Dale's Bitch WARNING: Extreme violent sex, M, F M,g, drugs,beastiality/porn donkey sex torture, if forced sex and sex with children offends you go away now. This is a story done by request. Dale come and see the slow decay of a once rich and powerful woman as she slides into hell. Enjoy Arlin Bonnie White-Chillworth-Winchester was not a woman to fuck with, she had buried three husbands and bankrupted four others. She was on the board of six companies and listed as CEO of two. One had its corporate headquarters on the Right bank of the Seine River in Paris. The gleaming steel and glass building rose like a finger thrust into the ski saying, "fuck you, God." The modern abortion was raised over the objections of half of the French National Assembly in Parliament. They were no match for the trim just turned 50 corporate bitch. Jean-Marc Ayrault Prime Minister of the Fifth Republic of France looked at the photo again and swore, "How the fuck did she get this photo taken? I was sounded by the fucking DST, (Department of Territorial Safety/Security), commonly referred to as la Sûreté. ). I want the head of la Surete man on that detail on a fucking stick!" "Jean-Marc, Bonnie the Bitch, has contacts in the CIA, FBI, NSA, and the DGSE (General Direction for External Security). I would not be surprised if she had the goods on the fucking KGB. Prime Minister it does not matter how she got these photos. She has them and she will do as she has threatened, publish them world wide. You have no option but to do as she demands and let the fucking eye-sore be constructed." his personal aide-de-camp Jean Deubaw said as he looked at a close up of Jean-Marc getting his cock sucked by a little child. "What about the child? Has he been taken care of? I do not want to see him on fucking CNN spilling his guts about the bad man in France." he yelled as he snatched the photos and ripped them into shreds. "He sadly was hit by a streetcar and killed last month. His family has been deported as undocumented workers. They were killed in a tragic accident in Tunisia. There is no record of them ever being in the Republic. I shall put Le Taureau (the bull) on her case and in a short while she will no longer be a pain in our asses." "I want her to suffer, no quick death, I want the bitch ruined and homeless on the fucking streets selling her fucking ass for a shot of booze. Find me a new toy and make sure no one makes a movie of me having a little fun with his ass!" he yelled as he stormed out of his aid-decamp's office. "Bonnie, my dear you have finally bitten off more than you can chew." Jean said as he pulled his cell phone from his suit coat pocket and called La Taureau. Bonnie was sipping a glass of Dom. Romane Conti 1997, a French red Burgundy. It cost her $1,540 for the dark green bottle. She was lying in the sun catching up on her tan at her villa on the French Riviera just east of Nice. The white stone villa had belonged to Grace Kelly back in the 50's. Bonnie had got it from her third husband, what's his name, he was long dead and his wealth absorbed into her fortune. She lifted her blond head and looked out over the crystal clear blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea. The patio sat on a rock outcropping that jutted over the sea fifty feet below. Her yacht, the Mommy's Money, bobbed in the low swells that rolled in against the rugged rocky shore. She saw a long power boat beach itself on her very privet white sand beach. Bonnie saw her security team rush the boat with guns drawn. She picked up a pair of Bushnell H2O binoculars and took a better look at the tall tanned nude man standing on the sand next to his boat. He looked like a Greek God chiseled from a block marble. The man definitely was not hiding a weapon unless you counted the massive cock that swung in the warm sea air. "Is he alone?" she spoke to the blue-tooth device tucked in her right ear. "Yes ma'am. I have searched his vessel, he is alone. Shall we send him back into the sea?" the guard asked, as he held an Uzi submachine-gun on the man. "No, he looks, shall we say, interesting. Bring him to me." she said, as she put down the binoculars and picked up her drink. She stood up, pushed her hair out of her face. then sat at a small table that held a tray of cheese and French bread. Her fit, bronzed and nude body caught the late afternoon light that gave her a golden glow. "Here he is ma'am, he has said nothing, not even his name. We can beat it out of him if you wish," the ex-athlete said as he flexed his bulging triceps. "I doubt that would be a wise choice. Leave us alone, you can see he has nothing to hide," she said, as she studied the massive man's body. "Yes, ma'am," the body guard said, as he looked to see if the sniper was in his post high above the villa. He saw the flash of light reflected off the high-power scope on the rifle that was trained on the intruder's back. He nodded his head to the big man with a look that said 'next time its you and me motherfucker'. "So, my silent naked ape, what is it that you want from me?" Bonnie said. She stood, ran her hand down his flat, rock-hard abdomen, stopping with his equally hard cock in her hand. "From you, Bonnie, I want nothing. I am here to give you your heart's desire. I am a man that has no interest in your wealth. No, my chèrie, it is your body that I crave, your essence, your flesh joined with mine," he said, as he stroked her over-processed hair. He could see up close that despite the fortune she spent on turning back the hands of time she was losing the race. "Well, my would be lover, what are you called, if not bold?" she said, as she took his hand. She noticed that his was manicured and free of the scars of hard manual labor. There were no calluses, yet it wast not soft. His hands had the feel of a fighter's or that of a stone-cold killer's. "His ID says that he is one Jock DeGain, with a Paris address. The boat is clean. Only a pair of swimming trunks. I scanned the steering wheel and got a set of prints. I sent them to Interpol and got no hits. His prints are not on file in any data bases. His financials say he is a freelance photo journalist but I cannot find any photos attributed to him. He is a fake, or a non-person from some well connected agency. Probably the DST," the voice of her head of security said in her ear. "The ID your men have found by now in the boat says that I am Jock DeGain, but that is just for the authorities, those that know me call me Le Taureau, the bull. I have something to show you. It rides just on the horizon you can see it with these," he said, picking up the black Bushnell binoculars and handing them to her. She followed him to the edge of the patio and leaned on the waist-high red clay wall. He pointed to a gray smear that nearly blended in with the haze that hung over the warm water. Bonnie looked through the binoculars and after she adjusted them she saw a warship flying the tricolor French flag. She thought that it was a anti-submarine frigate. Bonnie had major holdings in ship-building. This one looked like one of hers. She saw the ships number painted on it hull: D643. She could see the ships name on the single smoke stack: Jean de Vienne. She saw that the warship's front 5-inch turret was pointed at her villa. "I see that you did not come unarmed. So let us cut the bull shit, Bull, and fucking tell me what you were sent here to tell me," she said as he spun to face him. "As you wish, ma'am, in a few moments there shall be a tragic training accident. A live salvo will be fired and the shell will unfortunately hit your villa. I am sure that heads will roll and there shall be a vote of no confidence in the National Assembly." he said, putting his arm around her body. "How can they be sure that I shall be killed?" she spat, with fire in her blue eyes. "As I said, I am a man that has no interest in your wealth. No, my chèrie, it is your body that I crave, your essence, your flesh joined with mine as we tumble off this ledge into the sea below. You are not to die this day, only start a life filled with unspeakable agony," he said as he pulled her to him. In one swift motion he dove over the wall and plunged down to the shallow sea below. As they fell he held her in a death grip. He moved his legs turning them so she was under him. It would be her body that took the full impact of the five story plunge into the water below. The sea rushed up to greet her. She had time for one long scream and then she slammed into the water at nearly 50 miles per hour. The air was driven out of her lungs; had she been conscious she could have drowned. The water did cushion the impact, but her back and hips were broken in the fall. Bull carried the woman to his boat just as the rounds from the French frigate hit the villa. The blast destroyed the bedrock the stone building sat upon. The walls were blown out and the second floor collapsed on the the ruined first. The underlying rock sheared off the the cliff and the rubble started a slow avalanche to the sea below. The building burst into flame as gas and other flammable items in the house caught fire. Black smoke billowed up from the disaster. The hit man laid the woman in the back of the boat, started the ram jet motor and backed it off the beach just as the first piles of rubble tumbled on to the beach. He sped out of the bay and took her to the waiting French ship. Waiting for her there was the Butcher of Leon. He was called Doctor even though healing was not his specialty. He usually spent his time extracting information from the enemies of the Republic. The nefarious Doctor was looking forward to this assignment. His only guidance was that she was not to die but to suffer and in six months be able to care for herself. Chronic pain and disfigurement were attainable goals and he intended to reach them as slowly as possible. The physical attack on the woman was not the only one launched that day. The DAS started the big lie that she had helped Al Qaeda by using her company to hide its new leader, Ayman al-Zawahiri, and to aid him in his terrorist attacks. They presented doctored evidence of her deep entanglement with the hated terrorist organization. They claimed that the attack on her villa crippled the Islamic Jihadist by cutting the money flowing into it from her. Customs agents had the list of all of her top executives, who were placed on a watch list and every time they entered an airport were detained while drugs or other illegal items were placed in their luggage. The vicepresident of her holding company was found to be transporting child pornography. His laptop was confiscated and found to contain images of him using a toddler in the most obscene ways imaginable. Within six weeks the top ranks of her companies had been decimated as dozens of the men and women just disappeared to a tiny island in the South Pacific. Lapo, as it was known. was the French equivalent of the U.S. Naval Base in Guantanamo Bay. The tiny atoll was a hundred miles north of Tonga. There were no fences or high walls. They were not needed as the shark infested waters claimed anyone foolish enough to try to escape via the sea. The men and women were held under the Loi des Secrets Officiels, which allowed French authorities to hold a person indefinitely without trial or other due process.Lawsuits were filed to seize her assets in all of the countries she operated. Had she been around to lead a counterattack the companies might have had a chance. But even she could not have dealt with the sabotage done to her prestigious cosmetics line. Modified flesh-eating virus had been used to contaminate the makeup. The contaminated makeup caused serious lesions that disfigured any woman that put it on her face. Permanent dyes were mixed in eye shadow and lipstick with disastrous results. Her holdings plummeted and she was ruined. Her companies were bought up for pennies on the dollar by the same men that wrecked them. They renamed them and in a few months they were back making vast sums of cash for the DAS. Bonnie awoke to the constant pain that racked her bent and twisted body. She looked around and saw that she was now in some cheap hotel. She was nude and there was a note pinned to the pillow. She reached for it with shaking hands and the pain in her shoulder caused her cry out. The note read, 'Welcome to your new life, bitch. Regards J.M.A." There was a fifty-peso bill with the note. A bottle of cheap wine sat on the nightstand along with an orange plastic bottle of Vicodin. She crumbled the note and tossed it across the foul smelling room. She pulled back the blanket and saw that she had pissed the bed while she was passed out. The last thing she remembered was that fucking Spic doctor raping her on a ship. Her mind was foggy but she had bits and pieces of the past. There was a man, big and handsome. Then she was falling and the next thing she remembered was being tortured on a ship. There were endless men using her mouth, ass and pussy. She forced herself to rise and threw up on the bed. She got to the bathroom and vomited in the dirty toilet. Bonnie wiped her mouth and turned on the water. It came out brown and cold. She sat on the toilet and pissed as she waited for the water to clear and get hot. When she wiped her pussy she saw there was pus and blood on the rough toilet paper. She sniffed the mess and swore. She had the clap or some other STD for sure.After a few minutes the water had only lightened slightly and become lukewarm at best. She got under the water and washed the filth off her body. She then noticed that the implants that had made her breasts firm and cone shaped had been removed. She felt the scars that ran around her tits. They were large and gross; obviously meant to disfigure her. Her hair was now streaked with gray and had been hacked off leaving uneven patches and tangled masses. Her teeth hurt she looked in a mirror and saw that the thousands of dollars she had put in her mouth to have a perfect smile had been undone. She was missing three teeth and the rest of them were black and riddled with cavities. Bonnie stumbled back into the bedroom. She grabbed the bottle of pills and took three of them chasing them down with a long pull from the warm wine. She went to the window and pulled back the filthy threadbare drapes. She was in a dirty city and from the signs she could see it was in Spain or some other Spanish-speaking country. The narrow street was crowed with people pushing two-wheeled carts laden with boxes and bundles of fresh produce and other items one would find in any Third World shit-hole city. The air was brown and the few beat up trucks on the packed road belched black smoke. Their drivers leaned on their horns and swore at the snarled traffic jam. Bonnie looked around the room, opening the empty closet and cheep broken chest of drawers for something to wear. There was nothing; not a stitch of clothing. She had been dumped in a shit-hole city only God knew where, naked with only a bottle of pills, some cheep wine and fifty fucking Pesos. If the exchange rate was still what she recalled the blue note was worth about 4 fucking dollars, US. She downed the wine and then smashed the bottle against the tub. She picked up a sharp shard of the green glass and worked up a lather with the tiny bar of soap she found on the floor. She worked the thin lather into her hair and shaved her head. She knew that no hair was better than the mess they had left her with. She cut herself a few times but soon she looked like Sinéad O'Connor, yea, death to the fucking pope. Bonnie pulled the dirty sheet off the bed and washed it in the tub. She wrung it out and hung it over a chair to dry. She tried the phone that was on the night stand but it was dead. She yanked the cord out of the wall and rolled it up. Once the sheet was dry she used the broken glass to cut a hole in the center of it large enough for her head to go thorough. She pulled it over her head and used the phone cord to tie her impromptu toga dress. It was not one of her designer dresses but it would cover her nakedness for she was sure that even in this shit hole city a woman could not go around naked. The pissed-off woman took a wooden hanger from the closet and broke the dowel rod giving the end of the broken rod a sharp point that would work as a weapon at close range. She tucked the rod in her belt and took another handful of pills to dull the pain that racked her body. Bonnie opened the door and looked down the cluttered hallway. Two nasty looking men sat leaning out against the rusted ironwork at the street below. One of them punched his mate and pointed at her. They leered at her and made obscene comments in Spanish. She turned the other way and walked to the steps leading down to the street. She looked at the skyline and soon found the spire of a church. She got to the street and mixed in with the crowd as the mass of humanity made its way down the street. There were stalls set up selling fresh food and produce from small farms. She let the crowed move her near a cart filled with apples and bananas. Bonnie was not going to spend her Pesos on the spotted fruit. She grabbed an apple and moved back in the crowed street. The fat woman behind the cart had not seen her take the small apple. Each step she took was agony as her purposely misaligned bones in her hips, back and feet ground against sensitive nerve endings. Her eyes filled with tears as she limped towards the Catholic church she had seen from her hotel room. Bonnie came to an intersection and saw police carrying black submachine guns slung over their tan uniformed shoulders. A tall one saw the strangely dressed white woman and hit his fat partner in his ribs. They laughed at the crazy gringo turista. Bonnie heard the men talk about her and moved deeper into the crowed street. She had to sit on a bench to rest and when she did she was sat upon by a pack of street urchins. "Aa, Pretty Senora you by chicklets? Only two Pesos, good price." a lad of seven or eight said as he tugged on her dress. "Hay lady I got better ones, you buy from me!" a dark haired filthy young girl said as she pushed the boy away. "Lady you want to see the town? I best damned guide you see today! All day only 20 Pesos! No bull shit I be the best!" the young boy boasted. "No! Go away! hosta la vista, Andale, Arriba!" she yelled at the filthy gutter rats. "Hay fuck you Gringo!" an older boy said as he snatched the pill bottle tucked in to the belt. "Hay stop the boy! He took my pills!" Bonnie yelled as she tried to get up and chase the feeling young boy. He had already disappeared into the labyrinth of the slum. One of the little girls tripped her and she fell headlong onto the rough paving stones of the street. Her head banged on the sharp black stone and blood ran into her eyes. She felt the child rip the 50 Peso note from her unclenched hand. Bonnie grabbed the fleeing child's foot and she fell to the street with her. The child started yelling and calling for help, saying that the mad woman was trying to hurt her and take her to a bad place. Two young men rushed over and pulled the child out of Bonnie's grasp. One of them kicked her in the ribs and called her a fucking whore. She heard the shrill whistle of the police and she saw the gathering crowd move back from the armed cops. Bonnie struggled to her feet and lunged into the crowed screaming and hitting at anyone that stood in her way. A fist came out of the throng and slammed into her cheek. The blow sent her stumbling into a fat woman, who shoved her back and she managed to gain her ballance and hobble on. She came to a low cart filled with pots and flowers. She jerked at the handle and dumped the mass into the street temporarily blocking the road. The owner of the cart yelled and tossed a broken clay pot at her. The heavy clay pot bounced off her back but left an ugly red cut that stained the thin white sheet she wore as a dress. She saw the steep steps leading to the open doors of the small whitewashed stone church. Bonnie drove herself up the stone steeps and stumbled into the dark interior. She saw a few old ladies sitting in the oak pews with a veil covering their heads. The ladies looked up at the disturbance at the doors of the church. Bonnie heard the cops come rushing up the stone steps after her. She saw a young priest standing at the front of the church near the altar. The panicked woman stumbled down the aisle. "Father! Father, help me! I ask in the name of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ for the sanctuary of his blessed house," she said. almost choking on the foolish words for she was a confirmed atheist. She was not above using some archaic law that allowed religious houses to afford protection from arrest to all persons, whether accused of crime, or pursued for debt. "Peace be with you, my child. Fear not, I hear your plea and offer you the grace of God and the sanctuary of his most holy house." he said, as he caught her as she fell into his arms. "Priest! This puta was trying to steal a child off of the street. She has broken many laws and must come and stand before the judge," the thin cop said, as he raised his black baton to strike Bonnie on her head. "NO, she has asked for and has been granted sanctuary, while she is inside these walls, she shall have to answer only to the laws of God! Leave this holy place or risk eternal damnation and hell's fire," the young curate said, as he pointed to the open doorway. "Come Carolus, the puta is not worth losing your soul. We shall be waiting for her and once she steps off holy ground we shall have her ass," the other officer said, as he tipped his cap to the priest in deference to his standing in the community. "Oh thank you, Father! I have been kidnaped, tortured, and dumped here. I do not even know where here is. What city is this, Father?" Bonnie asked as she sat on the hard oak bench at the front of the church. "You, señora are in the city of Huimanguillo, in the state of Tabasco, Mexico. We are about 30 kilometers from Guatemala. You say that you were kidnaped? From where and by who?" he said as he looked at the abused woman. "I was taken from my villa in the south of France. I am sure that Jean-Marc Ayrault, prime minister of France is behind my troubles. I was held on a French ship where I was raped and beaten and drugged. Do you have a phone I can use to call a friend? He will be able to help me and get me out of this mess. I can reverse the charges," she asked, feeling somewhat better about her short-term future. "Si, I have one in my office, you may use it. What is your name, señora?" he asked as he led her to his office. "I am Bonnie White-Chillworth-Winchester. Qhat is the date? I do not even know what month it is," she said. She tried to remember all that had happened to her since the attack on her villa. "Señora Bonnie, the date is Tuesday, December 4, 2012. Are you the woman that ran Global Beauty?" the priest asked as he stopped in the dim hallway just outside of his office. "Yes. You know of my company? Shit, I have lost six months of my life! That fucker, sorry Father, that man is going to pay! By God, he is going to pay for what he has done to me. I have many calls to make. I will make sure that your church is well compensated for helping me." "Señora Bonnie, you are dead. I mean, that is what has been on the news. You were killed when the French attacked your villa to take out Al Qaeda leader Ayman al-Zawahiri you were hiding there. They said that you were buried at sea just like Osama. They said that you let them use your company to distribute the poison that killed and disfigured so many women world wide. My own mother has suffered horrid disfigurement from using your makeup. I do not mean to doubt you Señora but you look nothing like the woman in the news," he said, as he wondered if this woman was mad or the victim of a vast conspiracy. "Father, it is all lies! I never had anything to do with Al Qaeda or any of those fucking rag heads. I must call Jack Wesson, head of my security detail. He can help me get to the bottom of this. You must believe me. I swear on my sainted grandmother's grave I had nothing to do with all of this," she cried as she shook in rage and pain. "Calm yourself Señora, let us call Señor Jack and see if he can help you," the priest said as he took the shaken woman to his office. He handed her the telephone. "What is the country code for France from here?" she asked as she sat and tried to remember his private number. "Let me look it up." he said as pulled a phone book from a shelf and turned the pages. "Aha, here it is, 011, 33 is the code." Bonnie punched in the code and then Jack's number. A recorded voice said it was no longer in service. The line clicked dead and she stared at the phone. She redialed the number and got the same recording. She dialed another number and got a recording saying the wireless customer's account was no longer in service. She ran through all the numbers she could remember and found that none of them were working. She hung up the phone and wept. "This can not be happening. What am I to do? I have no money, no ID, I am here illegally, the local cops think that I attacked a child and I am officially dead," she said as she fell into despair. "I shall pray to God for guidance my dear. Now let the sisters here help you. You are in need of some rest and a change of clothes as the sheet is rather ill fitting," he said. He picked up a phone and placed a call. He spoke in Spanish to a nun and then hung up."Sister Mary will be here shortly. Go with her, my child, and she will take care of you. I shall make some calls and see what I may find out. God bless you, child, for you are surely in need of his love," the priest said. "I know a good doctor, he is very discrete and has helped me with other lost souls. I shall call him. Ah, Sister Mary this is Señora Bonnie. She has asked for sanctuary and I have granted her request. Take her and see to her needs. I shall call Doctor Rodriguez de Robinson to tend to her physical needs. Go with her, Señora Bonnie, and rest as you can. I will come and visit you when I have any information on your strange case." he said as he helped her up from the chair. There was a wet spot of blood that had leaked from her vagina. "Thank you, Father. What is your name, Father?" she asked as the young nun helped her to stand. "Father Pedro Rodriguez de Robinson. The doctor is my brother so you can trust him, my dear. Now go and get cleaned up and rest," he said as the woman left with the nun. He was reaching for the phone when it rang. He answered it and listened without saying anything after hello. "I see, your excellency. No sir, she has asked for sanctuary and I granted it. Yes, sir, if you think that is the best course of action. No, we do not need the authorities investigating our church. I shall see to it that she is sent on her way. No sir, it is not a problem. Thank you for your guidance in this matter," he said as he hung the phone up. "Holy shit, this poor woman has pissed off some real bad people," he said to the empty room.He knew that someone was watching the cursed woman. They had called his boss and with a few words had the old man shaking in his boots. He took a few hundred pesos from the poor box and went to talk to the woman. "Sister Mary, where is Señora Bonnie? There has been a change in plans," he said as he came into the nun's quarters. "She is in the bath, Father. I have laid out some clothing for her. Shall I call you once I have her dressed?" the nun asked, seeing the concern on the Priest's face. "Yes do that and move her along. She must be away from here in as little time as posable. In fact, just give her this money and take her out the back door and tell her not to come here again for there is nothing more we can do for her. Then, sister, it would be best if you forgot that you ever saw her and tell no one anything about the woman. She is truly cursed and has the mark of Satan on her soul," he said. Sister Mary knocked on the door to the bathroom and entered. "Senora you must hurry! The police they are coming for you. There is nothing the good Father can do for you. Get dressed in these and take this money. I shall take you out the back. Guard yourself well. Go strait down the street until you come to a cafe called La Rosa Rojo. Ask for Señora Consuela, she is my sister and may be able to help you. I am sorry, it is the best I can do for you," she said as she handed the woman a towel. "Shit, I know it is not your fault sister. I will get dressed and get the hell out of here. I will talk to your sister. Thank you for all that you have done." she said as she looked in the full length mirror she did not recognize the woman that stared back at her. That woman had been through hell and back. Her eyes were gaunt with dark circles caused by the constant chronic pain that gripped her body. Her skin was spotted with old busies and scars from the abuse she had survived. Bonnie put the used underwear on but did not bother with the ill fitting bra, her tits were hanging flat and wasted looking more at home on some old African. She pulled on the colorful linen skirt with stylized dogs chasing their tails. She covered her shaved head with an old crocheted mass veil. Bonnie put the peasant blouse on and then slipped her painful feet into old worn leather sandals. "Here, Señora, take this little bit of money and, Vaya con Dios, go with God, my child," she said as she lead her to a seldom used door that opened to a twisting alley. "Same to you, sister. Don't take any wooden pesos." Bonnie limped down the dim alley and walked past iron trash barrels overflowing with rotting garbage. She saw rats look up and watch her as she hurried down the stinking path. A door opened and a man leaned out and pulled out his cock and pissed on the slick stone alleyway. He did not take a second look at her. She remembered a day when he would have made a play for her attention. It took her a few minutes to reach the cafe. It was a run down dump even for a poor side of town. The rear door had once been painted red. She climbed the three stone steps that were black with age and slick with stinking greasy water that leaked from a broken sewer pipe that ran over the top step. She looked around the crowded kitchen where freshly killed chickens hung by their yellow feet dripping crimson blood onto the stone floor. There was an ancient gas range upon which were large pots that bubbled as food inside simmered. Steam rose from the black battered pots adding to the oppressive heat in the kitchen. A cook dressed in filthy pants that had once been white worked a heavy skillet, adding chunks of bloody chicken from a butcher's cutting block. Long strands of red dried cyan peppers hung near the stove. Large bulbs of garlic had been woven in to along rope and swung next to the hot peppers. A fat old toothless dark-skinned woman stood working a grinding stone crushing hard dried corn into a yellow flour. A tortilla press sat open, its metal jaw awaiting the next ball of cornmeal to be formed into a flat tortilla. A young boy worked scrubbing a pile of pots and pans at a double sink. His brown back was bare, as were his feet. He splashed soapy water onto the floor that was thick with old grease and bits of raw and cooked food that fell from the rusted prep table. The smell of spice and popping oil was laid over the rancid stench of spoiled meat in overflowing garbage bins.Bonnie saw fat roaches scurry across green heads of setting on the floor in a sagging wet cardboard box. Fat black flies buzzed around the raw chicken and were dislodged from feeding on the meat when the cook grabbed a dead bird and hacked it to small chucks with a massive rusty cleaver. Waiters came and went bearing large round trays of completed dishes of food going out and ones pile high with dirty dishes and glasses that were to a stack that towered over the young lad tasked in keeping them clean. The air was filled with the curses of the head cook as he went from task to task. The old woman grinding corn laughed and then spat a cud of coca leaf on the filthy floor. The waiters called out orders in rapid fire slang. The chef called back the orders and yelled at the other cooks that labored in the hellish kitchen. "Hay, no customers back here puta, what are you doing?" the fat chef yelled when he saw Bonnie standing in the doorway. "I am not a customer. I was sent by Sister Mary from the church down the way to find her sister, Consuela," Bonnie said, trying not to barf. "She is upstairs in the whorehouse. Take those stairs there and then go to the end of the hallway. Now get the fuck out of my kitchen," he said gesturing with the bloody cleaver. "¡Muchas gracias, asshole!" she said as she pushed past the stinking sweating kitchen staff. "De nada, puta." The fat cook laughed as he put a filthy hand print on her skirt while he pinched her sagging ass. There was a time when she would have had the man's hand cut off and rammed up his ass for taking such a liberty. She struggled up the steep wooden steps in the dark staircase. The smell of the kitchen rose up the shaft and hung in the stale air. The noise of the busy kitchen was overcome by a Mariachi band performing traditional Mexican folk songs. There was a small opening halfway up the staircase that looked down on the main dining room of the cafe. There were perhaps twenty tables circling a raised stage on which a round bed sat. A Mexican man stood nude save for a top hat and a wide black and gold belt. A long whip was curled into a circle and hung off his left side. He turned and she saw that he sported a thick black mustache like the outlaw Pancho Villa wore. A nude old woman was tied over a barrel with her ass high in the air. The man asked the crowd if they were ready for el mostrar burro ( donkey show). The old slut tied to the bed screamed and begged the man not to use the beast on her body. The drinking men yelled and threw food and beer at the sobbing woman. The ringmaster cracked his whip over her back leaving a red line as the leather cut into her skin. Bonnie watched in horror as a large donkey was led in by a nude little girl. She led the beast up a ramp built into the round bed. She bent and jacked the burro off until his cock grew to over two feet long. The child then got on her knees and sucked the long cock to the hoots and howls of the drunken men. Some of them were locals but most of them were Gringos from the States. The ring master grabbed the child by her ass and drove his stiff cock in her body. The small child kept on sucking the donkey cock. The ringmaster pulled his dick out of the child and shot a load of cum over her back and then told her to put the big cock up the old whore's ass. The woman screamed and begged the child not to put the huge cock in her body. The burro mounted the screaming woman and drove his long meat up and into the old used up whore. Blood came out of her ass as the animal fucked her anus. The men went wild and the child was passed among them to service their cocks in what ever manner suited them. Some she sucked off others she opened her legs to them and they raped her. Bonnie could watch no more of the horrid sex show but she went up to see the madam that ran the Red Rose whore house; to go back was to go into the arms of the men that had driven her here. She thought that working in the whore house would be better than that. She was wrong. Bonnie gave herself over to the fat Mexican whore mistress and was put to work turning tricks. She gave her first few customers syphilis and the clap. Two big oil workers came back and beat the shit out of her, adding to her pain. Consuelo had a one-eyed doctor come and scrape her cunt and inject her with horse antibiotics. He doused her cunt with sulphur powder, and the bitting yellow grains made her pussy burn. If Bonnie did not turn enough tricks in a 14-hour shift she was beaten and denied the slop left over from the kitchen. She was paid not in cash but in Tequila and counterfeit pain killers made in the back rooms of Mexican drug stores. The dirty white pills were mostly low-grade heroin. She quickly became addicted to the pills and would do anything to get them. Six months later she had lost one eye when a drunk rammed his stiff cock into her eye socket after he had pulled her eye out. Her teeth were now just rotten stubbs and her skin was riddled with bed sores and red spots from bed bug bites. The lips of her vulva were swollen and hung like fat wings of some obscene butterfly. Her face bore the lines of her age and the abuse that dirty sex and dirty drugs heaped on her. She downed a fifth of cheap rot-gut cactus booze a day. She would drink herself to sleep in the small cramped attic room where all of the whores slept when they were not fucking. Her hair had grown back but it was patchy, as lice and other vermin lived on her filthy scalp. She had lost weight as was now more a walking dead than the once rich and powerful woman she had been several lifetimes ago. Her slide into hell was a slow one as she fought to keep alive in the brothel, but soon she could not preform enough vile sex acts to turn enough tricks to keep the bitch Consuelo satisfied. The day came and two little girls entered the attic and put a collar on the wrinkled used up whore. Her tits sagged and her anus was a mass of distended hymroids with ugly vaginal warts nested on the red stinking hole. Her mind was mostly gone from the rotten tequila and high levels of narcotic opioid alkaloids that she took when ever she could get her dirty hands on them. Bonnie would not have recognized the woman in the mirror looking back at her if there had been any mirrors in the brothel. She shook and could seldom put two words together that had any meaning. The young girls led her down the steps for the last time and helped her up on the barrel and tied her down to jeers and cat calls of the drunken men who were there to see the sad end to a shitty life. The children got the mule excited by sucking its massive cock. The burro had died and was now replaced with the much larger animal. Bonnie looked at the crowd through her one eye and called out for cerveza (beer) and tequila. A tall man that could have been carved out of a block of marble stood at the back of the room and used a smart phone to upload the images he was seeing to a villa in the south of France. Jean-Marc Ayrault, prime pinister of the Fifth Republic of France, looked at the video and said, "take that you cunt." The mule entered the whore's body and soon blood came out of her mouth and she died as the huge beast destroyed what little there was human in the body that once sipped champagne and dined only at the finest five star restaurants. This is a work of fiction, do what was done to old cunt Bonnie and you may end up bent over a barrel in a nice jail cell by Bubba saying squeal like a pig. This one was for you Dale hope you liked it. for Feedback or rants use this wordweaver69@gmail.com Arlin