Mazatlán
By Stevesaint
Used by permission of the author's estate
© 2007 STEVESAINT
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I checked in to the El Moro as I usually do when I’m in town. They took good care of me anytime I flew in; a suite was always available to me with the requisite ocean-view balcony. As soon as I unpacked, I called the service. Carmella, my usual contact, didn’t answer. Instead, he said his name was Rodriguez. He assured me he knew my preferences and would send a girl over in an hour. I showered and threw on some scrub pants and a t-shirt, called room service for a bottle of Cabernet, and relaxed.
A knock at the door—what would it be, wine or woman? When I answered the door I was shocked to find neither. Okay, she was female, and quite cute, but certainly she was not of age.
“I’m Sophia. Rodriguez sent me,” she said with a smile. I stood there agog, so she continued, “May I come in, Mr. Paquet?”
I stumbled over an “of course” and “come in” but was still confused over her apparent age, or rather lack of it, to say more. She was wearing a black smock of some kind, which was strange attire for this resort in summer. Her blonde hair was long and windblown, but looked clean. She looked clean—but her age?
Before either one of us could say more, there was another knock on the door. She brushed against me and murmured, “While you answer that, I’ll get ready for you, okay?”
I pondered her accent as I continued pondering her age. It didn’t sound Spanish so I doubted she was a native Mexican. Maybe Northern European? I generously tipped the concierge, who not surprisingly brought the wine himself; a reminder of my ‘status’ at the hotel. I assured him I could open the bottle myself and ushered him out before he could see the girl. As I uncorked it and poured two glasses, I again wondered how old she was. Would they really send me a teenager? Carmella knew I liked slender blondes, but certainly not ones too young and inexperienced in the ‘art’ of their service. After all, I paid handsomely for this service.
I almost dropped the glasses of wine when I saw her. She was facing me, standing against the balcony railing wearing nothing but a black thong and an enigmatic demi-smile.
“Do you not like what you see, Mr. Paquet?” She said. “If you do not want me, then I must call Señor Rodriguez and tell him you are displeased.” Her expression hinted that this was the last thing she wished to do, and that she also knew I would not be displeased in any way.
I couldn’t help but stare. She was the essence of loveliness. She was hardly more than 150 centimeters tall. Her long blonde hair looked soft as it cascaded over her shoulders. Her small mounds were topped by silver-dollar-sized red areolas. She was slim and yet still lusciously curved. Her face was slightly ablush. She exhibited a light tan on her otherwise pink skin. She had to be no older than fourteen.
“Ah, you are not displeased,” she sang as she gazed at my crotch. Yes, indeed, my cock was fully erect, severely tenting the front of my pants.
She sensuously walked from the balcony toward me and took a glass of wine from my hand, taking a sip. “Mmm,” she uttered, moving her eyes from the wine to meet mine. “Cabernet, no?”
I blurted out the only question still remaining. “How old are you?”
She smiled, took another sip, and answered, “Old enough to know good wine from bad.” Another sip. “You have fine tastes, Mr. Paquet.”
I surmised I wouldn’t get an answer to my question. I sipped some wine and pondered the risks of being with this waif. She sidled closer and brushed her hand against my bulge. I shuddered. It was not as if I haven’t been serviced many times in the past by many striking women, but this girl? I could smell her musk as she moved ever closer. Her exuded pheromones rendered me powerless to stop her, as she lowered my pants before lowering herself to begin sucking my cock. She made expert little “Mmm” sounds as she tongued and teased my aching shaft. I looked down at her bobbing blonde head and felt my balls start to boil.
“I think I’m going to cum,” I warned, astounded by my almost immediate climax. I prided myself on my staying power; this quick trigger was unknown to me.
She moved her mouth away, but continued to hold my cock-shaft in her small hands, as the first rope burst from me. Several more ropes of cum followed as I spewed all over her inviting face. She appeared rather happy with herself.
“Ah, Mr. Paquet...You have made a mess! Do you not think I have a pretty face...to soil it so?” Her smile was devilish. “I am in need myself, and now you are finished. What am I to do with my needs?”
She got to her feet and slinked out of her thong. The pheromones—the musk—was overpowering. I looked at her now exposed pubis and saw that it was indeed bald as I imagined it would be. She lifted the thong to my face and rubbed it against my lips.
“Do you believe my need?” She asked. The thong was soaked through with her wetness, the musky scent traveling directly to my brain—and my manhood! She edged closer and tilted her cum dappled face to mine.
“If you kiss me I am certain you will wake up once more.”
She wasn’t kidding. Our sensual kiss, with her small breast cones rubbing against me, produced the desired effect, with my cock twitching and growing erect once more. She actually pushed me toward the bed and when I fell back onto it, she straddled me. She took my cock in her hand, and placing it at her vulva, she dropped onto me. Even with her amazingly lubricated opening, I could tell the penetration was no easy maneuver. She was incredibly tight, but she was determined to take all of me.
And I was determined to let her.
When she managed to impale herself on my fully engorged length, her lithe body began to undulate, oblivious to all but herself, unlike any other call girl who has ever serviced me. She was in her own world as she rocked up and down, my cock sensuously enveloped within her tight vagina. Though I had just ejaculated moments ago, her vagina’s velvety grip was surprisingly getting me to that point rather quickly once again.
She tossed her head from side to side with each up-and-down motion, her hair flying, going faster and faster. I knew I was about to cum, but she beat me to it.
“Aaaaaaaahhhhhh, Ohhhhhhhh, Siiiiiiiiiiiii,” she squealed as her vagina pulsed and contracted, milking me of more semen as I pumped deep into her.
When we fell to the bed, she looked into my eyes and said, “Oui, Monsieur Paquet...You are correct...I am but a little girl, non?”
Her beguiling smile was mesmerizing as she teased me. I blurted out “My God, where are you from? I’ve heard Spanish and French and I’ve detected an interestingly different accent in your speech. I’d rather know that than how old you really are.”
I should have realized she would not answer, for she instead leaned closer and kissed me, her tongue probing deeply as her hand caressed my flaccid member. Well, not quite flaccid any longer, I must say. Her effect on me was surprising in its intensity. Could I actually cum three times within an hour? Mon Dieu!
“Ah, you are a hungry stallion,” she crooned as she stroked me back to erection. “How would you wish to take me now?” She laughed and added, “Perhaps you would enjoy bringing me to song for the whole world out on the balcony?”
I took a quick look outside to see that the sun was setting. We were very high up in the tower, so maybe no one would see us, at least in enough detail to bring the authorities. I would take her on the balcony. I lifted her from the bed and carried her to the balcony railing, where I lowered her to her feet and turned her body away from mine. While she held onto the railing and bent over slightly, I entered her from behind. I still cannot believe I am solidly erect once more, and that I am having sex out in the open air where anyone could possibly see—and with a clearly too-young vixen.
My impassioned thrusts were lifting her feet from the small terrace’s floor. I slammed into her in spite of her amazing tightness. She supplied the music, as she promised.
“Oh...yes...yes...yes...yes!” She cried, until with a birdlike scream she clamped down on my raging cock. I felt every gripping orgasmic contraction. “Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee”
With a deep groan, I came, as deeply buried in her as I could go. She wailed some more. I was certain the entire beach was gazing up into the twilight searching for the source. Certainly, most would recognize the sounds of sexual climax.
I carried her back to the bed where we lay for a few moments.
“You’re never going to tell me how old you are,” I said as a question, but it came from my mouth more as a statement.
Smiling, aglow from her satisfaction, she answered, “You do not need to know that. Fulfilling your desires is what is important. Did I not fulfill them, señor?”
I told her what she already knew. She fulfilled my needs more than I ever could imagine. I asked if I could see her again as she moved from the bed to dress. She said it was a possibility.
“But Rodriguez has so many beautiful girls. Would you not want to try them all?” She said with a mischievous grin.
She threw on the black smock without putting on the thong. She laughed in her birdlike manner as she tossed the still-wet thong to me.
“Perhaps you would like to have a keepsake of our...liaison?”
Before I could reply, she scooped the payment from the night stand and scurried from my room. I went to the door but only caught a glimpse of her as she entered the elevator, her blonde hair flying behind her. I had three orgasms, but no answers to the enigma that was ‘Sophia.’ Regardless of those answers, she earned the money as few have before her.
With the scent of her arousal still hanging in the air like a perfume, I was startled by a knock at my door. Could she be returning for some reason? When I answered the door, I was facing a striking blonde of perhaps twenty-five, with very prominent breasts.
“Sorry I’m late, Mr. Paquet. Did Rodriguez call to explain my tardiness?” I was too confused to respond. She took my look of confusion as disapproval, for she added, “If I am not what you are looking for, please phone the señor and tell him. I will wait here while you call.”
I dialed the service and the same man I spoke with earlier answered. “Señor Rodriguez, why have you sent two girls, one after the other? It is not my usual custom...and the first was too young, though she was very skilled.”
He hesitated as if it was his turn to be confused. He then muttered “Mierda” and what I thought was “causar problemas” before launching into a string of profanities. When he calmed, he explained that Sophia had not been sent by the service. Agitatedly, he explained who she was.
“Señor Paquet, the girl is Carmella’s daughter. She is but twelve. Carmella has stepped away from the business to tend to her family, but her daughter—¡Dios Mio!—is always asking me to work for the business. Of course I cannot allow that. Mierda...she was there? And did she...?” His question left hanging.
“Yes, Señor Rodriguez, she did.”
“¡Dios Mio!” One more time. He exhaled an audible sigh, and then said, “She is not on the pill. I must find her. Please have Anna come to the phone so I can explain where she is to go instead. Pardon Señor for all that has happened. I assure you it was not my intention to send Sophia to you.”
I handed the phone to Anna who was impatiently standing next to me. The two of them argued in Spanish as I pondered what had transpired with the girl. Carmella had been the first call girl I had slept with many years ago in this beautiful Mexican Riviera town. She later became the Madam of the service. Sophia looked nothing like her dark skinned mother.
After Anna left, I picked up the black thong and sniffed it again.
She was light skinned, like me, I mused.
I had to find her.