"Please, Señorita,” Hector paused at the foot of a flight of narrow stairs and shook his head, “I am not feeling too well. If you will forgive me, my mother will show you to your room.” The stairway led to the second floor and a comfortable drawing room. Hector's apartments, as the master of the house, were upstairs as well.
She smiled again. If her lips stretched any farther, the corners would touch her ears. “Of course, my husband.” Martín shuddered at the sickly-sweet voice. “I would not wish you to be unwell."
Hector nodded and put his foot on the tread. He seemed to slump for a moment. Martín jumped to his side. “Compañero, please, let me help you."
As Hector turned, his eyes clouded over again. Swallowing, he seemed almost unsure as to why Martín was at his side. Then he blinked. “Of course, you're my servant."
Even Hector's mother started at that. “M'ijo, you must be ill.” The back of her hand pressed against his cheek, the Señora considered her son. Finally, she shook her head. “Martín, take him and put him to bed.” She waved them towards the upper floors. “I will take the Señorita to her quarters and then we shall plan the fiesta to introduce her to the pueblo."
Ushering Hector into his room, Martín studied his friend closely. Pale, more so then normal, and drawn, every step he took seemed to weigh him down. Maybe sun stroke? Playing outdoors, in the heat, like they had ... Martín chided himself for being so careless of Hector. “Come on, I think you need to lie down for a bit and sleep. There is a fever in the valley. I would not want you to be laid low by that."
"No,” Hector shivered despite the heat. Shucking his jacket before slumping into a well worn chair, he draped his arms over the rests. “I am just cold inside and a little tired."
"Should I,” Martín knelt at Hector's feet, his hand resting on a rangy leg, “warm you up?” With a smile he pulled off Hector's boots. “We can't have you being cold, can we?"
Martín earned a laugh for that. The old Hector broke the surface with a wicked grin. “Depends on how you intend to warm me up."
"You're coming down with la gripa and you want me to warm you up?” Martín chided. Teasing like this reminded Martín of their first times together ... pretending the touches and kisses didn't matter when they were everything to both of them. His hands slid up Hector's legs, bringing him in close. Sun and dust couldn't quite cloak the spicy scent of his lover as he drew near. There were so much better ways of taking Hector's temperature. Martín pressed his lips to Hector's mouth, savoring the taste. Warm and strong and perfect. As he tugged the tail of Hector's shirt from his trousers, Martín whispered into the kiss, “Feed a fever, fuck a cold?"
Hector pulled back, snorting his laughter, and stared into Martín's eyes. “I think it was just a shock to finally see that woman.” Hector confided before reaching out and brushing the thick, black hair from Martín's face. Martín wore it long, like his forefathers before him. It served to remind him of his heritage. Ever so gently, Hector's thumb ran over Martín's sharp cheek. “You don't like her?” He mused while his hand drifted down to tug free the wood buttons of Martín's vest.
"I have no reason to hate her.” Not quite the truth, but it didn't serve any purpose to say how much he already loathed the woman.
Martín shivered as Hector's hand slid under the cloth and slipped it off his shoulders. “But you don't like her.” Hector leaned forward and brushed Martín's lips with his own. They burned Martín's skin with their heat.
"No, I don't like her.” Martín stood, pulling Hector up with him. “But, I love you."
As he walked them back toward the bed, Martín slipped his own shirt off over his head. Hector worked the fastenings of Martín's pants. When his knees hit the bed, Martín fell back onto the down mattress and kicked off his boots while slithering out of his pants. The whole time he watched Hector tug each button loose on his trousers. Inch by inch, that beautiful strong body came into Martín's view. Martín's cock ached at the sight of Hector's prick straining hard between his legs.
He held out his hand for Hector. “Come here.” When Hector took it he pulled his lover down to the mattress with him. “Let me warm you up.” No matter how many times Hector gave in and came to him, Martín was still amazed. How could someone so wonderful, so privileged and so handsome want to be mine? He'd died the death of a thousand angels the first time Hector said yes to him.
Hector wrapped his hand around Martín's hungry shaft, “I've already warmed you up, I see.” As Hector moved to kiss him, Martín let his own fingers play along Hector's length. Solid and hot in his hand, such a nice contrast to the warm soft lips devouring his own. He let himself drift in the wonderful taste of Hector's kiss. His fingers fluttered over Hector's skin like doves’ wings. Hesitant, not quite touches, from Hector's hands burned through Martín. No one, man or woman, could ever destroy this.
Finally, it was Hector who pulled back. He rolled away from Martín, fumbling under the edge of the mattress for the little jar of unguent they kept stashed under the bed. Martín followed his movement, running his hands over his lover's pale shoulders. “Sí, you have.” With a laugh he snatched the jar from Hector's fingers. “I think I need that."
"Really?” Head lazing over, Hector offered up a sly smile. “And just what do you propose doing with that, Señor?
Pausing, Martín chuckled. “Maybe,” two fingers swept through the rendered oil. Then he teased Hector's hole with the slick digits, “...something like this."
The touches earned him a satisfied hiss. “Sí, something like that.” He bucked against Martín's hand. Fingers exploring the sensual heat of Hector's body, Martín sucked on the hollow of a sharp collar. When he hit just there Hector jerked against him. He did it again just to feel his lover shudder. Hector rocked his hips, his breath coming in short gasps.
Nothing ever compared to this feeling, how much they belonged together. Years it had taken him to memorize this body. A look could send Martín's pulse racing. He was so ready for Hector ... he was always ready for Hector. By the feel of it, Hector was ready for him. Martín groaned and withdrew his fingers. Then he slid his hard cock between Hector's legs to replace them.
Left leg thrown over Martín's hip, Hector moved against him. Gently he pushed inside, hissing as Hector's body accepted his. Tight muscle kept the pace measured. Each thrust gained an inch of heat. They sighed in unison as Martín slipped deeper and deeper. Oh so slowly, Martín buried his prick deep inside Hector's ass. Finally, he stilled. Martín savored how their bodies joined. He couldn't believe how wonderful it was to be wrapped in the silken velvet of Hector's tight body.
Each time they made love hit him as hard as the first.
Always the impatient one, it was Hector who first started to move again. Shivers crawled through Martín's belly. He reached over and took Hector's thick cock in his hand. As Martín stroked his hot prick, Hector arched up against him and moaned. Every muscle tightened. They rocked together, the slow start building to a frantic pace.
Hector writhed against him. One hand steadied them with a death grip on the headboard, the other reached back and dug into Martín's hip. Pain melded with fire building in the pit of his stomach. A warm glow filled every inch of him and then seeped into his prick. The pleasure neared unbearable. Hector shook and panted out “Martín!” The tremors wracking his body sent shock waves through Martín.
With a shout, Hector came. White hot cum bubbled over Martín's fist. Velvet convulsions sucked his prick. Unable to hold back, and babbling his love, Martín rammed Hector's hole. He came hard and hot, drowning in the heat pouring from him and filling his lover.
Sated, Martín wrapped his arms about Hector's chest. Hector took one hand in his own and pulled Martín's palm to his lips. “Corazón." Licking each finger clean of the thick juice, Hector reassured him. “Give it a few days. I'm certain we will both find something charitable to say about my bride."
Why did he have to bring that up at this moment? With a sigh, Martín ran his tongue a
long the margin of his lover's ear. “If you insist, I will try."
"I insist,” Hector turned and smiled, “that you at least try.” Then he snuggled into Martín's embrace. Martín drifted to sleep thinking on how wonderful it was to have Hector as his own.
Three days of trying, and Martín discovered that he had yet to determine anything charitable he could say about her. Señorita Lolita belittled and insulted them all at the smallest occasion. The woman did not know the meaning of either thank you or please. From the moment she woke until late into the night her demands flew.
Martín long since gave up the illusion that she would ever speak to him at below a scream.
The entire hacienda vibrated with her haughty and overbearing complaints. The betrothal party already smelled of disaster. It must be a masque ... because everyone in Mexico City had masques these days. She would die if there was no waltzing as she so dearly loved the waltz. And none of that peasant food should be served; Cook must learn to prepare what real people ate. Nothing pleased her.
Long fading in health, Señora Aritza took to her bed shortly after the new mistress’ arrival. Whispers from the servants said it was because Lolita drove Hector's mother to fits ridiculing her son and his provincial ways. The only hint of compassion exhibited by the Señorita was giving her maid over to care for Señora Aritza. Beyond that small act, Lolita's humanity disappeared.
The Señorita ran them all ragged with her demands for perfection. Not even her husband-to-be was spared from her temper. Lolita's acid tongue bit into him at any opportunity. Martín mused on how things had turned as he walked through the hacienda on yet another endless errand. As he passed the stables, Fiel threw his nose over the stable door and whickered. Martín stopped to scratch his nose. Even poor Fiel sensed something amiss with their master.
Hector withdrew from the world. He spent his days in the study looking out the window. Nothing Martín did could rouse him. The last time they'd even touched had been the afternoon of the Señorita's arrival. It so worried Martín that he'd sent for the visiting American doctor. After examining Hector, he'd diagnosed the Don with lethargy and left a few patent medicines which smelled like poison. Martín tossed the bottles after showing the man the door.
A pair of excited and angry voices broke through Martín's reflections. With a final pat for the horse, Martín headed to investigate. Maria and her daughter, Ana, stood at the back of the main house complaining ... loudly. Both women wore identical expressions of disgust. The tail of the conversation drifted toward Martín as he approached.
"...think that she can come into this house and set the world on its ear!” Ana's strident voice cut down Martín's spine.
"Just because she's,” Maria drew out the pronoun like it tasted bad, “been to the capitol—"
"Señoras!" The word echoed sharp with rebuke. No matter that they all despised their new mistress, they should not complain publicly about her. “Do you not have work to do?"
Ana turned on him, her expression sour. “The Señorita dismissed us after we brought her a bath,” she said. The girl drew herself up, mimicking one of Lolita's already well worn poses, “We were too coarse to attend such a fine person as she.” At that both women spit on the ground. “Do something about her."
Martín sighed. Hector, not Martín, needed to have a word with his bride. Putting the household in chaos and treating the servants like slaves did nothing but foster resentment. Perhaps such things were acceptable in the capitol. Here, on the margins of the country, it could get you killed. With Hector ill, however, Martín was the hacienda's leader. Everyone understood if it came from Martín's mouth, it was Hector's will.
Everyone, except their new mistress.
Shaking his head, Martín resigned himself to another verbal beating. At least she'd not raised a hand to anyone yet. Frustrated, he blew out his breath with a huff. “I will see what I can do.” The promise was nowhere near as empty as Martín felt trudging toward the Señorita's rooms. Another of her seemingly endless demands ... her apartments must be as far from the noise of the common household as possible. At least that gave Martín some hope. If he were lucky, after the marriage, the Señorita would keep the small guest quarters for her own. Then he would have the hacienda, and Hector, to himself.
Gently he rapped on the outer entrance. No answer. Martín pushed open the door and slid into the first room. No one stirred. Quiet, because it was his habit, Martín moved toward the Señorita's sleeping room. Silence swallowed him. Slightly ajar, the doorway beckoned. He knew he shouldn't spy on his mistress. But this was the woman who was to share his lover's life. Screwing up his resolve and beating down his reservations, Martín peaked through the gap.
Back to the door, the Señorita seemed oblivious to his presence. Doña Lolita sat on a wooden bench in front of a steaming tub of water, humming to herself. Chemise pulled up around her waist. Lolita slid tiny hands down her leg and grabbed just below her right knee. With a twist and a grunt the Señorita's leg broke loose from her body. Martín's heart froze. Brushing a bit of dirt from the limb, Lolita plunged it into the water. The contents of the tub hissed and bubbled. Great clouds of steam rose. They stank of sulfur.
Martín strangled a scream in his throat.
Iron spikes of fear nailed him to the floor. Terrified, Martín could do little more then watch, as first her legs, then arms, were bathed in the same fashion. When she reached up and took her face in her hands, horror of what was to come crawled through his insides.
With a long, sucking pop she lifted her head from her shoulders and set it on the bench beside her. Blind hands fumbled for the comb at her side. Tenderly, her body began to brush the fiery mane. Blood red lips drifted into a smile and her bilious green eyes drifted open. Their poison stare locked on Martín's soul. “You!” she hissed.
That broke his stupor. Screaming, Martín fled.
Shaken, Martín hid in the stable, leaning against Fiel for support. Somehow, the bulk and muscle of the big bay comforted him. A horse was an ordinary, living animal and that touch of normalcy allowed him to think. Who would believe him? Whom could he tell?
There was only one person he could tell. Martín set off in search of Hector.
Late in the afternoon, he found his lover returned to his apartments on the second floor. Martín had searched the entire hacienda at least twice before without luck. Hector rose from the great wing back chair as Martín stumbled through the door without permission. He slammed the wood behind him and stood for a moment, trying to still the pounding of his heart.
Unable to form a coherent thought, Martín blurted, “She's a witch!” He couldn't believe he'd started like that. “Your bride-to-be es una bruja."
"I know she is unpleasant,” Hector rubbed his chest above his heart, “but it's hardly right that you call her a witch. Come, sit down, you're upset.” Gesturing to the chair he just vacated, Hector indicated Martín should sit. When Martín didn't move, Hector approached and took his elbow. Gently, Hector guided him to the chair. He pushed Martín into the cushion before perching on the edge of one arm. “Did you fall off your horse? Did something startle you?” Concern and something else warred under Hector's tone.
"No, I saw something, something horrible.” Martín wished he had a drink. A very strong drink would help his nerves. Still, he needed to get it out before he collapsed. “Señorita Lolita is not human."
Hector laughed and pulled Martín against his chest. Kissing the top of his head and then his ear, Hector whispered. “You're jealous.” Jealous ... Martín was anything but jealous at that point. Scared witless, he could admit to that. Ready to run screaming to the hills fit his mood. Jealous was so far off the mark as to be almost funny. Oblivious, Hector continued. “I knew this would happen. There's nothing for you to be jealous of."
"Hector,” Martín grabbed his lover's face between his palms and pulled him down to stare into his eyes, “you must believe me."
"Shhhh, Martín.” Hector kissed him. A little bit of
the fear dissolved into the touch. “You're upset about the marriage.” Sliding off the chair and onto his knees, he knelt before Martín. Then he moved to nuzzle Martín's neck. Slow and easy, Hector's hands undid his trousers. “You should not let it worry you, things will be fine.” His lover pulled back and offered a wicked smile. “I know what will calm you down."
"Hector!” Martín jumped as Hector pulled his soft cock free. One of the farthest things on his mind at that moment was sex. But when Hector began to slide his flesh between his strong fingers, Martín's body betrayed his mind. He'd missed that grip so much. Martín covered his mouth with his hand. Even if he didn't want to ... Hector would certainly calm him down like this. Maybe, when Hector was not distracted by his own lustful thoughts, Martín could make him understand.
And the touch felt divine, especially days after not having him. Slowly, Hector stroked him to hardness. Those nimble fingers worked up his prick, driving chills under Martín's thighs. He shook under the attention and rocked his hips into the caress. When Martín was aching, Hector pushed his knees wide and bent forward. Martín's cock reared up, begging for the touch of Hector's mouth.
Hector blew across the head of Martín's prick and he quivered at the butterfly sensation on such a sensitive area. Following that, Hector fluttered his tongue over the very apex. A glittering bead of moisture formed at the tip of Martín's prick. Hector licked it off and ran it across his lips, as though savoring the taste. Then he circled just under the head where Martín's foreskin stretched taught. Between that, and Hector's left hand squeezing his sack, massaging his balls, Martín thought he would die. “Hector.” He hissed. Martín could barely manage more.
Martín slid his fingers through Hector's hair until he cupped the back of Hector's skull. Trying not to dig too hard, Martín urged Hector on with his grip. Hector reached back and seized his wrist. Without stopping the sucking, licking, and kissing, he pulled Martín's hand away and pinned it against the arm of the chair.
Phaze Fantasies, Vol. III Page 2
