by Asa Akira
Geez Louise, do I need to loosen up, she thought. Luckily for her, Becca and Erica were helpful new roomies who offered to share some of their more suitable clothing for clubbing and partying in a Mexican paradise. Nervously outfitted in a tube top and some daisy dukes, Carla embarked on her first night out in Cancun, with Becca and Erica leading the way.
Their first stop was Señor Frog’s, the premier destination spot for American tourists in Mexico. As they entered, “The Thong Song” by Sisqo was playing loudly over the speakers. Carla’s eyes widened as she saw a row of varying butts, out of their shorts and skirts, on display on the main stage.
“Show us your goods, ladies!” shouted a Mexican bartender into a megaphone. “Best thong gets free shots for an hour!”
Screaming and madness filled the bar, and everyone was smiling, laughing, and getting absolutely shit-faced. Not wanting to be left behind, Carla decided to take two shots with her roommates, before losing them in the crowd. Pushing her way through the sea of sweaty coeds, she found herself in the front row of onlookers, staring up at the all the butts, the club lights glistening, highlighting the wave of pleasant posteriors gyrating above the crowd. She saw guys slapping some of the nice butts, and secretly wanted to participate. They were so soft and bouncy and welcoming. She had always been attracted to girls, but had no way to express it in her conservative hometown. What the hell? she thought, feeling the effects of two shots, and started smacking butts as well.
Suddenly, a random guy close to the stage tapped Carla’s arm and motioned for her to come up. “Get up there, girl!” he yelled, vigorously beckoning her. “Get your ass up there!”
The guy started pulling her up to the stairs before Carla could even react. She got up on stage and squeezed in among the fifteen or so other chicks already on stage, thongs out, asses in the air. Carla forgot that she wasn’t wearing a thong, but her full-bottomed, boy-style panties instead. A warm wave of embarrassment washed over her as the fact suddenly dawned on her. Feeling stupid, she looked to her right to see the guy that brought her up on stage motioning wildly for her to drop trou.
Fuck it! she thought, not only pulling down her shorts, but her juvenile panties, mooning the whole crowd. As wild and liberating as it was for Carla, most of the drunken revelers didn’t even notice the difference between her full ass cheeks out and the girls next to her with thongs up their cracks. She reveled in the thrill of simultaneously getting her butt rubbed by the crowd and rubbing other girls’ butts while she was up there.
A cute chick with short blonde-streaked brown hair won the Thong Contest, and she was paraded around the stage holding an oversized cup of alcohol with Mardi Gras-style beads coming out of it. Ew, gross, Carla drunkenly thought of the beads and liquor in the same cup. Then she spotted Patrick—Paddy—sitting at a table with guy friends. He did a double-take and immediately jumped up to greet her.
“Hey cutie,” he said. “Funny seeing you here.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Carla could tell he was just as buzzed as she was.
Liquid courage came over her as she blurted out, “You’re so cute yourself. Wanna make out or something?”
Carla’s awkwardly direct approach made Paddy laugh. They walked outside as he motioned something to his boys about being right back. Suddenly, he stopped and turned to Carla, aggressively pressing his face up against hers to make out with her. He had big, full lips and warm arms and shoulders. His tank top allowed Carla to feel on his muscles as they kissed, while his hands started making their way down to her daisy dukes. As the kissing grew more passionate, he began to unbutton them.
Carla pulled away to get air and they made eye contact as he slipped his hand, palm side up, into the front of her panties. He touched her pussy lips, his middle and index fingers sliding around the edge of her before slowly making their way up and in. Carla gasped a little. They continued kissing and the more she let go, the more she enjoyed his fingers inside her. But when Patrick started unbuttoning the fly of his cargo shorts, Carla pulled away, immediately turned off.
“Where are you going?” he confusedly exclaimed.
“I … uh … I just … I just can’t do this out here,” Carla said as she made her way back to the main street, leaving Paddy with his dick in hand. Clearly confused, he yelled something incoherent from the dock zone as he fidgeted to get his shorts zipped up. Carla looked back one last time before venturing to find her hotel roommates.
Their next preplanned Mexican group adventure was a boat ride to Isla Mujeres—Women Island. There would be more drinking contests, more teens from all over America, and more opportunities for debauchery.
As soon as they docked, the teens scrambled to a giant stage set-up where an emcee was already giving party commands to drink and flash boobs for those Mardi Gras-style beads. Carla, once again, quickly became separated from Becca and Erica—who were really only looking out for each other—leaving her alone in a sea of strangers. She decided to get drunk as soon as possible and let the liquor lead the way.
Pin-balling from body to body, Carla found herself face to face with a short, spiky-haired young guy who immediately began making out with her. Blink-182, she thought to herself, and, before she knew it, he was leading her by the hand to a bathroom stall.
The gel in his spiked black hair was starting to melt in the heat of the night and she instinctively started using toilet paper covers to wipe him down so he wouldn’t sweat on her. This time, though, she was undeterred, and it seemed suddenly they were having sex, right there in the bathroom stall on the Isla Mujeres. She panicked for a second and looked down, relieved to see a condom on him as his hard dick went in and out of her
Relief turned to excitement as she continued bouncing on his cock. He was surprisingly strong for his frame, holding her up and bouncing her with each thrust.
Suddenly, a worker from the small island popped his head over the stall they were in. He laughed maniacally, saying something Carla couldn’t understand en español. The two teens, surprised, broke away from each other, buttoned up, and went back outside where the party was raging. But they were still drunk and hornier than ever, so without thinking, they urgently searched for a more clandestine sex spot, stumbling upon a dingy boat pulled way up on shore. It looked like a decoration prop for the party happening close by, it was pulled so far up shore. And to Carla’s drunken eyes, with all sorts of campy nets and buoy stuff, it seemed fake enough to have real sex in.
“Look, it’s not a real boat,” she blurted, yanking his arm. “We can do it in there!” Just as suddenly, she stopped and whipped around to her newfound fuck-buddy, looking him squarely in the eye. “Wait, what’s your name, even?”
“Oh, now you wanna know?” He laughed before noticing that she was serious. “Jacob Taylor,” he said, trying to affect some seriousness as he stuck out his hand.
“Hi,” she said, shaking his hand with drunken vigor. “And, uh …” She searched for an obvious question; there had to be one. “Where are you from?”
He looked at her questioningly and chuckled. “San D,” he said, then waited a beat to see if that was all. She averted her eyes to the upper left searching for more, when Jacob Taylor from San D grabbed her by her waist and began making out with her again.
What’s with meeting cocky guys from California? she wondered. As the making out turned back into full on fucking, that same worker again popped up again to spoil their private party, interrupting with that same ridiculous laughter. This time, though, Carla could make out some words—something about needing to hurry up and get back to the main area because everyone was loading the main boat to go back to Cancun!
Thank you, three years of AP Spanish, she thought as she and Jacob Taylor jumped up out of the boat, which Carla maintained was a fake, and ran back as quickly as they could to the boat headed back to Cancun.
The final two days of their debauched Mexican vacation was approaching. Carla headed out one evening to get food and wander around. Bored, she decided to drink two giant margari
tas and a tequila shot at what had become her favorite little coffee shop and was immediately buzzed.
Letting the liquor lead the way, she walked around until she came across a giant super club that was trying to resemble a rave. There were go-go dancers painting on people’s bodies with glow-in-the-dark paint. There were whistles being blown to the beat of the music, there were guys doing light shows with neon lit-up accessories. It was strange, but in keeping with her carefree attitude, she walked right in and joined in the fun.
Carla was unsure of how much time she spent there, but she did come out with a giant glow-in-the-dark sun painted on her back and to the realization that it was now nighttime. Many more people were out, making it much easier to get lost in the crowd.
Carla boarded a tourist taxi bus and was approached by two men that sat on either side of her. They were Mexican locals, she could tell, and they were talking to her in Spanish. Emboldened by liquid courage, Carla enthusiastically engaged in a broken, drunken Spanish conversation with them. As they laughed, the men moved closer, putting their arms around her, suggestively grazing her arms and legs. The other American teens on the bus looked at Carla with concern. One girl called out to her, “Are you okay? Do you want to be with them?”
“Yeah,” Carla responded, waving them off. “I’m fine.” But even she didn’t believe herself when she heard how blurred her words sounded coming out.
Despite her better judgment, Carla exited the tourist taxi bus with the two men and as they walked, they started playing with her hair, kissing her neck, letting their hands explore. Carla’s earlier enthusiasm had morphed into serious discomfort when all of a sudden, a tall, muscular man with dark curly hair and a baseball cap scooped her up from the ground and threw her over his shoulder. From the mount of his shoulder she saw him push the two local men down by their foreheads. “Get outta here!” he bellowed loudly as the two men scattered. “You don’t wanna go with them, sweetheart,” he said to Carla over his shoulder. “They were taking you to the real Cancun. The Cancun that tourists don’t come back from.”
His words sent a chill down Carla’s spine as she recalled the early warnings they’d all received about staying in the Zona Hotelera, or Hotel Zone of Cancun and never going into the real city.
“O-okay,” she managed. “Th-thank you.” How will I pay this handsome stranger back for rescuing me from certain rape, she thought, or … death?
They ended up at his hotel overlooking the beautiful sparkling lagoon of Cancun. He looked like a bro version of Superman, all tall, muscular, and strapping. The encounter and subsequent thoughts of what might’ve happened if her hero hadn’t come along had killed Carla’s buzz. But as he continued giving Carla safety tips, she was becoming enamored. Carla kept asking him his name, which was John or Jack or something she swore started with a J. John, or Jack, was good humored about it.
What’s in a name, she thought, chuckling. John, or Jack, chuckled with her, having no idea what it was she was laughing at, but being sexy nonetheless. One thing was certain—he was like no other man she had ever known. High school boys were wimps; they had no balls. They certainly wouldn’t endeavor to rescue her like that.
She could tell John or Jack was a grown man—especially with his huge body on top of hers. She kept feeling his broad shoulders and hairy chest. He pumped away almost as if she wasn’t there. And as he thrust his impressively large cock into her, she looked over the details of his body almost as if he wasn’t there, either. It was the most disconnected sex Carla had ever experienced—not that she had much to which she could compare it. Nevertheless, she wasn’t sure who either of them were having sex with, because it wasn’t each other.
After showering and getting redressed, she let her hero walk her down to the lobby as he hailed the tourist taxi bus. She waved goodbye to him and though it seemed logical to return to her hotel room and go to sleep, she was feeling invigorated and awake; ready for more action.
Back in club Dady’O, Carla could get drunk to the sight of acrobatic dancers spinning on poles hanging from the ceiling in outfits lit up by blacklight. She also had the urge to snag another vacation hookup before week’s end tomorrow.
Sure enough, just as she put her drink down, she noticed a handsome man in a suit checking her out. Letting the liquor lead the way, Carla feigned confidence, cocking her head back in the unspoken beckoning motion to “come hither.” His brownish blonde hair, chiseled jawline, and perfect set of bright white teeth fully presented themselves as he approached.
Carla spoke first. “My name’s Carla. I’m from Cali,” she lied.
“Great,” he said, smiling bigger. “I’m James. I’m from New York … the city.” Looking around the room, he changed course. “What’s with all the kids? Are you with them?” He tugged on her colored wristband, which all the teenage revelers were given at the start of the week to get into clubs and bars. It was a dead giveaway, as she noticed he didn’t have a wristband, but rather, cufflinks.
“Yeah,” Carla conceded. “I’m with them. We’re all here for our senior trip. We just graduated. But we’re not all here together. Some people are from other schools and other states.” She hated the way that whole sentence sounded childish to this man in a suit. But he still seemed interested, so she played it cool.
“Well,” he shrugged. “Like I said, I’m from New York and me and a couple of business buddies decided to come down for the weekend to let off some steam. Nice to meet you, Carla from California. So where in Cali are you from exactly?” He casually motioned to the cocktail waitress for two more drinks, then turned back to Carla.
All she could think of was Snoop Dogg and Dr. Dre saying “Westside” all the time, so she said, “I’m from, uh, the Westside … of LA,” feigning that California confidence she had mocked earlier in the week.
“West LA, huh?” he said. “That’s cool. Wanna dance?” He held out his hand for her. Carla accepted and soon, a little grooving and shimmying turned to freaking it, right next to their table. He pulled his pelvis up close to Carla’s backside. She could feel his bulge hardening as she bumped and ground her butt and hips into him. She was wearing a short dress and could feel his thick hands sliding up her thighs as they gyrated in unison to the beat of the music.
She hadn’t realized that she had forgotten her panties at Superman John or Jack’s hotel room, until James from New York—the city—slipped his hand up to her uncovered pussy lips. “Ohhh!”
He looked at her, impressed as if she had gone sans panty on purpose. She blushed, shrugged, and coyly smiled, like she was saying, Yeah, I did.
From there, the making out became heavy, as did the fingerbanging. Everything was a blur around them. Everything felt good: the music, the dancing, the buzz, making out with this super handsome businessman. James. From New York.
The city.
Before she knew it, the two had made their way to his hotel room. James was aggressive, but respectful. He was tall and slim—not very muscular, but still defined. He would take little moments to slow down and caress Carla’s body—legs, breasts, and hips—all while looking her in the eyes. He put his head between her legs and ate out the pussy that had been fucked earlier by Superman John or Jack.
Carla wasn’t in the habit of shaving her whole area down there. She’d shave just the lips, so she could see James from New York enjoying his meal beyond a small mound of curly hair as she looked down at him. He came up and kissed her, saying, “Now taste your own slutty pussy!”
She had never kissed a boy right after he had eaten her out, with her own juices still on his mouth. It was nasty … and exciting. Warm lemon cake, she thought to herself.
He got on top of her and planted his cock right in her face. Carla’s upper body was trapped beneath his legs as he lowered his massive cock onto her mouth. She felt the tip of it touch her still-closed lips. As her lips parted, she could feel the precum on his tip, so she licked it up. She licked the head of his dick with slow, long, fat-tongued strokes that str
etched down the length of his shaft. James tilted her head back and plunged his cock down into the back of her throat. He brought her head up to his cock with one hand and continued finger-banging her with the other. Carla was under his command. She sucked and sucked his big cock, gasping for air at times, but he would not relent, plopping his throbbing cock right back into her slobbering mouth.
After Carla’s pussy tightened up and came on his fingers, James dove in deep with his now-raging hard cock. She gasped and felt a chill as he slid his thickness in through her pussy lips. The rippled veins showing, his engorged penis filled up her wet pussy walls. James was powerful and strong, and he pumped and plowed his cock into her missionary-style, then turned her sideways.
“Get on your knees doggie-style, bitch!” he said.
Normally, Carla would be offended by being called a bitch. But he was fucking her so good and deep just like she’d always wanted, so she allowed the “bitch” bomb to fly and took her deep-down, doggie-style dickings for as many more pumps as he had.
She was lost in ecstasy and getting close to cumming. With each pounding thrust, her round ass bounced against his pelvis and his balls slapped up against her clit. He spanked her ass and she yelped in surprise. He spanked it again from the other side as his pumping cock thrusts became faster and more vigorous. “Cum for me, bitch! Cum for me, you little slut!” he demanded.
Carla let out a resounding, “Oh, my God!” as an overwhelmingly powerful orgasm took command of her whole body, making her pussy clench up tight around James from New York’s cock, making him cum as well. She shook as she came down from the magnitude of such an intense fuck.
She fell to the bed, and James fell down next to her. They lay there panting, recovering from what had just gone down. James pulled off the condom with a loud snap and tossed it into a nearby trash can. Carla got up and went pee, then stood in the bathroom doorway, watching James looking out the window of the hotel room.
“So?” she said.