Chapter 14 – Part 2, Not a Hooker. Yet

This is chapter 14, part 2 of the Pleasing María novel. If you are under 18 years of age, or are offended by explicit descriptions of sexual activity or violence, or by strong language, please exit this site immediately. To view the Table of Contents of the novel click here. To go directly to the first chapter, click here. To read the latest novel post, click here. This is a rough second draft.


Chapter 14 – Part 2, Not a Hooker. Yet

María disappeared for two weeks, and no one saw her. Brett thought his fights with her may have been the cause, but I assured him it was my fault.

María showed-up at the house dressed in a mini-skirt and a short, tight T-shirt, her midriff exposed, a shiny bauble gleaming from her navel. Her nipples were bigger than usual, maybe from the warm weather. She was made-up gaudily, like the chola girls from the Pueblo de Rocha, black lipstick and eye shadow, pointed eyebrows, pink blush on her cheeks, her natural beauty barely visible through the disguise.

She walked straight into the bedroom, pulled a bag from the closet, and started packing clothes. She only said, “I just came to get a few things, I won’t be long.” She pulled off her shirt, indifferent to my presence until she saw me staring at the silver studs passing through her nipples. She asked, “Do you like those?” I had already imagined my tongue exploring those studs, realized I had a visible erection, and I said, “Yes, very much. They don’t hurt?”

She said, “No, the piercings are old. Maybe you’ll like this too?”

She loosened her skirt and rolled one side of her panty over her hip. She had a tattoo on her hip, about two inches in diameter, a simple red and black cupid’s heart bisected by a arrow. Initials were diagonally placed on either side of the arrow. On one side ‘MP’, María Pura, her maiden name, and on the other side, PH. I ran my fingers around the outline of the heart. Her skin was still red, a newish tattoo. I asked, “Who is PH?”

“Do you really want to know?”

I dropped to my knees, hugged her thighs, and kissed the tattoo. She had renounced my name, a divorce in her mind, and permanently marked her body with the initials of another man. And the only thing I could think of was to kiss the tattoo, to honor her choice to leave me. I was still the pathetic loser-type she detested. She tolerated my embrace for a few moments then tried to shake me off. She said, “If you want to fuck me, you’ll have to pay.” I released her and she threw a few more things in her bag, pulled on a blouse, and headed out.

I corralled her at the door and forced her to listen to me. We sat on the couch to talk. I apologized, told her it was my fault, and asked her forgiveness. I didn’t ask her who she was with, who she had fucked, nothing – I begged her, for my sake and Brett’s to come back.

She was unmoved, stony faced. She said she wasn’t coming back. I had blamed her for my problems, and her son thought she was a whore. She wasn’t coming back.

I knelt in front of her, opened her legs but she pushed my head away. She said she was sick, she had gonorrhea. I pulled her hands away and kissed her vulva. Gonorrhea or no, it tasted the same – the sweetest taste known to man. This might be my last chance to savor her, easily worth the price. I pulled her panty aside and buried my mouth in her vulva, begging between crying. She wasn’t aroused.

I guess she felt sorry for me. I felt her fingers in my hair, caressing my scalp. She said she had to go. She had, well, … we had a doctor’s appointment in less than an hour. She led me to the bathroom, saturated a washcloth with alcohol, and washed my face carefully, with cariño, cleaning her vaginal juices away from my eyes. She said she had caught gonorrhea somewhere, had given it to other men, and had now given it to me. She smiled sardonically, as if that was punishment for my stupidity. I adored that woman.

The doctor, a young woman, examined María, then listened to how I acquired a one-hour-old infection. She asked if I knew María was infected. She tried to hide an alarmed, twisted smile that said this guy is crazy. But I think she understood me. As she wrote out our prescriptions, she watched me out of the corners of her eyes. I thought she wanted a man like me, she thought María was the lucky one – she had no idea.

As I drove María back, we were silent except for her driving directions back to her place. We went past the University, up the Calzada de Guadalupe, then down into the student ghetto of the Puquero. Somewhere in here is where Brett lived with his housemates. We stopped in front of a house and I said, “I’ll carry your bag in.”

“No, wait here. Pablo will come out to get it, and I have something for you.”

A handsome, broad-shouldered twenties-something man appeared at the door, shirtless, tattoos adorning most of his arms and torso. He waited at the door looking at me for a few minutes until María appeared. She flirted with him, he held her and tried to kiss her. She pushed him away while rubbing the front of his pants, which quickly became a bulge. She teased him until his knees buckled with desire. He pulled her T-shirt off over her head in a single swoop and sucked her breast into his mouth. He fumbled at her skirt – he was going to fuck her right there. I thought he’s probably the guy that gave her gonorrhea.

I wasn’t about to watch this, so I started the car. María twisted out of his embrace and rushed to the car with a small bag, pulling her skirt down, still topless, and leaned in the window. She must have not liked what she saw on my face, and said, “Yes?”

“You’re a gutter whore!”

“She recoiled like she had been struck, but shook it off and said,

“Yes, I’m a gutter whore. Can you live with a gutter whore? Do you swear to kiss my tattoo everyday and still love me?”

This was my chance to get even. I opened my mouth to blast her, but Josey pushed her way through my neurons and spoke first, “Sí. Me casaré contigo con la marca del hombre en tu cuerpo y te amaré hasta la muerte.” (Yes. I’ll marry you with the mark of that man on your body and I’ll love you as deep as death.)

She got in and said, “Please take me home.”

As I drove, she said, “One more time, don’t ever call me a whore.”

“Were you going to fuck him right there in front of me?”

“Yes, it was just a goodbye quickie, and you spoiled it. Satisfied?”

‘Yes,’ I thought, ‘I’m satisfied.’

I said, “Maybe you should put on a top, we’re in public.”

She fished something out of her purse, and exchanged the studs in her nipples for star-shaped stripper pasties that covered the areolae, “How’s that?”

“Have you been stripping? Lap-dance? Hooking?”

“What’s it to you?”

“Is Pablo your pimp? He has the look of it.”

“Pablo’s my handler. Pimps take your money and abuse you. Handlers take your pussy and protect you. He’s a good handler on both counts. I’m probably not through with him yet.”

“Why the tattoo? You’ve spoiled your perfect body.”

“I wanted the permanent mark of a man, any man, that wasn’t you. I left you for good, I’m not sure why I’m with you now. I will leave you again in a heart beat. If you can keep me, you’ll be kissing the mark of Pablo every day for the rest of your life, get used to it! Any thing else you want to know?”

“If the tattoo had a hole, I’d fuck it for the rest of my life and give thanks to Pablo every day for putting it there. No, there’s nothing else, but there’s something I need to tell you, to get it out of my system. Here it is: I want you. You can always come back to me, I’ll always be there to welcome you. I swear it.”

“No.”

“No? Did you hear what I said?”

“No, I haven’t been hooking. Yet.”

“Listen to me – who, what, where.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

No matter who you’ve been with, where you’ve been, or what you’ve done, I want you back, I’ll always want you back. Never think you’re alone. I should have told you this years ago, I’m sorry if you ever felt alone.”

“Even if I’m gutter hooking – you’ll take me back?”

“Even then, especially then, unconditionally always.”

We arrived at the house and rushed into the bedroom. I threw her on the bed, jerked off her skirt, tore off the panty, and kissed and licked her tattoo until her vulva flooded. And we fucked in hot frenzy, gonorrhea or not.

* * *

The gonorrhea was a new variant, and we tried two different antibiotics for four weeks before we got the all clear. We refused to abstain from sex, which probably prolonged the treatment. Every time I saw the tattoo, I went on my knees, kissed it and we assaulted each other. For months, we started all sex with my kisses on her tattoo. I had her back, and thanked the Sacred Whore Goddesses Isis and Martine for gonorrhea and tattoos.

I tried harder, much harder, to better my sexual technique, but getting María to orgasm wasn’t and had never been a problem – she always climaxed at least once, usually several times. And what she seemed to enjoy most was my mouth in her vulva, often cleaning another man’s semen. But the fire in her groin was still missing.

I decided to get counseling for my humiliation perversion and went twice per week to an expensive therapist. It didn’t help. It didn’t help because María wanted more sexual intensity than she got from me. She began prowling again, “Just for a temporary sex partner”, she said, but in my heart of hearts, I thought she still searched for my replacement. We had damaged our relationship. The counseling couldn’t fix my sense of humiliation over knowing she was fucking better men than I.

* * *

María didn’t prowl for long. We found a sexual routine that worked for us: María became the escort of an up-and-coming politician in León, a closet homosexual. He exhibited her with proud flourishes and fondled her in public for media consumption, but he kept the cutest bitch back in his house. I usually drove her to the politician’s house before the events, and the bitch and I would watch them on the news while I waited to take her home.

Watching the politician handling María, the cute bitch would get hot and hit on me, and I’d succumb. I always was the bitch before, I loved being the macho. We exchanged penis sucks, I fucked his mouth brutally to gagging, and I felt those repressed penis longings again. He was growing on me until he wanted me to anus-fuck him. I remembered my oath to María and stopped cold. I stayed clear of him afterward, and nobody ever found out.

For thrills, María returned to stripping, at the Silahua club in Silao, pole and lap dancing twice per week. The club doesn’t let husbands ‘handle’ their wives, for obvious reasons, and María chose the Pablo of her tattoo to be her handler. He picked her up and brought her home. I went with her when I could, and I was her biggest fan, whooping, whistling, clapping and stuffing 500 peso bills in her tangas. I was her shill – my excitement stirred the other men to be more generous with her, and she became the top earner and favorite performer at the club.

After stripping and dancing at the pole, María did the normal squirming and pelvic thrusts at the edge of the stage. She squatted in front of men, and let them rub her cameltoe if they’d kiss the tattoo on her hip. Only in front of me, she’d protrude her pelvis to receive the 500 peso bills over her vulva. After the stage dancing, María lap-danced whatever john or jill in the audience that was willing to pay Pablo’s 1,000 peso fee.

Her politician appeared frequently at the club to watch María, rarely with his cute bitch, and would occasionally join me to cheer for María. If other politicians or the press were there, he’d lap-dance María to keep his closet status intact. He was a decent guy, didn’t seem to be raiding the public treasury, but then, what did I know?

One evening as I prepared to drive to Silao to catch her act, Brett came in to raid the refrigerator. On a whim, I called María and asked if I should bring Brett. She replied, “Yes, he’s a man now, he needs some real-world education.”

Brett came out of the kitchen with a sandwich and asked, “Where’s mom?”

“She’s working. Would you like to go catch her at work?”

“Working at this hour? Where is she?”

“She’s working a club in Silao called the Silahua. It’s only 20 minutes away.”

“Silahua? Isn’t that a strip bar? Is she a hostess or waitress?”

“Oh no, she’s there for the big money and excitement, she’s a stripper. Come on, she said it’s ok, it’s not what you’re imagining. Are you coming?”

Brett’s first look at María on the pole left him stunned in his seat, and I regretted bringing him. Watching men rub her vulva and María rubbing her body against men in the lap-dance drained away his blood, leaving him pale. He whispered to me, “How can you let my mother do that?”

“That woman there is not your mother nor my wife, she’s what you so flippantly called her before, a whore. She provides sexual excitement and pleasure for money. Look at the men whispering to her, offering money for a fuck. Look at her eyes, staring blankly into nothingness. Our María is not there, that woman’s just a cheap whore, probably taking revenge against the men she loves for how badly they’ve treated her.”

“They’ve got their hands all over her body …”

“This is the first time she’s done that, Pablo is supposed to forbid touching, I’m not sure what’s happening tonight. She’s probably doing it for your benefit.”

After the lap-dances, María sat at the table with us, now our María once again. Brett was embarrassed by her near-total nudity, just pasties, a tanga, and heels. I realized María intentionally provoked him, a lesson in real-world sexuality. She ribbed him for looking away from her, “Haven’t you seen a nude woman before? Look at me, how do I look?”

“You’re beautiful, you’re really … I can’t talk that way about my mother.”

“I hope you started to say ‘sexy’. I am sexy. Look at how all these men drool over me and the other girls. In here, I’m a whore for money. There’s no conflict between being your mother and a whore, you should accept me both ways. I’m not ashamed of myself or what I do. Now look at me, my body. What do you think?”

“You’re incredibly sexy. Your boobs … what holds the pasties on?”

María peeled off a pasty and handed it to Brett, “An adhesive, here take this … you’re staring. Haven’t you seen a nipple before?”

“Not like yours, it’s big and the ring around it is, uh, big …”

“For the size of the breast? Men love that, it gives them a mouthful. You’re getting red, don’t be embarrassed, I’m not. I have get dressed for the next set, I’m stripping as a French maid. I’ll be back.”

By the third set, Brett had recovered his composure and now joked and commented about María and the other dancers. He was fascinated by a cute, barely legal stripper, and I paid for his no-touch lap-dance with her. He emerged with a wet stain from inside his pants, and a smile as bright as María’s, and told me, “Now I get it.”

María lost his attention, and I think he had successfully divorced his mother María away from the whore María on the stage. He hardly watched María as she performed, until in the fourth set, María approached our table at the stage edge. I gave him 200 pesos, and told him to kiss her tattoo if she turned her hip to him, rub her tanga cameltoe, then put the money in her tanga strap. He recoiled, “You want me to touch my mother’s uh…”

“She’s not your mother, just another whore like your cute lap-dancer, go ahead.”

He did as I told him, deeply tracing his fingers in the crease of María’s vulva, and she winked at me as she moved away. Brett rubbed his fingers together and commented, “She left me wet.” He fought the impulse, succumbed, then raised his hand to his nose.

I said, “That’s the scent of the most valued liquid on earth.”

María rotated on the stage back to our table, this time to me, protruding her vulva directly in my face. I hooked a finger in her tanga strap, pulled the tanga away from her body, slid my finger down over her vulva, and inserted a 500 peso bill over her vagina. María stood, left the stage, and stopped at Pablo, who caressed her tattoo and slid the bills from her tanga. Brett commented, “He’s very intimate with her. What the deal with the tattoo – I never saw that before? I guess MP is María Pura, but who is PH?”

“Pablo Hernández, her handler. He collects her money, doesn’t let anyone hurt her. She lived with him for two weeks after we fought once, after U&P dumped her, and he marked her.”

“Puta madre, I never knew about that, there’s a lot of stuff you’ve never told me – he takes a cut, I guess?”

“No … uh … yes, it’s not money, he takes her to his place after the show and takes his cut in trade. Then he brings her home.”

“Doble puta madre – he screws my mother then bring her to your bed?”

“The whore says he’s a great fuck and she deserves it.”

Brett’s cute girl took the stage and absorbed his attention. She was cute! When she came off the stage, I paid her for another lap-dance with Brett. María took the pole, but Brett was positively blasé now, a casual man of the world, and walked around the room flirting with the cocktail waitresses as María danced. He returned to the table as she began the lap-dances.

I asked, “You’re taking all this very calmly, what a change from a few months ago. How about your girlfriend, would you let her do it?”

“Yeah, I guess, if she was upfront about it and needed the money. I wouldn’t let her screw her handler though, and I can’t believe you do. I certainly wouldn’t want the men rubbing her or screwing her. I’d be worried about pregnancy and disease, but I guess condoms handle that. It makes me excited to think about it, but I’d worry it might damage us. The image of some guy sticking his dick into her would be hard to take. I like her a lot.”

“What if your girlfriend did it for fun, because she’s a slut?”

“I don’t know, I’d feel like maybe she did it because there was something missing in me. I wouldn’t like it, but I might tolerate it if I really liked her. If we got engaged or married, I wouldn’t let her go on for any reason. No man will ever touch my wife.”

“Why don’t you bring her to watch María. Women get in free and can watch in the back rooms free. See how she reacts. She might not like the idea her boyfriend’s mother is a stripper-prostitute. Or she might decide to try it out herself. Either way, you’ll learn something valuable about your girlfriend.”

“I don’t know, it sounds dangerous. What if she did like it? I hadn’t thought of María as a prostitute…”

“Prostitute is a penis word. Your mother is the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever met, but I have to get past the penis mentality to see that. When I screwup, put her back in the penis world, that’s when we have problems. When you find the woman of your life, you’ll have to choose to live with her in either the penis world or the vulva world. You can imagine what I mean by that, we’ve talked some about it. If you live in the vulva world with your woman, you’ll be the minor player in the relationship. Your woman will lead you through a life of astonishing joy. Not all women are capable of living in the vulva world, they’ve been brainwashed into thinking the penis world, where women are culturally smashed down, is the only world that exists. So choose your world and your woman carefully.”

“You and mom are weird. What do you mean, I’d be a minor player? How can I be different than what I am?”

“On the outside, you’d probably act the same. What changes is your motivations for your activities. Before starting any activity, you’d ask yourself if this is the best way to please your woman. She becomes the center of your life, and your decisions about work and play and family and everything else revolve around pleasing her. It sounds like a small thing, but it’ll completely upend your life, for the better.”

“This is a pretty heavy conversation for a strip club. What’s this about watching in the back room? I’ve heard there are live-sex acts here.”

“It’s lap-dancing with fucking. It doesn’t happen too often because it’s expensive. We can watch it here on the stage screen when any of the strippers perform. Watching inside is expensive too, but we’ll get to watch free inside in a few minutes, since it’s Pablo’s whore.”

“You mean María? María’s going to fuck someone in the back room?!?”

“They’re going in now, let’s go get a good table.”

The tables were full of locals and a few tourists, so we sat at the ‘jerk-off’ bar, so named because it had deep leg-room and dividers between each seat. Men and women sitting there can masturbate unobserved.

A thirties man sat in a plush seat on a low platform, and the twelve or so spectators, most of whom had paid Pablo 1,000 pesos watched from chairs at floor level. The whore came in wearing pasties, a tanga, and heels. Facing the john, she sat on his knees and they began mutual caressing with their hands.

Brett whispered, “Is she really going to screw that jerk?”

“He’s one of the cronies of a politician in León María escorts. I guess you didn’t know about that either. This is how she buys him votes.”

We watched for a few minutes, then some demon got into me, and I said, “Let’s move to the center where we’ll have a better view.”

The same demon caused the whore to exaggerate her show, and expose her intimate self more than she had ever done before. She lap-danced him the standard way, both facing and back to the john, then stood facing him. She pulled her tanga down her thighs, then bent over to remove the tanga while crossing her legs at the knees, forming the classic heart-shape derriere. Her perfect hemisphere vulva protruded behind, so beautiful I cramped in desire while Brett gripped the bar top with whitened knuckles.

She knelt in front of the john between his legs, opened his pants, his penis popped out, and she made a big show of rolling and smoothing the condom over his penis and applying lubricant, a showy way to pump him harder.

She raised her breasts up to his face and let him suck off her pasties, something new I had never seen before.

She stood, faced us, and now it was Brett gasping – she had no pubic hair, and was completely nude, front and back, except for her heels.

Her back to the john, still facing us, she stepped back straddling the john’s legs, reached between her legs to take his penis, then rubbed his penis head in the valley of her vulva, opening her labia. Her clitoris button engorged and popped out into view.

She lowered her vagina over his penis, stroking vertically so his penis entering and leaving her vagina was clearly visible to the audience. The john rubbed his hands up along her sides, over her breasts and down again as she stroked him.

Brett exclaimed, “Oh shit, look, she’s fucking that guy, oh shit.”

I said, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it. Look at him, he’s going crazy. He paid 5,000 pesos for that, and he’s going crazy. Look at the spectators, uhh, a dozen of them, hmm, two women, look at their faces, sexual rapture, they’ll both get fucked tonight, I’d like to have the curly one.”

Before the john could ejaculate, María disengaged, turned around facing him, then sat on his legs, twisting her hips, screwing his penis into her vagina. She reached down the side of the chair, moving some lever there and his seat back reclined and she followed his body down nearly flat. She raised her hips, exposing her vagina and his penis, and began to stroke him front and back. It had been years since I had watched a fully-exposed penis fucking her, but this show was for Brett, I was a lucky bystander.

Her timer beeped and she ignored it, continued stroking him until he bucked, raising his hips to slam his penis deep into her and cried-out as he ejaculated.

María didn’t stop, she continued stroking as he jerked into her. When he finally grunted and collapsed, she leaned forward, kissed him, and pulled slowly forward until his penis fell out and to the side.

She lay still on top of the john for a few moments, her vulva engorged, fully open and exposed to the spectators. I heard Brett softly cry-out and saw he had been pumping his penis and now climaxed. María must have heard him too – she sat up, pulled a thin robe over her, and walked from the room without looking at us.

The john still lay there, breathing hard, his penis shriveled, about to drop-off the condom. I had the urge to jump over the bar and suck the remaining semen from his penis. But, of course, I did nothing of the sort – that’s hardly the sort of thing a father would do in front of his son.

I led Brett from the room, commenting, “She’s an amazing whore, heh? She’s never done so much so explicitly before. Beautiful. That was a show for you.” We returned to the main stage and sat, distractedly watching another stripper on the pole. We had turned a sex-education lesson for our son into a shock-and-awe assault on his sensibilities. The men in the crowd were also distracted and restless. Pablo came out and pulled me aside, commenting,

“You have a real handsome kid, and you should take him outa here now.”

“I’m going to buy another lap-dance for him, to distract him from María’s performance.”

“Were you watching his face? You saw him jerk-off. He wants to fuck María.”

“Everybody masturbates in there. You’re crazy, and not even María would consider that.”

“Well, I already have three more men in line for her, and the mood in here has gone weird and dangerous. Her dance caused a commotion in here, even the strippers stopped dancing to watch. María is upset. She wants to leave too. It may get rough in here. The bouncers are getting ready.”

“Ok, we’ll leave now. Take María out of here immediately.”

“You got it. Can she stay the night with me?”

“Who’s asking, you or her?”

“It’s her. I think she doesn’t want to see you or the boy tonight.”

“Ok, thanks for asking. Take good care of her.”

End of book content.


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