El Mariachi Finds His Match

by Azteca Honeybee

Juana sat down on the couch and crossed her legs. The travel-worn guitarist gazed at her, for she was resplendent in ankle-length black velvet. "I have a bottle of mescal," he said, a slight tremor in his deep voice. "Would you like a drink?"

She shook her head. "I only want you, caro."

Slowly, enjoying his view of her, he came to join her on the couch. Immediately, they reached for each other, holding each other tightly, sighing in guarded contentment. "Are you for real, Juanita?" he asked softly. "I thought women like you were just the dreams of caballeros."

"I'm as real as you are, caro."

"I'm not a hero. I'm nothing, really. Why do you choose me?"

"Because you are what you are, and that enthralls me." Juana wound her fingers into his thick hair. "I am here, and I will be here for you. I love you, and that is all that matters to me."

El Mariachi stroked his callused fingertips against her soft face. "I don't deserve this," he said. "I don't deserve that you should love me."

"Let me judge that."

With that, Juana launched herself into his lap and kissed him with a blazing ferocity. She held his face in her hands as her lips covered his mouth, her searching tongue white hot against his, demanding his surrender. El Mariachi yelped happily in surprise, finding himself so delightfully buried under his Juana, before he was sucked into the tremendous wave of uncompromising desire spreading through his body. Juana did not relent, smothering him in the urgency of her kiss, her savage intensity increasing hiss own sensual fury so long denied.

Pulling the black velvet of her dress up above her shapely thighs, Juana could move her legs more freely. She positioned herself accessibly in El Mariachi's lap, spreading her legs to either side of his quivering body. A wanton prisoner of Juana's abandon, El Mariachi brought his shaking hands against her sensuous thighs, feeling the soft suede of her thigh-high boots next to her warm flesh. This thought, Juana's eroticism, her sexual confidence, brought his troubled mind to a complete stop.

Juana wrapped her legs around his middle, holding him firmly as she brought the thin lace of her panties against the stiffness of his arousal. El Mariachi gasped for breath between her ferocious kisses, grabbing her body tightly as she began to slide off his lap. She rubbed her covered, well-defined bosom into his face gently, increasing his tremendous hunger for her. When he would have carried her to the bedroom, she stopped him. "No, caro," she said breathily. "Please trust me."

Deliriously curious, he leaned back again, surrendering to Juana. The guitarist gaped as Juana quickly pulled her dress over her head and threw it on the floor behind her, revealing small bits of strategically placed black lace. Now he sat wholly possessed by his ravaging desire as Juana writhed sensually in front of him, lifting her mass of copper curls above her head and letting it fall about her shoulders, like a waterfall. It was an erotic dance, inspired by El Mariachi and for his eyes alone. "Are you trying to drive me mad?" he gasped.

"Mad isn't a bad place to be." She deftly unbuttoned his black shirt and pulled it away from his body. Licking her lips with a hungry gleam in her emerald eyes, she began to lick his flesh, flicking her tongue over his erect nipples and moving her way all along the exposed skin of his solid torso. He moaned ecstatically with each quick, deliberate motion of her tongue, and he eyed her breasts hungrily, trapped within their lace prisons. He yearned to feel her catlike tongue all over his body; he wanted to be consumed by her.

Juana raised herself up and removed her black bra, tossing it across the room. El Mariachi made a mad grab for her smooth breasts as she stroked his hair, letting it fall through her fingers. "Good boy," she murmured. Teasingly, she grabbed his hands and held them above him firmly. She brought her breasts into his face, drawing away just beyond the reach of his tongue as he would have tasted her. He fought mockingly for her to release his hands, yet Juana, with a sly grin, kept him prisoner. She teased him several times, letting him moan in frustrated ecstasy, before finally letting his hands free. She pressed her breasts into his face and allowed him to have his pleasure, sucking her swollen nipples into his hot mouth as he caressed the firm globes with his fingers.

While El Mariachi was completely occupied with her breasts, Juana unfastened his tight black jeans and, lifting herself slightly, worked to draw them down his long legs. He looked up into her face, his eyes sparkling, suddenly realizing he was naked beneath her. "How did you do that?" he wondered, panting, and she gave him a clever smile.

She pressed herself against him firmly, writhing gently, using her own body to massage his. He leaned his head back, sweat pouring from his brow, as she lifted herself quickly and tore the flimsy lace from between her legs. He was caught by surprise when he suddenly felt himself slipping into her, into the exquisite softness between her black boot tops, and then into the undeniable dance her gyrations invited him to make with her.

El Mariachi would ask his Juanita, his querida, afterwards, how she had managed this, how she had taken him like this, without his even knowing what was happening. And he would ask her to do it again, if she would. But now, with her naked body sitting full in his lap, bringing him to ecstasy, he no longer cared about the how or why, only that by some fortune she was his