This story is suitable for over 18s only.
He watched her dance. Her long, dark, wavy hair flew out from her head, wild and untamed, just like her. The sweat on her face made her skin glow under the flashing lights of the dance floor, and a stray drop of sweat dripped down from her chin and into the channel between her breasts.
She wore a gold, sparkling shift dress that accentuated her dark skin, and which barely reached the tops of her long, shapely legs. The flimsy material slithered around her toned body as it sensually undulated to the rhythm of the lone sax player, on the stage of the tiny dance club in one of the back streets of Havana, Cuba.
The woman danced alone, watched only by a handful of people at the tables surrounding the dance floor. If she was having the same effect on the other men in the club as she was on him, then he wasn’t the only man present with a bulge in his trousers. He looked to his right briefly, and caught sight of a man stroking himself under the table.
Did the woman know what effect she was having on her audience? She seemed oblivious to the attention she was getting, but perhaps that was just pretence. She looked no one in the eye because her eyes were closed. Was she thinking about an absent boyfriend? Perhaps she was dreaming of another life somewhere, away from the poverty of this part of town?
The sax player stopped playing and rested the instrument against an old piano. He walked to the bar and asked for a beer. The girl opened her eyes at last, pausing for a couple of moments while she scanned the sparse audience. Her gaze stopped at him, and for a second or two she looked him directly in the eye before walking across to his table, and, without asking, sat on the other chair.
“Can I buy you a drink?” He felt he ought to ask after her epic dancing display.
Her big brown eyes were like pools of dark chocolate, the lashes thick and long, and her skin colour was café au lait. There were drops of sweat across her brow, making a few strands of hair stick to her glowing skin. He wanted to push the hair back with his fingers, and lick the salty sweat from her face.
She smiled. “No, that won’t be necessary. Do you want to take a walk with me?”
She rose and held out her hand, and he had no resistance. His head urged caution, but his heart and his cock argued otherwise…and won. He followed her to a side door, watching her undulating bottom as the gold dress slithered over her hips. It was mesmerising.
The evening air, as they exited the club, was hot and humid. She took his hand and led him down the alley to where the streetlights hardly reached. In the dim, tropical night she drew him to her and did not flinch when his hands ran smoothly up the back of her thighs and under her dress.
She wasn’t wearing panties.
He breathed in hard as his palms glided over her smooth, toned bottom, and pressed her body towards him so his erection left no doubt as to his level of arousal. She pressed back with her groin and began to gently grind herself against him – using the same slow rhythm as when she was dancing.
He felt intoxicated, yet he was almost sober. Trapped in the moment. No past, no future. Just now.
She kissed him with soft luscious lips, moist and ripe. He responded, applying more pressure and sliding his tongue between them until it touched hers. Grinding groins, lips locked, hands on her bare ass, his erection struggled to be free.
He pulled his hands away from her firm bottom to open his pants and release his cock to the sticky night air, slipping on a rubber from his pocket. Seconds later he slammed her back against the building and lifted her legs over his arms. There were no words, no sweet love talk, no pretence that this was anything other than a fast, hard fuck. Two strangers doing what strangers have done since the beginning of time, a consensual act between two willing people.
He slammed into her and she groaned, hanging on to him around his neck as though she was drowning in a tempestuous sea and he was her only lifeline. He partially withdrew and slammed back again. This time they both groaned. He could feel her breath against his cheek. Her mouth moved towards his ear and she bit his lobe, which served to excite him even more, her tongue darting here and there in light flicks.
He couldn’t remember feeling as aroused as he was here, now, with her. This had been what he had hoped for as he left his hotel room that evening, something to take away the pain of the divorce and the humiliation of losing his job, a week in Havana to drink and fuck and forget, to feel like a man again instead of a complete waste of space, as his ex-wife had called him.
Well he felt like a man now, as he pounded into the woman in front of him, whose eyes were closed and whose chest was rising and falling with heavy breathing as the moans fell from her lips. He was certainly satisfying her. She couldn’t be that good an actress.
His climax was rushing to meet him. The urgent need to shoot his seed, even if it was only into a rubber sheath, was unstoppable. He came as though he was never going to stop. He had a momentary memory flash through his mind, of him as a lad, and he and Jimmy Priestley and their stupid contest to see who could shoot their jizz the furthest. Back then they had only had a torn copy of Playboy to urge them on. The memory came and went again, in a split second.
He continued to press the woman against the wall for a few seconds to gather himself, before lowering her to the floor. She moved away from the wall as he bent to pull up his pants and tuck himself away.
“Hell, that was…” He turned towards an empty alleyway.
The woman was gone, slipped away into the night. He couldn’t believe that she could move so fast and so quietly. He instinctively slipped his hand into his pocket to locate his wallet. It was gone. There was a brief moment of disbelief, before he opened his mouth and laughed uproariously.
Well, buddy, it looks as though you’ve been fucked over one more time.
He walked down the alleyway to the street. He should have felt devastated, but strangely he didn’t. He’d taken the advice of the hotel concierge and left his passport and most of his money back in the safe in his room. He’d probably got about a hundred bucks at most on him, and considering what he’d received in return he decided that it was worth that much. Hell he might even have offered it to her if she had asked, for what turned out to be the best fuck he had had in years.
He walked down the street and back towards his hotel, thinking as he did so whether he should go back to the club the following night. Hell this time he might even offer her the money up front.
I hope you have enjoyed this short story. Comments are most welcome below.