you can close your eyes and pretend that I am Michael Douglas," I went on, hopefully. "You might even might like my cock. It is nice and juicy," I concluded, trying to give her something to look forward to.
You can't talk to some people and I could see that my sweet words were getting me nowhere. I let go of one of her wrists and took her chin in my hand to lift up her face to mine. I felt her muscles clench as she resisted the pressure, then when I proved too strong for her, she tried to turn her head to the side to avoid me that way.
I forced her to look into my eyes and was just about to continue with my sweet reasonableness when Lupita used her free hand to punch me on the side of my head.
To say that was a no-no is putting it mildly. I spun her around, grabbed a great handful of her straight black hair, with the intention, probably, of smashing her fat round face into the concrete wall. I heard Molly gasp behind me, and then reason prevailed. This madam was going to be taught a lesson to the traditional seat of learning I resolved.
To be continued.
No comments:
Post a Comment