tagNonConsent/ReluctanceCaribbean Tales: Sweet Agony in Kingston

Caribbean Tales: Sweet Agony in Kingston


Working for an NGO is a cynical business. For those of you not in the biz, that's Non-Governmental Organization. We waltz into some Third World country with a few million bucks U.S., and proclaim to the world that we promote democracy and human rights and concern for the environment. Then we start buying people, so we can get what we want, which is generally to blackmail the government of that country into letting our sponsors loot their economy. But, you don't want to hear about this. You want to hear about sex. So, let's move on to Jamaica.

Sunday night, I landed at Norman Manley International Airport outside of Kingston and took a cab to the Imperial Hotel in New Kingston. I unpacked in my room, then went downstairs for a leisurely meal and a glass of Bajan rum. I reviewed in my mind my agenda for the days ahead. I had a conference room reserved at the Imperial for interviewing grant applicants. I would be all sincerity with these people, but I would be sniffing out the tell-tale cues that would help me identify those who might be susceptible to just a taste of corruption, which then could be parlayed into political leverage.

It is also a practice of long standing for me to look for opportunities for sexual encounters. Believe it or not, my employers strongly encourage this. Small countries are like small towns: everyone knows what everyone else is doing, and scandals spread quickly with explosive impact. The desire to avoid such a scandal can give us a powerful hold on someone.

Don't get me wrong here. We're all for democracy and human rights and all that stuff. We want pleasant, orderly, civilized countries in which to do business. But my employers didn't become billionaires by being altruists, you know what I mean?

Monday I had a full schedule of interviews. I put my foam sign with fancy graphics on the conference table, "PlanetaryConscience.org." My first appointment was with a middle-aged man and woman who had an organization set up to foster sustainable agriculture. This was routine, they would probably get some money, and I told them so. The next was a trio of youngsters, two men and a woman, who looked like part-time Rastas. Their dreads were a bit too spiffy and the clothing looked like it came from a chain store. They had a plan for a series of reggae concerts to promote human rights. I thought it was a silly idea, but I kept that to myself. Young people tend to be shapers of public opinion, and it could be good PR for my organization.

The third interview caught my interest. It was a woman in her forties, with big hips and bigger breasts, a dark brown complexion, shortish dreads, and a sensual smile that looked eminently kissable. She wore an elegant pearl-gray suit and heels, which made her about 5 and one half feet tall. Her name was Selene Sangster (apparently a distant relative of a former prime minister.) Her voice was mellifluous; her accent was less pronounced than that of the other applicants, or of the Bajans and Trinidadians I had seen the week before.

She had a plan to set up some sort of animal shelter, and wanted to buy land for it. A suitable plot of land was available adjacent to her home. I explained to her that normally we didn't get involved in animal issues. But then, putting on my most sincere face, I told her that this was just a formality; she could set up some sort of community group, get the grant, and then transfer the funds to her land purchase. She looked uncertain at this idea, but I smiled very reassuringly and told her, "It's my job to make sure that good people get the help they need." She rewarded me with a warm smile of her own, saying, "All right, Mr. LeMagne, I think you know what you are doing." And so the hook was set.

I gave her the paperwork, and asked her to return at the end of the week. On Friday she was right on time. She had set up a sort of dummy "community forum" group with a few friends who were helping her with the animal shelter. I wrote her a check then and there, and told her I would be back in Jamaica in three weeks. At that time I would need a progress report, and I would want a tour of her facility. She thanked me very earnestly, and promised she would fulfill my requirements to the letter. You don't know the half of it, I thought to myself, while smiling and shaking her hand.

I spent the next three weeks in Florida and the Bahamas. Then, again on a Sunday evening, I flew once more into Jamaica. The next morning I called Selene. It was pleasant to hear her musical voice once more. She said everything was going as planned, that she had purchased the property, and asked whether I might like to come by that afternoon to see it. "That would be perfect, Ms. Sangster" I replied. "I'll look forward to it."

I went out and took a walk, and then rented a car, a nice little Toyota with the steering wheel on the right, as is the case in many West Indian countries where they drive British-style, on the left of the road. I stopped at a little snackette for lunch, and then got back into the Toyota. I made my way through the bustling and somewhat anarchistic traffic of Kingston, dodging potholes everywhere. Before too long I was driving up winding roads into the green hills to the northeast of Kingston, to the neighborhood where Selene lived.

Selene had a little bungalow with a rude stone wall around it, with roses and short, bushy palms in the yard. She greeted me graciously at the door, showed me to her living room, and offered me a glass of mixed fruit juices, made locally. I accepted. As she went to the kitchen, I surveyed her home. The floor was spotless white tile, and there were some water-color paintings on the wall, along with some macramé hangings. She had a big comfortable couch, a coffee table that looked like it was made from native wood, and a set of wicker armchairs. She returned with the juice, and we made small talk as we drank it.

When we were finished, she asked, "Would you care to go see the land I have purchased?"

I replied, with a note of regret in my voice, "Well, Ms. Sangster, I'm afraid we can't do that just yet."

Puzzled, she said, "Why not?"

"I need to show you these." I placed two books on the coffee table.

Selene asked. "What are those?"

"Those two volumes contain the Jamaican laws which apply to fraud."

She looked alarmed. "Fraud?" she exclaimed.

"Ms. Sangster, I'm afraid our organization has very strict policies that apply to people who accept grant money from us, but use it for personal purposes. We would feel compelled to pursue legal remedies, and the penalties under Jamaican law would be quite severe."

She regarded me with astonishment. "But... I did just as you asked. You know I intend to build an animal shelter."

"It doesn't say anything about that in the documents you filed with us."

Selene muttered to herself, "What di backfoot?" Then her voice turned ice cold. "Mr. LeMagne, I feel that I have been deceived. What exactly do you want?"

I paused meaningfully and replied, "You."

Selene looked sharply at me, and emitted a quick, humorless laugh. "You've got to be joking," she sniffed.

I smiled. "Consider your options here, Selene. My organization has the best lawyers in the country. And we are known for our crusades against corruption."

Silence. Selene set her jaw grimly, and there was a curious gleam in her eye that perhaps was intended as defiance, but which I took to be fear.

"All right, Selene, enough chit-chat." I took a look at her. "Stand in the middle of the room," I said.

There was an ottoman over in front of an armchair. I pushed it across the floor to her. "Put one foot on this." Her eyes blazed, but she complied. She was trying to maintain her dignity, but in vain, as her raised leg pushed up her skirt, exposing the expanse of her dark brown thighs. I considered the tableau. Selene was wearing hand-tooled sandals, made of a kind of cherry-colored leather. Her sea-green skirt was bunched up nearly to her waist. Her white and gold embroidered blouse was striving to contain her more-than-ample bosom. She held her arms rigidly at her sides, to express her indignation.

I may have smirked. "Take off your skirt," I said.

"You fuckin' bastard," Selene replied, glaring. I grinned and stared her down. She lowered her eyes and began to undo the clasps on her skirt, until it came loose, slipped off her raised thigh, and fell to the floor. I picked up a chair and moved it so that I could sit a few feet away from her and have a good look.

My gaze traveled up from her polished toenails, lingered for a moment on her bountiful thighs, and then came to halt. She was wearing a lilac-colored thong that looked almost white against her dark skin. Tufts of her pubic hair were escaping around its edges (when I saw this unexpected delight, my cock came abruptly to life, straining against my pants.) The thong bulged outward from the plumpness of what lay beneath it, and most significantly, it was clearly wet. I had not expected this. There was a dark patch running right along the promised land. "Why, Selene!" I said softly, "Is your pussy wet?"

"No," she said sullenly.

"Are you quite sure?" I asked. Then I demanded, "Touch it."

She looked daggers at me, and I thought for a moment that she might refuse. Then, with an air of resignation, she brought her hand up and traced her second finger along the damp spot. I could see that her hand was trembling. She ran it slowly back and forth along the outside of her thong, which looked as if it were getting darker and wetter. And I saw that the movement of her hand was growing more agitated.

"You may stop, now, Selene," I said. Again she glared at me, perhaps because I was giving her orders -- or perhaps because she didn't want to stop? I pulled my chair closer. Her arms went rigidly to her sides again. I brushed my face lightly against her now-soggy thong, which was thrust forward by her awkward position. I looked up at her and she refused to meet my eyes. I noticed that the air was now suffused with the hot smell of her aroused cunt. I leaned forward and licked the outside of the thong, tasting the thick, syrupy wetness that had soaked through it. I dragged my tongue along the wet patch, and then opened my mouth wide, so that I could massage her vulva and clit through the fabric with my lips and tongue. I heard a strangled sound as she tried to suppress a moan.

I sat up in my chair and announced, "OK, Selene, you can make yourself cum." Selene looked at me and her eyes widened. Then she looked quickly away. A cloud of confusion passed over her face, and then slowly her face turned to a mask of concentration as she reached with her left hand to pull the thong aside, and her right hand went to work on her pussy.

Her cunt was exquisite. Her lips were dark and plump and hairy, and the hair was matted with her juices. I felt like I could cum just looking at it. Her fingers slowly plunged inside her lips, and then she withdrew them and, with fierce determination, began to attack her clit, her buttocks slowly clenching and her hips involuntarily bucking. And then, without warning, a spash of liquid emerged from her pussy. We both cried out at the same instant, as I fell to my knees, burying my face in her steaming cunt and struggling desperately to lap up every drop of it. Then I pulled away. We were both trembling now.

I took my seat once more. Selene looked at me uncertainly and then, summoning her resolve, she asked, "Are you quite finished?"

I thought her tone seemed a bit insolent. "No," I snapped. "Stay where you are." I rose to my feet so that I towered over her, and then walked toward her. She tried to withdraw her foot from ottoman, but quickly lunged toward her, seized her calf, and held her in place. She raised her hands as if to ward off a blow. I looked at her sternly and said, "Stop that. Be still." She stiffened, her arms once more at her sides.

I was having no more of her nonsense. I seized both sides of the collar of her blouse and tore it open down the front, scattering the buttons, then pulled it from her body. I took a moment to admire her big dark breasts, still barely confined by a lilac-colored brassiere that matched her panties. "Don't move," I said. I walked behind her and undid the clasp of her brassiere, removing it and tossing it on the couch. I stood behind her and reached forward for her breasts, lifting them in my hands and running my thumbs over her nipples. They were hard.

I walked around to the front once more and gazed at her. Her face was a curious mixture of defiance and humiliation. She was clad only in her panties and sandals, with her leg still propped on the ottoman, putting her crotch on display. I pulled my chair close to her and sat down. Then I put my mouth on her right nipple.

Selene gasped loudly and began to squirm, fighting for control. I turned my attention to her left breast, as my hand crept down inside her panties. My god, but her cunt felt glorious. It was swollen and gooey and offered no resistance to my exploring fingers. I kept my mouth on her left nipple and sucked hard. Involuntarily she murmured "Oh my god," and then I felt her body convulse.

At this point, I was beside myself. I pulled her panties down roughly, then stood up and hastily removed my trousers and underwear. Selene pleaded, "Don't," but I was already lifting her off the ground and carrying her to the couch. I threw her down upon the cushions, lifted her legs up over my shoulders, and entered her, driving my cock in to the hilt. She made no attempt to fight me now. I moved my cock in her slowly, deeply, deliberately, and she met each thrust. We were fucking like lovers. She dug her fingers into my shirt and didn't try to hide her climaxes. When I whispered to her that I was cumming, she came with me.

When it was over, I got up, wiped my cock on the wreckage of her blouse, and said, "Well, Selene, I believe that we can come to some sort of accommodation." She averted her eyes. "Please, just leave," she said, and so I did.

Thursday night I called her. "Ms. Sangster, I'll need to see you at the Imperial at 3:00 PM tomorrow." I heard a silence followed by the "click" of her hanging up. Nonetheless, I left a message at the front desk that she was to be sent to my room when she came.

At 3:00 the next day there was a knock on my door. I opened it, and Selene was there, wearing her gray suit again. That won't protect you, I thought to myself. I invited her to sit down at the table, where I had a bottle and two glasses. "Would you care for some rum?" I asked.

"I don't drink," said Selene coldly.

"That's fine, I'll have some then." I did.

"Mr. LeMagne, why did you ask me here?"

I grinned. "Why, Selene, I'm starting to take quite a liking to you."

She glanced at me and said matter-of-factly, "I wouldn't spit on you to put out a fire."

I put a cautionary note in my voice. "You wouldn't like living in prison, either." She was stubbornly silent after that.

I finished my drink, and went to lie on the bed. I said sardonically, "Selene, you are looking very professional today." She winced at the double entendre. "Let's see what sort of panties you are wearing."

Without making eye contact, she walked toward the bed. Then she gestured toward the open balcony doors, and in a flat, affectless voice, she said, "Must these be open?"

I replied firmly, "Yes, I want to share the joy with our neigbors. They need a little something to brighten their day." She shot me a look of utter contempt, and then she removed her suit jacket, and then her skirt. Her panties were flame red, and the contrast with her dark thighs was arresting. "Come here, Selene," I said. "I want a closer look."

Silently, she climbed onto the bed and knelt above my face. Even as she approached I could see that her panties were completely wet. I could even see wetness on her thighs along the edges of her panties. "Closer," I commanded. Unbidden, she began to rub her pantied crotch slowly to and fro over my mouth and nose. I licked the juices from her thighs. I caught a bit of the red fabric in my lips and began to suck the pussy juice from it. She slowed her motion to allow me to do it. I began to explore the bulge in her panties with my mouth, gently seeking her vulva and clit.

Abruptly she pulled away. I was about to admonish her, but she quickly stripped off her panties and knelt once more above my face. What I saw drove me half-mad with lust. Her cunt was magnificent, gaping and distended, her big, hairy vulva dark as night, with flashes of pink from the interior. Her pubic hair was laden everywhere with thick globs of pussy juice. I was desperate to eat her, but she stayed just out of range. She dipped two of her fingers inside, and brought them out coated with her creamy juices. She offered them to my lips, and I sucked them like a man possessed. Then, with a groan, she lowered her cunt to my face, moving it passionately against my mouth as I sucked her. My tongue went deep inside her and then swirled in lazy circles around her clit, until a little wail escaped her lips, and suddenly a cascade of her juices was spilling into my mouth and over my face.

I continued to eat her, reveling in her smell, her taste, her texture, as her climax subsided. Then, by some unspoken agreement, we both rose to shed our clothing. Selene had only her blouse, brassiere and heels to remove, so she finished first. She lay on the bed with her thighs akimbo, pinching her nipples with both hands. I straddled her belly and rubbed my rigid cock all over her tits. She would not look me in the eye, but she captured my cock between her enormous breasts and encouraged me to fuck her there. I did for a moment, but I needed her cunt.

Like before, I hoisted her legs over my shoulders, and then suddenly I drove my cock deep into her molten center. She cast a panic-stricken glance toward the open balcony doors, but could not help but cry out loudly as an orgasm overtook her. Then she she began to fuck me urgently, speaking feverishly in Patois. "Gimmi di cock! Tear out mi pussy! Push di cock nuh bwoy! Push it, push it in!"

I could not believe how wonderful her cunt felt, as its wetness gripped and caressed my cock with each thrust. She pulled my head down to bite her nipples as we fucked with mad ferocity. Biting her nipples made her cum loudly again.

I felt my own climax about to erupt. At the last minute, I pulled out and shot spurt after spurt of semen upon her tits and face. She craned her neck to catch some of it in her mouth.

Afterwards, she got out of the bed, went to wash up in the bathroom, and then dressed herself and departed without saying a word. I did not call her again.

Two months later I returned to Kingston. I was eating lunch at an outdoors cafe when I saw Selene across the street. She saw me as well, and with a determined look, she began to make her way across the busy street, dodging cars and motorbikes, and clambering over the bougainvillia in the median strip. Finally she walked up to the table and spoke softly and seriously to me. "I thought that you ought to know that you are going to be a father."

An unfamiliar sensation swept over me. It was remorse. I almost stammered, "Damn. Selene, I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I've wanted a child for years. I'm actually grateful to you for getting me pregnant." Her eyes narrowed. "You're still a treacherous, deceitful bastard. But for the child, I'm grateful." And with that, she walked away.

I was stunned. I walked the streets around the hotel for a few hours, and then I returned and went upstairs, where I wrote a check for $70,000 to her bogus community group. In the memo section I put "children's education fund." Then I posted it to her.

Three days later there came a knock on my hotel room door. I went to answer, and it was Selene. I was about to ask her why she had come, but she put a finger to her lips. She led me to an armchair and sat me down, then knelt before me and unzipped my pants. My cock sprang to life at her touch. With no preliminaries, she took me deep into her mouth as I cried out in pleasure. Without pausing, she somehow managed to wriggle her panties down around her knees, and I saw her right hand working vigorously between her own legs. She sucked my cock with slow, powerful strokes, and soon she had me careening toward orgasm. "I'm... going to cum...," I managed to gasp, as she made a deep growling sound of satisfaction and swallowed spurt after spurt of my seed. Then she reached up and smeared her thick pussy juice all around my mouth. And finally, she bent down and kissed me sweetly, her tongue caressing mine -- the one thing I had never dared demand of her. Then she smiled, and walked out of my life.

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