Ecuador Ch. 03: Visitation

According to the calendar, Ash Wednesday 1937 began at midnight when February ninth arbitrarily became February tenth. In Quito, Ecuador, however, time and culture were more fluid. Last minute revelers, reluctant to give up their sensual pleasures for Lenten austerity, drank and caroused well into the early morning hours. Doña Margarita Escobar, who had retired from the Carnival Masked Ball at the Hotel Plaza Grande while the day was still Tuesday, lay abed as the softly blowing night air carried sounds from the street through her open balcony windows.

After introducing Esmeralda Verde, La Hechicera, to the Carnival crowd for their special magical entertainment, she had returned to her table and was stunned when her friend, Doña Teresa Sifuentes, asked her for her special recipe for steaming bananas in a humita pot. "¿Qué dices?" She had asked, only to be informed that she had bragged to the entire audience about Alcalde Alvarez' large tree and how he regularly gave her his bananas to fix because his wife was allergic.

Doña Escobar had no recollection of this event, but she blushed all the same. Doña Sifuentes was a sober-sided soul who had never lied once in her life. Margarita could only pray that her mesmerized confession had been sufficiently oblique that she had not told all of Quito outright that she and the mayor had been once-a-week lovers for nearly a year. Fanning herself, she excused her reddened face, "I don't know about you, Teresa, but I shall be a happy woman when my change is complete and these sudden hot flashes stop."

Doña Sifuentes, eight years junior to the dowager Escobar, nodded gravely as she answered, "Pues... I am forty-five, but my periods are still quite regular, thank God! I have only heard about the misery and do not look forward to it. I am sorry for you." She reached across the table, sympathetically touched her friend's arm and returned to her question, "But seriously... do you peel the banana? Then oil it? And wrap it in a husk? How do you prepare it for your humita pot, so that when it comes out it is ready to melt in your mouth as you claim?"

Doña Escobar, both relieved and chagrined, had carefully answered, "Yes. Any of that will work. The important thing is how long it is kept inside in the moist warmth and that, truthfully, is a matter of personal taste." Pushing back from the table, she begged, "But, please excuse me, dear Teresa. I am feeling a bit funny. I think it is best if I go home now. Buenas noches, amiga."

"Okay, Margarita," Sifuentes had said. "Call me tomorrow. We can go to church together."

Although she herself did not know it, Doña Escobar was still under the green witch's spell when she left the hotel. Her mind was hazy, her feet leaden and, though the outside temperature was a clement fifteen degrees Celcius, a light sweat sheen coated her arms from her azure satin opera gloves to her matching evening gown's shoulder straps. The doorman was unconcerned as he helped her into a taxi. She was just the first tipsy old broad he expected he would see before his shift ended this night.

In her home, Margarita meandered upstairs to her personal quarters. Having excused her maid for the week to enjoy Carnival with her family in Ibarra, seventy kilometres away, she undressed herself alone. Each layer of clothing brought increasing relief with its removal. When, at last, she peeled away her off-white 'all-in-one' bra-and-girdle, her resplendent mature 102-81-107 figure gratefully relaxed into natural bulges and bumps.

Standing before her dressing mirror, in only her pristine white rayon panties, Doña Escobar admired her frankly displayed attributes. When she raised her arms to remove her alexandrite-studded silver hair comb, her long dyed coal-black hair cascaded to her sacroiliac joints while her stretching great E-cup breasts smoothed their sagging wrinkles and took on the firm appearance she used to see twenty years previously. Her tummy roll lifted slightly from her underwear's elastic waist and her navel crater flattened to a more youthful oval. Dropping her hands, she patted the soft dimpled muscle mass which overfilled her full-seated briefs and thought, "Ha! There is plenty here for Hugo! How lucky for me that his wife is allergic to bananas!"

The moment she invoked the mayor's name, a pang shot from her peanut-butter colored areolae through her belly to her clitoris. She looked down at the brunette pubic patch shadowed behind her semi-sheer panties and followed her eyes with her right hand. Tenderly touching her hidden button, she pushed her middle two fingers over the long plump camel-toe in her gusset, then pressed the moistening cotton past her coño's iris. Gasping as she gently rubbed herself, she suddenly envisioned her stolen paramour while, at the same time, she clearly heard Esmeralda's disembodied voice say, "Get ready to cook for el alcalde."

Margarita moved like a placid zombie from her wardrobe, past her matching carved teak double bed to her blue-and-white hex-tiled bathroom. While she ran water into her large claw-footed porcelain tub, she shed her bragas and stepped across to her white painted wood commode where she rummaged in a drawer for the ablution accessories she normally reserved for use on Saturdays after Hugo Alvarez' town council meetings. Liberally applying a hydrating palm oil lotion to her hands, she began a top-down massage at her neck and throat. Replenishing as needed, she soon glistened outside and glowed inside throughout her body.

As she lay back in the drawn hot water, Margarita carefully lowered her long hair to the floor outside the tub to keep it dry. Then, using a rough cloth, she scrubbed her oiled skin with cocoa butter soap until every square centimetre of her squeaked to the touch. Her breasts were so tender that she could hardly stand to touch them, but the thrill when she did so was such a delight that she could not resist. She remembered this phenomenon was historically associated with the midpoint of her menstrual cycle, yet she had not had a period for over three months and hoped that her last one was actually her last one.

Doña Escobar's eyes crossed, then closed, as she pushed the lathered washrag across her broad belly and over her graying furred mons to her greatest source of pleasure. No longer shy, her clit outgrew its sheath. She pinched the throbbing nub severely and sucked her lips hard into her mouth as she screamed in her mind, "¡Ahí lo está!"

Responsively, Esmeralda's voice echoed, "There it is, señora, but do not stop now! Rinse your pot... Hugo will be with you soon..."

Margarita flopped her legs over the tub sides, violently irrigated her coming cunt and twisted her thick tortured clit. Tears sprang from her sealed eyelids while painful pleasure wracked her insides. Groaning ecstatically, she rolled her head on the cool porcelain rim. Starry flashes exploded her darkness as she chased her orgasmic waves with rushing hot bath water until she was too weary to move her wrists.

Weak and will-less, the exhausted viuda exited her bath too tired to pull the drain plug. For a few moments she drip-dried and stood swaying in the puddles her stormy masturbation spilled onto tiled floor, then slowly she shambled back to her wardrobe. Blindly, she took a long white soft shapeless muslin nightdress from its hanger, pulled it on and got into bed. As she lay damp and inert in her sheets, she heard the sorceress smoothly soothe, "That's right. Rest. Wait..."

Stars twinkling in the cloudless pitch black canopy over Quito were bright, but the moon was new and the ambient light on Doña Escobar's bedroom balcony was inadequate to reveal the small dark shape perched on the railing. It dropped soundlessly to the stonework floor and waddled to the unlatched louvered accordion doors. Six strong curved claws scratched for a purchase where the doors met, then successfully pulled them silently apart enough to squeeze through. Once inside, the hairy brown sloth stood on its hind legs and transmogrified into La Hechicera's albino dwarf assistant, Principe Argot.

Just as his mistress had promised, Principe observed Doña Escobar recumbent on her pillows with her eyes closed. Unhurriedly, he lowered his Y-back suspenders, then opened his trousers and pushed them past his buttocks to the floor. After untying his shoes, he stepped out of them and his pants, then pulled his boat-neck linen shirt over his head. Naked and grinning, he climbed over the four-poster's footboard.

The moment the little man's knees touched down, Margarita reacted. As he advanced, and his moving weight depressed the mattress, she opened her eyes. Lifting her head, she squinted at the rotund shade crawling over her ankles and murmured, "Hugo?"

Principe was quick to maintain the dazed illusion. "Sí," he lied. Smirking as the enchanted woman laid her head back down, he scrambled forward on all fours. Eagerly, he clutched his small hands on the top sheet and lowered it to her waist, only to be disappointed that her coveted busty bosom remained discreetly protected by her muslin slip. Nonetheless, his prick began to stiffen with his lusty anticipation.

The dwarf licked his lips as he scooted back down Doña Escobar's form and drew the top sheet with him all the way to her bare unlacquered toenails. Pushing his open hands up her legs, he appreciated how they tapered to her calves. As his fingers glided smoothly under her nightie's hem, then passed her patellae, he arched his wrists and ducked his head into the cotton tent. Her scented heat greeted him with a rush.

Principe wormed his shoulders and plowed on. Margarita mewled softly. Opening her thighs reflexively as he browsed higher, she hiked her hips then settled her hams on his hard trapeziuses. He shoveled his hands under her ass cheeks and pulled her down the bed to meet him all the quicker.

As Margarita's head skidded from her pillow, Principe canted her pelvis and fluttered his tongue adroitly within her wrinkled pussy folds. She clamped her hands over the bobbing noggin under her night dress and moaned, "¡Sí, Hugo... continúa! Make me wetter for you!"

Principe flattened his face to Margarita's twat and slithered his stumpy lingua as deep as he could. Her coconut odor and piquant flavor enlivened his libido unlike any snatch he had devoured for a long time. She stuttered as he stabbed her G-spot, "¡O-OH!... ¡M-m-más! ¡HUUUGO!" Then, crushing his mouth to her crack, she came squirting like she had not done since she was a young girl.

As Margarita writhed and slathered his face with her lubricating clam juice, Principe's mind turned back nearly sixteen years to when he was twenty-one in Alsace-Lorraine. Though he was handsome enough, and muscular from hard physical labor, the village girls could not seem to get past his freakish pallor or the harsh fact that he was full-grown, yet only one point four metres tall. Luckily, his sixty-year-old grandmother had no such qualms. Whether he stood on a kitchen stool, piercing her from behind while she bent over her vegetable table, or laid upon her missionary-style, in her great brass bed, she had always squealed her delight when they fucked.

In his native French, Principe muttered into Margarita's thrashing trench, "Oui, Mémé... viens pour moi!" As if she understood, she ejected a fresh freshet from her fountain. He lapped it lustily and thought, "You're all mine, Granny... from now until dawn!" When her flow abated, he popped his head from under her hem and rose up ready to deliver on his silent promise.

Doña Escobar was astounded by the apparition she saw standing on her bed and dancing its feet on her mattress between her aching thighs. Luminous and pale, the agitated half-man was in no way like the mayor of Quito. Her troubled mind rapidly arranged real events into a self-satisfying delusion. Excitedly, she concluded, "¡Un milagro! ¡Un ángel!"

Clutching and yanking her nightgown's scooped neck with supernatural strength, Margarita tore its sleeveless shoulders outward. The old thin muslin ripped easily, louder than a thunder clap, and, like a naturally following jagged lightning bolt, split raggedly from her constricted throat to her quivering pot belly. As her exposed mountains jellied, she croaked deliriously, "Purify me!"

Though he was considerably less than average in his general size, Principe's working tackle was considerably larger than average size and proportionally shocking to see. His wide cock, fully erect with its uncircumcised foreskin stretched taut, was a twenty-two-and-a-half centimetre cudgel. Below it, his leathery hairless scrotum hung heavily with paired fifty-gram chicken-egg-sized testicles. Lance up, he dropped to his knees and finished shredding the sleep slip.

Margarita eagerly beckoned her arms at the fabulous spirit she saw closing in on her revealed form. As he approached, he reached inside her elbows and grabbed two handfuls of wrinkled fulsome breast tissue. She sighed, then swept him up and pressed him hard to her chest. Instanter, he entered her.

Señor Escobar had been a modestly endowed slender man. In contrast, though she of course did not know it, Hugo Alvarez' penis was five centimetres longer, and necessarily thicker, than Doña Escobar would typically have found had she been more experienced. Nonetheless, she intuitively was certain that even if she made love to a thousand men, her vagina could never be more filled up than it was at this moment by this small angel. She soughed into his ear, "¡Sí! ¡Fóllame!"

Glad for the unnecessary permission, Principe squeezed Margarita's tits tight in his fists, mashed his mouth harshly against hers, and lunged his length hard to her womb's doorstep. As she reactively gasped, he thrust his tongue through her gapped lips. She closed on him and sucked the stabbing muscle to her palate. Growling, he twisted her thick button nipples while her eyes rolled in their sockets and formed tears.

The dwarf methodically rocked his hips back and forth with steady deep strokes. As his dick's slit left lingering kisses on her cervix, Margarita's Kegels autonomically massaged its pulsing neck. She had not been blessed with children, but she knew her biology. If it had not been her husband's fault, then her barren life was pure luck because, as a good Catholic, she had never done anything to inhibit a pregnancy.

"Maybe this is God's intercession," Doña Escobar thought as she raked the albino's back with her fingernails. She bowed her legs and scrunched her ass harder to his groin. As their pubic bones crunched with each powerful push, she prayed repetitively, "Please, God! Give me a baby! An angelic baby!"

Principe pounded like an engine and stoked his fire as much Margarita's. She punctuated his grunting chuffs with indecipherable moans and long mewling exhortations. At her brink, she contracted every muscle under her control and gripped him with bruising strength, then joyously leapt from her orgasmic precipice shouting triumphantly, "¡Ya voy! ¡Dame tus semillas!" Her screech triggered his nuts and he spastically pumped thirty millilitres of seed-filled cream to find the ova her ebbing egg factory had lately launched.

Moments later, after her rapture passed, Doña Escobar collapsed and closed her eyes. The dwarf was still energized, however. Spinning her in place, like a pig on a roasting spit, he slapped her ass smartly on both cheeks and groused, "Non, non, Mémé... Ne t'endors pas sur moi! I am going to fuck you again... and again after that!" Then he hauled her up from mattress by her stomach and pulled her back to rest briefly on her haunches before he pushed her torso forward again.

While Margarita did not understand French, she understood the painful spanks and the reproachful tone in the spirit's voice. She was much confused by the idea that an angel could be angry, but her body was again awake. As the specter manipulated her, she naturally assumed an all-fours position on her shins and forearms. Her cunt winked below her virgin sphincter and expelled a jism gob.

Principe caught the escaping creampie with his longest right finger and pulled it like taffy until the greasy strand separated from Margarita's sticky hole. Immediately another gooey turtle head appeared. He laughed, captured that one as well, then spread the gray mess like frosting onto his already slick cock's cupcake top and pressed the lubed knob against her tiny tight anus. As the elastic rim stretched to accomodate his unwavering driving force, he steadied her hip points with strong short fingers and kept his center.

Doña Escobar's jaw dropped and her eyes widened as she sensed for the first time traffic moving the wrong way on a previously one-way track. The pressure grew. Lifting her head to the ceiling, she brayed a feeble protest, but it was already too late. Suddenly the soft bell was completely inside and sliding deeper.

Principe grinned in the dark as he felt Margarita's rectum expand around his wide hard penetrating shaft. When it was well-seated at about half its length, he wound his left hand through her long black hair and used it as a leash to pull her already upraised head back until her skull met her shoulders. She bowed her spine to relieve the stress and inhaled a deep breath. Her filling lungs pushed out her tits to the bed's headboard as if she were a carved mermaid adorning a bowsprit on an ancient tall ship.

The little man laughed aloud. It was rare that his mistress gave him freedom to play on his own and he was enjoying himself thoroughly. His balls throbbed as they bobbled and banged on the old widow's hindquarters. After only a few plunges, he had used up the modicum of juice which had initially smoothed his path and now the friction in her cramped tunnel was starting to burn.

Principe relaxed his grip on Margarita's hair without letting go entirely. She rolled her head in her newfound freedom. Exiting his swollen stem from her ass, he lowered his sights, then plunged upward and deep into her neglected quim. Once more, his velvet headed hammer knocked on the door to her womb; once more, she spritzed his thighs.

Again, Principe yanked Doña Escobar's hair. She cried out as pleasure supplanted pain and her furious crisis melted her insides. He cross-whipped her flanks with his bare free hand while he vigorously pumped his flexing glutes and graded her rippling tunnel walls. Then, satisfied that his dick was adequately re-oiled, he abruptly abandoned her creaming coño and drove root-deep into her gaping asshole.

Margarita yowled her surprise as her angel crushed his nuts on her tortured moons and dug seven centimetres deeper into her trasero than he had been before. Lights flashed in her head and her ears rang. Her chest congested and she thought she would pass out for lack of breath. The angel reached around between her legs and pinched her clit.

Margarita shuddered as her ongoing orgasm trebled in power. Choking, she stuttered, "¡Y-ya voy de n-n-nuevOHHHHH!" Principe released her hot button, pushed his small fist into her vagina, and then cocked his wrist. She shook like a dog shedding water as she came violently non-stop.

Notwithstanding his notorious sexual stamina, Principe Argot's libido was running amok. He had had no idea this ordinary dowager would be such a hot playmate; he had just liked her tits. But now he was as bothered as she. Moreover, he realized he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Quickly, the dwarf withdrew from Margarita's culo and split her clam again with his prybar. At the same time, he reached under her left arm and clawed into her pendant boob while he returned his right hand to her cheering clitoris and fanned it mercilessly. She came uncontrollably as every nerve fiber in her being sent alarms to her cortex. He held her rigid to his groin, crunched his gut and busted his nut again.