BORDERLINE by Joe Doe WHEN SHE HEARS TWO COLLEGE HUNKS DISCUSSING THE HUMILIATING DETAILS OF THEIR SATURDAY NIGHT ROUNDUPS OF PRETTY ILLEGAL ALIENS, A BEAUTIFUL MEXICAN-AMERICAN MILLIONAIRESS DECIDES IT MIGHT BE TIME FOR HER TO CROSS THE BORDER HERSELF. Life was good. After my IPO I was able to retire, and I was wise enough to cash out and leave my investors holding the bag. My punishment: a mansion, a fleet of cars, and an Olympic-Size pool. To top it all off, at 27 years old, I was still one deliciously hot babe...or so I've been told. Crime, at least Wall Street crime, DOES pay! On this particular day I was engaging in my favorite activity: lounging by the pool, pretending to be asleep, and eavesdropping on my servants. In this case, I was eavesdropping on two particularly hunky young studs, Bob and Steve, as they scrubbed down my pool. Bob is young and kind of shy, and always seems nervous when he's around me, even though I always wear a one modest one-piece suit and treat him with cool, professional detachment. Steve is the more aggressive "man of the world," and he is always pulling Bob into some crazy adventure. On this particular day, Steve was trying to convince Bob to help him out this weekend with a very "special job." Steve's uncle worked in the border patrol. On most nights, they are literally overrun with illegals, so, to help stem the tide, Steve's uncle "deputizes" his nephew to help with the roundups. "We're both 18 and American, so we can round up all the luscious wetback babes we want," Steve explained, lustily. "Of course we take the real cuties back to the 'barn' for a little strip search. You got to see it...a whole row of perfect assess just lined up and waiting for a poke. Of course then we 'throw 'em back.' Although a few of those senoritas usually are willing to give us a little sugar in exchange for a taste of the American Good Life." My first reaction was outrage, and I very nearly blew my cover by dragging the two little perverts to the police station. But I lay still and listened. A part of me was intrigued by the story and wanted more details. In this day and age, did this type of thing really happen? I was also intrigued about what Bob's reaction was going to be. After all, Bob was always so sweet and shy around me. Would he actually agree to such a perverted plan? I was glad I waited, because soon the story got even more interesting. "A few times we even busted Mexican-American chicks...second generation hotties who just happened to be wandering around without a driver's license when we made one of our sweeps," Steve went on. "A couple of weeks ago we actually had one of our professors all naked and bent over when one of the guys realized who she was!" he said, actually chortling at the memory. "Of course, we let her go...after we finished the search. The best part is that American or not, these woman are so humiliated by what we do that they'll never report it. And, even if they do, it's their word against the word of 20 border guards. Who's going to take the word of a Mexican babe over the word of 20 white guys?" A big part of me was outraged. I am of Mexican descent and can speak Spanish fluently. Picking on my brethren because of the color of their skin was an outrage. These two did not belong in MY America. But there was also a part of me that was excited. I have a bit of a submissive streak, which is an itch that a woman in my position of wealth and power seldom gets to scratch. I also think part of it was the fact that the two boys were so polite and well-mannered around me, particularly Bob. The thought of these two clean-cut 18-year-olds stripping their professor made my pussy drool. But the real surprise was Bob's reaction. "I don't know, Steve...it sounds like we might get in trouble," he said, haltingly. He paused and mulled it over. "Do you really get to strip them naked? I mean, absolutely, totally stark NAKED? I mean, can you really strip a girl starkers just because she looks Mexican?" he said, obviously warming to the idea. I could feel his eyes running up and down my legs as I pretended to sleep by the pool. "Sure can," Steve replied, breezily. "Once they give you that badge, you can do anything you want. So...are you in? My Uncle wants some help this Saturday.... What do you say?" Bob thought about it long and hard. "I guess...so. Yes," he finally decided. I almost had an orgasm right there by the pool. Squeaky clean, all-American wholesome, "butter-won't-melt-in-my-mouth" Bob was going to jump in a police car and drive around strip-searching women on Saturday. They briefly discussed the "territory" that they'd cover that night then changed the topic to sports. Although the boys changed the topic, my mind couldn't. I just about burned to a cinder lying out there on the deck waiting to hear more details about the strip-searches, but I never did. As soon as they left, I hurried into the house and masturbated myself to the first of many heart-stopping orgasms. The idea of baby-faced Bob in a uniform, performing strip-searches was almost impossible to grasp. It was like discovering that Captain Kangaroo was a leather freak. That week I found myself thinking of nothing else, and I formulated a plan to see if Steve's story was true or just one horny teenager bullshitting another. On Saturday night, I dressed in a tight pair of designer jeans, fashionable black shoes, and a white silk blouse. My look was casual, but definitely expensive. The boys had said that they would be on patrol in the border area along the interstate. I meticulously parked my Jaguar by the side of the interstate as if I were taking a rest after a long drive. I got out of the car and took a deep breath. I looked at keys in the ignition and then at my expensive purse sitting on the seat of the car. Then I slammed the door as hard as I could, locking my purse and keys inside the car. Looking back, it was kind of stupid, because that night I could have fallen victim to far worse than just the border guards. But fortunately the road was pretty quiet that night, and, after turning down one or two very sweet offers for roadside assistance from strangers, I was happy to see a beat-up old van marked INS rattling its way down the highway. I quickly waved the van down. Much to my disappointment, Steve and Bob were not in the van; it held only some fat old guy and his plumpish, younger partner. I quickly explained my situation: I had stopped for some fresh air and accidentally locked my keys in the Jag. The older officer seemed more interested in my sports car than in me. He kept walking around and around the car, remarking under his breath how unfair it was that some "greaser chick" got such a "fine ride" while he had to push around their "beat-up old rust-bucket" government van. The younger of the two officers definitely kept his focus on me. He asked me who I was, and I told him that I was a computer engineer who lived in the Beverly neighborhood. His partner whistled at the mention of the upscale neighborhood's name, and I smiled. It's always nice to let civil servants know whom they're dealing with. The younger officer was very polite, and, for a minute, I thought he was just going to let me go. But there was something about the way he smiled when I explained why I couldn't "show him my ID" that told me tonight could turn into a memorable evening. I decided to press my luck. "I know every politician in this state, so you two had better start looking smart," I said, sharply. "I need one of you two boys to give me a ride to a locksmith so I can get into my car. And the other should stay here and make sure nothing happens to this car; it's worth more than either of you will make this year. Heaven knows from the look of that junker you're driving it's not like either one of you have anything better to do. Now let's hurry up and get going. I don't have all day to stand around jabbering with a bunch of doughnut-munchers." Both men were a little on the chunky side, so I knew that last remark would do the trick. But I continued. "If you hurry up, maybe I'll let you boys sit in my car for a couple of minutes after I get in it. Unlike that rust bucket you're driving, I actually have air conditioning." "You know...I think we have a slippery little wetback here!" the older man said, leering at me. "Yeah," the younger one agreed, sliding his hand over the back of my white silk blouse. She even feels wet." "I say we take her into custody...for a closer look," the older man said, enthusiastically. They soon had me leaning against the hood of my own car as they frisked me -- though "frisk" is not the right word. The older man groped me as the younger one kept his gun pressed against my head. He left the safety on, but it was still a frightening experience. Still, it was also exciting, and I found myself becoming aroused. "Let's see if you have anything under this shirt other than those nice, ripe, brown, melons." "Yeah, you're a sweet little fajita, aren't you?" "You're a hot-blooded little bitch, no? Yeah, you have a hot, tight little Mexican ass." Finally, after about 5 minutes of groping and commentary, he finished. "She's clean," he said. I was soon handcuffed and unceremoniously thrown into the back of the van, where I sat on a bench with six other women just as beautiful as I was. Through the bars of the van I could watch my car, my purse, my money, and my life recede slowly in the distance as the jalopy van jerked spastically down the road. What had I gotten myself into? After a couple more hours of "pickups," about 15 of us were unloaded into a large barn that looked to be in the middle of nowhere. The man in charge didn't waste any time getting down to business. "You ladies are illegal immigrants in the custody of the United States Gummint! Now, before we go any further, we need to make sure that none of you is carrying any illegal drugs or weapons!" As he barked out, his assistant, a slimy little toad with a droopy mustache, translated each order into Spanish. "Okay, girls!" he said, drawing out every word with lip-smacking delight. "Strip down...BARE NAKED!" I stood in shocked disbelief. I had been expecting a trip to the police station, followed by a search in a cubicle. I had secretly hoped that Bob and Steve would get to watch at some point, perhaps through security cameras or a one-way mirror. But neither of the boys was visible. Instead I was godknowswhere, stripping down like a barnyard animal in front of 20 or so leering, gun-toting, lip-smacking INS agents. I thought of trying to explain who I was, or trying to prove a mistake had been made. But I knew from the looks in their eyes that no one was interested in logical explanations. Slowly I reached for the buttons of my white silk blouse. Blouse, shoes, socks, jeans, bra, panties...my strip didn't take long at all, but the men enjoyed it. The two officers I'd insulted during my arrest seemed to take particular pleasure at my humiliating tumble, and they made crude comments as I removed each garment. "I bet you she's a little spitfire when you get her in the sack!" "She doesn't look so snooty now. She's stripping off like a good like puta." "Not much hair on that pussy of hers! A lot of these spic chicks like to keep it hot, bare, and ready for rough riding!" Standing there with my hands on top of my head with the other naked women made something else abundantly clear. A few minutes before, I had been the best-dressed woman in the place, and it would have been obvious to even the most casual observer that I didn't belong. But now, standing there stark naked with the other prisoners, I was just another hot piece of Mexican ass, and I looked for all the world like merely one more wetback unfortunate enough to fall prey to these horny federals. The other women were poor peasants who had been stripped of their clothes. But I had been stripped of my money, my power, and my dignity as well. They marched us over to a long bench and made us bend over it. They cuffed our hands to a steel bar that ran along the floor of the barn directly in front of us. I knelt over the bench, ashamed, with the bare cheeks of my rump stuck shamefully in the air for the entertainment of the border guards. I wasn't even an American citizen anymore, I thought sadly. I was just the 4th brown, bare ass from the end of the line, waiting to get porked! I was so mortified by my position that I had totally forgotten about Steve and Bob. It wasn't until I heard their voices that I remembered. "Sorry we're late, Uncle Joe," Steve said. "This place is hard as hell to find." "No problem, boys," the uncle replied. "We just got them lined up, anyway. And, since this is Bob's first night, we'll give you boys first 'pussy-picking privileges'!" Steve walked up and down the line slowly, occasionally stopping to run his finger over a particularly juicy bare bottom. Naturally he stopped at mine. I was able to keep my face down when he squeezed my bottom, but, when I felt his finger start to slowly work its way into my wet, totally unprotected sex, it was too much. "No, please!" I said, turning around to confront him. "Stop!" "Miss Martinez?" Bob said, in disbelief. Steve was startled at first. Then he just smiled. "We picked this little greaser up by the interstate trying to break into some expensive sports car," my arresting officer explained helpfully. "Says she locked her keys in. I say, what's a little tamale like this doing driving a 75 grand car without any ID or money? So we brought her in for a quick run through. Cute little ass on her, huh?" "It's a mistake!" Bob gasped. "We have to let her go." He was so sweet. Steve wasn't nearly as nice. "Well, she sure does LOOK like Martinez, but frankly all these little Mexican putas look alike to me after a while. We'd better search her for drugs or weapons, just in case." "What do you mean, 'search her'?" Bob asked, innocently. "I mean, it's time to get back to what I was doing, before I was so rudely interrupted by our little taco-eater here." I felt a hard slap on my bare bottom. "Get those brown buns in the air, grease ball," he sneered at me. "And spread those long brown legs nice and wide. One of your 'betters' needs to take a look." It was obvious that our previous employer/employee relationship meant little while I was shackled butt-naked over a bench. He was in charge now. He ran his fingers slowly along the lips of my sex, teasingly pointing out my "Mexican muffin" and even taking the opportunity to smell my "hot sauce" juices on the end on his finger. Then he slowly worked his finger in up to the knuckle and began what he referred to as his "Q&A of the prisoner." All the while his thumb worked my helpless clit, and I found myself wiggling under his humiliating probing. "How long have you been in the States, grease ball?" I told him I was born here. "A likely story!" he sneered. "I say you swam over tonight. That would sure explain the wetness." The other officers laughed. "How many guys did you blow to get across the border?" I told him none. "Liar! I know you had to blow at least 3 or 4 on the Mexican side alone. And you probably spread those nice long legs of yours for twice as many." I shuddered as I had my first orgasm. Steve and the other guards laughed, but I saw Bob watching the scene in disbelief. He had held me in awe and couldn't believe how quickly I had fallen. "You know there's a real nice 'Puta Palace' just across the border. Sometimes my uncle drops off little wetback hookers like you there, for $5 a head. It's easy to drop them off...but they have a pretty hard time leaving," he snickered. My fantasy had gotten totally out of hand. I was deeply aroused, but I did NOT want to be a sex slave in some Mexican brothel. He wouldn't really do that to me...would he? "How about it, seņorita?" he continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he massaged my helpless sex. "Would you mind if I sold that sweet little ass of yours for $5?" He worked his finger in deeper. "Can you pay me more?" "I will pay you whatever you want...later. I don't...have any money with me now." "Like I would trust a little Mexican bitch like you to pay me back $5," he sneered. "Do you have anything to trade?" His finger became more insistent. "Anything some hardworking civil servants might want to take from a little Mexican chili dog like you?" I said nothing, but continued to squirm under his probings. That damn finger of his was relentless. "I know...we'll let you go...but first I want a piece of that sweet, brown ass of yours, spic," he said. "It's either that...or a one-way trip to the whorehouse." He slapped my bottom again hard, reminding me who was in charge. It wasn't a playful slap...he slapped me the way one would slap a cow that was being moved to the milking station. "Yes...sir...whatever you say...sir," I answered. "Please, just let me go.... I mean, after you finish with me, sir." He laughed at my change in attitude. "That's much better. But I still think you need to learn respect for this badge, greaser." I turned around and looked at him as he smiled cruelly at me and dangled a condom in the air. "Don't worry, we always use these," he said, continuing to tease me with the condom. "We don't want to catch anything from you little sluts." Then he unzipped his pants. He was quick, but I was hot and wet and quickly orgasmed again. "Just another 'break-through' in US/Mexican relations," he said, sarcastically. Turning to the other officers assembled behind him, he loudly called out, "NEXT!" and then laughed. Several other guards lined up and took their turns. Although there were a dozen delectable women in the line-up, there was something special about being able to fuck a beautiful Mexican-American patrician with her hot, wet pussy sticking straight up in the air. It was a chance for bunch of underpaid border guards to make up for years of humiliation, and they savored the opportunity. Bob stayed in the background for the most part, although I ended up giving him a blow job in the squad car as he and Steve drove me back to my car. He was quite nice, and he kept telling me that I was beautiful and special as I sucked his tool. If I hadn't been kneeling on the floor in the back of a squad car stark naked with my hands cuffed behind my back, it would have almost been sweet. I dressed in the back of the squad car as Steve and Bob used the tools in their trunk to break into my car, which by some miracle was still there. I had left the alarm off purposely, so it was a simple procedure and far less intrusive than the procedure that I had just been through. "You have a good night, ma'am," Steve said, as he ushered me to my car. "And, if you ever get stopped again...try not to be so uppity." He laughed and walked back to his car. Bob didn't say anything, still caught up in the afterglow of his orgasm. But he did actually look out the window and wave goodbye to me as they drove past. Despite everything, he really was sweet. ****************************** The next week the pool service sent two other guys to clean my pool. I never saw Steve or Bob again. Apparently neither wanted to press his good fortune by showing up at my house. But...sometimes when I'm driving alone near the border at night, I find myself playfully toying with my car keys. The urge to stop along the side of the road and 'stretch' becomes almost irresistible. And I know that, one of these nights, I will cross that border again. Edited by C. Lakewood