The Visitor

Author's note: This short vacuous historical stroker is fiction. All players are humans over age 18. Tags: Old Mexico, double dildo, servant, duenna, laundry. If you are offended, stop reading now. Views expressed may not be the author's. Details may be incorrect. Consider the story as translated from Spanish. Enjoy!

A foreign trader comes to the capitol.

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== 01 == ARRIVAL ==

This day before the June solstice in the year of our lord 1795 here in the great capitol of New Spain was hot, of course. The wet season was past. A mile and a half in the sky, this high, dry air already bore its summer smell. Mounts Popocatepetl and Iztaccihuatl gazed smokily on us sinners, have mercy.

My confessions are dull. The priest must fall asleep when I tell my little tales.

I sat beside my faithful girl Xochimitl, my Indio servant, on the balcony of my upstairs bedroom overlooking the cobbled calle. Plodding people and an occasional noisy cart or wagon moved beneath us. We paid little attention, being busy with my study — me reading passages from the weary tome on the table, she quizzing me on what I must learn to satisfy the nuns.

Literate and numerate servants are such a blessing so long as they stay honest. Paid clerks or tutors would cost Father much more. Xochimitl claims to be a Mixteco minor princess. They must be fairly common and cheap or Father would not have bought me one, ¿sí? But she is pretty for an Indio, and loyal. I value loyalty.

Xochimitl and I, our feet bare, wore only simple unbelted cotton shifts for decency and ventilation in the heat. My balcony's tightly-woven railing guards us from most upturned eyes but we still cannot be naked here. Except on moonless nights. After the bats roost.

I do not mention bats in my confessions. I do not remember dreams of bats, have mercy.

A detail on the street caught my attention — not for what was there, but what was missing. Sound was missing. I saw coming from the west into town a modest wagon drawn by two sturdy horses almost silently, without the terrible screech of raw axles or the usual rocky bouncing and rattling on cobbles. But this was no noble's or bishop's fine coach, only a light wagon.

The driver was a striking man wearing tight buckskins so pale they were almost white. His sharp-featured face was not like the hidalgos, Indios, mestizos, or others here. He looked weather-worn, not old. And he stopped just next door!

Father is an important knight and owns a good plot of land a league west of Ciudad de México's central distinct. The damn English would call that three miles. Our hacienda sits so our street balconies are shaded from the summer sun. Smaller casas with gated courtyards sit on either side of Father's big house. All our houses are behind a street wall, of course, and walled from each other.

Father gave the larger house nearer the city to Jaime and Julio, our foul cousins and their worthless broods from Puebla. He gave the westerly house to Dulcia and Rosa, sweet unwed cousins from Acapulco on the Mare Pacifica. Horses and goats graze the pasture behind our houses, past our herb and flower gardens.

The wagoneer reigned-in next door at Dulcia and Rosa's gate. Curiosity took me. I quit my studying, peered over the balcony railing, and heard the man pull the gate's bell chain.

"Look there," I told patient Xochimitl. "I wonder at his purpose."

From my oblique angle I could not see who answered the gate. I saw the man pass papers in, followed by a long, slender box. I heard a woman squeal and saw Dulcia move out to embrace the man. She opened the gate. He smoothly drove into the cobbled courtyard.

I padded inside and peeked from my open bedroom window overlooking them. Quiet Xochimitl stood beside me. The man unhitched his horses, led them in back for the groom Diego to tend, and returned. Dulcia brought Rosa from their house; she embraced him, too. The man handed a cloth bundle from the wagon to Rosa. She and Dulcia, wearing white blouses and long flowery skirts, each held a hand of the man and led him to steps descending to the spring pool. Dulcia still held the slim package.

Many town women rely on church or public fountains for drinking and washing water. Not us. Dulcia and Rosa's house sits above a spring with an enclosed pool a few varas (yards) wide. Reinforced walls rise on three sides of the tiled pool and deck surround. The far side is open to admit light and watch the pasture and beyond but is fairly hidden from outside.

The trickle is sufficient. We all drink fresh spring water. They launder in the pool. Runoff feeds gardens and pasture. Nothing goes to waste.

Why would the cousins take this strange man there?

I felt sneaky. "Let us spy on them," I told Xochimitl. "Come on to the viewing slot."

Our houses may be separate but not totally. Narrow stairs in a twisty passageway dropped to a nook where we could peer into the secluded cavern and inhale its cool air.

Women living along New Spain's river or lake shores launder in naked groups, swimming with soaped clothes, gossiping and laughing. Dulcia and Rosa laundered naked in the pool and Xochimitl and I often swam there. I watched them and the man now — they all stripped to the skin. Rosa took the finely-muscled man's buckskins and soaked those and the clothes from his bundle in a scrub basin.

The three slipped into the tiled pool. Dulcia touched the man, and embraced and kissed him. Rosa joined them, all wrapped close together, their mouths united. I felt warm.

They stood. Rosa and the man suckled Dulcia's plump breasts. He and Dulcia nursed at Rosa. She sighed and, after a short while, led them from the pool to sit on the smoothly tiled deck. She opened the mysterious slender package and held what looked like a carved rod of burnished ivory as long as an arm, slightly curved, maybe as thick as two fingers, with knobs at each end like mitres, bishops' hats, each about as thick as two thumbs..

"What is that?" I whispered to Xochimitl.

"I have a suspicion," she whispered back,

We could not really hear them talk and they probably could not hear our voices but why risk alerting them?

The naked cousins sat facing each other, thighs and vulvas spread wide, butts almost touching. The naked man held the rod to Dulcia; she drooled saliva on one knob. Rosa wetted the other end. They lay back. The man slid Rosa's end into Dulcia's vagina and, with a bit of pushing, the end she had mouthed went into Rosa. He crouched beside their knees and worked the rod back and forth, in and out of them, not too fast.

"I suspected correctly," Xochimitl whispered. "A crafted double penis lets two women pleasure each other almost as men would, but at their own pace. He will help, I am sure."

The naked cousins set up a slow rhythm with their bodies, flexing their thighs and bellies in coordination, working the rod back and forth, in and out, slowly at first, and then faster and deeper, a more insistent pace. The man's fingers brushed their love-buttons. Their own fingers squeezed their nipples. Soon Rosa squealed, then Dulcia, and Rosa again, and on and on, many times each. Sounds of happy pain echoed in the enclosure.

I felt warm. I felt wet. I breathed faster.

Loyal Xochimitl sensed my arousal. I did not resist when she pulled my light shift over my head and then hers, leaving us both naked. Her fingers circled my nipples. Ahh. Her teeth softly bit my neck. Ohh. Her diamond-tipped pomegranate breasts pressed into my back; her hips swayed; her pubic hair bristled my buttocks. Ahhh. I fingered my vulva, one finger inside, two, three, deeper. Ohhh. My other hand covered my mouth to stifle a cry.

The three below had not finished. The excited cousins sat and continued their artificial fornication. The strange man stood by Rosa's face. She took his long, hard, slightly curving penis into her mouth. After some time he moved to Dulcia. She mouthed his manhood too. He did not press into her but I saw his ass muscles twitch.

My muted cry rolled into a long moan. Xochimitl squeezed and bit harder. Ahhhhh...

The cousins pressed together, with Dulcia almost in Rosa's lap, so their faces touched. The man's engorged penis was there for their mouths to worship. They licked along his shaft, tussled over his head, took turns swallowing him shallowly and deeply. Dulcia's lips pushed to his pubes and stayed there well over a minute. Rosa inhaled him just as deeply and held even longer. I was amused by their contest.

Dulcia captured the contested penis once again and did not release it. I saw the man hold her head and violently stroked into her like a dog mating in the street. His tight ass muscles twitched and clenched, and he jetted his seed into her. Rosa pushed her cousin aside and took the still-gushing penis into her own mouth to drink the last drops.

I pulled my fingers from my abused vulva. Xochimitl took my hand and licked my fingers. You can see why I value her loyalty.

The man stayed in Rosa's mouth awhile, his hands stroking her cheeks softly, and then he took a step back, knelt, removed the rod from their vaginas, and offered it to the cousins to taste their gathered juices. Each licked. He kissed their mouths, sharing their flavors.

The three stood. Mischievous Rosa led them back into the pool where they wetly embraced and kissed. Then the cousins went to the scrub basins and worked on laundry. The man stood and climbed the steps back to the courtyard.

"What now?" I breathlessly asked Xochimitl. She thoughtfully gathered our discarded shifts; we ran unclothed and barefoot up that narrow, twisted stairway and into my rooms.

From the window overlooking the cousins' courtyard we saw the naked man walk to his wagon. His face and hands were tanned deeper than his body — he looked darker than a Spaniard but lighter than an Indio. He dressed in fresh buckskins from the wagon, with light boots and a tooled belt laden with pouches and a sheathed long knife.

He looked to me like a wild gentleman. His trousers bulged at his crotch. He moved easily.

Dulcia and Rosa, naked and damp but not dripping, climbed the steps from the pool's cavern. They spoke softly to the man and led him, carrying a valise, through their house's entry. Would he take a room, then? Was he a guest? That was my guess.

The man was alluring. The performance by the pool was provocative. My reaction and delight, helped by Xochimitl, was damning. My next confession would entertain the priest.

Donning our shifts again, we resumed my study. I sternly forced myself to concentrate. The distraction remained in my mind. Xochimitl did not chide me, of course. Servants must take care there.

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== 02 == INTERVIEW ==

Xochimitl dressed me for decency in wide plain skirts, a loose white blouse, and my lacy mantilla. I could face my strict duenna Domenica. Whenever I and a man other than Father or my usually absent older brother Simeon was present, so was Domenica. She called me to the great room. I stood primly before her, my hands clasped.

"Your cousins next door are rooming a houseguest, a Señor Reynaud, some sort of Frenchman. He is highly recommended as a tutor by good friends in Acapulco. Your father will interview him later but I wish to prepare for his possible employment. You may ask any questions you wish."

Father's factotum Miguel ushered-in the man. Dressed now in somber dark woolens, he bowed respectfully to us. We sat, Domenica at her secretaire desk, me beside her. He remained standing. Domenica took the lead.

"Our associates speak highly of your character and knowledge, Señor Reynaud. Please tell the esteemed Señorita Paloma and me about yourself."

Spanish words danced with an intriguing lilt on his smooth baritone voice.

"My ladies, a fine day to you. I am Emile Reynaud, called French but I am a Quebecois Métis, from far northeast of here, my home now taken by the damn English, pardon my language. I was raised at a mission near Montreal and trained as a mathematicus but that does not pay well and I would rather not cast horoscopes so I make my way as a trader. I have traded in the Yankee lands, and across Canada, and most recently down the Mare Pacifica coast."

"What do you trade?" I asked. His loose trousers mostly concealed his bulge. I noticed.

"My esteemed Señorita, I endeavor to learn what people have too much of somewhere, and too little of elsewhere, and then to match them. Many want the new, the different, or distant. Those in the north want southern goods; those in the interior want coastal goods; and so forth.

"This year I reached Russian outposts far north of here. I traded Yankee goods for otter pelts there and while sailing down the coast, and sold the pelts in Acapulco to merchants who will trade for much reward in China when the fleet sails east."

Thus he had money. "Your wagon is so quiet," I said. "Did you trade much for it?"

"I profited nicely in Acapulco," he smiled, "and ordered a wagon re-built as by some Yankees, with thick leather supporting the body and wheels. I have learned to value, but not to require, comfort and quiet. Life contains enough else." I watched his grey eyes.

"What will you trade here," Domenica asked, "and with whom?" She was less rigid now.

"Immediately, I hope to exchange tutoring your esteemed Señorita Paloma for lodging with the ladies in the adjacent house, who they say are in your master's debt. When not so occupied, I will inquire about possibilities. Everyone wants something."

I wanted something but I could not speak of that now so I controlled myself. No, do not lean forward to display cleavage! Do not strengthen his lump! That long, thin bump...

"Your Spanish is quite good, Señor," Domenica said, "almost Castilian.". Growing approval softened her sternness.

"Madama, I was blessed with strenuous teachers at the mission, nuns from France, Spain, and Ireland. They strongly encouraged me to master their own tongues as well as Latin and English. I did not much care for Greek and it did not care for me. Sister Deidre discovered my talent in mathematica and provided training."

Strenuous encouragement with a baton, I suspected, if his teaching nuns were like mine.

"What do you offer to teach me, Señor? I have read geometria and arithmetica and some of infinitesimals. I have learned much but I have no interest in counting money."

Servants and clerks can deal with accounting. Cosmic harmonies entice me. And his bulge.

"I know enough of economic management to trade well but that is not what I teach," he said. He mentioned dimensions, regressions, analyses, and more themes that excited me.

I saw forms and formulae in my mind's eye. And his bulge. I visualized right through his woolens. Silly me. I *must* concentrate on his words.

Domenica raised her eyebrows at me, clearly seeking my view. I hope she did not see how unsettled I was. I gathered myself.

"That sounds excellent," I said. "What texts will I need?"

"Some works should be available from the Royal University."

He named a few titles. Domenica's quill scratched ink on a note scrap.

"Fine. Father has influence there. He must approve, of course."

"I am sure he will raise no objection," my duenna said. "Very impressive, Señor Reynaud."

She stood and offered her hand. He kissed it. I stood also but I knew better than to let him touch me in her presence. She rang the bell at her secretaire. Miguel appeared and ushered Señor Reynaud out. Domenica regarded me.

"He is dangerous but may be useful," she said. "We will proceed cautiously. You may go."

I climbed to my rooms. Xochimitl restored me to a simple shift. We studied on the balcony and once again ignored what noise rose from the street. I could almost focus on the text.

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== 03 == EDUCATION ==

Tutoring began two days later after Domenica, with Father's seal of authority, obtained needed texts from the Royal University's philosophers. She observed over her needlework as Señor Reynaud spoke of principles and details to me and Xochimitl, my study aide, sitting at the great room's study table. He sketched equations and riddles for me to solve.

We all behaved with great propriety. How tedious!

A week passed, and another, and Domenica seemed to lower her guard. Then came the day Dulcia from next door came to talk softly with my duenna. They giggled. What? And Dulcia produced a large bottle of wine, probably that strong blend from Jerez infused with hemp oil that she preferred. She poured tall glasses for them and short glasses for me and my servant.

Domenica sipped deeply and loosened-up, indeed. She peered at Dulcia.

"You never told me," my duenna asked, "why you welcomed Señor Reynaud here when you knew nothing about him."

Dulcia blushed. "Rosa and I have family of course and also friends in Acapulco. And an intimate friend. They sent an intimate gift as well as written recommendations. And so..."

She blushed even more deeply and then straightened herself. "And so, here he is, a most kind gentleman with much to tell and teach."

"Intimate gift?" Domenica's eyes wobbled only a little. The wine was affecting her.

Señor Reynaud read her mood, smiled, and reached into his tote bag overflowing with papers and such. He produced another double-ended rod like the first but of lighter color.

"A gift such as this," he said. "With it, women need not be dominated by men in order to attain fulfillment without the risk of el embarazo, pregnancy, or even of unwanted male touches. No man's hand or body need abuse a lady. No sin need be committed.

"These are among my trade goods from the Russian outposts to our far north. The people there, called the Esquimau, carve these from tusks of great seals and use them for secure pleasure. Esquimau men give their wives to visitors but that is another matter." He smiled.

"My esteemed Señorita should not see that!" Domenica exclaimed. "It is, it is..." She sighed. "It is like what the nuns use. It is not for us."

"There is no need for qualms," he said. "I will not touch anyone. Please allow me to demonstrate. Come, my lady, raise your skirts and sit on this table. Xochimitl, sit before the modest Domenica, yes, with your femininity exposed. Yes, closer, even closer. That is good. Feel this now."

He dipped the knobby ends into his unemptied wine glass. He inserted one knob into Domenica's vagina and, with some little wiggling, the other knob into Xochimitl. His hand had touched neither, have mercy. Their thighs twinged. He rhythmically moved the rod between them.

"Touch yourselves," he said, a command, almost a whisper. Xochimitl sent one hand to her love button, the other under her blouse to one nipple and then the other. Domenica did likewise, by instinct, I think. Like their rocking movements.

I watched, entranced. I touched myself; I could do no less. And cousin Dulcia held me and touched me, and I touched her. Our clothes were askew. Did she gratify me as I nursed on her? Maybe.

I longed for Señor Reynaud — I dared not familiarly call him Emile — to touch me, to satisfy me, to offer his strong penis to me so I could satisfy him. Impossible here, of course. All I could do was watch my servant and my duenna fornicate each other, and touch my cousin.

Emile's eyes caught me. He saw into me. I saw into him. I blushed, but with lust, not shame. Cousin Dulcia nursed on me now. Ooohhh...

Domenica and Xochimitl both cried out at the same time. Their thrashings stopped. They lay quietly, breathing deeply, with slight muscle spasms. My duenna rose first. The rod popped from her and extended obscenely from Xochimitl.

"Clean the table," she ordered my servant. "We must leave no trace. Señor Reynaud, this has been very educational. Let us return to your lessons." She smoothed her long skirts and showed a strong face. "Your mathematical lessons, that is. And thank you so much, my lady Dulcia. This would not have been possible without you."