This is chapter 8, part 3 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 8 – Part 3, Delicious Torment
That night, José sat in the stage row at the club, and María recognized him. She told him to sit tight, she had a great show for him. María and her stripper repeated their strip and pole show, and when it came time for María’s fuck act, she called José to the stage. He power-fucked her while she penis-sucked another stripper. Then José watched as she repeated her act with another pair of men, but when she called for another pair, he decided to intervene. José led her off the stage, dressed her, and took her out of the club to a nearby hotel. José offered her coke, and she rewarded him by teaching him how to ‘Ride’ a María. Then he fucked her to exhaustion, one of the few times a man outlasted her.
José called me early in the morning, said María was safe, OK, and sleeping in a hotel. He’d check on her in the evening and have her call me. I offered to pay him a large reward for his help, but he declined – he said it was a favor for old-times sake.
José ‘s help was just what María needed. She awoke with a clear head and the resolve to get straight. She went to a real-estate office, rented a vacation-rental apartment, and moved from the stripper’s place. She was ashamed to talk to me, so she called me at work where she knew I couldn’t ask too many questions and said she was fine.
Two days later, I managed to get her on the phone at her new apartment. She merely told me she left her family’s home because of a public sex scandal with a woman – she had been finger-fucked on stage at a strip club, no big deal. She said she had a series of men and women, all of it casual sex, and still followed our rules. She had rented an apartment in the center of town and felt good again, I shouldn’t worry. I asked her if I should come to Antigua, but she said no. She would take two or three weeks to do our wedding planning, and then return to San Francisco. She did not tell me she lived with José. Of course, the townfolk immediately noted José’s presence in her place, and he stayed with her about three months.
María now became the new town whore. She went around town with José on his motorcycle – she loved the motorcycle, that giant vibrator between her legs. She rode around in her mini-skirts, but José made her wear at least lace panties, as scandalous as none at all. They openly kissed and fondled in public. She had been rejected by her family and her home town, and she flaunted her rejection back in their faces. She cried a lot back in the apartment, but José fucked her frequently and pulled her out of depression. He was just the right medicine for her.
María was largely unsuccessful in arranging our wedding logistics. Many of the town’s people refused to do business with a blatant whore. The church and priest she chose for our wedding ceremony was also her confessor. The priest told her in blunt clerical-ese she was a whore and he would not profane the church by marrying us. He wouldn’t take a new confession from her – she hadn’t completed her previous penitence and she obviously wasn’t sorry for her sins.
María caught gonorrhea somewhere, and José moved-out when his penis started burning. After two weeks of tetracycline, María moved another man into her house, again without telling me, and she stayed two more months. She justified the extra time by lying she reconciled with her father, if not with the rest of her family. She wanted to stay longer, but I threatened to come get her, and was at the point of buying my ticket when she relented.
When she finally came back home, Brett and I were ecstatic. I took off a week from work, and we spent the first few days in slow cariños, slow love-making, and playing together with Brett. And of course, a long session where I buried my face in her vulva, cried, and begged for her forgiveness. When she told me about her birthday sex scandal with the stripper, she made it sound so funny, so typically María, that we laughed and stripped and tickled until I deep-kissed and fingered her to orgasm on the kitchen table, like the stripper woman had done.
She told me the details about José and the other live-in man days later; she dismissed them as unimportant, simply sluts to keep her pipes cleaned. She distracted me with stories about José, his stories about the sex-dance club, and his small penis. I should have remembered a small penis facilitates anus-fucking and deep-throating.
The two month guy was a stripper at the club, the one that treated her best. He had a girlfriend in another country he missed and he was lonely too. They hung out together, fucked occasionally, but nothing more. I wondered how you could live with a man for two-four months and not get serious, not get emotionally interlinked with him. María said there was no emotional involvement, he was a good fuck, and he jealously kept away other men and women. I could see the logic in that. She stopped me with a compelling argument – she had left him and come back to me. I believed her blindly.
The real shocker of her trip was our wedding bands were stolen at the strippers’ house. I didn’t fuss about it – they could be replaced, but María was back and I could never replace her. My need of her was so strong it was religious. She still had our engagement ring, but she didn’t wear it, she was afraid of losing it too. We agreed I should accompany her on any future wedding planning trips to Guatemala. My presence would damp down her whore-ness with the town folk.
A couple of weeks after her arrival back, María called her prostitution clients and definitively canceled them. Except for two women – the reporter, an extension of her revenge on the Pol, and an attractive Hispanic woman who was the aide of the Governor’s chief of staff. María said her vulva was the sweetest sensation imaginable, and she was addicted to her sixty-nine sessions with her. María said she’d gladly pay that woman for sex. Her name was also María, we called her María-lover. María’s prostitution stopped at four times per month, barely a blip in our schedules, although I still dressed her for her dates.
Even that minimal prostitution faded away over the next few months. The reporter finally realized the Pol’s political career would never recover in California. Then the Pol married a plain black woman and moved to Chicago. María continued on with the Hispanic woman, but admitted to me she hadn’t charged her since returning from Guatemala. They were simply lovers, deep lovers, perhaps María’s way of compensating her sex life for my inadequacies. I still adored dressing her for their dates.
María’s interest in our wedding diminished after the Guatemala trip. She said she felt guilty about losing our wedding bands, but more importantly, she still would have the reputation as a whore after the strip-club event. I suggested a San Francisco wedding, but her recent experiences with the Pol and prostitution soured that idea.
María and Terri remained good friends and confidantes. Terri and I got along well, but Terri refused to tell me or Drew anything María confided to her. From the look on Terri’s face, I suspected María’s activities in Antigua were much darker than María had let on, but I didn’t pry. I had María back, that’s all that mattered.
One evening, I came home from work and María was crying, fondling our engagement ring. I assumed she was still upset about losing the wedding bands, so I pressured her to start wearing the ring again. I told her if she lost it, I would buy her a better one, no problem, but I was proud we were engaged and would marry soon. She wore the ring except when she went out with María-lover. Later, I noticed she sometimes took it off before going out at other times. I presumed she was seeing other men again, and gently got her to confess. I started dressing her again for those dates. I was pleased – I knew men hit on her harder when she wore the ring, and I wanted her to have more male lovers – I was concerned about her deep relationship with María-lover.
She told me she was seeing paid clients again. I started to worry, but she said they were just a couple of the nicest guys. I asked,
“Why are you charging them? Why not for free like the others?”
“I’m a prostitute – it’s in my blood now. I wouldn’t fuck them if they didn’t pay, but they’re good fucks. I’m also a cheap whore so I have freebies. So, … why do you still want me, a prostitute and whore as your wife?”
“Because you’re my existence – my life means nothing without you.”
“Doesn’t it bother you I fuck all these other men? When I fuck them, I love them. Aren’t you jealous? Doesn’t it bother you at all?”
“It hurts me deeply when you fuck and love them, not the ones that pay you but the others you fuck because you want them. I love the hurt. The pain is deeper than my own orgasms. And sweeter.”
“You prefer I fuck them than you?”
I had to think about this for a moment,
“No, I love to fuck you, to make love to you. But yes, if you could only fuck one man in the whole world, it should be another man as long as you’re still here with me. I love to feel the pain of laying next to you, of holding you close and finding his semen in you, of knowing you’ve done things to him you never do to me, of knowing another man has consumed all of you, of knowing you were a puta with him. The pain is incredibly sweet, like the other man is crushing my testicles with his bare hands.”
“Deep-Throat was right? You want to be castrated?”
Now I really had to think, but the pieces started falling in place,
“I don’t know. Maybe yes, but only if the man were the unique, perfect man for you, if such a man could exist. He should castrate me to take you for himself. Deep-Throat was not the unique, perfect man for you.”
“How do you know that?”
“Simple – because he didn’t castrate me and take you.”
“If this perfect man appears, you’ll give me to him?”
“Only if he fights for you. You are right – you always say you want a man who will fight for you and who will win because he wants you so badly. If he castrates me, he wants you more than me, he wins you. So if you want another man to keep you, now you know how!”
“This sounds a lot easier than a divorce – I get some man to castrate you and you give me up. And you’ll let him castrate you? Just like that?”
“Of course not. I’ll fight hard for you, harder than you can imagine because I want you most. But if he wins, if he castrates me, I’ll know I wasn’t the perfect man for you. And I won’t give you to him, he’ll have to take you forcefully from me. That’s the only way another man can take you.”
“You’re a pervert!”
“And you’re a prostitute and slut!”
“Maybe we are perfect for each other. I love fucking different men. I hope you meant what you said, because your torment has just begun. We’ll see how deep is the pain you can stand.”
She waited for a response, but I couldn’t move or talk, my mind and body were shaking with anticipation.
María mistakenly wore her engagement ring to one of these paid dates. I saw it but said nothing – I wondered if the man might react negatively, but he loved it. When she explained about the Catholic wedding, he was all for it – he loved the idea she was not only married, but would re-marry in the religion, a religion that explicitly forbade her sexual adventures. He liked to suck the ring off her finger. He’d have her rub it around his penis with her tongue while she sucked him to ejaculation. She loved it also and taught him how to ‘Ride’ her. He became a weekly client, at $2,000 a pop!
* * *
María returned to her part-time job at the apartments a few weeks after she returned. I told her she she didn’t need to do it, we didn’t need the money. But after the events of the last few years, she wanted a normal life, normal contact with normal people. And she had two old lovers at the apartments. Her boss welcomed her back. He had seen her with the Pol on TV, and was hyped to employ such a beautiful and famous woman. Her re-employment interview lasted 30 minutes: 15 minutes as María worked her mouth over his penis, and another 15 minutes with her legs over his shoulders. He should have negotiated her salary before the physical interview, but he swallowed hard and paid it. He gave her a big welcome-back party in the club house, followed by a marathon fucking session. María loved it – this was the quiet, uneventful, normal life she craved at that moment, and this is how we passed the next years in San Francisco.
Mariá’s promise to torment me went mostly unfulfilled. Apart from the Pol, American men didn’t threaten me; they were too bland and white. But, of course, María found an angle – she celebrated with other men on our special days – marriage anniversary, birthdays, valentine’s day, any day that might be special to me. She had me dress her and do her makeup, and she’d spend the night with them. On our birthdays and anniversary, she had me body paint her vulva. It was delicious torment.
End of book content.
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