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