Latin Submission Read online

  'Oh no, Jonathan...' she protested weakly in her seductive Gallic accent.

  I ignored her protestation - as I knew she wanted me to ignore it - and cupped her moist sex in my palm. My fingertips spread out through her pubic hair and I levered her further up, so her pert rump perched tantalisingly before my lascivious eyes. Beatrice's mouth was agape as she contemplated what I was about to do.

  I stepped back and coiled the buckled end of the belt around my fist. Beatrice watched me, her lips parted slightly and her eyes bright. Then, as I slowly lifted my arm, she buried her face in the back of the sofa and held her breath. She waited... and then the belt swept down through the warm still air and bit into her raised buttocks. She bucked and stuffed one hand into her mouth to muffle the yelp she couldn't suppress.

  'No, Jonathan,' she protested again. 'It hurts too much.'

  But I knew she wanted the punishment, her weak supplication only intensifying her pleasure.

  Before thrashing her again I admired my handiwork. I could see the clear outline of the belt on her tender flesh.

  I raised my arm and struck again. My accuracy was surprisingly good, and the fresh angry stripe overlaid that which I had already made. Another shiver passed through the beautiful female. She reached for her bottom to soothe the livid pain, but I pushed her limp hand aside and thrashed her again and again. The excitement was immense as I purveyed the delectable sight of her reddened rump, and watched each jerk of her hips as the belt struck.

  'You wanted postre,' I panted, once I was exhausted and had dropped the belt to the floor.

  'Yes... oui.' Her voice was weak. 'Oui... oui...'

  'Turn round,' I instructed hoarsely, and manoeuvred her until she was sitting as I wanted her, perched on the front edge of the sofa. Her lovely face winced at the discomfort in her bottom. 'Now, don't move.' I didn't expect any form of rebellion - I knew she was enjoying the submissive role just as much as I was enjoying the dominant role - but I wanted to maintain a firm control over her.

  In my eagerness, and somewhat betraying my pretence of composure, I tugged and fumbled with my clothes. The recalcitrant buttons of my shirt and trousers did everything to thwart me, and my socks caused me to stumble and hop in a most undignified manner. It was still only mere seconds, however, before I stood naked in front of her, my cock pulsing like a living creature just inches from her spellbound face.

  'Suck me,' I croaked, my voice doing its own bit to highlight my growing lack of control. Without hesitation she rocked forward and swallowed me completely. I stared down at her gently bobbing head and shuddered with sheer delight. Her hands found my buttocks and pulled my groin tighter to her face as one finger burrowed between them and worried my anus. My lower-belly rested against her hot forehead and her mouth threatened to bring me to orgasm far too quickly.

  Trying to distract myself from her magical attentions - just a little - I loosened the clips that held her hair and watched a stream of copper-red cascade down to her shoulders. It shimmered as it settled, and then swayed and caressed her skin as her head moved against me.

  Despite my best efforts at self-denial my orgasm approached relentlessly. I felt my balls tighten and the simmerings of climactic release bubbling in the pit of my stomach and at the base of my cock. I had to deny myself the delights of her clever tongue and lips; I didn't want to come before I had fucked her. I spread her out before me. Her head lolled back over the arm of the sofa and her hair swayed just above the floor. Her vulnerable throat looked good enough to eat. She had one foot on the floor, and I lifted her other and draped it over the back of the sofa. A cushion was quickly pushed under her bottom, causing a sharp intake of breath as the material agitated her striped skin, and her hips were lifted in readiness.

  I knelt between her spread thighs, took my weight on my arms, and entered her smoothly. She sighed in unison with the sinking of my hips to meet hers.

  'Ah, oui. Ahhhh...'

  She came instantly with a deliciously feminine shudder, and she instinctively reached up and twisted her fingers in my hair.

  'Ahhhh...' she sighed again and slumped into the sofa, her breasts gently rising and falling as she relaxed and her breathing slowed.

  But I still hadn't come. I flipped her over like a doll and pulled her knees to the floor. I suddenly wanted to sample something I never sampled before. Beatrice looked over her shoulder at me. Seeming to anticipate my requirements, her knees shuffled a little further apart.

  I nudged my helmet between her buttocks and pressed it against her rear entrance. I watched for a reaction, and saw a faint twinkle in her eyes and a little flickering smile of acquiescence. I grabbed both her wrists and held them together behind her back, and once I knew she was ready, I eased my cock into her bottom with one long slow movement. She was so tight! It was glorious! Her back arched and she let out a guttural groan of ecstasy.

  What a sight Beatrice was; her slender back and shoulders glossed with perspiration. I simply couldn't contain myself any longer. As soon as my groin came to rest against her scorched buttocks and I was fully embedded, I came.

  As I was seeing Beatrice to a taxi outside the hospedaje - with the rather palatable promise that she would return later that night, once her husband had phoned - I saw the chambermaid again. She held a hand to her mouth, blushed, stifled a giggle, and then ran away.

  Chapter 5

  Frankie had called off, excusing herself with a headache, so I was left alone with the charming Stephanie, who had jumped at my invitation to go out to dinner. I took her to a parrilla close to the hospedaje and got her life story: a private school education in the Cotswolds, a couple of years teaching in London, and then this, her great adventure, coming to Argentina. She wanted to travel. She wanted excitement.

  'What kind of excitement?' I asked.

  'Oh, all kinds of excitement,' she said, smiling her broad smile, her wide mouth opening to reveal white even teeth.

  As she demurely nibbled on her steak, she confided in me about her relationship with her flatmate. 'Frankie is my best friend and everything, but she can be a little domineering sometimes.' Stephanie leant towards me conspiratorially. 'She's a bit bossy.'

  'I suppose it's a little claustrophobic, you and her having to rely on each other so much.'

  'Claustrophobic is exactly the word. She doesn't seem to care. She seems quite happy just to stick with me, but I like to meet people - new people, different people.'

  My eyes strayed to her fully developed chest. She looked at me expectantly as if I were exactly the type of new person she wished to encounter.

  'Where did you meet her?'

  'Oh, we met at university. We shared a flat together for a year. I was studying to be a primary school teacher, and Frankie was reading social anthropology. She's very different from me, I mean temperamentally. I'm much more easy-going. Maybe it's the Celtic thing: she's a quarter Scottish. She has some very strident opinions. She always has to be right about everything.'

  'Do you argue very much?' I was angling.

  'Yes, all the time. Sometimes it's really bad - or it has been, this last week or so.' Stephanie sighed then lightly shrugged her shoulders.

  'What do you argue about?'

  'Oh, everything. She thinks I'm a bit dippy, you know - that I need protecting because I haven't had her experience of the world. Just because she lived in South America for a year before she went to university. Her attitude can be very annoying. Maybe she is right a lot of the time, and maybe I haven't travelled as much as she has and seen as many things, but that doesn't mean she knows everything, or that what I say isn't valid.'

  I nodded in rhythm to the cadences of her speech, as Stephanie unburdened herself in full flow.

  'You know what the real difference is between us? I really want to learn about life and people and everything and she thinks that she's already done the lot. She's only twenty-two. I me
an, she's just a year older than me and, to hear her speak, you'd think she was as old as Methuselah.' Stephanie had become increasingly animated the longer she spoke, her voice perceptibly rising as she considered her unjust treatment at the hands of her ill-tempered friend.

  I liked the plain silk lilac blouse she wore. I could see her nipples jutting out from the soft fabric. She wasn't wearing a bra. I glanced at the triangle of her upper chest, her shirt unbuttoned to just below the top of her cleavage. Stephanie was a delightfully naïve girl, extremely trusting, who just happened to have an incredible body, with the pertest, most mouthwatering chest you could ever wish to see.

  'You never argue about boyfriends?' Here I thought I might get onto more profitable territory.

  She looked at me, showing mild suspicion. 'No, not really. Not so far, anyway. Until recently I was going steady with Gregory, who was studying mechanical engineering. But Frankie never really liked him. She never said as much until we split up, that is, but it wasn't so difficult to guess. A woman can tell these things,' she said knowingly, but so over-emphatically that it betrayed a certain innocence. 'We only became real friends after I stopped seeing Greg.'

  'Why didn't Frankie like him?'

  'Frankie never seemed to like any of the boys that I liked. She'd always put them down, saying how immature they were. What she really meant, I suppose, is how immature I was for liking them in the first place.'

  'And what about Frankie?' I asked. 'Does she have a boyfriend?'

  'Oh no. Frankie never goes steady. It's just not what she does. She has some strange friends, though, really spooky! Sometimes she'll just disappear for days and days. When she comes back she won't tell me anything, but she looks terrible.' Again the conspiratorial glance. 'I think she takes drugs.'

  Stephanie drank her wine like water, knocking her head back, draining the last drops from her glass. She was a wonderful temptation, the trustfulness and candour of the girl mixed with the provocative sexiness of her body, her ample breasts, her accommodating mouth, her slender legs leading to full and curvaceous hips.

  'You know, I was beginning to think that this whole trip was a mistake. It's so refreshing to talk to somebody else, somebody like you.'

  With a touching guilelessness she had laid her hand on mine as I ordered another bottle of wine. Her eyes beamed tenderly, telling me she wanted me, or at least some kind of experience with me: the type of adventure she had forced to the edges of her consciousness. I suspected that it was precisely this department of her sexual self-knowledge where she was mostly charmingly deficient.

  A little drunk now, she began to flirt more blatantly, the alcohol emboldening her, making her lose her initial coyness. She smiled, stroking my forearm, then showered me with compliments about how understanding I was, how good-looking: really dishy, she said.

  I suppose to Stephanie I was a man of the world: a bachelor who wore expensive polo shirts and linen trousers, who must have lots of beautiful women back home, a sophisticated type of which she had not apparently met many of in London. She was dreaming me, inventing me, and I let her harbour her newly found illusions. I was not about to tell her of my sorry years of professional and personal failure. I would pretend to be exactly who she thought I was.

  She asked me if I wanted a postre. How could I think of that word without remembering Beatrice; without feeling her body, without smelling her scent, without visualising the string of red welts I had deposited on her bottom? I wasn't interested in postre. I was interested in all the interesting things I could do with Stephanie's body and how I could discipline her to obey my every command.

  But not tonight. I was still expecting Beatrice to return. There would be another night for Stephanie - maybe many nights. I would aim to give her exactly the education I thought she needed.

  After she finished the last dregs of the fruity red wine, I collected the bill, got complimented on being a real old-fashioned gent, and walked her back to the hospedaje. She didn't invite me in for coffee, but hinted that she would be interested in coming back to my room. I excused myself by saying that I had an early start and, without making any fixed arrangement, told her I would see her soon.

  'Oh, I do hope so,' she said, before leaning close, a little unsteadily, and pecking me on the cheek.

  Beatrice came an hour later, dressed in an elegant black strapless evening gown and, as I was soon to discover, black stockings and suspenders and... no panties.

  Within seconds of her entering the room, my fingers entered her. I pushed her back against the door the moment it closed. Her head rested against my chest as I frigged her, and she gasped with absolute pleasure. Within seconds her knees weakened and she crumpled against me as an orgasm washed through her. It was incredibly exciting, hearing the occasional guest pass only inches from us in the corridor outside. I'm sure the relative danger had fuelled Beatrice's passion to such a pitch.

  I carried her to the bed and sat her down, undressed myself, and then stood quietly in the darkness listening to her sucking avidly on my erection. I enjoyed this for long minutes, and then whispered that she should undress too. We slipped between the cool crisp sheets and made love - slowly and passionately.

  'You remind me of somebody,' Beatrice cooed as she cuddled into me, her cheek on my chest, the sweet scent of her hair filling my nostrils. Her fingers idly fiddled with my limp penis.

  'Really?' I said distractedly as I ran my fingertips up and down her slender neck. 'Tell me.'

  'It's a long story.'

  'I told you, I'm interested in stories. Who do I remind you of?'

  'You remind me of the first man who really, really taught me the pleasure of discipline.'

  'Tell me,' I repeated.

  'Well, you did say that you wanted to write about something beautiful. He was beautiful, it was beautiful... magnifique. I have tried to write about it myself, but somehow the words are never good enough. I spoil the memory with my useless words, confine the moment, reduce it, imprison its transient beauty. Words are no good for my memory of this man.'

  'Let me try to write the story for you.' I had no intention of writing anything. I was merely curious to hear Beatrice, with her fantastic French accent, describe her novel sexual experiences.

  'It would make a good story, but sadly not for me. My memory is too precious for that, but I would like you to hear.'

  'But if you tell me, you have to tell me everything - all the details.'

  'Well, you need the background, first.'

  'Go ahead.'

  'Okay. My story starts when I was a teenager. I was a very curious girl. I wanted to know what made my parents cry out in the middle of the night, that noise they made which sounded so painful but which seemed to bring them so much pleasure. I would often listen to them. It was impossible not to listen to them, to hear the lash of leather on skin, the satisfied squeal of pleasure piercing the silence of the night.

  'I lost my virginity when I was sixteen. It wasn't a good experience or a bad experience. It felt like nothing. A boy from my class who liked me took me down to the river. Neither of us really knew what to do. We didn't even take off our clothes. It lasted a minute, not long enough for me to get much further than the initial pain, that's all. Within seconds he had dribbled inside me. What happened didn't seem to have anything to do with the noises I heard coming from my parents' bedroom.'

  'And this man?'

  'Wait, before the man, there is one more experience I must tell you about.' Beatrice hesitated a moment, as if searching for the right word, the perfect bon mot. 'It happened in my school. I was seventeen, studying to go to university. Two boys were standing by their lockers. Two pathetic boys: one quite strong and muscular with long blond hair, and the other a little shorter, darker. They were my age but immature, both virgins, but they behaved as if they knew everything.

  'I was very tired of Albert and Jean, tired of them always
saying things to me, telling me how fantastic their penises were. I thought I would try to shame them. I asked them why they talked like they did when they had never fucked a girl in their lives. Albert blushed but Jean laughed at me, trying to be even more macho, telling me that he had fucked lots of girls, much prettier and older girls than me.

  '"So you wouldn't like to fuck me, then," I asked. I didn't want to fuck them - not then, not at that stage. We were playing a game, a silly game. I was angry with them. In my childish way, I wanted to humiliate them, to show these two little virgins how sad they were when they talked about women in that way.

  '"Any time you want me, I'll fuck you." Jean turned around to Albert, a big smile on his face, his chest pushed out with pride. He thought that the riposte was enough, that the incident was over and the cheeky, insolent girl would go away.

  '"You, fuck me?" I said. "You wouldn't know how!"

  '"You're talking rubbish, little girl," he said, "Merde!" he exclaimed. I could see that my outburst had made Jean angry; his face was flushed red.

  '"Come on then, take me!" Both boys looked at me as if I were stupid. I was - how do you say in English? - daring them. No - how do you say? - calling their...'

  'Bluff,' I offered.

  'Yes, bluff, that's the word. "Come on then, take me," I said again.

  '"Don't be so stupid! Where can we do it? We can't do it in school."

  '"Chicken, you see? You're both cowards. You talk with your mouth, but you don't know what to do with your little virgin penises. Run home to your mamans."

  'Jean was getting more and more furious with me because he was frightened that I was making him look a fool in front of his friend. "You're so stupid. I don't know whether I want to screw such a stupid little girl."

  '"Then stop acting like a big man, when you are a little virgin boy. If you wanted to have me, you would find a way. You're just too scared." I looked at them contemptuously. I thought I had won. I liked the feeling of power over them, watching them blush. I wanted to press home my advantage. "If you were a man, we could go there," I said, pointing to the boys' toilet. "Classes have started and nobody will find us."