Guatemalan Blend

This story needed a transition. A chance for Mister Mike and Marisol to get to know each other... while having lots and lots of sex.

Then things can REALLY heat up. Happy reading.

Again, a special thanks to Phil Anderer for their edits.

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I hadn't expected this. Not today. Not after everything...

"This afternoon? Really?" I sat at my desk in my study, in a bit of a shock. This was the first I had heard about Marisol needing time off. I would have thought she would have saidsomethingabout it in the few weeks we'd been together. Maybe marathon sex doesn't leave much time for talk.

Marisol stood before the desk, eyes fixed on the surface, avoiding mine, the very picture of a subordinate employee. "Yes, Mister Mike. This afternoon and all of the evening, if that's okay."

"Is... everything alright, Marisol?" I inquired, my voice getting serious.

Marisol nodded, still not looking at me. "It's... I need some time... personal reasons."

I started to get really nervous, especially since she refused to look at me. Like an idiot, I remained seated behind my desk, clinging to the role of employer like a shield, but the lover in me was screaming to break through. "You don't have to tell me... but I'd like to understand."

"I just need some time... to prepare, Mister Mike." Her eyes lifted, and the fire behind them refused to stay hidden. "My boyfriend is taking me out tonight, and I need time to get ready. He's been planning it all week and said he wanted to make it special. I need to buy a sexy new dress, and..."

"Marisol!" I whined in exasperation as I let out the breath I had been holding. "You scared the hell out of me. I thought you were leaving me--or worse, quitting." I stood up and walked around the desk. I grabbed her by the waist and pulled her close to me. "That... was very mean."

"Mean, Mister Mike?" she said with an innocent huskiness to her voice as she wrapped one leg around mine. "Does that mean you need to..." She grabbed my ass and pulled me even closer. "...punish me?"

"Oh, yes," I said as my hands roamed over her body.

"Punish me right here? In your office? On your desk?" She turned and leaned over the desk, presenting her magnificent ass to me.

"Oh god, yes." I rubbed my hands over her shapely butt and squeezed, my fingers grazing between her thighs.

"Yes... punish me, Mister Mike. Now... please." He leaned back and kissed me, her tongue seeking mine as she guided one of my hands to her breast.

We made out for a few moments, hands touching, exploring, caressing, and stroking... everything. She shimmied out of her leggings and leaned forward over the desk, arching her back to present her wet pussy to me. I lowered my trousers and pulled out my already hard cock. I stroked her wet folds a few times with the tip, then slid it into her sweet womanhood.

It felt like coming home.

Marisol moaned as I entered her. "Yes... oh, Mister Mike... yes... punish me...Dios..." I slid in and out slowly of her a few times, savoring the sensation of her warm, tight hole. Over the past several days, I'd come to understand Marisol's body, what set her off, and what set me off. Taking Marisol from behind like this was becoming a favorite of mine, and the pleasure of this coupling intensified... like a runaway train.

I began pumping her harder, and she moaned even louder. Not caring who heard us, I continued to increase the force and passion in my thrusts and the sound of our slapping bodies echoed off the study walls.

"God... Marisol... god... so good..."

"Oh... Mister Mike... keep going... don't stop... harder... please..."

Our conversation continued in that vein for a few more minutes while I really began to rail her. I'm not sure I had fucked her this hard since we got together. It might have been the setup of the moment, the exasperated teasing, or just pure carnal spontaneity. Whatever the reason, I slammed my cock into her, pounding her into the desk.

And I loved it.

Judging by the loudness of her screams, so did she. She orgasmed... twice.

God, it was so good. Eventually, the runaway train that was my own building orgasm crashed into me, and I released jet after jet of cum into her, bellowing in pleasure as I came. We remained like that for a few moments, catching our breath, before I pulled my gorgeous housekeeper to me, and kissed her deeply and lovingly, the way she was meant to be kissed.

"That was... intense, Mister Mike," she said with a satisfied smile.

"Was I... too rough?"

Here eyes widened with pleasure and desire. "Never.Dios, you just... fucked me."

"Was that... okay?"

She pulled me into a passionate kiss in reply, her tongue driving into my mouth, conveying the brazen carnality of her desire. After a moment, she broke the kiss and stared lustfully into my eyes.

"So... that's a yes?"

Marisol giggled. "Yes, Mister Mike. I loved it. You just let yourself go and... wow."

"Well, you started it. All that punishment stuff..." I kissed her again. "Now about you needing time off for this date? So, where's this mystery man taking you tonight?" I asked.

"My boyfriend didn't tell me. He said it would be a surprise."

I held her and looked into her eyes. "Boyfriend?"

Her face melted into an expression of deep love and peace. "Boyfriend,mi amor." She said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. And somehow, it was.

"I love you, Marisol." I held her close, memorizing the warmth of her skin and the quiet rhythm of her breath.

"Does this mean I can have the night off?"

We laughed, the kind of laugh that comes from knowing you're exactly where you're meant to be.

Since it was a date, I walked across the yard that evening, dressed in my finery, to more formally pick up Marisol. Now being the Flores Family Wing, I knocked on the door, no longer the employer, but the boyfriend.

Boyfriend. The word felt strange in my mouth, but warm in my chest. Like I'd finally stepped into a role I didn't know I'd been auditioning for. Marisol's Boyfriend.

I was smiling dumbly when Carlos opened the door, a stern expression on his face. He harumphed... actually harumphed as he let me in. Odd for Carlos. I've always thought he was laid back and chill. But I guess that attitude was for Mister Mike, not his sister's date.

Carlos sat sharpening hedge shears like a man auditioning for a crime drama. The stink-eye was impressive. I almost believed it--until he cracked up.

"I couldn't help it, Mister Mike," he said beaming as he stood up to embrace me. "I had to, yes? My job as the brother. To protect the virtue of my sisters."

"Well, you're doing a lousy job," Maria said as she entered the room. She, too, walked over to give me a friendly hug. I was in their space, in their Family Home. At this moment, I was not Mister Mike the Employer, but Mister Mike the Boyfriend. Again, the thought of being so readily welcomed into their family added fuel to that happiness fire.

Neither Maria nor Carlos was upset that Marisol and I got together. Marisol even ventured an 'I-told-you-so' when she told me Carlos' reaction. "It's about time," was his response.

And Maria... well, Maria knew that first night. She had watched us from her window while her sister and I had sex for the first time in the hot tub. From what I could tell, her attitude toward Marisol never changed, but she seemed to always have a teasing glint in her smile when she looked at me.

Maria leaned in and whispered in my ear. "You're going to love tonight," she whispered. "Marisol looks stunning. And you... you look, well... fucking hot, Mister Mike." She gave me a soft but lingering kiss on my cheek as she ran her fingers across my shoulders.

I looked at her in surprise. Maria had never used such language with me before, but we had never really had a conversation outside of work. Moreover, she never complimented me on my appearance, let alone associated me with 'fucking hot.' It seems that when Maria was able to relax, she expressed a more playful, shameless side.

She winked at me, a wry smile playing on her lips. She was wearing a sleeveless, red sundress which accentuated her bare shoulders and the fullness of her breasts, and I couldn't help but think of Marisol's comment of the two of them being mistaken for twins. Their faces were definitely similar, but their bodies... were virtually identical.

My inner-asshole reared his ugly head and said, "Interesting..."

"Hey, you! Get away from my man," Marisol teased as she walked into the kitchen. So... I grew up watching cartoons. In many of them, whenever the beautiful bunny walked into the room, Bugs' eyes would shoot out of their sockets and his jaw would hit the floor with a clang, and the "oogah" of an antique car horn would blare in the background. I'm pretty sure that is what happened to me when I saw Marisol that night.

She was dressed in a sparkling gold mini-dress which showed off the curve of her hips and ass. The thin straps and low neckline left her shoulders bare and revealed a tantalizing amount of cleavage. And the hem was so high on her thighs that if she leaned over too far... well, the world would know the color of her underwear. I almost got hard just thinking about it.

I managed not to embarrass myself by tenting my pants and gave Marisol a gentle kiss hello. Marisol, however, had other ideas, and wrapped me up in a passionate embrace and French-kissed me shamelessly in front of her family. Carlos and Maria cat-called and applauded, and I'm pretty sure Maria added something to the effect of, "Grab his ass."

I, of course, went beet red... which was Marisol's intention, and she giggled when we broke the kiss. She turned to her brother and sister and said in a sing-song voice, "Don't wait up." She sang it like a line from a romantic comedy, and I followed her out, still blushing like a teenager while Carlos and Maria cheered us on.

We walked arm-in-arm to the car laughing, Marisol at my red face, and me at the bizarre and surreal situation. Acceptance. That was the gift they gave me. No judgment. Just joy.

"Whose idea was it for the garden shears?" I asked as I opened the garage door for her.

"Maria's. She wanted to see the look on your face. Carlos is not tall, but he is powerful and intimidating."

"I'll say. He looked like he wanted to castrate me with those rusty shears for violating his sister... and would enjoy doing it." I held the car door open.

"Violating?" She leaned into me and gave me a sultry look. "I like the sound of that." She kissed my nose and got into the car, but not before intentionally flashing me her panties... or lack thereof. She continued her sultry look as she sat back in the car seat, knowing I had gotten the message.

I closed the car door and muttered, "We're not even going to make it to the restaurant."

But we did. During the drive, Marisol kept her hand on my leg as we spoke freely and casually about... anything. It was easy to talk to her. She listened to whatever I had to say, and asked questions about anything she didn't understand. She was interested in my life, my work... in me. And I loved that about her.

She reciprocated by telling me about life in Guatemala, her family there, her school life, etc. I, too, asked relevant questions, mostly because I found her experiences fascinating. She came from a totally different world to me. I'm sure most would talk about the 'white privilege' I had... and after listening to her, I began to understand what they meant. While I did not grow up rich, I had and created opportunities for myself that Marisol and her family never had.

Like college. Never an option for her since she had to support her brother and sister. There was no way she could go to school. She ended up taking two jobs for a while in order to even bring them to the US, let alone provide for them once they got here.

"But the nuns told us at school," she explained. "'The thicker the access the lower the paycheck.' While most schools emphasized math and science, mine and Maria's taught el-o-cu-tion." She over-enunciated the pronunciation to demonstrate her lack of Latin inflection.

"I was wondering why you and Maria spoke..."

"It was forced out of us. They tried anyway."

"That sounds... kinda racist. Lowering a wage because of an accent."

Marisol shrugged. "But true in many ways. Not all, maybe, but you have to admit, there are several jobs that would be difficult without a command of the local language. Compare a salesclerk at that local butcher," she pointed at a passing storefront whose sign and ads were written in Spanish," with the clerk at the grocery store chain across the street. I can guarantee those two jobs, though identical, pay very different."

I reflected on the possible over-generalization of this idea as we drove, but Marisol drove the point home. "Be honest. Would you have hired me if I spoke in thick Spanglish?" She said this last sentence in heavy accented English, and I guiltily realized the truth.

"I'd like to think I would've hired you anyway," I said ashamed. "But you're right. I probably wouldn't have. And that... that's on me."

"See? Because you don't speak Spanish, and the accent intimidates you. You would be afraid I wouldn't understand your instructions. Therefore, in your mind, I would not be suited to work for you because of anassumedlanguage barrier."

Her story wasn't just about hardship--it was about sacrifice. About love. About grit. And I realized how much I'd taken for granted.

We drove in silence for a while, that realization hanging between us like a lead curtain as we pulled into the parking lot. I parked, and Marisol tightened her hand on my thigh. She looked at me with her deep, expressive eyes. "The world is not perfect, Mister Mike. But sometimes, it gives us exactly what we need. So, we can be grateful to those nuns... because they brought me to you." She placed her hand on my cheek and kissed me. "Te amo, mi amor," and she kissed me again.

"What?" I asked, trying to lighten the mood.

She impishly slapped my face but smiled at me. "Let's go in," she said looping her arm through mine. "I want everyone to see the hot man I Iove."

We got out of the car and walked into the restaurant. I have to say, I felt confident. Sharp. Like I belonged in this moment--with her. My clothes fit well, I thought I looked pretty good,andI had a beautiful woman on my arm. Wewerehot.

I wasn't just her date. I was part of something--woven into the fabric of a family that had every reason to keep me at arm's length... but didn't.

The restaurant was a ritzy, seaside affair with a romantic atmosphere and filled with couples enjoying an evening out. The host led us to our table next to a picture window overlooking the bay. Champagne chilled in a bucket nearby, and a bouquet of six red roses lay on her plate. Marisol saw all these preparations and gasped. She turned and kissed me, her lips soft and sure, and the room faded around us.

"Best boyfriend ever," she said. She took the offered chair, adding, "I'm so glad I didn't wear underwear." That did it for our host. They sputtered a laugh, and had to turn away, trying to regain themselves. This drew a few looks from nearby customers, but neither Marisol nor I cared.

Marisol gave me a wink as she scooted in. I just shook my head in disbelief. Eventually, the host returned, gave us our menus, and hurried away, red-faced and trying to hold in more laughter.

"I think you got to them," I said.

"I'm sorry. I'm just happy."

"And playful. That's new."

"I can't help it. I'm in love." She took my hand across the table. "You did all this?" indicating the roses and the wine?

"I may have called ahead and taken care of some details. They were very obliging."

"The flowers are lovely," she said, smelling the bouquet.

"I own part of a flower shop in town. They were nice enough to deliver."

Marisol eyed the roses, lovingly, then looked over the menu, her smile faltering. "Mister Mike..."

"Don't think about it... just enjoy."

"But..."

"Marisol... I mean it. Tonight... I want to show the world what a hot girlfriend I have... and to show her how much I love her. You deserve it."

She looked at me with intense devotion and desire. "You are so getting lucky tonight."

I laughed and looked down at my own menu. "I'm looking forward to it."

We drank Champagne and talked, the casual conversation of two lovers just chatting. Eventually, during our meal, Marisol asked me, "Do you mind if I ask you... how come you never married?"

The response was easy. "Gold diggers." Marisol looked confused, and I decided to continue the thread. "I started at the docks of all places and eventually took ownership of a shipyard offloading lumber from Oregon. That led to investing in a forklift and tractor company, which led to construction, which led to cement, which led to the flower shop... big jump, I know. Then there were a few other businesses and here I am. When I was young, I worked... a lot. I really didn't have time or even care to date. Too focused on making money. Stupid, I know. When I got older, I dated some, but I quickly realized that the women I dated were more concerned about the size of my bank account than me. It seemed their affections grew the more zeros they thought I had. Gold diggers."

"All of them... like that?"

I shrugged. "There was one woman who worked in the flower shop. We went out a couple of times, but then she told me she didn't want to date someone she worked with or worked for. That was her way of letting me down easy before she ran off with the 19-year-old delivery driver."

"Ouch."

"So, between not taking the time to date and some bad choices in dates, I never married."

"So... you gave up?"

"Not entirely."

"How so?"

I gazed at Marisol, letting her know... "Look in the roses."

Marisol's eyes went wide. With slow, deliberate movements, she set down her knife and fork and reached for the bouquet. It took her a moment to find the diamond ring tied among the stems, but when she did, she froze, tears welling up in her eyes.

I stood, heart pounding, and walked around the table. The world narrowed to her eyes, her breath, her trembling hands. I untied the string holding the ring, then got down on one knee and presented it to her. "Marisol Flores... We've only been together a few short weeks, but I've never been more sure of anything. Will you marry me?"

Thank goodness for waterproof mascara, because her tears flowed as she wrapped her arms around me, and kissed me. "Yes, Mister Mike. I will marry you." And she kissed me again. The applause caught us off guard. We waved sheepishly, two people suddenly very aware of how public love can be. We took it in stride, gave everyone a friendly wave, and still on one knee, slid the ring on Marisol's finger.

"The setting isn't much," I explained. "It's actually just a holder for the diamond. We can go pick out a better setting before the wedding."

"It's beautiful," she whispered. "I've never seen anything like it."

Still on one knee, I cupped her face in my hands. "I had given up on ever finding someone who made me happy. I know we haven't been actually dating... like at all, but I've seen you. Seen the way your family loves you, and the way your family treats me. You are the kind of person I want to spend my life with... and I'd like to start as soon as possible." I leaned forward and kissed her tear-lined cheeks, then kissed her softly on the lips. There was a smattering of applause, not as much as the actual proposal, but we waved again, and I sat down.

Marisol stared at the ring then beamed at me. "I can't believe this is happening. How did you... how long have you been planning this?"