Chapter 4 – Part 1, Banned from the Sex Club

This is chapter 4, part 1 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 4 – Part 1, Banned from the Sex Club

It would be dishonest to say we fucked like rabbits, 24/7. We went to the salsa clubs just two-three times per week, and we fucked most stay-home nights, if just to feed her penis addiction and placate the hormone storms she provoked in me. Otherwise, we led a normal routine of house cleaning, working, socializing, grocery shopping, family vacations, and so on. My handcraft export business was erratic as always, and now María worked part-time with me in the business.

However, the normal hum-drum of life is what everyone does, and doesn’t warrant writing about here. But this normal hum-drum wormed inside me. I became more-and-more attached to her. I begin to think and feel María was more than just a beautiful easy fuck, she possessed many qualities of intelligence, gentleness, kindness, generosity, and compassion. When I was away from her, I missed her greatly; I felt incomplete and hollow. I began to think of her as a long-term companion, as a woman that could perhaps give me the children I sometimes thought about. I no longer wondered when I would dump her to look for my lifelong companion. When I showered with her, I loved to to run my fingers through her hair, then through her vulva, feeling her slippery labia, until I dropped to my knees and kissed it, soapy and all. I worshiped her vulva, the essence of her, my essence.

I wanted to keep María busy and out of men trouble, so we looked around for other activities for her. María was sharp, but under-educated. Her father didn’t see the need for girls’ education, and he sent her to work when she finished high-school. We decided she should get some college, and signed her up for a two year program in tourism. The program covered hotel hospitality and food service, but the focus was on tour design. María’s class made many tours to destinations around Guatemala.

María also took a part-time post in a Spanish school, teaching conversational Spanish to foreigners, and took night classes in English and French. Exposing María to foreign men was a calculated risk. I thought they’d be too proper and language-inhibited to go after a married woman. I miscalculated – sex is the universal language and sexual desire the most potent behavior changer.

So I kept María busy, but these activities did not keep her out of men trouble – quite the inverse. Now she was exposed to a much greater number of foreign men, whom found her just as exciting as I. She would greet dozens of foreign men as we walked around town, many with that look on their face they knew something I didn’t. I just chose to ignore the implications of their smirks.

When María was in her period, we went to a small dance club in Antigua where good dance music played but no sex show. Here I would dance the slow dances with her, clumsily, but with great affection. She would also dance with other men, but I reserved the slow dances, rumbas, boleros, and sones, for us. Holding her, leading her around the dance floor, watching her hair flow, her body move with the music filled me with a strange longing I didn’t understand. Any man that was less self-centered than I would have realized they were in love with this woman, but my obliviousness still knew no bounds.


We made trips together, to the small indigenous villages around Guatemala where we would buy handmade textiles and other crafts to decorate our house and export. These relaxed trips were where we had the best discussions about our life together, where we were most honest about who we were and what we wanted.

María was a mess of contradictions. She’d disrobe at the drop of a hat, fuck any interesting man, yet go to mass, take confession with the priest, and genuflect and sometimes cry in front of the painting of the Virgin Mary in the old University museum.

María loved to watch the Mexican masked wrestlers, boxing, and hockey – all the sports where men violently assaulted each other. But she thought it silly men fought for money or awards. The only worthy prize was a woman, and the prize of a woman justified any level of violence.

María revealed to me she felt insecure, felt she was not pretty nor desirable enough to be loved. She thought she was fat, that everyone noticed the microscopic overlap of her upper front teeth. She thought what I saw as her exotic beauty was ugliness, and she couldn’t understand why men wanted her. She used her raw sexuality to cover her insecurity.

She said she didn’t deliberately use her sexuality to manipulate men, it wasn’t necessary. It was natural for men to do what she wanted. Even more so because her dress and attitude contracted their groins, and every man thought her available and easy. Women reacted differently – some detested and some loved her for the same reason: her beauty, poise and natural sensuality.


One of our favorite near-by excursions was to San Andrés Itzapa to visit the pagan saint San Simón. In a modest temple on the edge of town, San Simón dressed in a spiffy modern suit with a cowboy hat, and received offerings of money, ‘aguardiente‘ (raw sugar-cane rum), stogies, colored candles and other items that were definitively not part of approved Catholic practice. San Simón is one of several pagan saints favored by the gangsters, narcos, ‘sicarios‘ (hit men), petty thieves and other low life in Guatemala.

San Simón fascinated María, and we offered the colored candles that requested his blessing for money, love, and harm for our enemies. Black candles were against enemies and envy, red for love, faith and good will. We sat on the benches and watched the ‘chusma‘ (riff-raff) sprinkle San Simón with aguardiente, stuff his pockets with money and cigars, then cleanse themselves ritually by self-flogging with leafy tree branches. Some of the chusma withdraw pistols from within their clothes and lay them at San Simón’s feet to be blessed. I hid behind María to snap photos, a stupidly dangerous act.

The weapons and the rituals, the sheer testosterone and latent violence, excited María; she would have fucked these men had they approached her, but not even these men, who thought nothing of killing, would profane the temple of San Simón – if they angered him, they lost his protection and would surely be killed themselves. In the courtyard, his believers burned heaps of candles, cigars and chocolate in bonfires while others filled their mouths with three or more stogies, smoking them simultaneously down to stubs.

Another favorite excursion looped us through several indigenous villages with overnight stops at the enormous handcraft market at Chichicastenango and at the Lago de Atitlán (Lake Atitlán). We bought wool blankets, serapes, and shoulder bags in Momostenango. Our first trip there nearly destroyed my car, the worst dirt road I had ever driven. When we arrived in the village, the young boys and men gathered around our car and stared as if they had never seen a private car before – or a white man! They put their faces against the glass and stared at María and me, and when they tired of that, examined the car top to bottom. One boy stared into a headlight for minutes, while another crawled under the car to examine the chassis, and remained there for about 15 minutes. María spooked, so she stayed in the locked car while I negotiated purchases of wool handcrafts. Leaving the village, I took nude photos of María at the strange rock formations, Los Riscos, while the native sheep herders watched her through their narrow, diagonal eye slits.

We visited Cobán and discovered an orchid exposition in progress in our hotel. Hundreds of varieties of orchids, each more beautiful than the previous, reminded me of María’s vulva, a few identical in size, shape, structure, and color. There’s no question why orchids are considered the world’s most beautiful flowers. I ached to bury my face in them and wanted to buy several, but María refused. She said she didn’t want any competition.

We took an all day orchid tour in the jungles surrounding Cobán where I photographed the orchids in their natural setting. The guide brought down a few from the tree branches, and I photo’d them next to María’s natural orchid, an unsettling experience for the poor, drooling guide. María wore a loose skirt and sat on the ground, her legs and skirt framing the flower, back-stopped by her own orchid. The tour was excellent, if tiring. María was moved by how the guide looked at her and she wanted to give him a tip, but I gave him money instead.


And on these trips, we talked a lot about dancing, sex and María’s lovers – she was open, frank and explicit talking about them.

María’s arousal off the dance floor was easily detectable, her engorged nipples pressing through her blouse was the obvious sign. Not visible was her engorged vulva, but the gush of pheromones alerted men from yards away. She also lost her grace of movement. She walked and gestured with an awkwardness anyone that knew her well, her husband, would notice. This was caused, perhaps, by the female equivalent of the male’s knives in the groin, and why she preferred to dance where her grace didn’t abandon her. I learned to judge her arousal level by her body language, and also learned when to get out of her way when she decided to take a man. Rarely did her prey escape her.

I saw her fuck dozens of men over the years. This always excited me, but disturbed me by how she could immerse herself so totally, how she could give such a complete surrender of her body to a strange man for hours. María admitted it was my presence in the room that gave her the confidence and trust to allow strange men to dominate her. She knew I’d protect her. My presence provoked the men into greater sexual frenzy but prevented them from going beyond sex into violence with her. She refused to look at me when she said I took the violence and abuse that might have been directed at her – and I loved the abuse.

María fucked strange men in the same way she danced with them. She was an excellent dance partner because she let the men lead, and gracefully and skillfully followed their lead. She fucked them the same way; wherever the man led, she followed them enthusiastically, and they loved to fuck her the same way they loved to dance with her. Her best dance partners often became her fuck partners. María loved strong leads, strong willed men that would control her on the dance floor and in the boudoir – men that could move her body around at will, men with big, rock hard penises to skewer her with. María gently led me to understand I wasn’t a strong man, and in her dark, heavy Male blood days, she disrespected me and showed contempt for my weakness. Of course, her respect for me was lowest when another man had his penis in her mouth or vagina.

María tried positions and activities with her lovers she refused to do with me. She explained these actions weren’t proper and respectable for husbands and wives; they were ‘puta‘ activities. She said her lovers were sluts, she might not see them again, and there were no repercussions to fucking them with total abandon.

Most of her lovers were Guatemalan, small men that fit María’s petite size, they were usually slender, and fit nicely between her legs. It was beautiful to watch, her body was so graceful, and she accepted these men like they were her true love. She eagerly pulled them between her legs, pulled their penises into her, protruded her breasts to have her nipples kissed, grabbed their buttocks with her hands or hooked her feet behinds their buttocks to jerk them with force into her vagina. She would mount their hips, legs around their waists and ride their penis bucking and bouncing. Their complementary sizes facilitated energetic fucking.


One night at the club, one of her favorite candidates, in a moment of macho stupidity, decided to spin her crazily on the main dance floor, and the stop-action strobe displayed her open vulva to the entire club. This wouldn’t have been a big deal, except a slimy vice cop watched. While María had her vulva licked in the back room, the vice cop sat at our table drinking from our bottle. When María returned, he offered to overlook the transgression in exchange for a weekly fuck – she declined the offer. The cop threatened the club with closure and the owner had no choice – he very politely asked us to leave the club.

We searched around for another high-class club, but found nothing similar. Many clubs in Guatemala City tried to duplicate their success, but they all failed. They didn’t enforce a strict dress code or keep out all single men. They didn’t train their bouncers. Most critically, they didn’t set rules for the girls, and the girls dragged them down into raunch. We saw open prostitution and drug use, lots of fights, fucking in the hallways and bathrooms, and the elite refused to go to these places. We didn’t return either. After a month of searching around, we quit going to Guatemala City except for those occasions when María was hunting for a black man or someone special. We gave-up the apartment in the city.

María had a large black book of contacts, so she never felt sexually deprived. She borrowed a tiny apartment in San Juan del Obispo from a cousin. Later, she asked for her own apartment in Antigua, so she wouldn’t have to sneak off so far. I was happy to provide that, it gave me a little more control over her adventures. I didn’t see who she fucked, and I missed the humiliation and abuse, but she said she kept to our rules. She invited me occasionally to watch over a man she was unsure about, or to get my testicles crunched.

She said she wasn’t seeing her favorites from the sex-dance club, Jerk-Face and Deep-Throat. María explained their superior dancing won them access to her vagina – others were poorer dancers but better lovers. I still dressed her for her rendezvous, and cleaned her vulva when she returned to the house. She wasn’t as careful as she should have been coming-and-going with her lovers, and the gossip spread in Antigua; folks looked at me like I was a fool. Still, I had no major complaints and life was good.

End of book content.

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