Caribbean Rhapsody

Cozumel Island, Quintana Roo, Mexico

Near the Yucatan Peninsula

"Why are you so damn uptight?" her boss asked. "It's just sex. Something to loosen you up a bit and get your juices flowing. I saw you looking at that Russian model and her lover. All that rutting and noise got you excited, didn't it? You want it just as much as I do."

"Excuse me?" She went still. "What are you doing?"

Her sleazy employer, Syd Gains, was standing beside his shirt that was spread out on the beach, tugging at his belt. His belt dropped to the sand. "You're wasting time. Get that bikini off."

"You're dreaming if you think I'll let you screw me, you pervert. The only thing I'm doing is getting off this island before the storm hits. Go screw the other bimbos who are more willing." She looked him right in the eyes. "Or go screw yourself. I think you do that a lot anyway," she added grimly.

"Then you're fired," he told her, shrugging his shoulders. "Either you let me have a taste of that beautiful body of yours, or your done. No agency will take you by the time I'll be done with you. Your choice. It's not like you're a virgin."

No, she wasn't, but she wished that she was. The one time she did have sex, she was discarded right after her loser of a boyfriend took her virginity. Pregnant and alone, she had chosen to terminate the pregnancy. An even bigger mistake that nearly killed her in four ways; emotionally, spiritually, and psychologically, not to mention physically. Then she saw her baby in pieces, ripped apart by an evil abortionist who called himself a doctor. After it was over, she had nearly bled to death. After that she had gotten an infection that had nearly killed her again. She'd be lucky if she would ever get pregnant again. After she had gotten better, she had sworn never to have sex again until after she would get married.

Did he always get away with this? she wondered. Didn't people file lawsuits for this kind of behavior? She saw her career going up in smoke. But it doesn't have to be, she thought. What she would do next was for her career. Something she thought she would never do; have casual sex.

"Do you have a condom?" she asked, hating herself for doing this, and wanting to get the deed over quickly and forget about it.

"I'm sure I've got one here somewhere," he replied, digging for his wallet and opening it. He pulled out a wrapper. "Got one left." He held up the wrapper.

"My bikini stays on," she told him. She was wearing a yellow bra that barely covered her full breasts. She wore yellow thong panties that only covered her front. "And you'll take me from behind. I don't want to look at your ugly face. It's hard enough for me to let you do this despicable thing to me to save my job. Damn you for bringing me this low."

Oh, but you don't have a job anymore, he wanted to tell her. As soon as he was done using that gorgeous body, he would tell her. He just wanted a taste of her before firing her. She was all the porn stars that he liked to watch. To name a few; Crissy Moran, Nadia Styles, Mason Storm, Jenaveve Jolie, Sativa Rose, Laura Lee, London Keyes, Lanny Barbie, Ava Milano, and Mariah Milano, all rolled into one exquisite package. Or any porn star, for that matter, that was a long-haired brunette, large breasted, and opulently curved. That included, as he liked to refer to them, the Spice Girls: Bella, Cierra, Gigi, Karla, Mariah, Natalia, Pamela, Serena, Tania, and the exquisite Spice Twins; Hailey and Ashley. Even though Crissy Moran and Nadia Styles have found religion, he could still enjoy their videos. What could he say? He loved watching porn, especially with Latin stars.

He knew that she would be furious if she knew that he was comparing her to a number of Latin porn stars, but he didn't give a shit. He'd screwed every woman that was ever here, or had ever worked for him. The ones that were reluctant, he'd blackmailed in some way until they had given in.

Rosa Fonseca was an exceptionally beautiful woman from Honduras. She was on his photo shoot, taking pictures of bikini models, on Cozumel Island, ten miles off the eastern coast of the Yucatan Peninsula, in the jurisdiction of Quintana Roo territory. It had a total area of 189 square miles, and was 29 miles long from northeast to southwest and averaging 9 miles in width. The island was discovered by the Spanish explorer Juan de Grijalva and visited by the conquistador, Hernán Cortés. Now one of Mexico's premiere tourist resorts, it had excellent beaches, fishing, boating, and skin diving. An airport built for military purposes made it accessible by air as well as by boat. They were about 25 miles from Playa del Carmen.

Suddenly Rosa yearned to be back home in Gracias, Honduras, almost 400 miles to the south. The city lay in the valley of the Mejocote River, at the foot of Las Minas Hill in the Celaque Mountains. Founded in 1536, it is one of the oldest cities in Honduras. In the 16th and 17th centuries, it was a major mining and administrative centre, but it declined in the 18th century. Destroyed in 1915 by an earthquake, it was rebuilt. Gracias is now the commercial centre for the surrounding agricultural lands.

The capital, Tegucigalpa, founded in 1578 on the slopes of Mount Picacho as a gold and silver-mining centre, was about sixty miles to the northwest.

"Ready," he asked, eager to sink his throbbing erection into her fine body he knew would be tight because she was a petite woman.

"No, but get it over with. I have better things to do. Just so you know, this is a one time deal, and I'll hate you for this."

It's a one time deal, all right, he wanted to tell her. And you can hate me all you want, slut.

They had walked into the thick vegetation and Rosa bent over the first fallen tree she saw. Reaching behind her, she hooked her fingers into her bikini panties and pushed aside the thin scrap of material that ran through the crease of her buttocks. She bared her sex for Syd to sink his unwanted erection into her unwilling body. I'll get over it, she told herself, feeling him pushing past the fleshy lips of her sex. Then the thinner inner lips, until finally he was all the way inside her. She groaned. It had been years since she last had sex, and she was as tight as a virgin.

Syd groaned as he watched her bend over for him. He watched as she pushed aside her thong panties to bare herself. When he saw her bare sex, he immediately stepped up behind her, and took her without a condom. He didn't have one. The wrapper he had shown Rosa, had been empty. He didn't like using a condom. He liked to feel skin on skin. But when the time would come, he'd pull out and ejaculate on her back and buttocks. He knew she'd be angry, but who cared. Not him, that's for sure. When he'd be done using her, she can jump into the Caribbean and wash off. Then he'd tell her to get the hell off this island.

Rosa expected Syd to use her quickly, but he didn't. He took his time with her. He only stopped his thrusting to stop himself from achieving his climax.

"Get it over with, damn it," she cried out. Being taken this way was better than she'd expected. He knew what to do to prolong the pleasure. "Get it over with, or I'll end it right now," she threatened.

But he didn't stop. He kept on stopping then starting, infuriating her because he was making her feel something that she didn't want to feel. He might have had a lot of woman, but she didn't want him to think she was enjoying it. It was not lovemaking, it was just sex that didn't mean nothing except keeping her job. It was way better than her first time, which was awkward and painful. It had led to a pregnancy that she chose to end. This time, though, there would be no pregnancy. Syd was using a condom, or so she thought.

"Get. It. Over. With." She grunted each word between thrusts, desperate to get it over with, even though she was beginning to like it. That was the reason she wanted it over with.

Finally his pace quickened, not stopping until he pulled out to ejaculate his semen onto her back and buttocks.

"What the hell..." she began. The freaking bastard wasn't wearing a damn condom. "Philandering son-of-a-bitch," she swore. "How could you?"

"Because I wanted to," he retorted. "Now that I've had you, along with every bitch who's ever worked for me, you're fired. Get your Indian ass off this island."

Rosa was so shocked, she couldn't speak for a moment. That animal only wanted to screw her before firing her. "Lying bastard," she muttered. "I'll see that you pay for this." She was embarrassed that she had actually liked the sex a bit. Maybe a little more than a bit. Nonetheless, she regretted ever having agreed to let him have sex with her in hopes of saving her job. Now that he'd had her, he could say that he'd had every woman who'd ever come through his agency.

She suddenly went after him, kicking sand toward him. She heard him yelp and followed up with a roundhouse kick to his ribs that she had learned from her martial arts classes. She wasn't that good yet, but it'll do. He gasped for breath. He stumbled sideways and landed facedown in the sand. Right away she pounced on him. Pressing his face into the sand, she reached behind her to collect his semen clinging to her back and buttocks. Dragging her fingers through the sticky substance, she than smeared it over the left side of his face.

Too surprised to do anything for a moment, Syd couldn't believe what Rosa did. By the time he struggled to his feet, she was running toward the seaplane that had just started up. It was going to rain soon, she had to get off this island and fly to Cancun. Looking up as she ran, she saw heavy storm clouds moving in, an indication of the possibility of a hurricane that was surely coming.

Rosa heard Syd huffing and puffing behind her. Red-faced, there was sand stuck to the left side of his face where she'd smeared his own semen that he had deposited on her back and buttocks.

"You are through, Fonseca. There is no city where an agency will hire you after I'm through with you. Forget about your dream to become a world class photographer. You're done, bitch. I'm going to personally see to that as soon as I return to Los Angeles."

Rosa wanted to hit him again. Instead she turned to face him boldly. "If I'm done, then I'll sue you for sexual assault and sexual harassment. Won't that look lovely when it hits the papers? You sell a lot of your work at college bookstores. I'd say your sales will dive when the female students hear about your problem keeping your dick in your pants."

His face turned redder. "You little slut. You are done as far as I am concerned."

Rosa returned his cold stare. "Try it, boss. If you do, I'll enjoy contacting every female photographer in the states so that they hear about your blackmailing scheme."

"Blackmail?" Syd was pissed. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You blackmail women to have sex with you if they are reluctant. And you're boasting that you have had sex with every female model and photographer."

"Let's go," the pilot shouted. "We have to leave right now. That storm is moving in faster than I thought."

Rosa and Syd got in the two-seater plane and buckled in. Rosa couldn't drag her eyes away from the wall of gray clouds. Sitting beside her, Syd cursed, avoiding eye contact with her. The pilot hadn't said a word since taking off, but he'd glanced at the gauges and his fingers were tight on the controls.

"What is going on out there?" Syd shouted. "You said that tropical depression was moving east. You said..."

"I was wrong." The pilot didn't look up.

Rosa peered at the dark clouds to the west. "Can't you outrun the storm?"

"The wind can get up to 160 miles per hour. And if we'd left when I wanted to, instead of waiting for you two to fuck each other in the sand, this storm wouldn't be a problem."

"That wasn't my idea," Rosa snapped.

"You wanted it," Syd snapped, wiping his face with a cloth. "Don't give me that shit. I felt how wet you were for me. I felt you clenching around me as you had an orgasm."

The engine sputtered, cutting off Rosa's angry remark.

"What was that?" Syd swung around to look out the window, staring at the huge waves. "What are we going to do?" he whined.

The engine coughed again.

They were in serious trouble now, Rosa realized. Trouble that include mayday and life jackets and a forced sea landing. As the plane nosed dived and shuddered, her fingers dug into the sides of her seat as she fought to control her terror. Cold with fear, she squeezed her eyes shut as they plummeted toward the rough sea.

The pilot gripped the radio microphone, "This is Cessna ID number four - niner - three - zero - niner broadcasting on Mayday frequency. I repeat, this is a Mayday call..."

Juan Hernandez was about to go back to his hideout when he heard a plane sputter. Right away he swung his binoculars up and saw a dark shape hurtle down, hitting the water fast. Focusing his binoculars, he could make out a figure beside the plane. "Unlucky tourists?" he muttered. Unlikely. Juan didn't think that it was a coincidence. But if innocent civilians had been forced to land at sea, they could be fighting for their lives. He couldn't let them die without a chance.

In case that it was a trap, he would stay out of sight until he was sure.

Rosa opened her eyes and gasped as water splashed out her face. When her fright left her, she realized that the plane hadn't sunk yet. Both men were still and probably dead. Syd was not strapped in. The pilot was slumped over, blood running down his face.

Water was hammering high and the windshield gave way. The plane pitched hard, driving Rosa back. Suddenly she was fighting to breathe as seawater covered her face, and pure instinct took over. She clawed free from the restraint, kicked past Syd's lifeless body and managed to find the rear cargo doors. She searched blindly for the door latch. Water hit her face, blinding her as she forced open the hatch. The plane began to sank. Engulfed, she lost all sense of direction, unable to see. Desperate for air, she kicked in the direction of a dim patch of light, fighting through cold, churning water.

She broke the surface, her first gasping breath was torn away by the howling wind. Then Rosa began to sink and realized that she hadn't opened her floating device. After a second try, the vest inflated and she bobbed to the surface. Another wave hit her in the face.

Stay smart and you'll stay alive.

She let herself relax. Someone would come, she told herself. They would. All she had to do was stay alive.

Surrounded by pounding waves, Rosa tried to stay calm. In and out. Don't panic. Stay calm and stay alive.

As the sky darkened, her hands turned cold. Her body tightened, shuddering violently. Was this shock in reaction to the cold? She had no idea of how long she had been floating and kicking, watching the sky and trying hard to stay calm.

Something bumped Rosa's foot and she screamed in fright. "Please God, no sharks," she repeated over and over. Again something bumped her leg.

The damned woman was screaming. It wouldn't be long before her strength gave out. When it did, he'll help her.

When she passed out, he spun her over onto her side so that she could breathe. He cut smoothly through the darkness. He couldn't see her face. There was no way to tell her age or hair color. But her figure was impossible to ignore with her hips brushing against him as he swam. She wasn't tall...maybe five foot six. Her arms were firm and toned. Her waist felt slim and her breasts...

Juan did an unconscious evaluation as he swam. She was soft and full where their bodies met, but he couldn't let himself think about anything else. Her measurements, possibly 34C-23-34, and height 5' 5'', went through his mind. If she was sent by the men he was looking for, she would be ruthless and experienced. But he would have the truth out of her in a few minutes, whether she wanted to or not.

Rosa was awakened by a sharp movement. Wind cut into her face as an arm locked around her shoulders. She screamed and terror made her fight with desperate strength, but the grip on her shoulders was powerful.

Where was she? She tried to see, but there was water in her eyes. "Let me go," she tried to gasp. Then her stomach clenched hard and she broke into painful spasms. Hands flipped her over suddenly and for a scary moment she thought the man was going to drown her. But he lifted her, one hand across her mouth.

She realized that he was carrying her up the beach. The man was wearing a wet suit. She heard the squeak of rubber as he carried her. Her bare feet then hit sand. She fell to her knees, but he dragged her back to her feet, every motion made in silence. They were moving up the beach, but to where she had no idea. Rosa shivered from the cold, and she was exhausted.

"Who are you?" she tried to ask, but something slid around her mouth.

He gagged her. Damn the man. Why had he gagged her?

Grunting angrily, she fought free and fell onto the wet sand, the strap of her camisole-like top, that was part of her bikini, coming loose. The man didn't say a word as he cuffed her hands in front of her, and draped a blanket around her shivering shoulders.

She muttered her anger at him and tried to stand, but he turned, striding back toward the water. He hadn't removed his black swim mask. He had saved her life, but she didn't trust him because he had handcuffed her for no reason.

"Don't waste your time trying to escape. We are on a small island and only with me will you have a way off."

When her rescuer, or captor, left her alone for a minute, she ran, raising her bound hands to pull the gag out of her mouth. She ran until she was too exhausted to continue. Even then she continued to press on until finally, she fell to the ground, her head hitting a rock. A sharp pain in her forehead throbbed. She crawled until everything went black.

Rosa awoke with sand in her mouth. She was flat on the ground, her camisole top damp. Her aching hands were now tied behind her back. How much time had passed since she fell?

She tried to free her hands and realized right away that there was no way to escape. She heard a sound and saw that the man was back. Over the slam of her heart she watched as he approached her.

"Who are you?" he asked, untying her hands. "And don't you dare lie."

"I'm a photographer. I take pictures of models in swimsuits for calendars."

"How long have you been doing this kind of work?" he asked.

"Almost five years." She cleared her throat and looked at him. "Could I have some water, please?"

"I have water, but don't overdo it." He handed her a canteen.

She took it and drank. "I'm sticky from the seawater. What I wouldn't give to clean up."

"I'm afraid I don't have bath facilities."

She squirmed uneasily. "But you must have...I mean, what about the necessities?"

Juan pointed over his shoulder. "When you need to go, you find a spot and do what you have to do."

"Who are you really?" Rosa asked.

He was about as American as any man could get. Even though his name was obviously Spanish, he was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. "Juan Hernandez."

"You know what I think?"

Juan watched her, fascinated by her beauty. "No, I can't even imagine."

"I think you are a Mexican, or Colombian drug dealer who is here to hide out. Probably the kind who uses his brains more than muscles. Maybe you're a kidnapper from Mexico. The kind who put their victims in barrels of oil and sets them on fire if their ransom is not paid. Maybe a money launderer. Not the chump change kind, but a business that's huge and multinational. Out here you think no one can catch you."

"You've got quite the imagination." Juan watched her pace. When she stubbed her toe, he couldn't help but laugh when she hopped around awkwardly. "Sit down before you hurt yourself."