Havana Club Ch. 02

When our lips parted, we were both smiling.

"I have never kissed a capitalist before," she said with a grin.

"And I have never kissed a communist. I think I want to do that again." I matched her smile.

I became aware of how late it was becoming. "Felicita, would you join me for dinner tonight at my hotel?"

I thought I was making a gracious invitation. I didn't know about the cultural rule I was breaking.

"I can't," she said, looking down. My heart felt like it was tearing. She saw it in my face and quickly explained. "The hotel does not let locals inside. I would not be welcome there."

"Not even as my guest?" I asked.

"Dressed like this, I am a worker. Your hotel is not for the working class."

"What if you changed first?"

She thought for a minute, then smiled. "I can take you back and go home. When I come back, maybe you can meet me on the sidewalk and we can go in together. I would like that, Christopher."

"How will you get back?"

"I can take the bus. It will take me about an hour or so to get ready and return."

"Then take me back to my hotel and go get ready. I would like you to show me what Cubans do in the evening."

I was referring to dinner and dancing. Her embarrassed look indicated she thought I meant something else. She nodded, then we got up and walked hand in hand back to the scooter. As we drove back to the Hotel Nacional, I noticed couples sitting on the seawall along the Malecon. They were in each other's arms, embracing and kissing. Felicita dropped me off a short distance from the hotel entrance.

"I don't want them to recognize me," she explained. "Meet me here in an hour – on the sidewalk. I have to turn in the scooter, then go home and clean up."

"I'll do the same and be waiting here for you. Until later."

I paid the fare and gave her a generous tip.

"You don't have to tip me," she said.

"It is so you can have meat three times a day."

We both smiled at that.

"Thank you, Christopher. I will see you soon."

With that, she putted away. I stood there, watching the red lights crest the hill and disappear. Then, I went back to my room and showered. I dressed for dinner and went down to stroll along the front of the hotel until Felicita returned.

I had to wait about twenty minutes for her to arrive. When she did, I was taken aback. The young girl in the Havana Club t-shirt and shorts had been transformed into a lovely young lady in a dress. She was beautiful earlier today. Now, she was elegant. When she recognized me, her face lit up. I am certain mine did as well. I kissed her, enjoying the feel of her lithe body against mine.

"You must be hungry. I know I am. Let's go have dinner."

She nodded. I took her by the arm and we walked up the palm tree lined walk to the entrance of the hotel. I could tell Felicita was nervous. I whispered, "Don't worry. You are with me now." She gave an almost imperceptible nod. The doorman opened the door for us, not giving her a second glance. We walked into that elegant lobby with its carved wood ceiling and marble appointments. As always, the photographic display of the revolution caught my eye, but we turned instead to our right and headed down the corridor to the Comedor de Aquiar. The glass door with its etched title and hotel crest filling the archway might have impressed me earlier. Now, I only noticed how it reflected my partner's lovely figure. We entered and were shown to a table. Contrary to Felicita's earlier misgivings, she had no difficulty entering the hotel.

After we sat and were alone again, she leaned over the table, took my hand, and said to me, "It is because I am with you."

My expression showed my confusion.

"It is because I am with you," she said a little louder. "I passed this hotel many times, wondering what it was like inside. I thought I would never get to see the inside. Now, I am here. I am only allowed to enter because I am with you."

"I am the fortunate one," I said. She shook her head.

"Yes, I am. I get to dine with you."

That made her blush. I liked making her do that. She looked so sweet, so vulnerable, when I made her blush.

The waiter returned to take our drink order.

"You must have a mojito," she said. "It is the national drink." I nodded. "Two," she said to the waiter. He nodded and was off to the bar. "This is fun. I feel like a princess. An American princess."

"We don't have princesses in America. No royalty."

"Really?" she asked with astonishment.

"Really," I replied. "Sometimes, fathers call their daughters 'Princess' to make them feel special."

"I feel special being with you," she said with much emotion.

"I feel very lucky being with you," I told her.

The mojitos arrived. I took a sip of the cold mixture of sugar cane juice, sugar, rum and mint. It was delightful, but potent. She saw the look of approval on my face and smiled.

"It is good, yes?"

"Yes," I answered.

"They use Havana Club here. It is a very good rum."

"I like it. The flavor of the sugar cane is very strong."

Remembering her earlier admonishments, I kept the conversation along these lines, not daring to venture into political discussions. I was no longer worried about bringing harm to myself. I didn't want to do anything to put my lovely Felicita in any danger. It wasn't that I didn't have questions. I had hundreds. There would be time for that later.

Dinner was wonderful. She introduced me to Ropa Veija – old clothes. I made a face at the name, but tried it on her recommendation. She said it was a traditional Cuban dish. It was delicious. The name comes from the appearance of the skirt steak that is cooked until the fat dissolves, leaving the edges of the meat looking like ragged old cloth. After the mojitos, she suggested another Cuban drink – the daiquiri. I laughed and told her we had daiquiris in America. I didn't know they had been invented in Cuba.

After the food and the drinks, I was feeling very happy. She looked the same. As we walked out of the restaurant, I suggested she take me to a club for dancing. She turned to me, putting her arms around my neck and pulling me closer to her. I was so excited that I knew she could feel my erection through her dress.

"We can do that another night. I have to go to work early tomorrow. A rich American wants to rent my scooter for the entire day. Let's go to bed early tonight."

I couldn't even hope she was implying what it sounded like. I knew I was mistaken, my brain in testosterone overload. "But, I'm not ready to say goodbye yet." I tried to say that with as much emotion as I could.

Felicita smiled sweetly, pulled me towards the elevator, and said, "Not goodbye, just goodnight."

I raised my eyebrows. She nodded. We boarded the elevator.

"Forgive me. In America, it is unusual for a lady to sleep with a man the first time they meet."

"But this is the second time," she answered. Then she continued, grinning broadly, "In Cuba, we have a saying. Sex is the only thing Fidel cannot ration."

If I hadn't been so horny, I would have been shocked. As it was, I almost came in my pants. We held each other close as the elevator ascended to my floor. We walked in silence to my room holding hands. I was reveling in the warm softness of her hand. Once in my room with the door closed behind us, I pulled Felicita to me, a little more roughly this time. I could see she liked feeling her body pressed so tightly against mine. I liked it, too. We kissed. This time, my hands roamed freely across her bottom. She moaned softly as I felt her ass. Her hands were around my neck, then holding my face as we kissed, our tongues in each other's mouths. My hands strayed up to her neck and my fingers found her zipper.

"Close the drapes first," she pleaded. "It is not good to be seen doing this." I complied, then returned to her. Holding her in my arms, I reached behind her and found the tab of her zipper. We smiled at each other as I slid the zipper as far down as it would go. Using my fingertips, I slipped the dress off her arms and it fell to the floor, pooling around her feet. She lifted first one foot, then the other to free herself from the clothing, then gently kicked it to the side. The lovely Felicita was now standing in front of me clad only in bra and panties. I had been thinking of undressing her all through dinner and that thought had kept me hard. Now, with her almost naked in front of me, I was downright stiff. She started removing my shirt, one button at a time. Her pace was agonizingly slow. It was as if she was savoring the undoing of each button. It was as if the slow-paced Caribbean culture was carrying over into the bedroom. I wanted to grab the shirt and rip it off myself. I was anxious to feel her naked skin against mine. I am proud to say I behaved myself, standing there still as she undressed me. When the shirt had finally joined her dress on the carpet, she knelt before me and removed my belt. She was as unhurried as before. It took an almost physical effort to be patient with the delightful beauty on her knees before me. Next, my pants were unfastened. They would have fallen like her dress if she hadn't held them as her hands moved down my legs. Her hands passed first across my underwear before contacting my skin. It was agonizing pleasure to feel her flesh contact me. The feel I was craving was moving far too slowly for me. I wanted to get inside her panties. She, on the other hand, wanted to prolong the moment. I willed my legs to behave themselves and I gently kicked the pants aside. As horny as I was, as much as I wanted to get both of us naked, I didn't want to break the spell she was casting. The magic of the moment was like a physical thing, like she was suspending time. As if time itself was flowing like cane syrup, oozing and dripping through the air. She also insisted on removing my shoes and socks. Now we were dressed alike, except she still wore her high heel shoes. She stood now, a vision of an angel. We embraced. I gasped as I felt her warm skin against mine, the only interrupted contact at our underwear. As we kissed and our tongues met, she lifted one leg. I felt her smooth thigh glide along my leg. She moaned, or maybe it was me. Probably both. By now, I was making a wet spot with the precum oozing out of me.

She broke the kiss and spoke for the first time in many minutes. Her voice was a whisper, as if to not break the spell. "Finish undressing me," she breathed. I reached around her to undo the clasp holding her bra together. I fumbled for a moment, then let the ends fall free. I tugged each strap off her arms and let the garment flutter to the floor. Her breasts were only slighter lighter than the rest of her skin. If I hadn't turned on a lamp when I closed the drapes, I wouldn't have been able to see the difference at all. Perhaps she tanned topless. Her nipples were prominent and pointed upward – a testament to her youth. I tore my eyes away from admiring her breasts only with difficulty. When I looked into her eyes, I was smiling broadly. She had a smaller smile on her face – more a look of embarrassment. In the dim light of the lamp, I thought she might be blushing.

"You are so beautiful," I said, softly.

"You like my body?" she asked, shyly.

"Yes, very much."

"I am sorry I am wearing regular underwear. I wish I had something sexy to wear for you, like American women wear. Thong panties are most difficult to find in Cuba."

I almost laughed a little at her concern. I could tell she was serious and I didn't want to make her feel any more embarrassed. "Most American women don't wear thongs. Some do. Some do for very special occasions, like tonight. I like what you are wearing... and what you are not wearing." At that, she smiled a little more, but I could clearly see now she was also blushing. It was time to take her mind off worrying how I might not like her underwear. Maintaining eye contact, I bent down until I could delicately take her left nipple in my mouth. I opened my lips and sucked the nipple inside, letting my teeth graze her flesh as gently as possible. When I applied suction, she moaned. Her eyelids started to close and her arms encircled my head. I opened my mouth a little wider. This time, as I sucked in her nipple, my teeth grazed the tender skin around the nipple. She sounded like she liked that as well. As I continued to suck, my left hand reached out for her right breast. I didn't squeeze at first. I slowly closed my hand and caressed her firmness. I closed my palm, rubbing her so gently it barely felt like I was touching her. My fingertips brushed against her smooth skin. After the third time of this, I squeezed and pulled, ending with a grasp around the nipple.

Felicita gave a loud moan. Her eyes were closed. As she moaned, her face turned upward. I extended my tongue and licked from her nipple, across the inside of her breast, across the valley, and up the other mound until I could pull her right nipple into my mouth. I gave the right the same treatment I had given the left. My right hand now caressed her left breast. I could feel where my saliva still wet the skin. I was anxious to get her out of her panties, but I gave my best effort to prolong the foreplay. I wanted to cast the same magical spell she had. When I could convince myself to delay no longer, I shifted a little further away from her body until my cheek was no longer against her chest. When she felt me move, Felicita opened her eyes and looked down at me. What a sight that must have been for her. My ministrations had left both of her nipples erect. They were jutting out proudly, and a little redder than before.

"Where are you going?" she asked. Then, as I kissed down her stomach, she said, "Oh... ohhhhh."

My mouth was now at the waistband of her panties. I ran my right hand down the front of the material. I could feel her bush, then the outline of her lips. I pressed my index finger into the indentation made by her slit, moving that finger back and forth. The cotton was already damp, and more moisture was soaking the fabric as I rubbed. I leaned forward and kissed the top of her slit. I looked up and saw her watching my moves intently. The look on her face was one of wonder. I opened my mouth a little and grabbed the elastic waistband with my teeth. I pulled away and down. I could just barely see the top of her bush. My right hand reluctantly left her crease, taking its place at her side. Each hand now had a finger in the waistband. As my fingers pulled down, I moved my face downward as well. As. I pulled her panties off her aroused body, I had a close-up view of her pussy. The hair, I could now see, was also a light brown. Not blonde or red, more brownish. In the sunlight, it would probably have a reddish hue. Here, it was the color of somewhere between milk chocolate and honey. As I moved further down, her curly hair rasped against my chin. She gasped. I let go with my teeth and let my hands finish sliding her panties down her legs. I could see how wet she was. The hair at the juncture of her thighs glistened with her dew. A tiny jewel-like strand of her juices had drawn out from her lips to the soft lining of her panties. The inside of her panties was soaked. As the last of her clothes moved down to her knees and then off her body, the strand drew out finer and finer until it finally broke. I pulled the panties over her shoes and gently laid them aside, moist side up.

As I admired that part of her I was going to fuck, I forced my hands to move back up toward her waist with agonizing slowness. I don't know if it was more agony for me or for her. I slid my hands around as they moved up, so I was sliding my palms against the silky insides of her thighs. The skin was so soft there. When I felt the first wisps of curly hairs contact my fingers, I leaned forward and extended my tongue. Just as my fingers were able to grasp the lips, I pulled them apart and my tongue pressed into her most private place. She was so wet now that it was like I was taking a drink. I was drinking from her soul. I pressed my face into her cunt. I could taste her as I explored her inner recesses with my tongue and lips. I could smell her juices as well. Her hair tickled my nose. I pulled at her lips with my lips, drawing the delicate tissues into my mouth where I sucked on them before releasing. I felt her adjust her stance, moving her legs further apart and holding onto my head. I let the tip of my tongue move up and seek out her clit. I heard her give a high-pitched, happy "Ooh" when I found the treasure I sought. She held onto my head a little firmer, and spoke, her voice a little shaky.

"Let's move to the bed. I don't know how much longer I can stand."

I nodded with my face still buried in her lap. The movement made her press herself harder against me. I drew back to give her room to move, keeping my hands around her ass. I could feel how wet my cheeks were with her juices. We turned until her back was to the bed, then she shuffled and I crawled until her ass touched the mattress. The bed had been turned down while we were at dinner. She took her hands away from my head to reach behind herself for support. She lay back on the bed with her legs hanging over the side. The view of her body lain across my bed was one I'll never forget. Her hair was spread out on either side of her face, her breasts firm enough to still stand proudly even though she was on her back, the brown hair framing her pussy lit softly by the lamp. The bed was rather low. Even though I was kneeling, I had to bend over some to put my face back into her pussy. I licked more forcefully now, encouraged by her moaning. Her hands were constantly in motion, first grasping at the sheets in big handfuls with the desperation of a person drowning, next mauling her tits, then pulling at my hair and drawing my face into her until it was hard for me to breathe, then along the sides of her face. She squirmed against the sheets as her pleasure built.

As she was in ecstasy, I was enjoying being between her legs. I could feel the silkiness of her thighs against the sides of my face. My nose was buried in her pubic hair, the smell of the soap she had used still present. My mouth was awash in the flood of juices issuing forth from her. I indulged in the taste, the smell, the texture that was her arousal. She was so wet because she was anticipating me penetrating her. That would happen, but I would make her cum first. I was so excited that I wasn't sure I would be able to last very long inside her, feeling her tight pussy surrounding my dick as I looked into her lovely face. I moved my tongue up to focus on her clit as two fingers of my left hand entered her pussy. She thrashed more vigorously and began moaning as I overloaded her clit with my attentions. A third finger joined the other two and her legs clamped down on my head. I was surprised at her strength. She held me between her legs in a grip that I wouldn't escape. I would have to ride out her orgasm right there. She lifted her hips off the bed, my mouth still attached to her, and she cried out. Her hands were now pulling my face into her pussy. It was all I could do to keep my nose where I could still breathe. Her juices were flowing before, now they ran. I was swallowing all I could. The excess was coating my chin and cheeks. I could feel the sheets beneath me starting to get wet.

With a final cry, Felicita (true to her name) relaxed and fell back onto the bed. Her legs released me and I could get a good look at her face. Great happiness was her expression. She was panting with her eyes still closed. Sweat caused some of the hair around her face to stick to her skin. She was flushed a dark red from her neck down to her breasts. Her arms now lay motionless. She was resting and recovering. Meanwhile, my dick (still trapped in my underwear) was throbbing against the sheets. My body wanted to cum. My heart was glowing in the joy of what I had just done for my Felicita. As I lay there, I was almost subconsciously pressing my groin against the bed, the rhythm my body's attempt at release. I wouldn't let myself get anywhere near orgasm. I didn't want to spend myself against the bed, not with the lovely body in front of me. I would cum, but in her. With her.