Hotel Heiress: Cancun

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Hotel Heiress: Cancun

Hotel Heiress Valerie Masters On One Night Stands:”Hotels are the perfect spot for them. People will assume you’re already lovers. But always make sure it’s a grand hotel and done in style”…..

It’s like opening an envelope of dirty photos you don’t want anyone to see.

When I look back on the summer of ’93 when I was twenty-one and drinking for the first time in Cancun, Mexico, having the time of my life with friends, the memories of that one unforgettable night is like watching a porn film locked up in the recesses of my mind. I’ve told no one about it, not my most trusted friend, not a soul. That was a night devoted to unlocking desires and fulfilling fantasies. How it happened was so innocent, so casual, so unexpected. It was after a single look………… He stared at me from across the hotel lounge at the fabulous Hotel Tesoro Cancun which rose high over the coast. What was I wearing exactly that night that made him look at me that way? I don’t even remember. It might have been a simple white cocktail dress or “little white dress”. The neckline plunged downward and revealed my cleavage. The dress was short and my long legs were in full view. His eyes could not have been fixed on my dress at any rate. My hair was made up in a French twist and I had light blonde streaks over my nut-brown hair. I must have had on some perfume. He could definitely smell me from his stance by the lounge sofa. A huge pair of palms and dark green shrubs cast a dark shade in his seat, so when I first saw him, I could not see him clearly and distinctly. I knew, of course, he was a man. A man’s profile – the heavy physique, the eyes, the chin, lurked in the shade. Also, I could hear him breathing.

The fragrance of vanilla and a tropical scent filled the air of the lounge. The hotel’s theme was an “island” theme and even the vast carpet beneath my feet, the same carpet that was everywhere – in the lobby, in the halls, in the restaurant – was decorated and speckled with tiny little tropical flowers and birds. It was night time. I think it may have happened sometime before midnight. I was exhausted. I had been dancing and drinking that night and earlier had gone shopping with my girlfriends. These girlfriends were now probably asleep – either by themselves or with bed buddies- or were still partying somewhere. I wanted to go to bed myself. But the thought that this was my last night in Cancun, the thought that the next day I would return to California, to my comfortable but often dull and lackluster life. Most of all, I wanted to go back to a country where they spoke the same language I spoke. So, although part of me wanted to sleep and dream something sweet, I also wanted to experience one last bit of fun. It’s possible the man who had been eyeing me all that time was thinkingthe same thing. No one can just jump into bed without having had the itch first. Sex does notcome out of the blue.

He walked up to me and in the clarity of the lounge lights, I finally caughta good look at him. Truth be told, he was hot. I still remember him. If you can remember someone you slept with years ago, in a foreign country, then that signifies they were hot. So there he was.Hispanic? Of course. He was not a “gringo” tourist which is what locals called white American tourists. He was not that. He was definitely a Mexican male. He might have been a local himself. His skin was not too dark like the skin I’d seen on other Mexican men. His was more of an olive or light tan color. His hair, though, was coal black. He took excellent care of his hair, which was slicked and short, almost like the hair you see on Italian mafia gangsters. He had hair on his chest. That was probably what I noticed first. His beige Hawaiian shirt was unbuttoned and most of his chest was showing. It was a strong and sturdy chest. His body was sturdy and big, like a football player’s. But at the same time, he was no Neanderthal. He had a European gentleman’s demeanor and a casual elegance, like he had been born into money like me. His eyes were dark and his face was ruggedly handsome. The man was probably in his forties but God was he hot. Oh, and he had a cute butt.

He threw away the cigarette he had been smoking.

“May I offer you a drink, senorita?”

“No, thank you”, I said, “I’ve had too many.”

He boldly got closer to me. He offered me his hand. Upon taking it, he plante a gentle kiss over the flesh of my hand. No one had ever done that to me before. But I knew that could also mean he wanted more that night.

“I’m Fernando,” he said, his accent heavy but sensual, “I come from La Ciudad de Mexico, Distrito Federal. I own a hotel there and have been working on establishing a beachside hotel here in Cancun. Please bursa escort to tell me your name.”

“I’m Valerie Masters,” I said and thought he’d know who I was.

I was mistaken. He smiled politely but did not look as if he knew who I was.

“My family owns several Seasons Hotels across the world,” I said.

He only smiled and kept a cool face. The damn guy didn’t even recognize me from all the magazines that printed my photos. I had been a model and had appeared in soap operas.

“Mejor vamos a otro lugar, no?”

“I don’t speak Spanish.”

“Let’s go to another spot. Somewhere where we can be alone. I would love totalk to you about the hotel business. Maybe your father might want to start up some hotels here in Cancun. Let’s get to know each other better.”

Who did he think he was? Just like that. Shame on him for this possible attempt at seducing me orshame on me for succumbing?

Before long, we were having drinks. He was very generous and sweet. He never said anything vulgar, nor made me feel in any way uncomfortable or cheap. He was a pleasant gentleman and we enjoyed a nice conversation. Whenever he said something in Spanish I didn’t understand,he would translate himself. We spoke of the hotel business in Cancun. It was a thriving industry. He knew just what to say to convince me to speak to my father all about it. I even took notes. I told him about my childhood, my privileged background, how I was studying to become an actress, agent and all. As the night wore on, I became physically drawn to him. I had seen enough of him face to faceto begin to fantasize how his big hands would span my waist, how his brown skin would feel againstmy white skin, how his lips would feel on mine. My body began to get hot, my face had a distinct blush and I could hardly contain myself. I provided him with physical signs that I wanted to go to bed with him. I would touch his hand lightly and rub his leg under the linen table where we had drinks. I knew, I just knew, he knew how I was feeling.

“Let’s get out of here, querida,” he said to me.

Hand in hand, we walked across the lounge and bar, headed toward the lobby. I had no idea where he was taking me. It must have been one thirty in the morning. Only a few people were up and about the lobby. It was considerably darker there too. He took me by the waist and looked down at me, breathing heavily, lustily.

“I want you,” he said.

Words like those, especially in the manner in which he said them; in an accent that caressed the words, have a magical pull. His hands on me felt so good. I know I was not too inebriated. I know I could have said no. It was late, it was hot, my body longed for the feel of him and I could not refuse. It was not going to be a mistake.

“My room, mi cuarto,” I said.

I don’t know how I knew those words in Spanish. Funny how life is.

Up the long flight of stairs we went. It was an eternity before we finally reached my room. Why had I booked a high-floor room? I guess it was because I always felt safer in a higher story hotel room. Plus, I loved the panoramic views one sees in them. I opened the door with my card and we were inside. As I closed the door behind me, he walked ahead of me. There was no time to waste. It was already so late! He knew thatI was thinking the same thing. But he possessed a look of coolness and calm, as if he believed we still had the whole night ahead of us. It was obvious he intended to pleasure me in a prolonged session of lovemaking. But then again, I did not know what to expect. Just how do Latino men make love to women? I had always heard that Latino lovers were among the best, along with the French and Americans of course. They were said to be insatiable, delicious and very considerate to their lover’s needs. But this would not be lovemaking. I didn’t know this man. For all I knew he had lied to me about his identity, despite his thoroughly convincing prattle regarding the hotel business. He could be dangerous. Just why that excited me, I didn’t know. No, this would notbe lovemaking because we were not in love, having met only about an hour or so ago. I wanted sex and he wanted the same thing, the timing was right and we were in the most perfect location for it. In the silence that followed, all I remember hearing was our breathing and the sea wave splashing against the shore. I heard, too, the sound of a party in full swing outside. To the strains of Madonna’s “La Isla Bonita” we began to take our clothes off.

This, too, is part of the magic. The sensuous actmade me hungry for his hands, his lips, his hips. He removed my light, gossamer blouse and I quickly took off his beige flower-pattern shirt. I was about to slide off his trousers but he put bursa escort bayan a stop to me.

“On your back on the bed” he said, in a sensual, commanding voice.

I complied, fully conscious that I was still wearing my skirt. With gentle hands he cupped my bottom and my knees brushed against his arms, which were somewhat hairy. I could smell several male scents – the particularly musky cologne he had on,the acrid nicotine odor of the cigarette he had been smoking, his hair had a special smell I cannot describe and overall, although he appeared very clean, he was a dirty old man in every sense. Even his brown trousers had a scent.

I felt his lips now. They reigned kisses all over my thighs. He sure knew how to kiss, as if he had begun kissing women with expertise at a young age. I don’t remember now if he had a mustache or not. In my own experience, men with mustaches had always made excellent kissers. He could not have been too old a man, though I knew he was older. But he was experienced enough to fully understand that the one thing I wanted most was his mouth and tongue on my sensitive, intimate parts. He kissed me with slow, labored breathing. Slow, lingering, passionate kisses that made me ache with a gradually rising tide of ecstasy.

“Oaahh, aaahh” I moaned, the first of many moans that night.

“Si, si, querida, entragate a mi,” he said in Spanish I did not comprehend.

Whatever it meant, it must have been what lovers said to one another. He now had my skirts bunched up over my thighs. I was not wearing panties. Whatever the reason for that had been, I was certainly glad for it. His mouth was now on my pussy, which had become moist. I moaned and cried softly, merely whispers in the night, as my body began to catch fire. I rotated my hips and my body was alive with pleasure. His tongue was so strong and felt so good. As it slipped inside me, my moans intensified. I became dizzy. There was no way of knowing what else he was doing. Surely I had not been drinking that much to feel so drunk.

It was so dark, so dark. The party outside in the beach had ended. It must have been four in the morning or something. I had no idea how long he had been orally pleasuring me. All I felt was his tongue in and out, in and out. I remember his fingers beginning to work their magic as they slid inside me at the same time. I raised my hips and lowered them in snake-like and swift gestures. I could no longer see him. It was happening all on its own.

I don’t know how it happened. I felt him binding me to the bed in ropes. The feel of the rope hurt a bit, but not much, and it enhanced the pleasure. I had never been tied to a bed before. How this man managed to do so was beyond me. Had he foreseen that he was going to get lucky, did he know I was going to in bed with him from the minute he first lay eyes on me? He had done this sort of thing before!

“Are you hurt?” Fernando said, in a tone that was soothing.

“No,” I said, ” what are you going to do?”


Fernando then turned on the lights, though the lights were dim. I was able to see somewhat. I could see his bulky profile. He was completely nude and his cock was becoming large. He was exhibiting self restraint. From out of nowhere, a rose. He was holding it between his teeth. He then leaned over me on the bed. Slowly, he mounted. His face was before mine and he began to rub the rose, which was still between his teeth, over my face and cheeks. The rose was somewhat wet, as if he had just cut it fresh and it had been in water. The drops of water falling over my body was a turn on. It felt so incredibly good. The rose was now on his fingers and he continued to rub it over my exposed skin, which was glistening wet and silvery in the moonlight that streamed in through the window, a moonlight that was fading away and reminding me that dawn was near, that I would have to return to the States.

He kissed me in a downward spiral, swirling kisses with tongue, feeling like bliss over my neck, navel, breasts, stomach and belly button. At the same time, he did not cease his manipulation of the rose over my body. With his other free hand, he now slipped his fingers into my pussy, stretching it, making me cry in pleasure and the frustration of not being able to move. Tears literally streamed down my cheeks and yet even those tears felt good.

“Aaah, Fernando, Aaah!” I screamed out.

It was likely someone heard us. I heard, through the wall of the hotel room, the quiet voices of another couple, speaking Spanish. But I didn’t care one bit. It was not possible, unless my girlfriends had seen me sneak off with Fernando, to know that this was a spontaneous and wild act of carnal lust. To the others who had seen escort bursa us hand in hand traversing the lobby we must have appeared like a couple in their honeymoon or a pair of lovers, just one of the many lovers who frequented this beautiful, palm-filled, tropically designed hotel.

Fernando continued to orally serve me until I was spent. I had never had as many orgasms as I had up till then. Not a single of my American boyfriends and lovers had ever made me feel the way this handsome stranger made me feel. Too bad it was for only one night, only one time. A shame we’d never see each other again after this. We’d have only the memory, only the lingering aftertaste of our passionate and intoxicating brew. Even though it might have been only a few hours, the wee hours beforethe sun rose, it felt like an eternity. During the long night’s darkness, I felt Fernando’s hands everywhere. They were on my breasts, on my back, on my ass, on my thighs. After he had laved my pussy, and seen to it that I had reached orgasm, he was ready to fuck me and consequently achieve his own orgasm. He untied me and told me not to be afraid. He asked me if I was a “virgen”, which I immediately understood to mean virgin. I wanted to lie and say yes but he’d know I was lying once he entered me. I had lost my virginity already of course,and it showed. So I told him I had loved other men and he was not at all displeased. On he went, ready to complete the session of intimacy. I was free to move now and I touched him everywhere I could. Because he was leaning over me, I caressed his skin. The matt of hair on his chest, abdomen and stomach felt so good. The rose had been a sensually feminine tactile delight. The hair over his muscular body was a deliciously male thing I enjoyed. Helet me kiss him with my own passionate abandon. I kissed his chest and stomach but he made it clear he did not want me to pleasure him orally when I began to suggest it physically by moving downward to his crotch. He put his hand over my hair and pushed me back to bed.

My legs were instantly over the sides of his legs, spread apart and he rested on his knees over the bed. He began to fuck me as if it were as natural a bodily act as breathing. We fit perfectly. He started off slowly, making me moan in equally slow echoes as he delved his big cock deeper inside of me. By now, it was dawn. Sunlight filled the tiny hotel room through Venetian blinds that were not fully drawn. Outside on the beach, the cries of gulls was audible.

Outside our room, the hotel staff was up and about and guests of the hotel, probably descending to the first floor for breakfast at the restaurant. Far from marking the end of our tryst, Fernando made it clear he was going to pleasure me and himself for the last time in a grand manner. He began to pound my pussy with vigorous force, making me cry out as if in pain. I grabbed on to the posts of the bed over my head and locked my legs over his waist as he lay his body directly over me. He was sweating now, and the smell of his sweat aroused me further. His face contorted in pleasure as he fucked me roughly. He bit his lower lip. He growled and moaned and raked my nails over his back so that soon blood began to flow gently on his flesh. As he fucked me deeply and swiftly, I came, and he fucked me through the orgasm. I had my hands over his ass and he produced a roar as his own orgasm was achieved.

That was it. At least, that’s how I remember it. Afterward, I’m sure we did not hold one another or whisper sweet words of gratitude and affection as lovers do. He kissed me and caressed my hair, saying I was beautiful. We may or may not have had breakfast. It was probably the latter, for I got together with my girlfriends and it was time to bid adieu to Cancun. One token of that night remains. It was the rose he had with him. I found it lying on my bed but it’s likely he just forgot it there. Or maybe in his own way, he left for me as a gift to remember him by. A rose would die, but the memory of how the rose had been used would not die so fast. After that, I never saw him again. He probably checked out as soon as he exited my room. I have visited Cancun many times before and each time, I look for him, in vain, for he is nowhere to be found. I look for him among the crowds at the beach, my eyes searching for the olive-skinned man with an air of sophistication and sin. Each male face I have looked upon during my visits does not resemble him remotely. My ignorant American girlfriends say that every ethnic person looks the same, but this is not so. Fernando’s features, his smile, his sensuous lips, his very aura, is not like every other man south of the border. When I dine in restaurants, whenever I hear “La Isla Bonita”, whenever I feel the heat of the Cancun sun over my white skin as I lounge by a pool, whenever I draw a breath and long for the blissful contact of a man’s touch, I think of him. And I still carry a rose, hoping he’d recognize me when he sees me. But in vain.

The End.

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