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