I’m in Porvenir, in the Strait of Magellan. It’s in Chilean Tierra del Fuego.
It’s not much of a town. The Rollit docked here because it’s smaller than the township of Punta Arenas, whose lights I could see across the strait, late last night. I was standing on the wharf with Lican, a junior officer in the Chilean navy.
She speaks as much English as I speak Spanish. But she seems to like to fuck new-comers. Which isn’t so surprising, since there are only about 5,000 people here. She’s young, and she’s stuck here for another eight months.
Since I had no other way to flirt I walked her to a shady part of the wharf, where she looked over the strait with a half-smile while I got her blue-grey uniform shirt out of her pants and my hand on her left tit, which was cold and needed warmth and attention. We took occasional breaks for kissing, which she did in a bitey way.
I still don’t know if it means anything in Spanish, because she just grinned like a wolf and bit me twice more, giggling. I smacked her thigh. She still had her shorts on. The first smack was just a wild swipe, to show that I didn’t like being bitten. For the second smack, I pushed her down and subdued her, with her ribcage panting and breasts energetically bobbing. She abandoned the struggle then, and watched while I smacked her the second time, on the inside of her left thigh, very slowly to show that it wasn’t an accident, or momentary annoyance.
And then she got her legs round me and we rolled about some more, half fighting and half dry-fucking, until she took my belt out and got my pants undone and I got her pants completely off and we settled to wet-fucking, in a more cooperative way. She’s a vanilla girl, and not really submissive. But she did like the smack, and the additional set of hard smacks I gave her arse when she was bobbing up and down on my cock, about two in the morning.
She might not be submissive, but she does like your traditional sex roles. A man should be firm, and in charge. We’d have had a political argument, if we could talk to each other. Instead I smacked her legs and arse and she accepted that I was a man. So that will have to do.
In the morning, though, getting dressed, she said something about the Rollit, and “leones marines:” sea lions. So I should be paranoid. She’s seeing me again tonight; she said she’d bring a translator.”Traductor”: I know that one.
I don’t think I’m in enough trouble to make it worth making a run for it. I hope the translator’s a friend, not a soldier.