Maid in Mexico

by wordytom

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Heterosexual, True Story, Oral Sex, .

Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Can an aging gringo come back to life buried in young a Mexican girl's pussy? Sam says hell yes? Sam was in a dead end marriage. He floated through a dead end life. Then he met Maria Elena and his erections returned.

Credit still goes to John Clark for the editing. Blame for the screw up belongs to my computer. I have no blame at all.

Tom

I have done business all along Mexico's northern border and found more good and friendly, easy to get along with people than you would ever expect to come across. Usually people look on the border towns as being places for dangerous sex, sneering merchants who will rip you off in a yanqui second and cheap goods of dubious quality. If that is all you're you are looking for, you'll find it because whatever there is a market for, there is someone to supply the demand, no matter how sleazy.

On the other hand, if you look past the glitter and flash of the quick buck merchants and vendors, you will discover something else that is so much better, down in Old Mexico, sometimes even love, real honest to god true love...

First off, the largely Spanish influence of Mexican culture frowns on open, casual sex. That is so even today but love is looked upon as the balm of the soul. And if a guy and a gal happen to end up in bed together, you'll find love forgives almost anything. Well, so long as you don't get caught in the act or pregnant that is. All of Mexico is a country of extremes and seeming contradictions, even along the Americanized Northern Border. So in retrospect, it was no great surprise that when I found love down there, I found it where I would have least expected it.

There is a road, just south of the US Mexican border that runs between Tijuana and Tecate, two very under appreciated Mexican towns. Because of the great amount of commerce in the area, all sorts of enterprises from machine shops to vineyards and dairy farms abound. That means the paved road between the two towns is as excellent as any in our own country. But there are still those little businesses here and there along the highway, which are typically Mexican in style and operation.

I stopped at one such roadside business on a hot July afternoon. I had been dealing with a machine shop in Tijuana for ten years when all at once they decided to jack the prices up beyond what I called reasonable. I canceled all of my standing orders with them and headed over to Tecate to deal with a more reasonable vendor. The air conditioning had gone out in my car and that hot July sun seemed to suck the moisture out of a person.

I was parched when I saw a little roadside place that I figured was either a cantina or some kind of a convenience store. Either way, the odds were I would be able to find something cold to drink there. The weathered sign on the front of the building was indecipherable. I pulled up and stopped near the entrance and got out and walked toward the darkened interior.

The sign over the front door, as I said, could have advertised just about anything. It was impossible to decipher the thing after years of burning sun on the cheap paint used to letter the old sign originally. But it hung there proclaiming something or other. Probably the owners figured the locals knew what they could buy there and the stuck up gringos wouldn't stop anyway.

The small building was at least a hundred years old, erected in the style of the brick and adobe architecture of the Old Mexico of the eighteen hundreds. The only modern thing about the place were a lone, thin electric wire running from the power pole outside, through the outer wall that ended at a naked electric light bulb suspended from the ceiling. There was also one of those old plug-in sockets screwed into it and an old, almost antique GE refrigerator was plugged in to that.

Five half naked kids ran in and out and around the building, chasing a scrawny pissed off rooster who didn't like the game at all. Then my heart stopped a beat. A young woman sat next to the fridge, fanning herself with an old magazine. Her face and eyes, everything about her was beyond beautiful. Hers was the classic sculpted beauty that hearkened to the Spanish and Arabic mix of Old Spain.

As soon as I stepped inside the darkened interior, she yelled at the bare assed kids. They scampered outside and we were alone. I looked at her, really looked at her, for the second time.

Remember Jane Russell, the not too talented actress who played opposite Audie Murphy in that old movie classic, "The Outlaw?" Remember those not-really-too-big, beautiful tits of hers? How they would have made any normal man's mouth water, just looking at them? Now transport that gorgeous body to the present, add wonderfully brown nipples that pushed against the thin cotton fabric of a much worn peasant blouse and see those glorious breasts unfettered by any bra, probably ever. A skirt, as thin as the material in the blouse, covered her curvaceous but not too wide hips. I could see she probably had nothing on under her skirt worth mentioning.

There was a small window directly behind her that let in the bright sunlight. She slipped off the stool she had been sitting on and stood, facing me, her body silhouetted by the backlight of the window. Her silhouette made it clear there were neither slip nor panties under her skirt.

"My God. You're beautiful." I exclaimed as the sheer, raw sexual beauty of her jolted me hard.

She smiled at the obvious honesty of my spontaneous exclamation. "Thank you, sir," she answered, holding her almost lisping ess sound the slightly extra beat in the way many of the western border people do. "How may I help you?"

I thought to myself, Oh Jesus, lady, how indeed? Then I groped for an socially acceptable answer. "Just a Tecate," I answered, thinking of the punch line to the old joke. You know, "Just gimme a piece of beer."

Her hips swayed in a seductive way as she walked with a natural feline grace seen so seldom seen these days. Today's girls and young women are taught at an early age to pout and posture and flop their asses around in clumsy looking poses. Those poses are supposed to denote something or other, but look stupid to me. I had the urge to run up behind her, raise her skirts and run my tongue all over her beautiful body. That woman could have made Richard Simmons get off. (Well, maybe.)

I restrained myself and walked over to the bar and sat down on one of the stools. She smiled as she brought me my beer, I finally got my mind out of her crotch and looked her over again. I studied her features. Her skin had the healthy, pink olive glow you find when European, Spanish/Arab and a bit of Indian are mixed together in all the proper proportions. Her green cat-eyes had hypnotically glow that drew me into them. It was hard to breath as I looked at her in the semi darkness of the room. I had a hard on.

"Would you like anything else, sir?" she asked me. Oh what a clever lead in line I could have used to answer her question.

There was just one problem, she meant nothing sexual, when she asked me that question. I looked into her sweet, lightly freckled face and smiled and said, "Chicharons, por favor." I reached for the roll of bills in my pocket and impulsively added, "Tamarindo por los ninos" I don't know why I ordered soft drinks for the kids, but it just seemed the right thing to do.

"Ah. You espeak a Spanish." she smiled at my attempt to use the border Spanish gringos had better learn to do business properly in that area. It's a matter of manners, more than anything else. But too many years of arrogant, rich Americans ordering them around had given many Mexicans an "attitude" when doing business with us.

"Only a little," I replied in spanish, "I am afraid my ability to speak your beautiful Spanish tongue is very limited." I always try to add in a little compliment here and there when I'm with Mexicans; it is their way. It is appreciated and costs nothing but a little thoughtfulness.

"Oh, in that case we shall speak Engleesh. I am trying to speak a better Engleesh than I now do. She leaned forward and smiled to herself as I glanced down at her scoop necked semi open blouse top. These young women were born flirting. They didn't mean anything about it, usually; it was just their custom. You know, show a hint of titty, and show some leg and stop right there. What's funny is you'll find so many of the sluts in their culture will dress in modest clothing, as if trying to hide their sins. It's all very weird, to our way of thinking.

It is also why so many Americans seldom if ever make out with the nicer Mexican women. That little flirtatious show of leg or boob that is the mainstay of the American girl, advertising her possible availability is meant as harmless flirtation by the Mexican maid. I look on it as a message telling me, 'See what you're not getting.' Believe me, if a Mexican woman wants to do you, you will damn well know it and fast.

"Just another beer in a moment, please," I answered her in English.

"You are very beautiful," I said again.

Her face darkened and she started to back away from me. In her eyes, right then I had become just another horny old gringo who thought his money made him desirable and witty and charming and eligible for a fast piece of tail in the afternoon, as he passed on through and down the highway.

"Forgive me, Miss, I do not mean to get too personal or to insult you. I am not suggesting anything wrong or improper. It is just that you are so very good looking. Your skin is wonderful and your freckles are charming. Your light brown hair hangs past your shoulders in a way an artist could only hope to paint. And let me tell you," I gestured at the model in the beer poster on one wall, "You would look so much better in that picture than the model does." What I told her was true. The model in the beer ad on the calendar was just too skinny and the string bikini she had on didn't do anything to enhance her scrawny (to me) body.

Taken in by my little speech, she stopped and gave me an intent look to discern if I was truly sincere or just another yanqui bullshitter. Then she believed me and leaned back on the counter top and bent forward so I got another peek at her charms. Damn. I felt like a teenage schoolboy, my dick quivering in my pants, begging for attention, while I simpered and drooled over a young girl who looked more than young enough to be my daughter. In fact, she looked about the age of my oldest daughter. Was I ashamed of my lechery? You got to be kidding.

"Would you be offended if I asked to take your picture? I have a camera I use in my business, out in the car. It would take just a moment to get it."

"How you want to take these pictures? None of that..." she wiggled her index finger from side to side in a "no, no" fashion.

"Beautiful lady, you would be able to show any picture I take of you to your priest." I reassured her. (Especially if he's as horny as I am, right now. Or if you're in confession.)

"Hokay," she agreed and I hurried out to get the Petrie commercial thirty-five millimeter camera with all the different lenses and filters. I used that expensive camera to take pictures of mag-fluxed stress fractures in the forged steel and cast iron products I was inspecting. Today, my camera would be put to a much better use.

I brought it in and set it up on the tripod. I posed her and used my auxiliary flash unit to back light her hair. This gave it a halo effect. I did profiles and three quarter profile poses, face on and head down. As much as I could, I got her delicious looking breasts in the shot, any way I could. I used two twenty-four-exposure rolls on her.

Then I got brave as I put the third and last roll of film in the camera and told her I wanted to take a few more of her in the doorway, using the natural light to silhouette her. I don't think she knew what "silhouette" meant. She agreed and I shot her front and back, standing in the door. I shot her from inside the cantina and from the outside. She posed, leaning out the window, almost showing her nipples as I took pictures of her white, glistening smile that tooth paste makers wished they could give their customers.

There was one pose of her licking her lips that made me want to kiss her oh so lovely and naturally red lips with great passion. By then my hands were shaking from the electric sexuality she generated within me. Then I knew it was time to stop the picture taking.

I went back in for a couple of more beers and then I would have to leave and head home to my bland, tasteless marriage to a woman I had never loved and couldn't stand to be around very long.

Oh, to be free, I thought yet again for the millionth time. A loveless marriage is the worst imaginable torture that can be inflicted on any man or woman.

When she handed me the cold beer, her other hand closed over mine as I lifted the bottle. I brought the bottle up toward my lips and she didn't let go. I used my tongue to pry her middle finger up from my hand and sucked gently on it. There was the sound of a sharp intake of air as she gasped. With her finger still in my mouth, I looked up at her face and saw her eyes wide open, her lips slightly parted. My mouth released her finger and I kissed the back of her hand, licking her wrist for a flicker of a moment.

You are so beautiful, so desirable." I murmured in a soft whisper. She bent over the counter a little further, stretching to reach my mouth and kissed my lips with a soft, gentle, lingering kiss. It made me almost explode everything I had, then and there. My tongue darted between her lips and her tongue met mine and licked it. I drew back to look into her eyes and saw complete acceptance and a surrender to the moment.

"Come around here to this side of the counter," I said to her, softly.

"I better not," she answered shyly.

"I promise, I won't do anything you don't want me to, come here." I looked into her beautiful green, hypnotic eyes. They seemed the greater a part of my reality just then.

"But I want to, and I shouldn't," she said

"Come on," I whispered, "Please?" Normally I would have gotten up and left before things ever went as far as they had. Sexual roulette is not my idea of gambling. Perhaps I should say sexual suicide in not my idea of a great way to die. (Unless I'm trying to screw myself to death.) Casual, unprotected sex is just plain old stupid these days. Yet here I was, urging this enchantress to come to me.

Head bent low in submission, not to me, but to the passion of the moment, she hesitated a moment, then came around the bar and stood in front of me with her head still lowered. I stood and I put a finger under her chin to raise her face and kissed the tip of her nose and then her lips. Her greedy mouth sought mine as her arms went around my neck and she drew my head down level with her face. Oh so eager, I bent forward and kissed her again and again. Inside I felt I was about to explode.

After what seemed an eternity, I straightened up for a moment, then dropped to my knees and slipped my head under her skirt and came face to face with her sparsely haired pussy. I could detect the wonderful aroma of her passion. I opened her pussy lips with my tongue and began to explore her, as she never had been taken before. (I found that out later.) She arched her back and came up onto tippy toes. She whimpered, the muscles of her legs taut and hard with the sexual tension of the moment. I teased her small button of a clit with my tongue and toyed it to complete quivering firmness. She had an almost immediate orgasm as spasm after spasm gripped her body, each as intense as the one that preceded it. Finally, she grabbed my face with both hands and tugged upward and whispered, "Enough, enough." (It sounded more like "Enoff! Enoff!")

Still breathing hard, I stood and regained my seat and took a swig of beer to settle my nerves. Never had a woman affected me so. I didn't know if it was approaching middle age causing me to look for my one "last hurrah," or just the magic of her presence breaking down all my inhibitions, plus the fact that sex and I had been strangers for a long, long time. But for once in my cautious life I didn't care.

Look, I am not one of those tight assed anal types, all rigid and proper. But neither was I a guy who meets a girl in a Mexican cantina and eats her pussy at a moment's notice. That is one way to make your lips to fall off, big time. No, as a rule, I am a moderately cautious kind of person who doesn't take stupid blind chances.

I put her hand, palm down on my hard cock. She gave it a squeeze through the pants and smiled. "It likes me, no?" she said with a grin. She inexpertly opened my fly, bent over my lap and took me hesitantly in her mouth. Just her lips touched it as she endeavored to keep her tongue from touching anything.

I could tell she did not have much, if any, experience at cock sucking. I drew her back up and lied, "It's okay," I whispered to her, "I don't want you to, if you don't want to." Oh, what a big lie that was.

"But you did it to me and I must..." her voice trailed off, as I placed a finger across her lips. She was determined to please me.

"Hush. Just get up on my lap, facing me."

She did and as soon as she was in place, I backed myself back just a little and reaching down, slipped myself into her. Then I drew her forward until she was sitting on my cock, surrounding every inch as far as it would go at that time. She got a big grin on her face and sat down hard, rose up and sat back down hard again. There was a sharp resistance and then I was buried inside her, buried to the hilt. Thrills shot all through me, starting in the calves of my legs and ending somewhere the depths in my groin. The intensity of the thrills coursing through me and the overwhelming power of the emotions I felt right then were almost more than I could stand.

"Oh yes." she squealed with delight, "What chu did before was great passion. Now, thees, thees is great fon." Her accent grew thicker, as she got more and more into the swing of things. "Whoosh." she exclaimed as she had one last orgasm. I could hold back no longer. I felt myself exploding in what felt like great, gigantic gushes. It left me empty, completely empty and totally sated.

She slid off my lap and wiped my cock off with some paper napkins. She tossed them in the nearby trashcan and said, "Momento." She hurried out of the room and came back a few minutes later. "You are one messy guy," she told me and laughed her joy.

Then her face became very serious as she told me in a timid voice, "I only do thees one other time. Many years ago when I was very, very yong, I do thees. It was not good then. But, thees was ... eet was ... como se dice? I don' know how to say..." Her voice trailed off. She looked at me pleading with her eyes to not let her be hurt.

"I felt it too," I whispered. Then I held her close in my arms for a bit.

Suddenly she stepped back, "Mi madre ... my mother ... be here soon." She hurried around to the other side of the bar and smiled gently at me once more. It sounds like a cliché to say it I know, but that smile melted my heart.

I paid for a few more drinks and I suddenly realized I had gotten a little sloshed in just a short time before her mother came in to relieve her. By then I was all zipped up proper and sat straight on my stool. But Mammacita still looked at me with suspicion, anyway. I didn't blame her, not one bit. A little bit later, I thanked them for their fine hospitality and left.

"You come back later with the pictures? I want to see them," she told me eagerly. Her eyes were asking me to come back for other reasons. I nodded and winked once and was gone.

When I got back to our house in Chula Vista, I went upstairs and showered the remains of our love making off of me. I hated to do that. I sighed and changed into fresh clothes. I threw my underwear and pants and shirt into the clothes hamper for our part time maid to launder and dressed in fresh clothing. Then I went back downstairs and made a decision. "You get the house and the savings account, I get the business," I told my wife as she gave me a sneering look.

All at once the sneer disappeared from her face and she asked, "What. You aren't divorcing me."

"Wanna bet? You get the house and the joint savings and I keep the business. If you try to screw with me and I'll arrange it so you get next to nothing. Our marriage is a farce and has been from day one. We haven't had sex in years and I want out."

That afternoon delight just across the border with my magical senorita made things all at once come together for me. I saw what I had to do to regain my life and my self-respect.

I left the house and headed to a bar. I drank almost too much before I stopped and went to the motel next to the bar later in the evening. My eyes closed and I dreamed of the little Mexican girl whose name I didn't even know, a sweet dream, a loving dream, and an impossible one. Even asleep, I realized that beautiful young Mexican maidens did not, as a rule, throw themselves at gringos closing in on their forties.

That night, I dreamed of love and laughter and a certain young Mexican senorita. But mostly I dreamed of love. The next morning, I felt well rested for the first time in a long time. I went back to the house and packed my clothes and personal belongings. For all those years of marriage, my personal belongings I had in the house were so pathetically few.

I called the shop and told my secretary to have two of the shop helpers volunteer to come over and give me a hand to get moved out. She said she would and I sat and waited. The two young men came and loaded the company van and took it back to the shop. They made room in one of the storage areas behind my shop and deposited my few things there and went back to their regular duties. Just as I reached my office, the phone rang.

It was my wife's lawyer. "We have some matters to discuss," he told me brusquely.

"Oh? And what is that?" I asked him. I knew exactly what he wanted to discuss, but I didn't like his attitude.

"Look, my man, don't play any smart assed games with me. If you want to keep the clothes on your back, you will get right down here and ask me what your wife of these many years will permit you to keep. This is California, you know. We have laws here."

I thought to myself, Do tell, as if the rest of the country doesn't have any laws. "That's nice," I told him.

"I already have a court order blocking your bank accounts."

"Well, sir, look up the definition of foreign incorporation. Then take the time check the balance what is in the one bank account you are able to freeze." I hung up on him and got to work.

A couple of hours later, my secretary/receptionist, Brenda, an older lady who was as privy to my business as I was, came in with a cruel smile on her face. She told me, "Your wife is out there in the front office bawling her eyes out. In all the time I worked for you this is the first time I have ever met her face to face." I smiled back at her and got up as my wife came storming into my office.

"Well, Mildred, what a happy surprise. Do you realize in the almost twenty years of our blissful marriage, this is only the second time you have ever been here in the shop?"

There was no conversation in her that morning. "Where's my money, Sam? My attorney checked and found out there are only a few hundred dollars in the household account and the savings account is a shell. He said that the money goes into the account and back out into a numbered account in the Caymans." She sniffled and continued, "The title to my house is held by a Delaware corporation that is owned by a corporation in the Cayman Islands. "I don't even own my own house," she wailed.

"Oh, how I hate you." she screeched at me in a voice filled with the first honest emotion she ever showed me, unless the word, "mine." was a part of the sentence.

"Very nice, now I suggest you get together with your lawyer and draw up a divorce agreement I will like. If you do, the retirement funds and the savings go back to you and the house will be yours as well. If I get any more crap from you, I'll close the doors of this shop and get the hell out of town. It's up to you. I want you completely out of my life forever."

"Do you really hate me that much? Why?" It dawned on me then, that she had no idea of my feelings for her.

I don't hate you, Mildred. Rather, I dislike you thoroughly and am just a little contemptuous of you. Other than that, I'm indifferent to you. The only time you talk to me is to say you need more money. I married you because you claimed you were pregnant with my child when we were both in our teens.

That was a big lie. Melinda not only doesn't resemble me in any way, but our blood types are different. In spite of that, I still did my best to be a good father to her. It's not her fault her mother is a lying slut." Mildred flinched at that one and then let it slide off her with a shrug. "You have turned both the girls against me. I just want totally out of a family I have no ties to in any way at all. If either of the girls wishes to contact me, I am here.

There is more of this story...
The source of this story is Storiesonline

For the rest of this story you need to be logged in: Log In or Register for a Free account

Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Consensual / Romantic / Heterosexual / True Story / Oral Sex /