Chapter 2 – Part 7, Tikal and Copán

This is chapter two, part seven 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.


Chapter 2 – Part 7, Tikal and Copán

Whatever our activities together, María’s sensuality was omnipresent. For my travel writing and export business, we traveled extensively throughout Guatemala to the indigenous villages, to sites of natural beauty, and to even the Mayan ruins. I didn’t want to return to the Mayan ruins, they unsettled me, but María had never seen them and she easily twisted me to her desires.

Regardless of the destination, María wore the slut clothing I bought for her. She never wore pants, and wore mini-skirts only when she had no micro-skirts available. Her blouses barely covered her areolae. She kept me in a continuous state of sexual tension, and I loved the constant ache in my groin.

We clambered around the Mayan ruins of Copán and Tikal, taking photos and scandalizing the guides and other tourists with María’s body exposure. In those days, visitors climbed directly on the steep stone steps of the pyramids and touched the engravings. We made paper rubbings of the stelae and altar engravings. To climb Temple IV at Tikal, we climbed through the branches of a tree, batting away bright orange insects the size of small garbage trucks. The engravings and sculptures spoke to María’s soul. Their violence and inhumanity horrified me, like looking at a mass grave, but María pulled into them. She caressed and embraced them as lovers.

Tikal was still so rustic the guides carried machetes to clear away the paths between the temples, but mostly the guides followed behind María, lusting after the vulva she so freely displayed. The indigenous guides recognized their blood in Maria. When groups of young men joined the guides following María, I insisted she wear panties. She had only brought sexy lingerie that was equally scandalous, and she complained they were uncomfortable for that type of physical activity.

The heat, jungle, and physical exertion of exploring the ruins excited María, brought her into arousal – her desire was transparent on her face, and her nipples and vulva engorged visibly. The guides, perhaps impressed with my photo equipment, offered us special, separate tours of temples and artifacts that were not accessible by the general public. I filled dozens of rolls of film with images of engravings, arches and monuments while other guides filled María’s vagina with their semen. Under giant caoba trees and inside Mayan burial chambers, she must have fucked multiple guides. When we rejoined a few hours later, she had leaves and tree bark in her hair, and grass stains and crumbled stone fragments impressed into her knees and elbows. María was exhausted, her lips were swollen but her eyes still flashed invitations at these short, dark men. They looked at María with respect and deference, like she was royalty. They never looked directly at her face, they lowered their eyes to her barely covered breasts. As I brushed her off and cleaned her with my handkerchief, rivulets of semen trickling down her legs. I wondered how many of the guides had fucked her as I wiped the semen from between her legs. I impulsively brought my handkerchief to my face to smell, and struggled to quash the impulse to rub their semen between my fingers looking for special magic – the men nervously fingered their machete handles, their eyes drawn into diagonal slits that showed their Mongolian blood origin.

María stepped up to steady me when she saw I wobbled from nausea and vertigo, and we decided to leave for the day. As we drove away, I asked her how many and why? I could see the gears of her brain turning in confusion, then clarity. She simply answered, “son de sangre pura” (they are of pure blood). That night, María refused to let me touch her.

The next day, we repeated these special tours. María was my ticket to enter all the forbidden areas of the ruins, and neither of us could get enough of our respective pleasure. The guides stared at me through narrow slits, muscles tense, as if they could hardly restrain themselves from sharpening their machetes on my bones. As they stared at me, I felt their hands ripping my genitals from my body, cutting up under my rib cage with their machetes to yank out my still-beating heart. I drew into their passions, not as a warrior but as the sacrificial victim. I was alive, tolerated, only because María had chosen me as her escort.

María had only a tiny fraction of Mayan blood, but the ruins provoked her into base, ruthless Male emotions, and made her susceptible to the passions of these short, dark descendants of the Mayans. They saturated her with their semen, drawing her farther into their dark, heavy Male blood. The ruins intimidated me, and I was relieved to leave Tikal.

From Tikal, we traveled to Quirigua and Copán, where the Mayan temples were less imposing, with finer engravings that demonstrated the civil society of the Mayans. They had a sophisticated governance and social organization, advanced science, math and astronomy, and even the blood altars seemed more humane.

María was not herself. The ruins frightened me but they seduced María. She restlessly and prowled around the ruins of Quirigua and Copán looking for sangre pura. I was unnerved by her, to see her as a determined predator of men. Of course, she found a young Mayan guide to fuck her; he politely asked me, “con permiso” (by your leave) as he led her away. She said he bent her over an altar in an open patio dominated by the rain god, Chac, who observed her offering from fifteen feet above. He returned her to me naked from the waist down and he bristled as I cleaned her legs and vulva. The guide gave her the same respect as the others before, and treated me like an interloper; how dare I tamper with the sacred Mayan semen on her body. María was a queen whore to these men. Their sexual union was a sacrament, a renewal of ancient bonds. I wrapped my shirt around her waist to serve as a skirt, but she was indifferent to her nudity and to me.

I couldn’t handle what was happening with María, I had no concept of her relationship to this alien world, and it scared me. She rejected all my attempts at sex while at the ruins. I took her back to Antigua. Away from the influence of the Mayan ruins, she returned to her old self.

End of book content.


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