Ecuador Ch. 04: Framed

After the internationally famous magician, La Hechicera, Esmeralda Verde, left the Vásquez family at their table in the Hotel Plaza Grande's rooftop terrace bar, Germán, Isabella, their twenty-year-old son, Alejandro, and eighteen-year-old daughter, Cumandá, remained transfixed by the wonderous legerdemain they had witnessed. Each of them, without their knowing, had also been mentally coerced by The Green Witch. While their words, deeds and thoughts were their own, more or less, there were significant limits to their free will. Three metres away, the mayor of Quito excused himself from his family and followed a slim young woman with a tot in her arms toward the elevators.

The meandering mesmerist, noted Hugo Alvarez' departure with a disappointed sigh, but took solace in her certainty that he would return to be snagged later. Meanwhile, there were other patrons among the Carnival Masked Ball crowd to consider and, as she had done through the ages, to either mark or cull. She spoke telepathically to her assistant, "1937 has already been a lot of fun, Principe, but I foresee an especially good time tonight!" The albino dwarf licked his lips with anticipation as his mistress altered her course to veer away from the magnificently pregnant mature Doña Maria Alvarez and three small girls who giggled beside her while their nanny took their baby sister to a hotel room for a nap.

Alejandro Vásquez touched himself below the table and cursed his thickening carajo. Hoping to distract himself from his mother's and sister's elegantly gowned yet tantalizingly revealed beauty, he coughed, "Papá... Excuse me..."

"Sí, hijo," answered Germán. "What is it?"

"Only that I'm bored," Alejandro apologized. "I mean, the magician was fantastic, and the band is lively, but look around... None of my friends came here with their families. In fact, except for the Alvarez niñera, and of course, Cumandá, there is no one here who is anywhere near my own age!" Plaintively, he sighed, "You can't really expect me to dance with my sister all night, can you?"

To his left, Isabella patted her son's hand as he brought it up to the tabletop. Sweetly, she sincerely offered, "You may ask me to dance, as well, you know. I can do the Lindy Hop as well as any of your girlfriends might!"

Alejandro exclaimed, "¡Mama!" He was as much shocked by her words as he was by the peculiar sensual heat she transferred through the back of his hand from her gloved fingers. It streaked up his arm and flared in his chest. His impertinent dick got fatter, not softer.

Germán chuckled as he came to his son's rescue. "Of course, hijo, I understand perfectly," he said. "I am sorry that I mistakenly believed other Dons would include their families at this gala." Smiling at his wife and daughter beside him, he suggested, "Let's all finish this champagne and then, 'Jandro, you may be excused to join the younger people parading through the city streets, if that is what you prefer to our company."

Alejandro flushed shamefaced, but did not back off from his position. "I certainly did not mean I do not enjoy being with the family, Papá," he clarified. "It's just that..."

"...We do know," interjected Isabella. Again, she patted his hand, but tarried with a slightly pressured stroke, and continued, "I, myself, find the atmosphere a bit... umm, 'stuffy', shall I say? But your father has social obligations, and it is important that we support him, the way he supports us." She lifted her champagne and toasted the table, "¡No hay amor como en una familia!"

Germán tucked his right arm around his wife's waist between her chair back and her bare back. Then, picking up his glass in his left hand, he paraphrased, "To family love... none stronger!" He smiled as his adult children joined in and they all drained their bubbly.

When Cumandá spoke the toast words and then swallowed some of the fizzy dry golden wine, she inexplicably tasted again her brother's deliciously nutty spunk in the back of her throat. She blushed briefly as she wondered how long it might be before she could get a second helping. Cocking her head, she looked left and asked innocently, "Would it plague you too much, 'Jandro, if I came with you when you go to find your friends?"

Alejandro's bone stiffened even more as his sister's soft request planted itself in his mind and he remembered fingering her to orgasm while he suckled her in the terrace corner a half-hour earlier. He thought, "¡Dios mío! I'm in hell and heaven at the same time!" Turning to her, he put on his best poker face and replied, "Yes, mijita, that'll be okay. But, don't make a fool of me by acting stupid!"

Cumandá stuck out her tongue and sniped, "Ha! You may be two years older than me and ready to go to university in Madrid, but ask anyone: I am the level-headed one between us!" She could not believe she had just responded so immaturely, in direct contradiction of her own words. Helplessly, she asked herself, "Why do I feel so funny tonight? And why don't I mind it?"

Germán interceded, "Come on, kids, simmer down! You're both starting to act like you're thirteen!" He stared at Cumandá's daring gold lamé strapless gown and particularly at the inviting escote dividing her bust's mellow fresh cream expanse. Reproachfully, he thought, "¡Cuidado! Quit thinking about how sexy your daughter has become!" Forcing himself to ignore the danger zone to his left, he leaned right, kissed his bride of nearly twenty-one years and urged her, "Dance with me. They're playing our song."

As their parents strolled arm-in-arm through the bar toward the dance floor, Alejandro impetuously grabbed Cumandá's gloved left hand, pulled it beneath the table top and then boldly pressed it against his crotch. She swallowed reflexively with widening twinkling eyes as she felt the tumescence in his tuxedo twitch. While he smiled inwardly at the perfect white teeth she displayed between her unconsciously parted recently repaired black cherry glossed lips, he hissed, "Do you remember? When you felt light-headed? I told you I knew of another treatment."

Cumandá squeezed her fingers around the hog and nodded, "Sí." As she stroked his hidden growth, she asked demurely, "Do you want to return to the terrace corner by the palms?"

Alejandro put his sister's groping hand back beside her champagne before she uncorked him in his pants. Laughing lightly, he said, "No, as I said to Papá, I want to go find my friends. I think I know where they might be, but I need to hurry, in case they leave for somewhere else. If you want to come along, then drink up!"

Cumandá beamed, polished off the last of her cuvée, and declared, "I'm ready, let's go! But, do you think we are overdressed?" She added hopefully, "We could go home first... you know... get out of these clothes?"

Alejandro chuckled again. "With all the different get-ups people will be wearing in the night parades, no one will mind how we look." He thought darkly, "Besides, you'll be out of those clothes as quick as I can manage it."

Out on the calle, raucous noise replaced the swing music the siblings had been hearing from the hotel bandstand. Alejandro held a taxi's rear door for his sister, then followed her in and directed the cabbie, "Taberna San Roque, por favor"

Cumandá was shocked by the instruction. Even in her innocence, she had heard rumors about the hole-in-the-wall bar. She clutched her brother's knee and searched his face as she asked, "¿San Roque? ¿Verdad?"

"Don't worry, mijita," Alejandra reassured, sotto voce. "I hang out there quite a bit. My pals and and I are well known. Its rough reputation is nothing for you to fear." As he watched Cumandá's face relax into trusting submission, he congratulated himself on his so far successful seduction.

At the taberna, where the customers had spilled out into the warm night air, there were a few hoots and catcalls at the Vásquez' elaborate fancy attire, but when they recognized the young Don, the loudest jeerers fell deferentially silent. Meanwhile, the rest of the crowd continued in their own drunken sport heedless of the slumming young couple. Inside, the cramped public area was hazy with cigarette smoke and stank of stale body odor mixed with slopped alcoholic drinks of all kinds. Cumandá wrinkled her nose and frowned.

Two young clean-shaven maskless men dressed in similar green-black-and-silver diamond-checked harlequin costumes immediately came up to Alejandro. "Hola," said one. "¿Qué tal?" asked the other. Then the first one said, "You got here just in time, 'Jandro. We were getting ready to start a search."

Alejandro beamed and answered his friends, "Well, as you can see, there is no need for that, now. My sister and I are here." Then, side-hugging the perplexed teen to himself, he gave her bare outer shoulder a squeeze and continued, "Cumandá, meet my buddies: This fellow in the green buttons is Esteban Reynaldo; the one with black buttons is Mateo Diego. You remember his younger sister, Ana, who I kept company with before she moved away to Lima. They're also going to Madrid University with me later this year."

Esteban laughed, jabbed Mateo's ribs with an elbow and said, "Yes, students together again, but, for now we are tutors..."

Mateo grinned and winked as he added, "...and always on the lookout for new pupils. Is what 'Jandro said, true? Do you want to study with us?"

Cumandá did not really know what to say. The by-play between the young men was very confusing, but more than that, she had to fight with herself not to stare at their groins. Esteban's packed silvery breeches were guarded by a green satin codpiece, while Mateo's shiny green pants distinctly outlined his substantial gear, notwithstanding the covering black satin pouch. She could only hope her domino mask camouflaged her roving eyes as she stammered hesitantly, "I-I guess so. I mean, I am here to be with 'Jandro, but I like to learn things. What is it you teach?"

The young men exchanged swift coded looks, then grinned blandly without answering. Alejandro also artfully side-stepped the question. Sweetly kissing Cumandá's cheek, he gave the greasy-bearded barman a high sign behind her back while he said casually, with a conspiratorial undertone, "The taberna owner lets us use an upper room for our classes. Let's go there and we can show you."

Mateo turned to lead off, but Esteban hurried past him and opened an unobtrusive door to a narrow-walled staircase. Cumandá, third in line behind Alejandro, put her hand on the railing. Her heart fluttered while her coño involuntarily clenched. Taking a deep breath, she bravely mounted the first step and continued to mid-flight with more confidence.

Suddenly, the world went black as Esteban both closed the stairwell door and switched off the lights. Cumandá stood stock still, glad that she had handrails for support. Moments later, the riser behind her creaked and she sensed a presence crowding her while hands gripped her hips through her gown. At almost the same time, Alejandro turned about, braced her shoulder points and calmly soothed, "Don't be frightened, mejita. In darkness, other senses are enhanced."

Simultaneously, Esteban took small liberties. He pushed his hands slowly, lightly, forward and down over Cumandá's quadriceps. Then, reversing his course, he slid his palms outward and caressed upward. His trailing nails caught the lamé's metallic weave and gently scrubbed her hams before his fingers snugly cupped her tensed butt's softly firm undercurve.

Cumandá's pussy seemed to turn itself inside out as Don Reynaldo deftly demonstrated how sensory compensation theory worked in application. She shuddered involuntarily from her neck to her knees. When her unexpected seismic upheaval ebbed, she stammered softly, "S-sí, 'Jandro. Luh-lo en...tiendo..."

Alejandro grinned broadly and winked invisibly over his sister's head as he rejoined, "Yes, it is clear that you get it." To himself he added, "And you will get it even more very soon."

Already at the top of the stairs, Don Diego called down testily, "Hey! What's the hold up? Let's go!" Alejandro slid his hands silkily over Cumandá's bare upper arms to her opera gloves, then about faced and moved forward. Esteban wordlessly prodded her bottom and followed at a whisker's distance as she continued her climb.

The second floor corridor was lit only by a single naked sixty-watt bulb, which appeared harshly bright to Cumandá when she exited the dark stairwell. Squinting, she headed toward Mateo, a few metres off at the entrance to the borrowed room. Inside, Alejandro strode ahead of her across ancient plank floorboards to a wardrobe on the far wall. Behind her, she heard a quiet distinctive metal scraping sound as Esteban slid the closed door's bolt lock into place.

The windowless four-by-twelve metre room was stuffy and uncomfortably warm. Cumandá felt small perspiration beads pop among the fine brunette hairs at her nape. Two metal-shaded lights, each with different sized bulbs, dangled starkly from rough-hewn heavy timber crossbeams below a high roof. Though her eyes were completely re-adjusted, the rude storage area's uneven illumination played tricks on her.

Certainly, straight ahead beside the wardrobe, Cumandá saw a neatly made-up standard iron bedstead and, near it, a square plain wood table with two unmatched armless wooden straight chairs. To the left of her brother, who stood removing and hanging his tuxedo jacket and vest, a tall glass-front cabinet showed an array of miscellaneous bottles which she guessed to be a liquor supply. Away to her right, shadowed outside the second hanging lamp's mellow range, were unexpected unusual shapes which she could not discern. She marveled to herself, "Even if the owner wanted somewhere private to eat his lunch, or to take a nap, this is a strange place."

Walking over to the wardrobe, Cumandá saw that Alejandro now stood in only shirttails, shorts and gartered silk stockings. Her breath caught in her throat as she asked, "¿Qué estás haciendo, hermano?"

Alejandro chuckled at the question, which hung in the air like a lingering firework. "What am I doing?" he repeated. "Can't you see? I am getting comfortable. You remember that I said our clothes would be unimportant?" He fixed her with a penetrating gaze and observed, "There's already a tiny bit of sweat forming at your brow. I suggest you hang your evening gown beside my tux. Believe me, it will be better for you."

Before Cumandá could even think to reply, Mateo and Esteban flanked her. Sans bodysuits, colorful codpieces no longer deceived her in the slightest. She knew it was indiscreet, but she could not keep from staring at the flaccid pricks and dangling balls below their ecru silk tank tops. Esteban's carajo was slim and long whereas Mateo's, though quite stout, did not seem as large as the lollipop she had devoured earlier in the evening.

On Cumandá's left, Mateo grinned encouragement and declared, "'Jandro is right, and as you see, we have already lost our calzónes and camisas!" To her right, Esteban rubbed his left palm smoothly up over her ass to her dress's hidden zipper tab. Tugging it gently, he oozed, "Let me help you."

Alejandro assisted with a frontal assault reminiscent of his approach on the on the Hotel Plaza Grande terrace. As he pressed his thumbs through the lamé against his sister's poked out nipples, he hooked his fingers over the strapless bodice top and pulled it down to her sash. Immediately shelving his palms supportively beneath her firm C-cup breasts, he sighed, "Ahhh... now don't pretend that you don't like this!"

Cumandá did not want to pretend anything. She did not even mind the two spectators whom she had only just met. Moving forward a half-step into her brother's arms, she crushed her tits against his starched shirtfront and her lips against his teeth as she chokingly confessed, "No, 'Jandro... I like it... very much..."

Esteban delay for a moment. With a single sure yank, he glided the zipper to the end of its track and spread open the metallic weave across Cumandá's bottom. Mateo, from his quarter-angle, grabbed the great bow at her waist. Taking the dress the rest of the way to the floor, he left her standing in a glimmering heaped gold pool wearing only sheer dark stockings, pearlescent tap pants and black-and-gold lace suspenders.

Cooperatively, but without conscious thought, Cumandá kicked her high-heeled shoes free from the useless ballgown and closed even tighter into Alejandro's embrace. Suddenly she squeaked surprise as Esteban tied a black silk scarf about her head and completely obliterated her domino's eye holes. He promptly reminded her, "You said you 'like to learn things.' Get ready!"

With his companions following, Alejandro led Cumandá carefully to the opposite end of the room and the curious furniture items which had eluded her first surveillance. After a few paces, he stopped and advised, "Ahora, mejita, quédate quieta." Although she wanted very much to stand still as instructed, she could not help the visible trembles that betrayed her blind anticipations.

Cumandá's wonder soon morphed into realization as she felt hands cruise her stockinged legs from her garter snaps to her high-heel pumps' T-bar straps where they pulled her feet in opposite directions and obliged her to spread her legs. Fingers encircled her ankles and wide soft flexible bands of some sort tightened against her bones. Instinctively resistant, she was slightly alarmed to discover she could not move her feet more than a centimetre in any direction. Distracted by events closer to the floor, she was late to notice that similar suede cuffs had been fixed around her gloved wrists and these, no more mobile than her feet, were now firmly secured somehow above her head.

Cumandá exclaimed fearfully, "¡Qué pasa!"

Alejandro grinned at his sister's half-naked body, vulnerably spread-eagled within a sturdy modified Jatoba wood barrel-gantry's framework. Her enforced pose made him think of Da Vinci's Vitruvian Man, except that from her heels to her head she sloped at a sixty-eight-degree incline. Her swelling areolae and pronounced nipples pointed at a complimentary angle to the smooth worn plank floor at his feet. "Fear nothing," he calmly replied. "Your hands hang from a bar and you may wish to grab onto it as the lessons progress. But in any case, you are completely supported and cannot fall. Soon you will think you are flying, I promise!"

Cumandá's worry that she had wrongly trusted her brother was dispelled by his reassuring tone and words. At the same time, however, firm flexing fingers palped her taut calf muscles while another pair of hands independently caressed her tensed hams. Suddenly, additional digits sharply pinched her aching puffball tetas. She gasped at the pleasing pain while a flock of hummingbirds beat tiny wings in her belly and erratically chased southward.

Alejandro silently nodded to his friends, then closed his hands around Cumandá's proud pendant pyramids. As he pressed their mass firmly back into her ribs, her quickened pulse pounded through his palms. Reactively, she thrust her chest forward and mewled, "¡Oh, 'Jandro! ¡Sí! ¡Más! Squeeze them!"

"Just like oranges. Until the pulp runs juice," Alejandro agreeably cooed.

Meanwhile, Esteban glided his hands to Cumanda's stocking tops and detached them from her garter snaps. He grinned at the goosebumps popping on her inner thighs and muttered delightedly, "¡Muslamen!" Leaning forward, he planted a soft kiss on each pallid creamy ham as he inverted the drooping dark silk hose and peeled them to her knees' hollows. She involuntarily shuddered and flexed her afflicted muscles to strengthen their contact with his lips.

Mateo quickly crouched by Cumanda's left side then cupped her bottom and crotch in a tender vise. She gasped through her nose and closed her teeth on her tongue as she felt her coño drench itself. Her satin tap pants glued themselves to her lubricating lips while Don Diego pressed the sticky slick material firmly between the quivering folds. Tucking his chin, he cocked his head around her hip, inhaled her sex fragrance and praised, "¡Mmm! ¡Muy mojada! ¡Buena niña!"