Carolyn heard her parents come home from University President Jefferson's party shortly after two a.m. and tried not to listen as the familiar argument started once again.
"John, please ... not tonight. I'm worn out," her mother's voice came distinctly, even though there were two rooms separating Carolyn's bedroom and her parents.
"Not tonight ... not last night ... not tomorrow night . . . not any night, if you have your say." John Dunn's deep baritone was bitter.
"I've given you my permission to turn elsewhere."
"Big deal, as my students say. Big deal! Well, I'm not interested in other women. I want you . . . Her honor, Superior Court Judge Margaret Dunn . . . my wife."
Carolyn heard her mother's sigh of resignation. "All right, then. But do hurry. I'm tired, and I have a full calendar of cases tomorrow."
The bed creaked as weight shifted, then there was the sound of a low groan from her mother as naked flesh slapping against naked flesh began.
Carolyn tried to shut out the lewd wet sounds of intercourse, but it was impossible; she could have heard them in her mind even if she covered her ears with her hands.
What was wrong with them, she wondered? Her father, Mid-State University professor John Dunn, was only thirty-eight. He wasn't stupid; on the contrary, he was considered one of the nation's top marine biologists. Yet he acted as if he knew absolutely nothing about pleasing a woman. He certainly had all the right equipment, Carolyn thought, remembering again that warm night last summer when she had been awakened by a strange noise from the swimming pool and, going to the window, had seen her nude father stepping like some god of the sea out of the swimming pool and padding across the lawn. Oh yes, he had the equipment all right . . . and the sight of his huge masculine penis shining in the full moonlight had brought a pounding flush of forbidden excitement to the young girl.
As for Mother! With that ripe, lush figure - almost the same shape, coloring, and features as Sophia Loren - she just couldn't possibly be frigid; yet, the 36-year-old judge had been rejecting sexual advances from her husband from as far back as Carolyn could remember. There was another reason why it was difficult to believe her mother was-cold and unfeeling, because Carolyn knew that she, herself, wasn't; she was a passionate young girl and had known it long before Charlie Webb's fingers, lips, and tongue had brought a pulsating life and warmth to her breasts and vagina.
Since meeting the tall, blonde, athletic Charlie for the first time two and a half months before, the two young people had gone just as far as they could go without going all the way. First it had been necking - kissing that graduated from simple kisses to long, drawn out French kisses with tongues swirling like maddened dervishes as lips sucked hungrily, wantonly at each other's mouths. Then had come the first awkward fumblings at her breasts, followed three dates later by the removal of her bra and subsequently his hot hungry lips fastened like a leech to her strainingly aroused nipples. At first, she had fought the attempt to caress her dampened little cuntal slit through her nylon panties. After two more dates, she finally gave in to her own sensations and let him do what he willed - as long as he did not attempt to remove her panties. Then, a few nights later, it was she, herself, who had taken off the skimpy nylon cloth covering her feverishly excited vaginal cleft. She had done it in a service station restroom, without telling Charlie, as they returned from a basketball game. She knew he would be surprised, but of the two of them, she was the one who probably was most surprised because of the intensity of the feeling. She had thought her body could not possibly experience more sensation than it already had, but when his middle finger had made the first searing wet contact with her pussy lips she had let out a low moan of immediate surrender and fell back helplessly against the seat. Charlie had finger-fucked her to orgasm within two minutes; her first orgasm and one that had left her weak, shaken with emotion, and uncertain.
The following night he had done it again, and then after an hour had done it once more. There was a difference this time, however; Carolyn had sought to repay him in some way and had caressed his penis through his Levis. Finding this unsatisfactory, she had clumsily unzipped his pants and timidly reached inside his trousers. The first contact between her fingers and the hard throbbing shaft between his legs had been akin to an electrical shock. Just holding it, not knowing exactly what to do, had increased her own sensations ten-fold. Charlie had soon shown her what to do and how to do it ... and his throbbing penis became a jerking, wildly ejaculating, living thing under her fingers.
That had been two weeks ago. Since that time, like a dope addict needing a stronger "fix," Carolyn had found the mutual masturbation less and less satisfying . . . seeking something more powerful . . . knowing the remedy, but afraid to put it into words.
Charlie had no compunctions about saying what he felt, and only this afternoon for about the twentieth time in three days, had said, with voice husky in desire, "I've got to fuck you or I'll die, baby."
Carolyn had been strangely quiet. She knew her body had to have the rest of it, but knew also that what he proposed and what she needed was an irrevocable step, once taken too late then for regrets or second thoughts.
And now, lying in bed listening to her father's groans echoing down the hallway, feeling the fevered dampness seeping from the scented walls of her cuntal opening down between her thighs, she knew that she could no longer deny her body, or Charlie Webb, the thing they both needed most. "Tomorrow afternoon," she said aloud. "Tomorrow." It would be safe then, if the sex education books were right, for her period was due to start in four days. . .
Down the hall, John Dunn gasped in pleasure as his white hot churning semen finally was propelled through the thin tubes of his jerking testicles and began spurting wildly into the unresponsive womb of his wife. The second he rolled off Margaret, she turned on her side and said, "Good night."
"Good night," he said, woodenly, trying to keep the anger from his voice. Instead of feeling relaxed, he found his muscles tense - his spinal cord stiff as a crowbar. Nothing he did, nothing she would permit him to do, could crack that cold judicial reserve. She was as unfeeling and emotionless as her law textbooks, he thought bitterly, and had been for the last eight years - ever since discovering he had gone to bed with one of his graduate students, a hot blooded little redhead who fucked like a rabbit and, unlike Margaret who had difficulties and had to work hard for each orgasm, came about as quickly and frequently as a rabbit.
Unknown to any of the three people residing in the Dunn residence, it was a night for decisions. Carolyn had decided to go the route with Charlie. John, unable to face his mounting frustrations any longer, decided he would ask Jean Pepper, his secretary, to accompany him on the Baja California expedition in two weeks - and down there under the hot skies of the Mexican desert, he would fuck her silly. Beside him, her body just as tense as her husband's, Margaret Dunn decided that tomorrow she would move once and for all into the guest room, and John would never again be permitted to inflict his gross, bestial demands upon her. If necessary, she would divorce him, even though it would be a blemish on her otherwise spotless record. There were people in high circles who said that Margaret Dunn would be the nation's first female Supreme Court Justice within eight or ten years. Divorce could hurt her chances. The Supreme Court! That was the only dream she had - a dream with enough substance and strength to make her put up with this adulterous stranger lying in the same bed who used her just as he might a whore off the streets.
Chapter Two
Margaret had been assigned the Law and Motions docket for the morning, and the various petitions and pleas kept her seated behind the bench for the entire two and a half hour period. She had declined to take a break, and her courtroom was a colorful swirl of activity as attorneys and their plaintiffs entered in teams, conferred quietly, appeared before the bench, and departed. Fortunately, there were few hitches, and she successfully got through the entire calendar - running over into the noon hour by only a few minutes.
She felt drained as she went back to her chambers and removed her hot robe. Unlike Judge Patricia Gardener, her friend sitting in Municipal Court, Margaret wore a dress under her robe. She wasn't quite sure exactly why she felt a dress was required, feeling only that it seemed more proper, and the extra material did help obscure a figure which had proved rather distracting to most of the practicing attorneys. She had always thought her too ripe, voluptuous body was her one weak point. Her mind was finely tuned and flexible, able to catch the subtle nuances of any decision, any point of law. But she despaired of her body; men thought of her as a sexual object, and she despised them for it. There was no place in a court of law for such frivolous things as thoughts of animal-like sex.
And with that thought, as she removed her robe, she began thinking about how she was going to break the news to John that one or the other of them would have to move into the guest room. Thank God he was leaving on that Baja California expedition in two weeks; she would be free of him for three months anyway.
Quickly pinning up her hair, the comely judge checked her desk for telephone messages. Nothing that couldn't wait, she decided, then hurried across the street to her luncheon date with the Presiding Judge of the Superior Court, 76-year-old Judge Samuel Dudley.
The Barristers Restaurant didn't advertise for new business or increased patronage; they neither wanted or needed it, for the specialty restaurant was open only five hours a day - between ten and three. There was a special room in the rear for judges and court referees, another special room for attorneys who are actually involved in cases and must receive prompt service in order to get back to court in time. The two remaining rooms are for attorneys and clients who are discussing business, and other people who find themselves in the Court area during the day. The booths are rich, luxuriant. The food superb, the atmosphere quiet and pleasant. The only noisy places in the entire establishment were in the kitchen and in the bar, where an inordinately large number of newspaper reporters and photographers hung out hoping for the inside track on a fast-breaking story.
Two photographers boisterously greeted Margaret when she walked in, and another gave out with a low wolf whistle. Ordinarily, she would have been put out at this type of behavior, but she knew she had to retain the favor of the newsmen; the way they handled their stories and the angle from which they took their photographs would make or break someone in public life. For that reason, Margaret usually found herself responding in kind with their banter, even though she hated herself for being hypocritical. Like most of the judges, she kept a fully stocked bar in her chambers, complete with refrigerator, and the newsmen were frequent guests after court had concluded for the day. The only time she had ever drawn the line with them - really drawn it in scathing language - had been the afternoon Stan Watson, the photographer for the Daily World, had suggested she pose for cheesecake atop her desk wearing a bikini swimsuit holding a gavel in her hand.
Margaret turned down at least four offers of drinks from the newsmen, pleading a tight schedule for the afternoon, and then went on back to the rear room where the gray-haired Judge Dudley sat. "I'm sorry I'm late, Sam, but I had a chance to wrap up everything on the docket."
"No need to apologize, my dear," he said, gazing in undisguised admiration at her. "After all, it isn't every day that an old man like me has a chance to dine with..."
"Now . . . now," Margaret dimpled, knowing he was going to outrageously flatter her. "Remember what you told Mrs. Johnson, that pretty little embezzler who appeared before you two weeks ago."
Judge Dudley laughed, delighted. "No flirting with the judge."
"Right," Margaret said, lifting her vodka martini on the rocks in mock salute.
"Yes . . . well, I keep forgetting. I am a man and you are a woman." He was no longer smiling.
"Thank you," she said quietly. She could accept the compliment from this man old enough to be her grandfather, whereas the same words from a younger man would have annoyed and angered her.
Judge Dudley continued to stare speculatively at her for quite a time, then he seemed to relax, having reached some decision. He asked, quietly, deceptively, "I forgot what I've assigned you. What does your calendar look like for the balance of the year?"
"Routine cases. Why?" Something was going on, Margaret could tell by the elderly judge's behavior. He acted almost as if he were teasing her about something, as if he knew something she didn't.
Judge Dudley didn't answer her question at first. He dug into his seafood salad, munching thoughtfully away like a contented rabbit. Now Margaret knew positively that he hadn't invited her to lunch just for chit-chat; something important hinged on his question.
Finally when the suspense had really begun to build up in her mind, Judge Dudley laid down his fork and said, without any preparation or warning at all, "I'm assigning the Fleming case to you."
An involuntary gasp came from Margaret's throat. The Fleming mass murder stories had been on page one of every newspaper in the nation for over a month, and the case itself had overtones of voodoo, witchcraft, and communal sex. The judge who presided over the trial would become a household name across the United States before the hearing was concluded. It would be as important a trial as the Sirhan Sirhan and Charles Manson trials.
Margaret was speechless for a moment, then she stuttered, "Sam ... I'm overwhelmed. But what about Harry Watson or Mike Gallagher?"
Judge Dudley shook his head. "You know and I know that Mike, being Catholic, would be challenged by the defense right off the bat because of the Black Mass ceremonies. I've talked to Harry, to find out his feelings. Frankly, his health wouldn't hold up during the five or six months that this trial will take. He recommended you, not knowing that you were my first choice all along."
Margaret could only repeat her earlier statement. "I'm overwhelmed." She was, too. She had been in the spotlight before, but never like this.
The old man patted her hand. "Don't be modest; you've earned a chance to show your judicial talent in a national interest case." He smiled and his eyes seemed to burn holes in her skull, as though he could see every little thought - and the big dream of the Supreme Court - that resided in the hidden recesses of her brain. "You're going to make us all look good," he said.
"I'll do my best."
"Of course, you will. You've always adapted beautifully. Now then, the district attorney and the defense attorney seems to think that it will take a minimum of five months to present both sides. I know that you've scheduled your vacation for September, but would it be possible to take it before the trial . . . say ... ah, before July 1st? I want you rested, fresh."
"Oh, Sam. I can't. I have too many cases already scheduled."
"Never mind those," he said sternly. "We'll spread them around the various courtrooms."
"When have you set the trial?" she asked.
"Right after the fourth of July holidays."
It would mean juggling her schedule around completely. Earlier she had planned to take an October vacation in Washington, D.C., spending her time in the Supreme Court archives. This Fleming case, though, was an opportunity not to be overlooked. "All right, Sam," she said. "And thank you."
She was still lost in a vague sense of wonderment as she went back across the street after lunch and donned her judicial robes again. For the afternoon, she had been assigned a non-jury trial involving a 17-year-old prostitute. Margaret wasn't fooled by the assignment. The defense attorney had procrastinated until he was sure the case would be assigned to her, hoping she would be more compassionate with the defendant because of having a daughter about the same age.
It was exactly 1:45 p.m., when Margaret buzzed her bailiff to let him know that she was ready to begin. As she walked down the corridor to the courtroom's judicial entrance, she heard the gavel bang and the bailiff's disembodied voice saying, "Hear ye, hear ye. All rise. The State of California . . . Superior Court . . ." It was a familiar phrase to her, one that contained the most important words in the world to her. Whereas other women live for the words, "I love you," Margaret lived only for this sing-song ritual of opening the court. She threw open the door to the courtroom, stepped up to the bench, and seated herself just as the bailiff concluded, "Judge Margaret Dunn presiding." She felt that same old familiar thrill, and knew that as long as she lived no other words could ever mean as much to her.
The gavel banged. "Be seated."
She had expected to spend the better part of the afternoon on the trial. It was relatively simple. The girl had approached a plain clothes policeman drinking beer in a bar and asked him if he wanted "to have a little fun. Only ten dollars." The policeman had gone along with the girl after calling the vice squad. He had permitted her to disrobe completely, had given her the marked money, and she had lain down on the bed in preparation for the act itself when he identified himself and placed her under arrest. It seemed to be an open and shut case, especially since the girl had been picked up, charged, and convicted three other times for the same offense . . . thus her assignment to the Superior Court rather than to Juvenile Court.
As it turned out, however, the case was over in five minutes. The girl decided to plead guilty, thus Margaret found herself free of all duties by two o'clock. Somehow, the thought of spending the rest of the afternoon in her chambers poring over pending cases did not appeal to her. It would be nice, she thought, to go swimming for a change ... to relax and spend a couple of hours thinking about the opportunity offered by the Fleming trial.
And thus it was, that Margaret found herself pulling into the circular driveway of their house a half-hour later.
When she saw Charlie Webb's car in front, she had a momentary twinge of disappointment and anger, quickly suppressed. After all, she thought, there's room enough for three of us in that big pool. It wasn't until she was putting the key in the locked front door that she began to wonder why Carolyn and Charlie weren't in school.
Chapter Three
While Margaret had been having lunch at the Barristers, Carolyn and Charlie had slipped away from school, driven into town and stopped at a drive-in restaurant for a hamburger. The girl ate listlessly, her shamelessly aroused young body, now that she had made the decision to go all the way, craving more than food. Charlie, who generally inhaled his meals, toyed unhappily with the hamburger.
"What's wrong?" Carolyn asked softly.
Charlie glanced on both sides of the car, then took her hand and placed it on his bulging trousers. "That's what's wrong."
Carolyn felt the familiar thrill go through her as her fingers caressed the swollen prick through the rough material of his Levis.
The boy moaned low in his throat. "If I don't get to fuck you, I'll die. Do you know, last night I didn't sleep a wink ... it was hard and hurting all night."
"I know," she said, staring down at the half-finished hamburger and Coke on her tray. "It was the same way with me."
"We've got to make love - all the way - or we'll both go nuts," he said, nodding his head for emphasis. "I think I'm already losing my mind."
Carolyn was quiet for so long that he glanced over toward her in puzzlement. Finally she took a deep breath and exhaled it in one shuddering sigh. "All right, darling. This afternoon, right after the fifth period. I've got a test in History, then, or we'd go now."
"You mean it? Honestly?" Charlie's voice, only two years out of adolescence, cracked in excitement.
Carolyn, face flushing, shook her head several times, then said, "Yes."
"Oh God! I can't wait. Can't you ditch History? Please?"
"No. Besides, Mr. Martin knows I'm in school today. He talked to me in the hall this morning." She saw the car hop, a shapely little blonde wearing a terribly tight pair of hot pants, wiggling toward the car and quickly removed her hand from Charlie's lap. Two minutes later, as they were driving back to school, Carolyn's hand moved over of its own accord, zipped down his fly, wormed its way through the jockey shorts opening and began a slow, tantalizing stroking of his thick, heavily pulsating young cock. When Charlie began making frantic little punching movements of his pelvis, Carolyn asked teasingly, already knowing the answer, "Do you want me to stop?"
"Oh God, no! I'm about to cum."
She reached into her purse and pulled out a handkerchief, wrapped the purplish, blood-engorged head of his throbbing cock in it, and began her jerking motions once again - increasing in tempo as she felt his penis swelling prior to ejaculation. Then there was a pulsating life beneath her fingers and a hot stickiness in her hands, as Charlie's pent-up frustrations came boiling out in a spurting volcanic eruption of white hot young semen. He groaned loudly, shuddered, and sighed . . . never taking his eyes off the road.
"Do you want me to finger-fuck you and make you cum too?" Charlie asked, as the last dribbles of his cum seeped their way to the surface of his already deflating cock.
"No. I want to save it for the real you, darling." And it was the truth. She knew her body was just about as aroused as it could be; it needed and demanded relief, but she could wait and it would be a sweet two-hour agony until his hard young prick sank down for the first time ever through her fevered virginal pussy lips into the warm secret heart of her impatiently waiting belly. The wait would be self-inflicted torture, and she had a feeling that her desire would feed on itself until it became an all-consuming raging fire. Even now, as he parked in the student lot, the crotch band of her thin white nylon panties was saturated, in spite of the fact that he had not touched her there; so "saturated" in fact that she had to lift her miniskirt and use the handkerchief between her legs to staunch the flow of love juices that seeped from her cunt and ran in a tiny silver rivulet down the insides of her smooth inner thighs.
The waiting turned out to be even worse than she had thought it would be. Predictably, she did poorly on the test, unable to concentrate and with her mind actually blank of all thought for minutes at a time - except for that hotly twitching little mouth between her thighs. She had no way of knowing that Mr. Martin, noticing her erratic breathing, bright eyes, high color, and obvious difficulty with the test, thought for sure that the judge's daughter was "high" on something and deliberated keeping her after class to discuss the dangers of drug use. But then at the end of the period he was asked a question by one of his students, by the time he had finished answering the bell had rung and Carolyn was out of the room like a shot out of a cannon.
Charlie drove like a maniac toward her house; twice he ran through caution light signals and she had to ask him to slow down. Although she was pleased with his eagerness, she didn't want it to happen so fast. This was a big moment in her young life, she wanted it to be "right" and "romantic." Thus it was that a protesting Charlie was forced to get into his swim trunks and swim with her for twenty minutes - a period that seemed an eternity to him. Every time he tried to grab her lithe young body, she got away from him - laughing and teasing - always elusive as a sleek dolphin. Finally, though, he gradually edged her toward the corner of the pool where no escape was possible. Then, with one lunge, he grabbed her and savagely dug his tongue into her wide open, laughing mouth, while at the same time yanking down his swim trunks under the water.
The laughter left Carolyn's throat, to be replaced by a sudden tightness as she realized the moment had come. She pushed against his chest. "Not here," she said, feeling his hands impatiently cup her supply rounded buttocks and pull her squirming body into his eagerly thrusting prick.
"Where?" he demanded.
"In my bedroom. Let me go first, then come to me in three or four minutes." She freed herself from his grasp and swam to the shallow end of the pool, then climbed out and padded across the dichondra grass which felt surprisingly hot against her bare feet.
In the bathroom, she quickly stripped off her suit and felt a slight chill as the cold wet limp garments were removed from her skin. Grabbing up a towel to dry herself, she glanced at her reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. Cold air and the excitement had brought a pinkish tint to her creamy-smooth skin. She rubbed her breasts with the rough towel and saw goosebumps spring to life; along with them, the nipples slowly hardened and grew erect. She seriously studied the reflected image of herself for a moment. She had a good body and knew it. Not as ripe or as well-built as her mother's, of course, but better than average . . . actually, far above average! She had always been pleased with the long tapered length of her legs, her narrow waist, and the flat, smoothly rounded tummy. She stood there, feet apart, and toweled the light, corn-silk colored pubic hair, drying it of the moisture from the pool. Then, throwing aside the towel, she took a final stance with feet wide apart, staring at her soft, curl covered cuntal cleft where she could see the shadowy beginnings of the coral, pink hued vaginal lips which appeared already swollen from her rising anticipation. She sucked in her stomach muscles and the pelvis lifted slightly, enabling her to get an even better view of the fleshy outer layers of her pussy. She knew she was saying "goodbye" to her innocence, and somehow the knowledge troubled her. At these final moments before she made a gift of her virginity to Charlie whom she was "fond of" but did not "love," she suddenly felt less sure of herself. The thought of the physical pain surely to come did not bother her as much as the fact that she was doing this under her parents' roof - in a house where she was trusted to do the right thing.
Carolyn was almost pensive as she walked slowly back into her bedroom. She stared at the photographs plastered haphazardly on the walls, and at the one-eyed, one-eared cuddly bear she had kept for-years in spite of its threadbare grimy covering. Once, and not very long ago at that, she had whispered secrets to the stuffed animal and slept with it.
"Carolyn. . ." Charlie's subdued voice was asking permission to enter her bedroom.
She closed her eyes, blocking out the sight of the blind accusing stare of Teddy Bear, then replied, "Come in, darling."
Once the words escaped her throat, she felt an immediate surge of passion once again, wanting him . . . wanting his hard young prick shoved deep into her, bringing a blessed relief to the slowly building pangs of young womanhood she was now feeling. She turned to the door as it opened. Charlie stood there completely nude, yellow bathing suit clutched in right hand and the huge length of his virile young cock standing stiff and throbbing in front of him. He dropped the suit in the hallway. The two teenagers stared at each other for some moments in wonderment. Although they had been near-naked in the car several times, this was the first time they had seen each other in the daylight without any clothes on. Charlie's lithe, broad-shouldered, athletic build was pleasing to look at, she thought, taking in his heavily muscled thighs and legs, his powerful biceps. But always her eyes came back to his penis, standing nakedly erect in front of him. This had been what she had stroked, this is what had come to life under her fingers, this is what had spurted out its seemingly inexhaustible hot white message of sperm into her handkerchief once already today.
Then Charlie was walking light-footedly across the lime-green deep-pile rug toward her. He gathered her into his arms, her full, naked young breasts pressed tightly against his muscular body as he kissed her with a sudden implacable fury, flattening and spreading her lips open until her hot little tongue came out like a fighting fish - darting into his openly sucking mouth, scraping against his teeth and the roof of his mouth, challenging his own tongue to master her if he could.
A frightened hollowness sprang to life in the pit of Carolyn's stomach as she felt herself being picked up and carried toward the bed. It seemed as if they were one individual, his body moving with hers, the hard throbbing aliveness of his prick pressing and rubbing up against the soft quivering mounds of her whitely glowing young buttocks from below with each step he took.
The boy laid her gently on the open bed, and Carolyn felt the welcome coolness of the spotlessly white sheets pressing against her bare back and feverish buttocks.
Then Charlie lay down, turning on his side so that he faced her. His hands began to explore her body, and his fingers slid gently over the swell of her breasts. Under the touch of his masculine hand, she felt the naked nipple distend, becoming hard and erect; when he bent over and bit one, a low, guttural moan of passionate arousal escaped from her desire tightened throat. Charlie kept his mouth glued to her breast and dropped his questing hand down over her ribs and belly, making flat little circles as fingers and hand descended the white, warm plateau of fleshy softness leading to the silken forest of golden pubic hair and the excitement scented junction of her trembling thighs.
Carolyn groaned against him, unable to contain herself as she writhed and twisted under caresses which were becoming less gentle, more urgent, now. Through it all, she was aware of the hot pulsation of his huge penis pressed against the smooth flesh of her right buttock. With the first touch of his fingers at her hot, desire starved pussy lips, Carolyn moaned loudly and spread her thighs apart, and-at the same time, dropped her hand to enfold his throbbing cock beating like a second heart against her naked hip. Now Charlie moved his hungry mouth from her tit to her mouth, savagely digging his tongue into her throat, as he used thumb and forefinger to splay open the tender lips of her passion drenched vagina below.
"Oh . . . darling," she moaned, as his middle finger began an assault on the vertically tingling little mouth, burrowing deeper and deeper up between her open legs. She jerked, rolling her head from side to side like a doll with a broken neck as she ground her nakedly quivering buttocks down into the mattress. A low cry of pain escaped Charlie's mouth, and Carolyn suddenly realized she was grasping his penis with almost super-human strength, that her fingernails had embedded themselves painfully in the hardness of vibrantly pulsating flesh.
His warm wet mouth pulled reluctantly away from her lips and began a little rabbit-like nibbling along her shoulder, sending erotic tremors cascading down her spine. Carolyn held her breath as thrill built upon thrill, quivering uncontrollably from the exquisite sensations as he licked from armpit to breast before his hungry lips fastened to an erectly trembling little nipple and began a gentle sucking pressure. His fingers left the hotly quivering refuge between her legs and began a circular stroking movement across her abdomen, a movement that gradually turned into a soft kneading of the firm flesh of her belly and smooth inner thighs.
Lost in the wickedness of it all, Carolyn could only put her hands up and cup his ears; she realized her pelvis was beginning to rise and fall of its own accord - like something bobbing inexorably on an incoming tide. She crooned gutturally as Charlie's mouth played for a long delightful eternity around her throbbing breasts, moving from one to the other, his tongue etching a pattern of fiery hunger through the soft warm cleavage between the two pure white globes of succulent flesh as he alternated his attention to each - biting, licking, sucking, first one then the other.
Carolyn obediently spread her legs apart as she felt his knee begin to insinuate itself between her trembling thighs. Now he knelt down between her wide splayed legs, and she knew that when he chose to look, her defenselessly impatient little cunt was there in all its naked glory for him to see plainly for the first time in his life. She closed her eyes waiting for the first touch of his penis against her steaming hot pussy lips. It was with a feeling of growing impatience that she began to wonder why he was waiting; couldn't he tell that she wanted it as badly as he did? What could he be waiting for? Before she could put the thoughts into words, her boyfriend's greedily flickering tongue left her breasts and began a slow torturous journey down her belly. She gasped and cried out as his gently nipping teeth and licking tongue dug at her navel. Abruptly, she knew what Charlie was about to do! She had seen mention of it in a couple of guiltily scanned marriage manuals and had heard some of the girls in gym class talking about a boy "going down on it." Whatever words of protest she might have made died stillborn in her throat as his lips left her navel and burned their way in a maddening pattern of indecent sensation to her super-sensitive inner thighs. She felt his strong sure hands reach beneath her buttocks, cupping them, and forcing her hips up from the mattress. She was frozen and could make no resistance - indeed, had no desire to protest any longer - as the young boy hunched down between her legs and used his powerful shoulders to brace her thighs wide apart. His hands freed now, he used his thumbs to spread the softly curling strands of her honey colored pubic hair and the pinkly glistening lips of her vagina. She felt the blessed coolness of air blowing against the now nakedly flushed cuntal opening.
Then his tongue, like Midwest heat lightning at summer's twilight, flickered snake-like up between her legs.
"Aaaaaggghhhh, God!" It was almost a scream as the gentle lightning of his tongue struck the tiny almond-shaped bud of her clitoris.
He looked up, obviously pleased with her reaction. "Like that?"
"Ohhhh, darling! Darling, darling, darling! If you only knew. . ." She sighed deeply and made a feeble effort to raise her body. "But we can't. You mustn't lick me there. It isn't right."
Charlie paid no attention to her. He lowered his fingers and spread the feverish virginal opening to her pussy even wider apart, and then suddenly bent his head again and wormed his tongue deep into the pink, moist flesh of the slick, convulsively quivering cuntal passage.
"Ohh ... ohhhh . . . OHHHHH, Charleeeeeee!" The banshee wail of lewdly rising passion gurgled from her tortured throat as she jerked from the unexpectedly intense sensation - fighting it by attempting to burrow her buttocks deep into the mattress, and yet encouraging it at the same time by reaching down and wantonly pulling his face hard into her hungrily devouring pussy lips. She continued to mewl loudly as his hot, hard tongue maddeningly scoured around the inside of her wet, excruciatingly sensitive vaginal walls, causing her to react insanely in a sexual delirium that sent spasms of unimaginable erotic delight arcing hotly throughout her entire shamelessly writhing body. He began orally fucking her in earnest, using his tongue as a prick, driving deep, ever deeper, inside her cunt. Somewhere, from the far distant reaches of the outer limits of her mind, she thought, "My God! He's going to make me cum with his tongue." She could feel the pressure, the load limits building up in nerve endings down there in her vagina; it was only a matter of seconds before they shorted out in an awesome display of galactic fireworks. She had already begun reaching for it when Charlie abruptly lifted his head from her wildly thrashing pelvis. She continued to writhe, panting hoarsely, silently begging, as Charlie moved up over her, leaving her young, unsatisfied pussy on fire and about to burst.
"Oh God! I've got to fuck you now. I'm so hot I'm about to cum . . . even without putting it in you," he stammered, taking her hand and placing it demandingly on his cock. "Put it in for me, darling," he groaned, then kissed her by thrusting his tongue deep into her throat.
Carolyn could taste her own vaginal juices in his mouth, half-sweet, musky . . . tremendously exciting. Feeling the hot throbbing readiness of his massive young penis beneath her fingers, she instinctively began stroking and massaging it, rubbing the foreskin tantalizingly back and forth. With her other hand, she reached for his balls, their hairiness and silky texture delighting her. She held them gently, lovingly, in her palm, weighing them like golden red apples placed in tribute before an altar of love. Charlie was about to go out of his mind in desire. He grunted and panted, his eyes rolling insanely around in his skull.
"I've got to fuck you now, or it ... it'll be too late," he gasped.
"Yes, darling. Now! Fuck me now!" She had never wanted anything more in her entire life. All other feelings, emotions, sensations and needs evaporated, vaporized under the intense heat of her own implacable lust. She spread her thighs further apart, hoping her brain would maintain control of her inflamed senses. My God, she was so close to cumming herself that she was sure just the mere touch of that beautifully long, hard, throbbing cock against the blood-engorged, nerve-filled outer lips of her quivering, expectant cunt would be the signal for a cataclysmic explosion in her abdomen that would destroy her forever. She pulled his cock closer toward her waiting pussy lips and raised the tiny, beardedly nibbling mouth for easier entry. Charlie, however, was riding too high on her in his inexperience and eagerness. His penis was sliding from clitoris downward through the moistened fur-lined cuntal crevice, and he began thrusting his prick madly back and forth across the warmly quivering lips between her thighs in a frantic effort to reach the smooth, pink passage so long denied him. Carolyn continued to hold on to his cock, unable to do anything because every wild thrust rubbed against the erect bud of her clitoris and sent paralyzing wanton sensations roaring throughout her body. She knew she could cum this way, too - was about to cum!
Abruptly, as she grasped the thick, wildly stroking shaft, Charlie cried out like a wounded animal. "Ah God, No! Not yet!" and she felt his cock expanding and contracting crazily in her hands. The gasps of passion sputtered out of him time and again as the hot viscosity of his cum spewed wetly onto her rippling belly, spurting with such strength that it splattered all the way up against her breasts and ran down over her ribs to the mattress below.
Charlie collapsed on top of her, his breath coming in short hoarse gasps. "Oh God . . . I'm sorry... I... I couldn't help myself."
Carolyn wrapped her arms around his shoulders and opened her mouth to tell him it was all right, when suddenly the door to her bedroom crashed open.
Margaret Dunn, holding Charlie's yellow swim trunks, gave one short scream of horror as she saw the two entwined nude figures jump guiltily apart.
"Oh Carolyn! How could you?" And it was a trial, a judgment, a sentence, and an execution all in one short question of anguish.
Chapter Four
Margaret was in her study three minutes later when she heard Charlie's car pull rapidly out of the driveway. Seeing Carolyn and him together on the bed, nude and obviously making love, had been such a shock to her that her mind still was not functioning properly. Anger, disgust, revulsion, disappointment, and bewilderment all chased each other around and around in her mind like mindless squirrels on an endless treadmill.
How could she possibly handle this situation? In her mind she saw the wanton expression of lust on her daughter's desire contorted face, had seen the sheen of semen running down her rib cage, had seen her obscenely splayed legs spread wide on both sides of Charlie Webb's startlingly white buttocks! It was a scene that was seared forever into the sensitivities of her brain, and she could only shake her head in bewilderment. That girl - that woman, actually! - on the bed, that person wasn't her daughter. Carolyn was a decent girl, one who would never betray her trust.
And yet, as the comely judge puzzled over it, what did she really know of her daughter? How long had it been since the two of them had shared any kind of spiritual - emotional rapport? Oh, there had been the perfunctory "rap" sessions, discussions of school work, dates, future plans . . . but no real communication. Thoughtfully, Margaret lit a cigarette, then feeling the need of a drink, poured herself a double shot of Scotch and sat down behind her desk. Somehow or another, since they last had communicated with each other about two years ago, her daughter had passed from the ephemeral rainbow land of childhood into the uncharted swamps on the perimeters of adulthood. Now was the time Carolyn really needed help from her mother; yet, after what had just transpired, Margaret knew there would be an almost insurmountable wall of mistrust and embarrassment and alienness between them. The one thing she could not, must not, permit to happen was to let the girl think she was all alone in the world ... an outcast. The situation was fraught with danger; it had to be handled tactfully.
Margaret looked up as her daughter entered the study. The girl, predictably, wore a defiant expression calculated to hide the fright. Seeing her thus, so young, so uncertain, so damned vulnerable, Margaret felt the stinging tears well up in her eyes. Carolyn sat on the edge of the chair in front of her desk, hands clasped together between her knees, head bowed, shoulders slumped as if preparing to ward off a blow. Margaret's heart went out to her, and she turned her head to keep the girl from seeing the unwanted tears which had started running freely down both sides of her nose. Sniffling once, then clearing her throat, Margaret said in a husky voice, "I guess I should ask how long has this been going on."
Carolyn didn't look up. "Today was the first time ... we've ever done ... that... before."
"You're saying you've never been intimate before today."
"We weren't today even ... if you want to be technical."
Margaret looked at her closely. Carolyn had never lied to her before; she couldn't understand why the girl felt compelled to lie now, especially knowing that her mother had actually seen it. "I think," she said slowly, "you'd better explain what you mean by the word 'technical'."
"We didn't go all the way."
"You mean he didn't make a penetration." It was easier to put it in unemotional legal terms.
Carolyn, unable to speak, merely nodded miserably.
Margaret was silent for so long a period that Carolyn was forced to look up. "It's the truth," the girl said, defiantly.
"I believe you." And oddly enough, in spite of everything she had witnessed, Margaret did believe her daughter.
Carolyn felt the need to elaborate. "I'm still a virgin, technically. All Charlie and I have done is 'heavy petting,' and this was the first time we've ever gone as far as we went today."
"I see."
"No, you don't see!" It was said heatedly, and now Carolyn had begun to cry with shuddering sobs shaking her young body as her last vestiges of composure evaporated. "I wanted him to make love to me. I'm not like you."
Margaret reeled from this unexpected verbal revelation. What possessed the girl to say something like that? "You had better explain that remark," she said coldly, trying to control a rising tide of anger.
Carolyn was barely able to gasp out between the tears, "You don't need or want my father. You don't need anyone! I've heard him at nights, pleading with you. Well ... I'm not that way, cold and unfeeling. I like Charlie Webb to kiss me ... to caress me ... to feel me! And I like to feel his body too. And I wanted him to make love to me," she repeated in heavily sobbing gasps.
Hurt and angered by the accusation, Margaret's voice was like a whiplash as she snapped, "Let's not confuse the issue with what I feel or do not feel for your father. We're talking about your inexcusable behavior with Charlie Webb. You apparently feel you've done nothing to be ashamed of, that you've done absolutely nothing wrong - not wrong in using this house as a rendezvous, not wrong in permitting a boy you've only known four or five weeks to fondle you like some common little street tramp, not wrong in cutting your classes at school, not wrong in betraying your father's or my trust in you."
As Carolyn heard her mother's damning indictment, she felt as if her skin was being flailed mercilessly because everything Margaret said was the truth. She was guilty of all of these things and more . . . and guilty of hurting her mother with the remark about being "cold and unfeeling." Of everything that had happened, she regretted that last impetuous statement more than anything else. Finally, unable to handle the burden of shame any longer, the young girl's shoulders slumped once again and she began sobbing as if her heart were broken. "I'm . . . sorry, Mother," she gasped. "I'm so sorry."
Now Margaret was weeping again also. She had hurt the child in a moment of anger, something that was inexcusable, for she supposedly had been trained to be objective and emotionless at the bar of judgment. Quickly she rose from her chair and went around the desk to gather the loudly wailing girl into her arms. Carolyn buried her face against her mother's bulky knit suit and repeated, "I'm sorry, Mother. Really I am. . ."
"There, there, honey. I'm sorry, too." Margaret said as she tried to comfort her daughter by patting her on the back.
The emotional storm died in a minute or two, and Margaret led the girl over to the couch and sat down beside her. She pulled a handkerchief from her side pocket and handed it to Carolyn, who blew her nose loudly before wiping her eyes. Then Margaret asked, "All right. What are we going to do?"
"I don't know, Mother."
"Well ... for a start ... I'd like your word of honor that you won't see Charlie Webb alone again ... not drive with him alone, not even to school, or go anyplace with him where the two of you will be alone. I'm not asking you to stop seeing him . . . just don't be alone again where temptation might get the best of you."
Carolyn swallowed and looked up through tear-reddened, swollen eyes. "I promise."
"And I think we'd better get you away from here this summer." She paused, thoughtful, as the first tremulous beginnings of an idea was born. "When is school out?"
"In three weeks."
"That would be when?"
"June tenth."
Yes, Margaret thought with a sudden sense of sureness, it would work. John obviously would balk, but that was too bad. They both would have to put a little extra effort into the love and upbringing of their daughter; after all, she had only a year more of high school, and then she would probably disappear from their lives. She patted Carolyn's hand once more and said, "All right, darling. I'll make some plans for us and we'll talk about it tomorrow."
"Us? You mean you and me?" It was said excitedly, eagerly, and Margaret felt the return of guilt because it had been so terribly long since any of them had vacationed together.
"Yes. Us." Margaret hugged the girl, then tried to look stern once more. "Now there's the matter of your cutting class today - a separate offense requiring separate punishment. What do you think is fair?"
Carolyn was so happy at being let off the hook that she said impulsively, "Anything you say." She regretted it immediately when Margaret Dunn nodded her head and replied, "All right then. You're grounded - no dates - for two weeks."
"But, Mother," she wailed. "I'm the Queen of the Junior Prom next Friday . . . and Charlie and I, we . . . we. . ." Her voice trailed off weakly as she saw her mother's expression and realized the mention of Charlie's name had the same effect as a red flag in front of a bull. Then she nodded in acquiescence. "Yes, Mother."
After Carolyn had gone to take a shower, Margaret sat on the couch for a long time. She had been her daughter's age the first time any boy had touched her. They had gone through some hot and heavy petting, too, but never gone all the way. Thank God, her parents had never discovered her nude the way she had seen Carolyn and Charlie. Not that she hadn't thought about it, though! She had still been a virgin when she married John Dunn, although just barely. She had never regretted it. Sex wasn't distasteful to her, it was just a waste of time usually. She could count the number of orgasms she'd had in her lifetime on the fingers of both hands. She had come close ... so close, so many times . . . but "close" was not enough for her body. In time, she had begun making excuses rather than suffer the sleeplessness brought on by an unsated, unsatisfied body. As her court duties grew in importance and responsibility, she found a good night's sleep was the most important single factor in keeping a clear mind during the day. And then, eight years ago, there had been that incident with John and Bunny, one of his graduate student assistants. Even now, she wasn't completely sure whether anger or hurt had been foremost in her mind. She had called him "an idiot" for getting involved with a student, and had cried out, "If you don't give a damn about your own career, you can at least think of mine!" Since that time, pretense hadn't been necessary any longer with him. She made no bones about the distastefulness of sex with him.
Carolyn had called her "cold and unfeeling." Margaret knew the statement was not true, even though it was probably justified. Remembering the excitement she had felt during petting while still Carolyn's age, the woman knew positively that she wasn't completely "unfeeling." She wondered where she and John had gone wrong. Was it her fault? Was something structurally, physically wrong with her? Or was John's technique inadequate? Then she asked aloud, "Am I really sexually finished - through with sex-at thirty-six?" And she answered her own question, again out loud, "No!" It was said with more heat and more conviction than she had ever believed herself capable of.
Everything that had happened today-from Sam's request that she take an early vacation to discovering Charlie and Carolyn - seemingly conspired to throw the Dunn family together for at least three weeks in June. John's expedition to Baja California was scheduled to leave on the first. He planned to have camp set up at Scammon's lagoon by the eighth or ninth.
There was, Margaret thought, nothing to prevent Carolyn and her from chartering a plane and flying into the expedition's camp on the fifteenth. It might even be fun. She could do John's typing, as she had done eighteen years ago while they both were going to college. Carolyn could help with the cooking duties; she was also a fairly good little photographer and could assist in the darkroom.
Now all Margaret had to do was convince John that they wouldn't be underfoot. If necessary, she would tell him about Charlie and Carolyn, but she hoped that was a weapon that could be left in the arsenal.
And then she thought dully, feeling some of the enthusiasm fading, "I suppose I'll have to stay in the bedroom, after all."
Chapter Five
From the air, when the pilot banked the plane to come in for a landing on the small packed-earth strip, the University expedition camp at San Felipe had been almost indistinguishable - with the beige and green tents blending in perfectly with scrub brush and sand.
Carolyn earlier had sensed that her professor-scientist-father had some reservations about daughter and wife joining the expedition, but she was not prepared for his words as he opened the plane's door from the outside.
"Margaret . . . Carolyn," he nodded curtly, his troubled face already deeply burned from the unrelenting sun that shone like a brassy atomic fire in the Mexican desert sky. "Look, I don't think you'd better get out. We're having a bit of trouble with some of the locals. Nothing that can't be taken care of, once more of the expedition gets here next week, but a trifle sticky right now. Why don't you go back to Ensenada, and I'll send the plane for you just as soon as it's safe. Four - five days, a week at the most."
"What kind of welcome is that?" Margaret asked, half teasingly, but unable to hide her unhappiness at this unexpected greeting.
"I'm serious."
"Tell us about it," Margaret said, as she spotted his secretary, Jean Peppers, sitting in the jeep, waving at them. Margaret waved back, then added, "It can't be too bad, or you would have made Jean leave."
"It happened only this morning. Paul discovered one of the turtle hunters trying to steal a gas generator. The man wouldn't stop. Paul fired at him. Then, about two hours ago, we were visited by six of the hunters; they've demanded money to protect us from bandits. The man who tried to steal the generator was the leader of the group. They're armed. We've sent for police and the military, but it may be several days before we get any kind of secure setup here."
Margaret, having come this far, showed a marked reluctance to retrace her steps. The two-hour flight from Ensenada had been unbearably hot, she and Carolyn had given up their hotel rooms and considering the season there seemed little likelihood of getting any kind of accommodations should they return, and finally if the camp was secure enough for John's secretary, it was probably safe for Carolyn and her. "Darling," she said coaxingly, "I'm not questioning your evaluation of the situation, but Carolyn and I can both take care of ourselves. If necessary, we can each even handle a gun. And, surely, you must know that six of us here is better than just four of you. Safety in numbers, eh?"
John had to admit that his wife did make sense. Six people would be safer than four. An honest man, not given to self-deceit, he also knew that one of the reasons he didn't want Margaret underfoot at the San Felipe camp was that Jean and he had been getting closer and closer. Last night he had walked down the beach with her in the moonlight, and she had fervently returned his kisses. There were no objections when he ran his hands up and down her back and cupped her ripe, firm buttocks as he pulled her willing body in hard against the penis throbbing beneath his tropical shorts. Her hand dropped, probed, then began stroking his cock through his clothes. That had been when Paul Ford had yelled from the camp, saying there was a radio message coming through for John. He and Jean had broken reluctantly, and the moment was gone. Now, if his wife remained, there would be no further opportunity until Margaret left in three weeks, and Jean would not wait that long. She would take up with Paul or George Henry.
John noticed the perspiration pouring off Carolyn's face as she patiently awaited his decision. It was stifling hot in the plane. A wave of tenderness washed over him - for wife and daughter. Suddenly he nodded and said, "I'm concerned only with your safety. I wouldn't want anything to happen to either of you."
"Of course, darling," Margaret said sweetly. 'Then we can stay?"
"Yes." He grinned at Carolyn, stepped back, and made a mock bow. "Welcome to Camp Sand Flea."
As members of the advance party for the expedition, John and his group had rather primitive - by modern-day standards - accommodations. Carolyn was to share a tent with Jean Peppers, which pleased the young girl because she and the secretary had always gotten along well together; they both were photography enthusiasts and would be in charge of the darkroom until the professional photographers arrived in September. Too, Jean had a surprising amount of knowledge about pop singers and rock groups for a woman almost thirty. Actually, Carolyn thought of her as an older sister or a well-liked cousin, a family allusion that held together until one noticed the marked physical difference between the tall lithe young blonde girl, her mother, and the rather short, full-breasted, full-buttocks, little brunette secretary. She wasn't fat, just pleasingly plump. Whereas Margaret's figure could be described as emitting an almost tangible aura of sensuality - in spite of everything the female judge could do to suppress it - Jean Peppers' figure was "cuddlesome," or as some of the graduate teaching assistants in John's department referred to it, "a very nice little handful."
Jean had always maintained a good tan, even in winter, but now her legs, arms and face were burned a dark chocolate brown after only a week under the hot Mexican sun. She was wearing a pair of rather tight tropical shorts that were indented slightly into the crevice of her buttocks and at the Y of her crotch. Her breasts strained against the confinement of a sun bra, which looked skimpy enough to have been the top part of a bikini bathing suit. The entire outfit looked cool and comfortable, and Carolyn immediately decided she was going to cut off the legs of the new hip-hugger pants she had brought along.
As they drove the five hundred yards from the airstrip to the camp, John explained the routines and safety precautions. Margaret and Carolyn had already been briefed about the snakes they might be expected to encounter, as well as the poisonous scorpions and the relatively harmless, although frightening, giant tarantulas which abounded in the region. "Harmless" or not, that was the one thing Margaret feared worst - spiders - and when they were ten inches across and covered with black fur, she almost died of fright.
"We breakfast at six," John said. "Seems a bit early, I know, but you won't be able to sleep after the sun comes up anyway. Too hot! Too bright! Until we can hire some reliable camp helpers, we all share in K.P. duties. That means everyone," he said, looking out of the corner of his eye at Margaret. She nodded her acquiescence. "Cold lunch. Hot dinner. Until the big diesel generators get in, we're short on ice, so cold drinks and ice are limited to cocktail hour only - between six and eight. We have a water bag for drinking water, salt water showers for cleaning up. Two major rules which can't be broken. No swimming alone and no hiking alone. After that incident this morning, we're adding a third admonition: One of the members of any hike or swimming party must always be armed. I know you're both bushed and hot, so we won't start with your duties until tomorrow. Carolyn - K.P. for you at breakfast. Margaret, you're down for lunch tomorrow ... sandwiches and salad."
John continued his briefing as they bumped their way back to the camp, leaving a thick brown cloud of dust hanging like a veil in back of them. Carolyn, already knowing most of the instructions and orders, listened with only half of her attention. Her quick green eyes took in everything about the area that her father had facetiously referred to as "Camp Sand Flea"; the name was a sobriquet for Camp San Felipe, the misnomer coming naturally about because of the large number of sand fleas infesting one part of the beach. The "camp" itself stood on a small sandy hummock about fifty feet up from the shores of the lagoon. The rise was not high enough to see the Pacific, which lay about three miles away behind another ridge of sand dunes, but it was high enough to catch the beneficial evening breeze that arose at dusk each nightfall. That same breeze, which permitted them to sleep under a blanket at night, also acted as a deterrent for the mosquitoes.
Paul and George, the other two members of the expedition, were standing in front of the large headquarters tent, shading their eyes from the late afternoon sun's glare, when John stopped the Jeep in front of them. The cloud of dust caught up with the vehicle and, for a moment or two, there was little said as everyone tried not to inhale and waved arms in front of them to hasten the cloud's departure. Both scientists were likable, possibly because of their gregarious personalities and inveterate love of practical jokes. Around the Oceanography Department at the University, the two were referred to as "Mutt and Jeff," Dr. George Henry being almost 6' 2" tall and as thin as a pipe pole, while Dr. Paul Ford was not quite as tall as Carolyn. Each was in his late twenties, both were acknowledged to be among the best men in their respective fields, in spite of their youth and occasional lack of academic decorum. It had been these two brilliant scientists responsible for the San Diego Sea Monster incident two years before when they "borrowed" the University's two-man submarine, decked it out with a long, plastic, hump-backed body of a dragon with a forty foot tail, and rigged up a smoke machine that emitted a terrifying cloud of sulfurous dioxide. The "monster" had surfaced alongside a party boat of 27 drunken albacore fishermen returning from a day's fishing, and the resulting uproar had brought out the Coast Guard, scientists from over half the world, in excess of five hundred newsmen and television cameramen, and a squadron of search planes. Paul and George had been so badly frightened by the unexpected success of their practical joke that they had, in panic, filled the plastic body with ballast and sank it in 150 fathoms of water before slinking back to the University wharf that same evening. Since that time, neither had ever mentioned the incident again - not even to each other . . . although the Sunday supplements and some of the men's adventure magazines still ran stories about the monster, and more than one of their colleagues at the University expounded serious theories about the "prehistoric" origins of this denizen from the deep.
Carolyn liked them both, mainly because they were frequent dinner guests at the house and because they treated her as an adult . . . not as a teen-ager. Now as she climbed out of the Jeep, she caught Paul Ford's speculative gaze on her. For one moment she thought perhaps something she and Charlie Webb had done was reflected on her face or in her expression. Then she realized simply that her culottes had slid up and were gaping open showing her sleek, milk-white upper thighs and thin nylon panties. She blushed and tugged at the hems, but when she glanced up again, Paul was talking animatedly to her mother.
Ten minutes later, dressed in a blue polka dot bikini swim suit that Margaret had described as "bordering on the indecent," Carolyn was standing under the salt water shower. The cool spray felt absolutely delicious, and she was comfortable for the first time since early that morning. Afterwards she wore the suit when she went to join the other members of the party. She found them seated at the picnic table and two benches in the "dining room," a large tent with its canvas sides rolled up and tied so the breeze could blow through. Paul greeted her boisterously with a wolf whistle. "Hey . . . hey. It's cocktail time, Little Chicken. We're starting thirty minutes early tonight in celebration of your arrival. What's your poison?"
Carolyn looked at her mother for permission and received it in the form of a nod. She was permitted an occasional beer or a glass of wine with her meals and, on special occasions, could have a very weak mixed drink or cocktail. "I'd like a rum and Coke," she said. "Not too much rum."
"Righto." Paul quickly poured the libation, then made three more vodka tonics for George, Jean, and himself.
Carolyn sipped her drink, watching the others talk back and forth, listening to the conversation swirl in patterns of laughter and solemnity. Gradually, though, as the sun sank lower and lower in the west and the sky began taking on the colors of fire, the talk became desultory before finally fading away altogether as everyone sat and watched the sunset paint the sky and clouds with fantastic reds and yellows and magentas.
The peaceful mood remained during dinner as they ate oven-baked fish, caught only two hours before, dining by the dim light from one overhead bare light bulb.
Paul and her father had the cleanup chores; Carolyn volunteered to assist them. Margaret, wearied by the long day's journey and debilitated by the earlier heat, excused herself and went to take a shower before going to bed. Jean yawned loudly and said she thought she would hit the sack herself.
The-gangling George stood. "I've-got a-new suspense novel I'm into. See you all tomorrow."
With the three of them working together, cleanup was completed in twenty minutes. John kissed his daughter goodnight, then slowly trudged through the darkness toward his tent. He gazed once, covetously toward Jean Pepper's tent, then shrugged ruefully and continued on his way. He had absolutely no expectations of Margaret's willingness to perform her marital duties ... so he wasn't disappointed or too surprised when he discovered she was already sound asleep or pretending to be asleep.
*
*
*
Paul Ford leaned back against the tent pole, lit his pipe, drew deeply on it, and grinned at Carolyn. He inclined his head to one side in tribute. "You've really grown up, Little Chicken. I didn't realize how much until I saw you in that teeny-weeny bikini."
"Thank you." His compliment pleased her, and she gazed openly, without embarrassment, almost boldly at him. He, like the rest of the males at the camp, was dressed in tropical shorts, tennis shoes, and wore no shirt. His shoulders and chest were heavily muscled, and Carolyn knew that at one time he could have been an Olympic swimming team member if he hadn't been so wrapped up in his oceanography studies. Her eyes moved down his figure, taking in his muscular legs and thighs, then moved rapidly back upward again, flickering momentarily at the crotch of his shorts. There was an unmistakable bulge there where his penis should be. Carolyn found herself wondering what it would be like to lie nude next to him as she had Charlie. Paul wouldn't be inexperienced! He would know what to do. She quickly suppressed her thoughts, and when she glanced back up to his face she saw his narrowed eyes watching her half-open mouth.
Carolyn licked her lips nervously. That action seemed to have broken the spell, for he awkwardly fished in his pockets for matches to light his pipe again. She heard him swallow, then say, "I'll walk you back to your tent, then I'm going to turn in." He turned from her, and in silhouette, Carolyn saw that the bulge in his pants had grown considerably larger and elongated. Instead of embarrassment, she felt a certain breathless excitement . . . bordering on anticipation. Once again the forbidden thought crept back: I wonder what it would feel like to have that shoved deep inside of me, making me cum, cumming up inside of me where I could feel it. And one part of her mind knew that before the summer was over, she might very well know how it felt.
If she could-have read, or peered into, Paul Ford's mind, Carolyn would have found it churning with strongly suppressed sexual desire, confusion, and a slight tinge of fear. And she would have known his thought: Jesus, take it easy, Paul. You must be out of your mind to start getting the hots for John's daughter, even if she is practically begging for it. That's not only jail bait, but could ruin your career as well. And, as an afterthought, he knew that he was going to have to order some condoms from somewhere. It was all very well not to worry about knocking up Jean Pepper, who was on the pill, but if something did happen and he got carried away with this luscious little package, he wanted to take all the precautions necessary for he was positive she didn't have the slightest notion about how to take care of herself. Christ! That's all I'd need-to - knock up the sixteen year old daughter of the Department Head. Then, looking at the half moons of her breasts pushing up, struggling for freedom against the confines of her bra, he had one final thought. I'd better order those condoms right away.
Carolyn walked back slowly to her tent, smelling the rich aroma of his pipe tobacco, the acrid odor of the mesquite brush, and the pungency of the lagoon. She shivered, feeling more alive and sensitive than she had in weeks. A slight breeze carried with it the far-off sound of the surf pounding against the outer reef three miles away across the lagoon and sand dunes. It sounded faintly like a heart beating in the darkness, a heart that was echoed in her suddenly shamelessly aroused vagina. Abruptly, she wished she were back home . . . with Charlie Webb ... for she could feel that familiar need rising inexorably inside her. It was possible to relieve herself by masturbation - and she had done it several times in the past - but it might be difficult to do it without making enough noise to alert Jean.
"Sleep tight, Little Chicken," Paul said, and held open the flap of her tent for her.
"Good night," she said quietly, not wanting to go in ... wanting instead to stay out here in the open air and close to him. One look at his stern face, however, and she ducked her head and entered. Paul closed the flap behind her. She saw the ghostly shapes of the mosquito netting over the two beds. Carolyn lifted hers and sat on the edge of the bunk. There was no acknowledgment from Jean, and the girl did not think the secretary could have gone to sleep that rapidly.
Mystified, she went over and stared through the nearly opaque netting. It didn't look as if anyone were in the bunk. "Jean?" she asked softly, straining her eyes in an effort to see better.
There was no answer.
"Jean?" This time she lifted the netting and reached a hand out toward the pillow. She gasped as she realized the bed was empty, but then almost immediately scolded herself for imagining things. Jean probably had just gone for a walk, nothing to get excited about. But, still, the camp order was that no one walked alone. Carolyn abruptly decided to go look for her, join her so she wouldn't be breaking the rules. Besides, it was hot inside the tent here; the night air would be refreshing.
Quickly, Carolyn darted outside. The moon, which had been shining brightly only moments before, was now partially obscured by a cloud. By the time she got to the camp's perimeter at the edge of the beach, it was completely under the cloud, and the darkness, warm and a little frightening, closed in on her. For a second she thought about going back to the tent, but then valor overcame her reluctance to walk alone. Which way should she go - right or left? Which way would Jean have gone? After a moment's hesitation, Carolyn decided to go left, away from the part of the beach infested by sand fleas. She had gone approximately fifty meters in the darkness before she heard a low groan coming from the opposite side of a small sand dune in front of her.
The sound brought an immediate ball of acid-like fright to her throat and caused her heart to begin beating so rapidly that she was sure it was about to fly right out of her chest. That noise came from a female's throat, a female in pain! Carolyn had opened her mouth to call out Jean's name, when she heard the sound repeated and then the hoarse comment, "Oh God, George. That's so wonderful . . . don't stop. Your mouth feels like heaven on my breasts."
The sudden realization of what she was hearing made Carolyn's breath freeze in her throat. She must get away from here so George and Jean wouldn't think she was eavesdropping or spying on them. She had started to move noiselessly back when the moon crept out of its cloud cover and the night was suddenly almost as bright as day. She could not move or they would see her. There was no alternative; she had to stay here, but she didn't have to witness it. Still, though, she found it impossible to keep her eyes turned away; they kept returning to the scene of their own accord, as if they demanded to see this salacious sight, this wicked spectacle, acted out in full. Carolyn could distinguish the completely nude bodies of the two expedition members locked in an overpoweringly sensual embrace of lovemaking. Jean was flat on her back on a blanket with legs raised high in the air, and even as Carolyn watched, George slid down until his crew-cut blonde hair was between her wide-open thighs. His face pressed forward as his arms reached around and lifted the secretary's hips from the blanket to his mouth.
Carolyn stood mesmerized by the perverted scene she was witnessing. As Jean began babbling incoherent exhortations in her wild wanton passion, Carolyn found herself listening and then began feeling once again her boyfriend, Charlie's, tongue at her own fevered vagina.
"Oh, God . . . Geeeeoooorggeee! Lick it ... lick it. Eat my cunt. Eat me alive. Devour meeee-eeeee!"
In spite of the fact that this same wicked act of perversion had been lavished on her own heated loins only three weeks before, Carolyn could not give credence to her eyes and ears. A wildly swirling sensation of tightness had begun building at the pit of her stomach and she realized that she, herself, had moaned wantonly at the exact same moment Jean had reached down, grasped George's ears, and began desperately grinding her hot quivering pussy into his wide open, omnivorously sucking mouth.
In the moonlight, the aroused young girl could see his tongue flicker out snake-like and repeatedly disappear into the moist, hair-lined slit of her open vagina.
The loud slurping sounds from George's hungry mouthings up between her legs were almost drowned out by Jean's loud animal-like mewling. The combination of the two sounds - both incredibly lascivious - brought the young girl to her senses momentarily. She took a step backwards, trying to turn and run blindly away from this evil spectacle of sheer, unadulterated lust.
"Keep going . . . don't stop, George. Oh God, don't stop! I'm going to cum. . ." Carolyn heard Jean groan heavily. She must go now . . . leave while their attentions were locked on each other. Turn around. Walk away. Then run! But even as her mind was issuing commands to her body, she found herself drawing in even closer . . . feeling the overpowering desire - the hungry need! - to witness the older girl cumming with her legs open wide that way. She had never thought before about watching other people making love, had somehow imagined she would be embarrassed to tears. Now, though, as she watched this salacious sight which had completely paralyzed her, she found her body coming back to life in a way she had never believed possible. Instead of being repulsed, she felt a delightful, light-fingered tingling begin between her own thighs. She wanted to run forward and join them. She squinted, trying to see it all - everything - as George began bobbing his head up and down, tongue-fucking the wildly squirming secretary in earnest.
"Ummmmmm," Jean crooned lewdly. That groan, together with the vile, wet sucking noises coming from George's devouring mouth, caused a shiver of excitement and anticipation to shake Carolyn's body. She knew goose-bumps were rippling like wind against water all over her body, running now like a gasoline fed fire across her bare abdomen and up to her rapidly rising and falling breasts that strained against the skimpy bra top of her bathing suit.
Down there in front of her, George's tongue was working in animal-like subjugation at the wide spread tightness of Jean's cunt. The girl could see the contorted expression of sheer, implacable lust etched on the woman's face above the full white mounds of her heaving breasts. Suddenly, George brought his hand down into the furrow separating her buttocks, and Jean jerked her trembling legs back higher, bending them at the knees until her kneecaps pressed hard against her excitedly distended nipples. The entire upturned plane of her defenseless loins was exposed to him and George hungrily flicked his tongue along the thin, hair fringed vaginal crevice, then, without warning, began worming it into the tightly puckered little lips of her anus.
"Aaagghhh. Beeee-uuuuu-teeee-FUL! Don't stop, baby. Ohhhhhh. Aaaagghhh! God . . . God . . . God . . . That's wonderful!" Jean panted as she clenched her eyes tightly shut and bared her lips back over her teeth at the obviously delightful sensations that were arcing throughout her entire body. She whined, grinding her cunt up lewdly, her firmly rounded buttocks making furious little elliptical circles as though it was a cam on a racing engine.
Carolyn was almost afraid to breathe now because the loud rasping escaping her own throat and lungs seemed even more audible than Jean's mewling and grunts. The girl's throat was hot and tight, her mouth dry, as if all the moisture in her body had now concentrated itself at that drenched and seeping junction between her thighs. She could not remember ever being this wet down there without anyone having touched or caressed her. Unconsciously, she slipped her hand beneath the elastic waist band of the bikini swim suit and began sensuously stroking her middle finger through the center of the thinly curling strands of her pubic mound. Little jolts of wickedly growing pleasure wracked her body. Never before had she been so fascinated by anything; the perverted sight and obscene language of forbidden love held her in its grip. She was spellbound. Her own heaving breasts were throbbing with a fevered desire that made them painful beyond measure, like some poor cow with a full udder needing to be milked. She wished Charlie Webb were here now, remembering the afternoon she had held his thick virile cock in her hands while he licked and ate at her vagina. He would fuck her; she would do anything - give anything - if he were here! She wished he had fucked her then, even though it would undoubtedly have made a difference in her mother's understanding acceptance of her behavior. It would have been worth it though, even if she had been thrown out of the house - banished forever.
Almost without thinking about it, Carolyn dropped her left hand to the waist band of the bikini bottoms and held it out in front of her stomach to give her right hand freer access to her cunt. She went into a half-squat position, her knees obscenely splayed. Immediately, she began teasing her outstretched middle finger through the blondness of her pubic curls and up and down the hot, moist slit beneath them, cringing and shivering in delight each time she brushed against the erect little clitoris that reverberated softly in ever rising excitement.
The aroused young girl watched as her tent-mate Jean's hotly writhing figure suddenly speeded up tempo and saw it stiffen as though an electrical jolt had surged through it. Jean began groaning, "Oh . . . Jesus Christ! George . . . George . . . GEOORRGE! I'm ... I'm ... Aaaaiiieeeee ... I'M CUM-MEEEENNNNGG!" The words were muffled in sexual delirium, her unrecognizable voice croaking off into a pathetic little wail as she choked and sputtered in the convulsive throes of her climax.
George's tongue motions gradually died away as Jean relaxed. Then he lowered her legs to the sand and raised himself so that his knees were right under her armpits, alongside her breasts. His long, rigid prick throbbed in the air as though it were reverberating to savage drums. "Now do me, Jean, baby," he said, his voice husky with lust. "Now do me. . ." He put his hand around his cock and rubbed the glistening head softly around her half-parted lips.
Carolyn saw Jean's face come forward eagerly as her hands wrapped themselves around his waist, fingernails digging into the white globes of his ass. The elongated, pulsating shaft of heated cock flesh slowly disappeared deep within the confines of the woman's warm wet mouth as he entwined his fingers in her hair, and she began a gentle sucking motion that caused her cheeks to indent grotesquely. Carolyn could see everything, and she desperately fingered into her own love-starved pussy as she dimly saw the tiny ridges of soft pink flesh pulled from Jean's widely ovaled lips as George partially withdrew his cock from her mouth. She watched, trying to reproduce his rhythm with her probing fingers, as he began a regular fucking back and forth, never pulling the huge, rubbery head all the way out from the warmth of her voraciously sucking lips.
Now Jean dropped one hand from his thrusting buttocks and reached up between his wide spread thighs to cradle the softness of his testicles in her palm. She began stroking them gently as she pulled her head back completely from the cock and began a hungry little nibbling at the entire length of the sensitive underside of the massive fleshy pole. George groaned in delight, then moaned loudly as her hand left his testicles and used an outstretched middle finger to probe at his tiny hidden rectum.
Jean had just taken almost the whole expanding length of George's long saliva-glistening cock back into her throat when the capricious moon was extinguished again by a cloud. A low moan of disappointment bubbled from Carolyn's throat. She glanced up frantically at the sky, praying that light would return and she could once more view this perverted pageant of forbidden lust.
It was then her heart stopped beating as she glimpsed the dark figure crouching right next to her. She had opened her mouth in a primeval scream of terror when she recognized Paul Ford's face. He put his finger to his mouth in a charade of silence, then grasped her trembling arm and began leading her away. It was only then that Carolyn realized she still had her right hand buried in the soft, sable-like fleece of her pubic hair, with her middle finger pressed deep into the hotly clasping walls of her vagina. Guiltily, and with a gasp of dismay as she realized what she was doing, she withdrew her hand and attempted to yank her arm away from Paul's grip. "Be quiet," he hissed, "or they'll hear you."
Carolyn let herself be led down the beach about fifty yards. It was only then that Paul released her arm. For a moment the girl alternated between the very real desire to weep from shamed embarrassment and the thought that perhaps she should display some righteous anger. Then, because the heat of sexual arousement still burned with a bright relentless hot fire between her loins, she attempted to brazen it out. "What's the big idea?" she demanded.
"Come on now," Paul said coaxingly. "I don't have to tell you that it's unbecoming to be a peeping Tom."
"I was not," she replied heatedly. "I just got there, and I was afraid to move because they might see me."
"Little Chicken, don't lie to me. You have been there for at least ten minutes. I followed you when you left the camp."
"Well . . . well then," she sputtered, feeling foolish now, "you're the one who was spying!"
"Just tagging along to make sure you didn't get into trouble. You know you're not supposed to be wandering about alone."
"I can take care of myself." She saw his sudden grin and knew what he was going to say before he even said it.
"Yeh! I noticed you 'taking care' of yourself."
"Oh, you're hateful!" She spun around, refusing to look at him.
Paul laughed, but his laughter faded into an uncomfortable silence as she turned back to him and he caught her staring hungrily at the front of his tropical shorts.
Carolyn's mind was churning in indecision. She needed someone to relieve her. She wanted him, wanted him now! And she startled even herself when she heard her own bold, brazen voice begging, "Paul... do it to me."
He drew back as if she had hit him with a barbed wire whip. After a second, he laughed nervously. "You're kidding."
"No ... I'm not. Please?"
"If you're not kidding, you're out of your mind then."
"I'm not a little girl any longer," she retorted.
"Yes. That's rather painfully obvious."
"Am I ugly?"
"No ... you're a nice little package."
"Then do it to me. Please?"
"You know I can't. You're underage and to compound the situation, your father is my boss."
"If you don't make love to me," she said defiantly, "I'll get someone else to do it." She realized that she had spoken the truth, and not only that, she could tell by his expression that he believed she was sincere too.
"I doubt that you'll find anyone tonight," Paul replied, then mentally added to himself; "Jesus Christ! The kid is acting like a damned nympho. She's ready to throw herself at anyone who will have her. She isn't playing a game, either." He stared at her figure; the moonlight had deepened the shadowy cleavage between her young breasts. She looked surprisingly mature and very desirable. For a moment he fought a battle with himself. Why not, he thought? She's going to get herself laid one way or the other. Why not me? She would be better off with me than some kid who might knock her up or give her a dose.
As if sensing his indecision, Carolyn boldly reached behind her and unfastened her bikini bra top and let it fall, revealing the luscious white mounds of her firm little breasts so perfectly formed. If she could get Charlie Webb so hot, she could do the same thing with this man. After all, he'd had a partial erection earlier in the dining tent and he, too, had just witnessed the scene between Jean and George. He was a man. She was a woman. She saw him now, staring in fascination at her bare breasts. Quickly, feeling a sudden surge of power and knowing instinctively he wanted her, she placed her hands beneath them and lifted them up in offering. "Please, Paul?" She heard him swallow, then he closed his eyes tightly and shook his head violently.
"Put your clothes back on," he said gruffly. "Right now!"
"I won't." She had begun struggling out of her bikini panties when Paul said, "George Henry and Jean Pepper will be along in a couple of minutes. They should find your naked little ass quite interesting. Good night." He turned and walked away, but not before Carolyn saw the awesome bulge in the crotch of his tropical shorts.
"Paul . . . come back," she wailed, wanting to scream, to shout, to weep! He did not answer.
With a deep sigh of trembling frustration, Carolyn pulled her flimsy bikini panties back on, then replaced her bra. What was wrong with him? Why did he pretend he wasn't interested? She knew he wanted her, his erect penis had signified that.
Slowly, on rubbery legs and weak knees, she walked back to her tent, and with each step her determination grew. Paul Ford was going to fuck her, even if she had to blackmail him!
Five minutes later, completely nude between the sheets, her finger teased hotly at her moist young cuntal slit and erect little clitoris until she experienced a puny little orgasm that neither relaxed nor relieved her. It was, she decided, as she drifted off to a restless sleep, a really lousy substitute for the real thing.
Her last fading thought was: "Tomorrow night I am going to be fucked." She had no way of knowing how ironically true that statement was really going to be...
Chapter Six
The two barefoot Mexican youths came trudging up the beach from the South shortly after breakfast. Both were relatively clean, except for the dust of their journey, and were dressed in coastal Baja California "Sunday best," which is to say that they wore black gabardine pants and white, embroidered, muslin shirts.
They had, the older one told George Henry who intercepted them at the camps perimeter, walked all day yesterday from sunup and from first light this morning to reach San Felipe. There was no work in their village some fifty kilometers to the South. The younger boy had smiled a mouthful of white teeth and twisted his sombrero in his hands, shrugging, "There has been no work, senor, for these ten months past."
George searched their faces carefully. They looked honest but, of course, one could never tell in this nomadic-Indian society that scrounged out a bare survival living in and around the area. They would have no second thoughts of stealing everything - even murdering if necessary. They had laws and morals of their own - quite different from the University scotch and soda, television, swimming pool, and automobile community - laws that were designed to allow the natives to exist in harmony with their environment. If these two had walked for a day and a half searching for work, then that was a definite plus point in their favor.
"Wait," he said, then turned and started toward the headquarters tent where John Dunn was giving dictation to Jean Pepper. Neither George nor Jean acted as if anything other than polite conversation had ever passed between them; actually, they both had been so nonchalant at breakfast that Carolyn almost believed for a moment she had dreamed the entire episode on the beach the night before.
George said, "John, I have a couple of boys outside. They say they walked all the way from Puerto Calizona. Said they heard we were setting up camp and were hiring helpers."
John hesitated for a moment. They could use help and they would be hiring Mexican assistants within a few days anyway. "Do you think they're telling the truth?" he asked.
George shrugged and grinned, then added quickly, "It's hard to tell. We could watch them, though, for the first couple of days. And Paul and I really could use some help off-loading supplies when the Cr47 lands at El Silla this afternoon."
John deliberated, weighing the possibilities. If the boys were honest, they definitely would be an asset to the camp. That would mean the turtle hunter banditos would be facing eight people instead of four; it just might shift the odds in the camp's favor. Abruptly, he decided to rely on George's judgment of the. Mexican youths. There was no denying that Paul and George would need help when the University's transport plane unloaded at the seldom used 2500 foot military emergency landing field fifteen kilometers to the south. Finally he nodded and said, "Okay. Use your own judgment. It's all right with me." Then as an afterthought, he added, "Sweeten the pot a bit, pay them a little more than we had planned to at first. Make sure they understand, though, that this is more than we'll be able to pay later on."
"Right." George turned, ducked his head down to avoid the low entrance way and went back to the beach where the boys were lying with sombreros over their faces. He sat down cross-legged in the sand and bargained for another five minutes before agreeing to hire them on a trial basis. "Are you too weary from your long journey to begin working in, let us say, two hours?" he asked in Spanish.
Manuel, the older boy, smiled broadly. "Senor, we are ready to start now, if you will but give the command," he answered.
Two hours later Margaret, sitting in front of her tent, saw the three-quarter ton Land Rover Special and trailer pull out of the camp with Paul and George in the front and the two Mexican youths in the back. It was Paul, though, who drew most of Margaret's attention. There had been something - some "aura" of unease - between the stocky young scientist and Carolyn at breakfast this morning. It was almost as if something had happened between the two . . . an argument, a disagreement. That had been her first evaluation of the situation, but then she had a good look at Carolyn's determined expression. It was almost as if her blonde daughter was daring or taunting him, and the "aura" was more of sexual electricity than anger. Margaret was reluctant to put her feelings into words, but the phrase "lover's quarrel" kept surfacing in her mind. "Lord, I hope not," Margaret said to herself. "That's all I need right now, to have Carolyn go off the deep end for Paul." Since that afternoon a month ago when she had caught the two kids together in the bedroom, she'd had no doubt that her daughter was a healthy young woman with a healthy woman's physical needs . . . and that the morality of these needs did not enter into it. They grow up so rapidly these days, she thought wearily, knowing it was only a matter of time before Carolyn took the bit in her teeth and became intimate with some boy or man. She supposed she - like so many other mothers of girls Carolyn's age - should have volunteered to get birth control pills for her daughter. Yet, wasn't that the equivalent of a parental seal of approval, of condoning in advance anything the girl wanted to do?
Margaret watched as Carolyn walked from the kitchen tent to the beach. Yes, there was no doubt about the girl's ripe lovely young femaleness; she was wearing that too revealing bikini again today, showing off her trim young buttocks and long lithe legs. Margaret sighed deeply and supposed she had better start getting used to it. Jean Pepper came out of the headquarters tent and moved through the sunlight to her own tent, the shadow of her own lush figure dancing alongside her. Now there was another one who wore her clothes too tight, the female judge thought, only in Jean's case she knew the secretary wore them that way for one reason only: to attract males, to advertise her wares.
Listlessly she wondered if John and Jean had ever been intimate. She decided they undoubtedly had been and was surprised that she felt a twinge of jealousy. Once again she wished, as she had so many times in the past, that things were different between John and her. It was obvious that both her daughter and husband thought she was completely frigid, yet there had been a time once when she was as restlessly excited about sex as Carolyn was today. Her mind drifting back to Carolyn's particular situation again, Margaret decided that if her daughter simply must get intimately involved with someone, then she would rather it be Paul Ford than Charlie Webb or some other casual teen-age acquaintance. Paul, at least, had sense enough to see that the right precautions were taken and would make sure the girl wasn't hurt emotionally by the ordeal. And if it must happen, then she, Margaret, would just as soon not know anything about it. "Just keep me in ignorance, dear Lord," she mused aloud as she started toward the kitchen tent to prepare lunch, "just keep me in ignorance."
Carolyn, too, had seen the Rover truck and trailer pull out of the camp as it headed for the airstrip fifteen kilometers away. She had asked George for permission to go along, but had been turned down because of lack of room. Now, lying on the sand, she was bored. There wasn't anything for her to do. She couldn't go swimming by herself, or hiking. Jean would be tied up with her father for the best part of the morning; it would be lunch time before she was free. No work was ever done between one and four - siesta time - and Jean had K.P. cooking duties tonight, so it would be tomorrow before they could even start work on the darkroom. Carolyn sighed miserably, staring out across the empty lagoon, then lay belly down in the warm white sand, yawned, and closed her eyes. After a moment, she loosened the bra strap so her back would tan evenly. She began thinking about Paul Ford. He had refused to look at her this morning, in spite of everything she did to attract his attention. That was okay, she still hadn't figured out the exact approach she planned to use with him. The two Mexican boys who had been hired just a couple of hours ago had been unable to disguise their admiration for her blonde loveliness. Actually, the way the older one - what was his name? Oh yes, Manuel - was looking at her had sent a little shiver of fright down her spine. It wasn't a mean or vicious look, just one so rapaciously sexual that she knew she must never, never, under any circumstances, go anyplace alone with him or permit him to find her alone. Maybe, she thought sleepily as the burning rays of the sun acted as a soporific, I can use him to make Paul Ford jealous.
Back in her tent, Jean lay down on the bunk for a minute, trying unsuccessfully to fight the lethargy she felt. It had been after one o'clock before she and George got back to the camp, and they hadn't wasted a minute of the three and a half hours spent on the beach. Both were bushed! It had been pure torture to get up this morning, and John had worked hell out of her ... as though the lovable son of a bitch had all the energy in the world. He couldn't fool her, though, Jean thought; it must have been an act! After all, he had been so hot the night before that he was about to rape her . . . and now there was that sexy wife of his to keep him company. Margaret had the kind of body that took a lot of loving to keep happy, Jean decided, and so John must have been really fucked out this morning but didn't want anyone to know it. "Men," she said with a yawn, then closed her eyes.
John worked steadily all morning, needing something to keep his mind off Jean Pepper's body so enticingly close to him. She looked tired and seemed dragged out. He thought about it and decided she must be having her period. At eleven, after Jean had - for the fifth time - missed part of his rapid fire dictation because she was yawning so prodigiously, he told her to go take a nap. She went, happily, and without argument.
It was almost noon when he heard Carolyn's faint scream from the beach area. "What the hell?" he exclaimed, jumping to his feet and grabbing the rifle that stood beside his desk. Running toward the doorway, he ducked his head to clear the entrance and had just started to stand upright again when he saw the three figures outside. "What are you . . ." he began, but that was as far as he went, for at that moment a rifle butt thudded down on the back of his head. The world exploded in a sudden red flash and John felt himself falling, falling, falling into a bottomless dark tunnel whose black walls opened up to receive him.
Jean Pepper sat bolt upright in bed from a deep sleep as she heard Margaret's shrill scream of terror. She ran toward the door and saw Margaret struggling with two men and John's seemingly lifeless figure lying in a gathering puddle of blood outside the headquarters tent. "John," she yelled, and had started toward him when a vile-smelling burlap sack was yanked over her head. Helplessly she struggled, screaming all the time, while they tied the bag around her waist - imprisoning her hands. Then she felt herself picked up, tossed over a shoulder, and being carried away.
Chapter Seven
The combination of fright, nausea from the putrefying stench of the burlap fish bag over her head, and the lack of oxygen had caused Margaret to momentarily lose consciousness. She was only vaguely aware that she was trussed up like a spring lamb being taken to slaughter and of being carried over someone's shoulder. Then had come the moment when she was dropped unceremoniously and, through the back of her dress, she could feel the resiliency of what she was sure was a rubber boat - undoubtedly the expeditions big, inflatable dinghy.
She heard the sound of a motor starting and a second later felt a bobbing motion as the boat moved across the relatively serene waters of the lagoon. From somewhere just to the right of her, Margaret heard the gasping, choking, protesting voice of Jean Pepper pleading in Spanish, "I ... I can't breathe. You're killing me. Please take off the sack." This was followed immediately by Carolyn's objections, "I can't breathe either."
Momentary relief washed over Margaret. Thank God, the three of them were together; that meant their captors didn't mean to murder them. Before she could reassure the other two women, she heard a man's voice say, "Cut a hole in the sacks, but leave them tied up."
Margaret felt her shoulders gruffly seized and she was jerked upright. A second later, a slit was cut in the burlap bag; sunlight and fresh air poured in, and she took deep breaths, filling her oxygen-starved lungs as the split bag was pulled down to her shoulders.
She gazed around and realized her earlier surmise had been correct; they were being transported in the expedition's huge, twelve man inflatable dinghy.
"Mother, are you all right?" Carolyn asked, and there was fear and uncertainty in her trembling young voice.
"Yes, dear. Have they hurt you?"
Carolyn was not given a chance to reply, for at this moment one of the four young Mexican-Indian men in the boat snapped, "Silencio! Do not speak until you are given permission."
Jean Pepper said, "I recognize you. You're Joaquin, the one who tried to steal the generator."
Joaquin said nothing, merely leaned toward the secretary and growled, "Silencio." He slapped her once; she fell sideways onto the floor of the boat.
Two of the other men laughed, the third one merely stared speculatingly, with hot eyes, at the secretary's ripely filled out figure. He said something in a low tone of voice to Joaquin, who replied, "Not now, Diego, later ... you may have her."
Diego persisted, grabbing his cock through the material of his trousers. "I can wait, amigo, but my brother here between my legs has no patience." The remark was greeted by laughter.
Margaret closed her eyes and turned her head away, a motion which did not escape Joaquin's eagle-like eyes. "What is wrong, senora? Does the thought of a real man's nice fat cock trouble you? I would think that with a woman's body, such as God has given you, that you would be eager to share your nice warm cunt with a nice man-sized cock. Such as mine! Look, is it not beautiful?"
Oh God, Margaret thought, keeping her eyes closed, we are in the hands of a madman. It would have been better for them to murder us. There was no doubt in her mind that all three of them would be violated. She must do something, but what? She screamed as her hair was cruelly grasped close to the scalp and her head yanked around. "Puta - whore! - when you are commanded to open your eyes, you must open them ... if you want to live any longer."
Margaret opened her eyes. There, in front of her face, only a few inches away, Joaquin's thick, already hardened cock stood throbbing in virile splendor. As she watched, he slowly pulled back the foreskin to reveal a huge blood-engorged head that throbbed softly in his obvious excitement at tormenting and frightening her. Seeping from the tiny slit at the end was one small drop of thin white pre-cum that stood out like a tiny pearl against the red velvety background of the rubbery head.
"Now, is that not the most beautiful sight your eyes have ever seen?" He twisted her hair when she refused to answer. When her silence was maintained, he took his hand off his cock and slapped her twice. The sound of his palm hitting her face was like a shot heard even above the sound of the motor.
"Leave my mother alone," Carolyn screamed, more in anger than in fright.
Joaquin turned slowly and looked at the girl. He asked softly, ominously, "Did I give you permission to speak?"
"I don't care. Stop hurting my mother."
Margaret sensed the threat and instinctively realized that Carolyn was talking herself into serious trouble or injury. "Be quiet, darling. Don't say anything." In order to draw Joaquin's attention away from her daughter, she looked up at him and said, "No, I do not think your penis is beautiful. It's ugly. Repulsive."
Diego and the two other men laughed uproariously, slapping their thighs in glee as they watched the uncooperative American senora insult the leader.
Joaquin released Margaret's hair. He stood upright in the smoothly running boat, looking toward his men with a mock expression of hurt on his swarthy face. He made his lips tremble as though he were about to weep and his mustache, like twin puppy dog tails trailing down each side of his mouth seemed to quiver in sorrow at this cruel thing the gringa had said. Then he glanced down at the pulsating prick jutting like a third arm from between his legs. "Do not listen to her, my fine friend. Please do not be hurt at her unkind words. You know and I know that you are beautiful. And she, also, will soon realize how beautiful you are." He looked down at Margaret, sitting defiantly in front of him. "You have hurt his feelings. He is only eight inches long and feels inferior to the gray God whales who visit our lagoon to breed in the winter of each year. The whale penis weighs over 400 pounds and is four and five feet long. My father's father before me saw a whale leap over his boat one day and saw a penis that was at least seven feet long. My little friend here," he grasped his thick prick once again and peeled back the foreskin, "heard the story and his feelings have been easily hurt since that time. Why do you not apologize to him? Kiss him to show you meant no disrespect."
"I would die first," Margaret spat out.
Now the men in the boat had stopped laughing. The air of tenseness was electric, felt by everyone, and Jean Pepper stirred uneasily. It was all very well for Margaret to be brave and bitchy, but if she didn't look out she would wind up getting them all killed. After all, a cock was only a cock, and the Mexican gang - being fishermen - were clean. They were probably cleaner than the expedition's members as far as that was concerned, because they spent a great deal of their time in the water and had a tribal fetish about cleanliness. Too, stripped of all pretense and everything else, the young man did have a beautiful penis - one of the biggest she had ever seen, and she had seen a few dozen in her life. "Come on Margaret," she silently pled, "don't be an ass. Cooperate."
Margaret, though, was in no mood for compromise. If she permitted him to talk to her this way, if she relented in any way at all, then the two other women would suffer as well.
"Kiss it," he repeated, and now there was no levity in his voice, only a threat as frightening as the whirl of rattlers.
"Go to hell!"
Joaquin took a deep breath, his nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed dangerously. He never took his eyes off the stubborn gringa as he said, "Diego?"
"Si, Joaquin. What is it you require?"
"Take your knife and cut the young girl's throat, then throw her to the sharks." He issued the command as calmly as he would order the baiting of a hook, but there was no mistaking his sincerity. Jean screamed as she saw Diego thoughtfully remove his sharp boning knife from its sheath and begin leaning toward the cringing Carolyn.
"Stop," Margaret hissed, struggling to gain her feet. When she was in a half crouch, Joaquin merely gave her a gentle nudge on the shoulder and she fell sideways onto the floor of the dinghy. Margaret saw Diego reach out with one hand for Carolyn's hair then yank her head up so the naked whiteness of her throat was bared.
"Please, don't . . ." Carolyn began, but could say no more as her body began trembling uncontrollably with the realization that she was only seconds away from a horrible death.
"Stop it. Stop it. Stop it. I'll do anything you say," Margaret screamed as her iron will of defiance shattered into a million pieces. She began sobbing in humiliation, knowing now that before this day was over her helpless body and mind were going to be subjected to the most vilely obscene demands, and she would obey them all, even though ordinarily she would have preferred death rather than obey even one. Her life and safety was unimportant. Let them do anything to her, just so long as her young daughter, Carolyn, was not hurt.
Diego had placed the blade of his sharp knife about an inch and a half below Carolyn's earlobe. He twisted her head sideways, again lifting her chin, and then looked at Joaquin for further instructions.
"A moment, Diego," the leader said, then glanced down at the sobbing abject figure of the woman. "If you place value on your daughter's life, you will do everything I say and do it without protest or question. Comprende?"
"I promise you nothing. Define for me the term, "innocent". Are you telling me she is a virgin?"
"Yes." Margaret answered quietly, her voice low.
"Then my men shall not touch her." Margaret was so relieved that she did not hear his queer emphasis on the phrase, "my men".
"Now that I have shown you my generosity, gringa, why do you not show your gratitude by sucking my cock."
"Oh no . . . please . . . not in front of everyone."
"Diego . . ." That was all Joaquin said, but Carolyn squealed as her hair was twisted again baring her throat.
"All right ... all right. I'll do it," Margaret said rapidly. "Don't watch, darling," she called out to her daughter.
"No," Joaquin said in warning and turned to Diego, "Push the girl closer beside her mother. She must see everything."
Margaret began weeping in shame and frustration as Carolyn's trussed figure was forced over and placed beside her. "Don't be frightened, darling, and please forgive me," the female judge said, staring at her daughter's terror stricken face. She supposed there was nothing else to do, no way of reasoning with these vile beasts. There just might be one thing, though. She looked up at Joaquin and said, "We are very rich and very important. We will pay you much money for our freedom."
"How much money?" he asked, with a sarcastic look on his face.
"Fifty thousand dollars - six hundred thousand pesos."
Diego breathed out, "There is not that much money in all the world. She lies."
Joaquin shook his head. "She does not lie. I know they have much money. That is why we have taken them. Even I, though, did not know they were as rich as that. But we can get the money even if the gringas are dead. If they are well-behaved and do as they are told, then perhaps we shall be generous and return them alive to their people." He turned back to Margaret smiling broadly. "And now, senora, to show your sincerity, you must take my cock into that lovely warm mouth of yours and suck me until I enter the Garden of Paradise."
He pulled the thick foreskin back once again, weighing the rigid stiff shaft in the palm of his hand. "On your knees, puta. Quickly because my friend between my legs grows impatient to feel the hot moistness of your lips."
The three other men, sitting on the sides of the boat, leaned in around the leader, crowding in close, holding their breaths as they watched the lewdly inciting subjugation of the proudly resistant American woman.
Carolyn stared at Joaquin's huge throbbing prick as though it were a slowly weaving snake and her mother a bird paralyzed with fright. She had never imagined any man could have anything so large. It was fully two inches longer than Charlie's. No woman could ever take that inside of her; she would be split in two. In addition to the twin specters of awe and fear, she could feel the first zephyrs of a building excitement, as if her body were impatient for this vile lascivious spectacle with her beautifully proud mother to begin. She glanced to her left and saw Jean Pepper watching the scene with fevered eyes and an expression that Carolyn could not define.
"Crawl to me," Joaquin demanded to the now resigned Margaret, and then looked pleased when she shuffled slightly forward without hesitation. The woman refused to look at his penis, but that didn't bother him at all, because the other two gringas were staring at it as if mesmerized. The plump one looked as if she were actually salivating, while the young girl looked almost as eager.
"Now open your mouth and suck my friend up inside," the bandito leader commanded.
Margaret resisted only a second. She knew there was really no choice; it was this, or Carolyn's life. She had never done this horribly perverted thing before, and she was already fighting the waves of nausea that churned and swept through her abdomen, stomach and throat. Now, as she licked her dry lips, she looked at the prick for the first time. It was, beyond a doubt, the largest she had ever seen or even heard of. The hugely throbbing head looked almost like the blunt end of a soft ball bat. In the center of the tip, where the tiny split opened and closed like the mouth of a feeding fish, one drop of thick white seminal fluid had oozed to the surface. The cock itself was almost a golden brown color, and the massive trunk of it was laced with tiny blue and red capillaries. As she moved her subservient face closer, she saw a larger vein expanding and contracting with each beat of his heart. Closer, closer, closer she moved her face until her disbelieving eyes could not focus on it any longer.
Then, with a sudden feeling of complete hopelessness, Margaret opened her mouth as she would for a dentist and slid her hot wet lips over the huge throbbing head of his cock. Although she wasn't sure, she thought for a moment that her ears had caught the sound of Jean Pepper's groan close by.
Joaquin felt the exquisite smooth wet sensation as her lips closed hotly around the blood-filled tip of his prick. He stared down at this beautiful, rich American woman, and watched her pooched out lips as he felt the warm saliva flowing like hot honey around the head of his aching cock. She seemed uncertain of what to do and he wondered if she had ever done anything like this before. The thought that he was the first acted as a goad to him. He wanted to shove it in all the way down her rich white throat, wanted to hear her strangled protests, wanted to see the expression on her beautiful daughter's face when the cock disappeared almost completely into her mother's beautifully stretched mouth. Viciously he put both hands over her ears, holding both face and mouth captive, his fingernails digging painfully into the scalp. Margaret attempted to shake her head and gain freedom, but with the only result being he tightened his already agonizing grip. Carolyn saw her mother's long auburn hair move gracefully back and forth like red seaweed on an ocean bottom as the woman struggled vainly for freedom from the huge log lodged just inside the widely ovaled entrance to her face.
Margaret was attempting to say, "no," but her words were choked off as Joaquin rammed the thick hungry rod of flesh deeper up inside, the trunk itself crushing through her soft moist lips into the warm wet saliva of her mouth. She could feel the spongy bluntness of the head sliding the entire length of her tongue, coming to rest far back in her throat. She gagged and choked, mumbling inarticulately, as he began grinding his hips back and forth and fucking in and out of her mouth with powerful little strokes that jolted her head in his hands.
Gloating above her with his eyes almost vacant from the intensity of feeling and lust, Joaquin began to undulate his pelvis even more, sliding the giant battering cudgel in and out of her helpless mouth, never quite withdrawing, leaving the hot, swollen head just inside the warm soft grotto of her unwilling lips. Margaret made an effort to twist away from him, to pull back, but she was held mercilessly captive by his hands pressing against her cheeks.
The total helplessness of her situation caused a sudden black fog of fatalistic acceptance to descend on Margaret's mind. She had closed her eyes tightly to block out the repulsive sight of the thick black patch of pubic hair that sprouted at the base of the cock which rammed without mercy into her contorted face. Moisture filled her mouth as saliva glands sought to dampen, dilute, and identify the taste of this alien thing being buried deep in her throat.
Joaquin and the others stared down with lewd delight at the laboring figure of the beautiful unwilling American woman; the sight of his massive prick moving in and out between her full sensual lips was driving them all into a frenzy. The three men had monstrous erections, all too evident beneath the thin material of their trousers.
It was Diego who broke the spell. He said simply, and it was almost a plea, "Joaquin, con su permiso," he jerked his head toward the heavily breathing Jean Pepper.
Joaquin, impatient at being interrupted, merely gave his head one short nod. Diego grinning widely, unbuttoned his pants, reached in, smiled ecstatically as his fingers found their prize, and pulled out his long sinewy cock. He was joined a second later by the younger of the other two men, who removed his trousers completely to reveal his own pulsating prick whose sperm inflated balls hanging at the base gave it the menacing appearance of a cannon about to fire.
The third bandito fished in his pants and his stubby thick erect penis leapt to freedom. He had moved over toward Carolyn when Joaquin brought him up short with a snarled, "No, Paco!! Leave her. You may have this one when I am finished."
"Hurry then, for I am about to die," Paco groaned.
Carolyn simply could not believe her eyes. It was as though a sudden forest of hardened male penises had sprung up around her. She watched, unable to tear her eyes away, as Diego's cock disappeared into Jean's seemingly voraciously cooperating mouth. The secretary had taken it willingly - without protest - in fact almost as eagerly as she had performed with George the night before. Almost immediately, her cheeks indented and then a hungry obscenely sounding sucking noise began. Diego rolled his brown eyes around in his head, showing the whites, and groaned, "Madre Dios. This one knows how to please a man." He began thrusting in and out of her wildly sucking lips, and closed his eyes in rapture as Jean swirled her tongue hotly around and around the rigidly pulsating tip - teasing at it expertly as she created a soft sensuous vacuum with her mouth.
Then, Carolyn's attention was suddenly caught by a sudden change in Joaquin's stance in the smoothly riding boat. It was as though he was going insane. In spite of her mother's gagged and choked protests, he began shoving forward even more forcefully into her grotesquely strained mouth.
"Suck it," he bellowed; "Suck it, you bitch!" He held her head tighter as the swollen head of his hot elongated cock rhythmically brushed back her tonsils. He delighted in watching her full sensuous lips clasping tighter and tighter around the trunk as her mouth muscles wearied and her warm oral cavity became accustomed to the barbarous unnatural invasion.
Margaret felt no fear or revulsion any longer. All of her attention was concentrated on one thing only, and that was to please him, to get his vile rape of her mouth over with as soon as possible. She knew he was using her mouth just as he would a vagina, that she was being fucked in the mouth . . . and he would reach an orgasm in her mouth. That thought caused her stomach to churn, and she prayed she would not vomit and displease him, for this much was certain: if Carolyn was to live and not be molested, she must please him.
"Suck," he hissed again.
Margaret knew he was, in his own way, telling her what to do ... and so she did everything he requested, even more. She licked and sucked intensely at the huge fleshy rod driving rhythmically back in her throat, and used her tongue and teeth to tease the head, an act that brought a low moan of delight from the bandit leader. She was salivating so much now that the heavily sliding cock slithered in and out almost effortlessly. She sucked until her cheeks indented in silver-dollar size hollows, until her tortured throat muscles were fiery tendons of pure agony. And she licked around the head, using her tongue, her teeth . . . acting automatically now, knowing by the grunts and low animal groans what brought him pleasure and what did not.
And with this intense desire to please him, because Carolyn's only hope of salvation lay in her, her mother pleasing him, she gradually became aware that her own body was beginning to react sexually to this masochistic debasement. She could feel new and unexpected warmth in her vagina, a dampness between her thighs; and the knowledge that her body was actually becoming aroused was more repulsive and brought her more mental distress than the perverted act she was being forced to perform.
Her thoughts were suddenly forced back to the man and his cock in her throat, for she felt his loins crush smotheringly into her face and the hard rippling muscles of his stomach pressing against her forehead. His hands gripped her behind the head, pulling it forward as though he were attempting to shove his cock all the way down her throat and into her belly. "Suck harder, bitch, I'm cumming now!!" he bellowed unexpectedly, then groaned in animal delight as his hotly jerking penis exploded and flooded her mouth to the bursting point with his hot, thick cum. It spurted heavily down her throat to the great, pulsating waves of heated liquid roaring in wildly cascading torrents from the depths of his wildly dancing testicles and seminal tract.
Carolyn watched in stunned disbelief as she heard Joaquin grunt out that he was "cumming". She watched his muscular young body stiffen and the tendons in his arms become rigid as cables under pressure as he pulled her mother's head in tighter to his jerking groin. She saw her mother's throat bobbing convulsively to keep from choking, as she attempted to swallow the whole of his insanely erupting volcano of cum. She found her own throat dry, her breath coming in short puppy dog-like pants as the obscene performance continued.
Margaret gulped automatically; not to do so would have resulted in her strangling to death. She no longer thought about what she was doing, she merely swallowed and gulped desperately at the pungent male semen as it continued to spurt unceasingly into her helplessly open mouth from above.
Finally, however, the flood lessened, then subsided. Margaret could feel the prick losing its rigidity, the head begin to deflate. Odd, she thought with that analytical part of her mind that always worked, the taste is not unpleasant; it's just the whole horrid idea of the thing. She had not been told she could cease her efforts, so obediently continued running her tongue around the knob and, as the cock lessened in size, began teasing the foreskin with her teeth.
"The puta learns rapidly," Joaquin said, his eyes heavy-lidded with momentary satiation. He pulled his deflating fleshy rod slowly from her sperm-flooded mouth, then smiled at Paco. "Yours," was all he said and moved back to replace him steering the boat.
Margaret had opened her eyes just long enough to see the second penis moving toward her upturned face and realized that her ordeal was not over. Her glance flickered toward Carolyn as she wondered what her daughter must think of her now.
The young girl did not see her mother's look, however; she was too busy watching the frenzied completion of Diego's fucking into the expedition secretary Jean Pepper's voraciously sucking mouth. Even as she excitedly watched, the Mexican grunted and pulled his cock from the secretary's mouth just as it began ejaculating. The furiously spurting cum splattered against the young woman's hotly flushed face and forehead, and ran in silver little rivers down both sides of her nose. Jean licked her lips and closed her eyes. To Carolyn, it looked as if she were relishing the taste of it. Almost immediately, the younger Mexican grabbed Diego by the shoulder and impatiently pressed him aside in the narrow confines of the life raft. He savagely thrust his prick between her half-opened lips into the depths of her mouth, jolting her head backward from the force of his assault.
Carolyn's attention was switched back to her mother in time to see Paco insert just the head of his thick turgid shaft between her warmly ovaled lips. The girl had no idea of what her mother was doing, but the Mexican obviously was in sweet torment. And it was at this moment that she realized that she was once again so aroused that her vagina was seeping wetly down between her thighs. The spark in her loins flickered in the ashes of her frustrated physical needs, was breathed into new life by the sudden war whoop of release from the Mexican boy who was fucking into Jean's complacent and eagerly assisting mouth, and became a roaring crown fire that swept with hurricane speed and fury through her entire body when she saw Joaquin's long, beautiful prick slowly growing into a majestic resurrection as he gazed hotly down at her. She knew by the fevered look in his liquid brown eyes that he was going to take her, going to fuck her! before too much more time elapsed. She hoped he would know what she was thinking, that she wanted that mammoth instrument of love buried to the hilt inside of her love-starved vagina, wanted it now . . . right now. She almost said out loud, "Don't wait."
Paco came, splattering his cum all over Margaret's disheveled auburn hair. It ran down the side of her lovely face and trickled like thick fresh cream from her chin to fall on the greasy burlap sacking around her neck below.
Joaquin gazed around at his men. They had all had their chance at the two women. That should keep them satisfied until they reached the winter camp in the hills where he planned to hide the gringas. And that was where he was going to fuck the young girl; he would give her something to remember the rest of her life. She would know what it meant to be fucked by a man and, if he correctly interpreted her hungry expression, she would welcome the lesson.
Five minutes later, the rubber dinghy was nosed into shore, dragged up by the three men, and hidden back up into a small gully. Joaquin prodded the women in front of them, and they began walking awkwardly in single-file, fighting to keep their balance, unable to use their arms which were still imprisoned tightly within the burlap sacks.
Margaret fell three times in the first hour. Once she hit her head in falling against the gnarled root of a tree. A thin trickle of blood ran down the side of her face. Jean fell heavily and seemed unable to get up by herself. Joaquin merely grabbed the back of the sacking and hauled her to her feet.
They walked until Margaret felt as if she were about to drop dead from weariness and Jean's breath was coming in one long burning gasp that whistled out of her throat. Only Carolyn seemed impervious to the late afternoon heat and exhaustion.
It was almost dusk when they entered a high beautiful gorge - walking on the white sands of a dried river bed - and turned into a small well-hidden little box canyon where the banditos' winter camp was located.
Chapter Eight
The winter camp of the turtle hunter banditos was a collection of eight small adobes in a semi-circle facing a 250 foot-high solid limestone wall. Deserted now, except for three Mexican women, it had a peacefulness about it - the same quiet feeling of security as an unexpected oasis in the middle of a burning desert.
Although the light was rapidly fading, Carolyn could see a little waterfall that seemingly leapt right out of the rock, about 50 feet up the sheer face of the limestone wall. It fell, silvery and shining, to splash into a small shallow pool about twenty feet across at the base of the cliff.
One of the Mexican women, a young girl about twenty, with waist-length black hair falling down across breasts that proudly swelled beneath the thin white peasant blouse, shouted happily and pointed as the party came in sight of the adobes. "Joaquin, querida," she laughed and began running toward them. As she ran, the floral printed skirt swirled up around her hips, revealing long golden brown tapered legs and supple well-tanned thighs. It was obvious that she wore no undergarments at all ... no bra, no panties.
Laughing merrily, she leapt at Joaquin, who caught her in mid-air and swung her around. A sudden jab of jealousy and envy shot through Carolyn as the girl began raining kisses over Joaquin's face and neck. "I have missed you," she said. "You must not leave me alone for so long ever again."
"I have missed you also, Carmencita," he answered gravely. "Have Diego and Carlos and Paco returned yet?"
"No, you are the first." She released her hold around his neck and slid to the ground, looking quizzically at the three American women encased in burlap sacks. Her nose turned up. 'They smell like dead turtles," she said.
Joaquin threw back his head and laughed. "Get Maria and Dona Louisa to help you. Strip the gringas and make them wash. Do not return their clothes; they are to remain naked. They will assist Dona Louisa in cooking. If they become argumentative, or attack you, or try to escape, you have my permission to kill them. Now go. Take them with you."
Carmencita stood, hands on hips, as Joaquin turned away. She carefully inspected the faces of the three American women and shook her head sadly. "Such beasts! Your hair is not combed, you smell like rotting fish. I have heard it said that gringas are sloppy pigs not fit to be called women, but even I had not believed anyone could be so unkempt. Come with me."
Jean, who had fallen frequently during the afternoon and had almost fainted several times from the heat, abruptly lost her composure at this unkind indictment of her femaleness. She simply closed her eyes and sank, weeping, to the sand. Carolyn and Margaret, their hands and arms still imprisoned in the burlap sacks, could do nothing to help her.
Carmencita walked over to the sobbing girl. "Get up," she ordered. "At once!"
Jean's will to resist had long since been broken; she made a futile effort to regain her feet, but succeeded only in toppling over sideways. Carmencita, a sudden look of black anger on her face, kicked the huddled figure in the kidneys. "Get up," she hissed, "or I shall take my knife and put it between your fat ribs."
Margaret could take no more of this barbarity. "Stop it," she said, her authoritative voice cold with fury. "Are you incapable of seeing that she cannot regain her feet by herself. Remove the sack and she will get up."
Carmencita's eyes narrowed and glinted maliciously as she turned her baleful gaze upon Margaret. "You presume to question my authority?" she asked quietly, her voice threatening.
A bully is a bully, whether it be male or female, Margaret thought. As long as Carmencita had power over them, she would bully them. It was best to accept it ... to fight was not only a waste of time but dangerous as well. "I do not question your authority, but the woman is ill," she said, her voice full of humbleness that she did not feel.
The Mexican girl stared at her face, as if attempting to ascertain her sincerity, then nodded apparently satisfied. She reached down and helped Jean to her feet. "Come," she ordered. "We go to the pool."
The girl walked ahead of the three stumbling figures, leading them toward the waterfall. As she passed the largest adobe, she yelled, "Dona Louisa, Maria! Come, we have work to do."
The woman referred to as "Dona Louisa" came out into the twilight wiping her hands on her long black skirt. She was the fattest woman Margaret had seen in years, really huge, weighing at least 225 pounds. In spite of her heftiness, she walked with a light grace that went with her serene, beautiful face. It was difficult to estimate her age, but Margaret felt she must be around 35. Dona Louisa stared at the bound women, then inclined her head respectfully toward Margaret.
This acknowledgment of the visible aura of power being exuded by the female judge obviously unnerved Carmencita. For the first time she looked a trifle uncertain, an uncertainty that quickly evaporated when Maria - a solemn little 17-year-old joined the group. Maria carried a nude sleeping infant boy on her hips. "Come," Carmencita ordered, and once again began leading the way toward the pool.
Carolyn almost wept with relief as the coarse burlap sack was cut loose. When the men had overpowered her, she had been lying with her bra unfastened in order to get an even tan on her back. The bra had been left in the sand, and since then the rough texture of the sacking had been chafing against her bare breasts to the point where it was so painful that she wanted to scream with each step she was forced to take. The burlap sacking fell in a heap at her feet, and she stepped out of it. She had started toward the pool when Carmencita said, "Your panties, as well." The girl hesitated only a second. She had taken communal showers with others girls at school, so it was no big thing for her, and probably wouldn't be for Jean Pepper either. But poor Mother, she thought, as she kicked away the bottom of her bathing suit.
At that very moment, Margaret was exerting a tremendous amount of will power to do as she was ordered. No one had ever seen her completely nude . . . except, of course, John; and even he had not glimpsed complete nudity very often or for a long time. She sighed deeply, knowing she must go through with this whole horrible ordeal because of Carolyn. Her daughter was all that mattered. This was all her own, Margaret's, fault. It had been she who insisted on coming with the expedition even though she knew her husband did not want wife and daughter under foot. It had been she who forced the issue when John had tried to send them back to Ensenada. No, she must protect Carolyn at any cost! And so thinking, she quickly removed her bulky dress and panties, then unfastened and dropped the bra. She stood upright and Dona Louisa gently nodded her head as if the two of them shared a secret. Carmencita was staring at her lush, aristocratic appearing figure as if incapable of believing that this tall, curvaceous, incredibly endowed beauty was the same person as the dumpy woman she had seen earlier. Even Carolyn was staring in awe at her mother's unveiled body. Blushing furiously, Margaret walked into the pool and squatted in the water. As she felt the delicious coolness swirling about her legs and thighs, she forgot all else.
The three American women did not speak to each other, all were using this magic moment to relieve the aching feet and abrasions. Jean and Margaret both had forced out of their minds the obscene indignities inflicted upon them while aboard the boat. Margaret had no illusions as to what was going to happen to her once the rest of the men returned to camp. She was going to be raped repeatedly, and she must put up with it if Carolyn were to remain unmolested. It was a small price to pay for her daughter's safety. All she could hope for was that they would not hurt her too much. Already she was building a mental wall, a wall that could not be breached no matter what they did to her.
During the struggle of her capture and the rape of her mouth when the men had their hands entangled in her hair, Margaret had lost several of the large brown hairpins which were used to keep her long auburn hair in a tight severe bun. Now she tried to pin her hair back up again, but it was a hopeless task so she merely removed the rest of the pins and let her long tresses fall in a gentle wave across her milk white breasts.
She heard a sudden splash next to her and looked up startled as she saw the banditos.
She had been so engrossed in her own introspection that it came as a sudden shock to realize the men and Joaquin had returned and were stripping in order to clean themselves.
"Come," Carmencita ordered. "Out of the pool; you have been in long enough."
Margaret took a deep breath, steeling herself, then stood.
"Mother of God," Diego breathed, "look at the gringa!" He stared in open-mouthed wonder at Margaret's full, upthrust breasts which her long flowing hair could not hide, at her full ripe flanks which curved deliciously around the supple white buttocks, at the majestic thighs and long tapered legs ... at the bountiful profusion of red pubic hair which shone with a hundred little diamonds as the water dripped from her taut belly.
"Never have I seen such a woman before," Carlos said reverently, frozen in the act of unbuttoning his shirt.
Joaquin's glance flickered toward Margaret, his eyes widened appreciatively, but then he returned his full attention to the woman's blonde daughter. Her breasts were not so full, but perfect nonetheless. Her buttocks looked just a bit softer than the mother's and had not yet the full blossom of maturity; they would feel warm and soft beneath his hands. The mother radiated an aura of sensuality that would drive men mad for desire of her, but the daughter radiated something else - an impatient innocence, the growing to young womanhood that brought on the need of a man! And he knew that the daughter, if she were broken in properly, would be the more passionate of the two.
Margaret patiently bore the scrutiny, feeling degraded already. She tried not to look at them, but she was surrounded by the men. Their pricks had started growing at once, bursting forth like primeval monsters crawling evilly from their lairs as they scented warm female prey.
Diego moved in close to her and his hand came up and caressed her breast; he was surprisingly gentle. Margaret shivered like a high-bred animal unused to the touch of the human hand. His long throbbing cock brushed against her thigh as he used both hands to gently trace the outlines of her hips and belly.
"Enough," Joaquin said.
Diego spun, protesting, a look of rebellion on his swarthy face. "I want the gringa," he said.
"And you shall have her. But first, would it not be better to have her and this one here," he jerked his head toward Jean, "wear the penas until after we have eaten? Would she not please you more that way?"
Diego looked doubtful, but when Carlos and Paco both nodded their heads enthusiastically, he finally acceded.
"Good," Joaquin said, "Maria fetch them." The girl darted away, and the leader turned to the two American women. "During the Spring the males are gone from camp for two weeks at a time. The day before we are to return, our women wear the penas, so they will be ready for us. The pena is the same as my brother here." He grabbed his thick prick and shook it at them. "It is made of hard rubber and has been used by our people for over two hundred years." He paused, smiling cruelly, as Margaret seemed to shrink away from him. Maria returned bearing the two penas. Joaquin took them from her. He weighed them, one in the palm of each hand. Each rubber prick was six inches long and about an inch and a half in diameter; it was knobbed, just as a male's penis is. At the base of each was a wide leather strap which went between the legs and kept the pena inside the vagina. The strap itself was kept tight by leather thongs that were tied around the waist.
Joaquin said, "You may put them in yourselves, or one of the men will be happy to do it for you." He held out his right hand to Margaret who, shuddering in revulsion, took it.
Carolyn was having difficulty in believing what she was hearing. Surely this must be some kind of joke they were playing on her mother and Jean. They couldn't expect a woman to wear one of those inside her ... and yet, as the thought hit her, she also knew that if she tried walking around with one of the penas deep inside her vagina that she would go insane in twenty minutes unless a man fucked her. She watched as Jean Pepper, blushing furiously, took her pena and squatted. Carolyn saw the secretary use her fingers to part the pink, softly pouting lips of her vagina and then the big rubbery head of the dildo was pressing against the cuntal opening. A moment later, Jean grimaced as the knob moved slowly up into the vaginal cavity. Carolyn watched, mesmerized, as the entire thick length of the artificial prick slowly sank into the warm fleshy depths. The most obscene thing of all, though, was the salacious expressions on the faces of the men who were waiting with bated breath, watching as Jean's nostrils flared, as she fought to keep the look of pleasure off her face. Carmencita pulled up the wide strap, then tied the thongs.
Margaret, feeling wave after wave of shame and humiliation rolling over her, closed her eyes in resignation and then began pushing her pena into her tight hair-lined slit. She gasped in pain when the big mushroomed head popped through the widely stretched elastic opening, and tears welled up in her eyes as the brutal insertion continued hurting her even after the pena was all the way in. She felt hands pulling up the crotch strap, could feel the edges of the strap pressing hard into her upper thighs and buttocks.
"Now you may all go," Joaquin said. "You are to help prepare our meal. If you try to remove the pena, you will be killed. Go." He turned, dropped his pants, and walked into the water.
The three American women followed Dona Louisa back to the kitchen. There really was not that much work to be done, as the fat woman had already prepared the meal. She gave Margaret the first kind word anyone had spoken to her since her capture. She pointed to the strap and said, "You will become used to it ... it will even be pleasant after a time." Then, as if remembering that these women - although prisoners - were guests in her house, she pulled down a bottle of clear liquid from the shelf. "Tequila," she said. "Drink some."
Margaret paused only a second. She needed a drink, and besides she did not want to offend this woman who seemed to be her only friend in camp. She tilted the bottle to her mouth and swallowed. The fiery liquor burned all the way down, and the woman judge choked and gasped in pain. Dona Louisa smiled in comradeship and held out half a lemon. "Now this." Margaret bit into the lemon as Jean choked on the tequila as well. The fat woman held out the bottle to Carolyn who shook her head and said, "No, gracias."
When the bottle was offered again to Margaret, she took it and this time - hoping it would deaden the pain between her legs and numb her senses - swallowed three huge gulps before relinquishing it. She knew she needed all the help she could get in order to go through this ordeal. Being forced to parade around nude with a dildo lodged far up in her belly was only the beginning.
There was no time for further conversation as Carmencita entered and announced that the men were ready to eat. Margaret and Carolyn were each given a steaming iron kettle and ladle and told to take it into the other room. There, the four men, seated on wooden boxes, were gathered around a wooden table on which three candles burned.
Margaret began ladling the beans into a bowl in front of Joaquin. She felt Diego's hand tracing the curve of her bare buttocks, then there was loud laughter as he bent forward and planted a kiss on a softly trembling cheek. When she moved to Carlos's plate, Paco ran his hands wonderingly over her belly. She stood there passively as he took both hands and cupped them around her left breast. "See, amigos, did I not tell you that her tits are larger than a man's two hands?" The proud beautiful woman silently submitted to it all, noticing no man laid a hand upon her daughter as the girl ladled out coffee.
Jean came in bearing a tray with bread. Her face was a bright red and as she walked she seemed to be taking peculiar mincing little steps. When she offered the bread to Joaquin, Carolyn noticed her stomach muscles rippling; it looked almost as if she were trying to suck in the dildo. Both Diego and Paco saw the movement and nudged each other in delight, but said nothing. When Carlos stood up alongside her and used his lips and teeth to nibble at the secretary's breast, Jean moaned loudly and lifted one shoulder as if offering him more. When she left the room for more bread, her tray was trembling as though she had been afflicted with palsy. Carlos watched her go, then said to Joaquin, "The gringa is ready. I, also, am ready. Con su permiso?"
Joaquin nodded toward the boy's plate. "You have not finished your food. With that one you will need all of your strength."
Carlos laughed and fondled his prick, which even now was beginning to swell beneath his trousers in anticipation of the joy in store for it. "My brother here has strength enough for both of us."
Margaret listened with downcast head and lowered eyes, knowing now that it was only a matter of minutes before she would have to submit to these inhuman vile beasts. She did not have even that long, for Diego had risen. "I, too, want my woman now." He reached out and grasped Margaret's wrist. Paco overturned his box as he stood in anger. "A moment, amigo. I do not recall giving you permission to take my woman to your bed."
Diego bent forward suddenly and picked up a knife from the table. "No permission is necessary. I spoke for the gringa long before you. She is mine."
"Enough," Joaquin bellowed. "We are all brothers here. You both may have her." He dug his hand into the bowl of steaming beans in front of him. "Odd or even to see who gets her first."
Margaret felt an overpowering sense of humiliation with the two men fighting over her like dogs snarling at each other for possession of one bone. A sudden exclamation of delight from Diego after he had counted the beans he had withdrawn from the bowl indicated he had won her. He grasped her hand again, turned to Paco, said good-naturedly, "You may watch. Perhaps you will learn something."
Margaret shuddered in spite of herself as she was pulled across the room. At the doorway she dug in her heels for a second, looking back at Joaquin and her daughter. "You promised none of your men would molest my daughter," she reminded him, and it was half plea, half threat.
"That is correct. None of my men shall touch her . . . providing you remain cooperative." He smiled through hooded eyes to indicate what he meant by "cooperation".
Margaret nodded, and said, "Thank you." Like a docile slave, she followed her master from the adobe. As she walked, she could feel the maddening scraping of the pena moving against the sensitive inner lips of her vagina. For the last ten minutes, it no longer had pained her, and the cuntal cavity not only had grown accustomed to its presence but had begun seeping out copious amounts of vaginal juices to make it ride in and out easier.
Diego threw open the door to his adobe, went in, and lit a candle. Margaret was nudged in after him by Paco who was right behind. Diego took a bottle of tequila from beside the bed and held it silently out to her. She took a deep drink, coughed, and gave it back to him. He handed the bottle to Paco and began unfastening the thongs to her pena. Then, grinning at her, he slowly reached up between her thighs, forcing them open slightly and tantalizingly pulled the artificial prick out.
In spite of all her resolve and the mental walls that she had constructed, Margaret shivered as she felt the hard rubber instrument leaving her body. She realized she had involuntarily sucked in her stomach muscles, intensifying the sensation of withdrawal. "Oh, please," she mentally prayed. "Don't let me be foolish. Let me retain some sort of dignity." The knowledge that she had actually felt pleasure down there was frightening to her . . . more frightening than the thought of what was about to happen.
Diego offered the bottle once more, and she took it willingly. She had drunk enough now that there was a spreading numbness in her stomach. That pleased her, for she didn't want to feel anything . . . especially not pleasure! When she handed the bottle back to Diego, he merely jerked his head toward the bed. Obediently, as if she had been doing this all her life, Margaret went over, lay down, and spread her knees apart.
Diego removed his clothes and now stood nude and muscular beside the bed. Paco, eyes bright with excitement, stared at them both, his impatience barely concealed. Never before had he seen such a proudly beautiful woman as this, and the thought of filling her aristocratic little belly with his lowly fisherman's sperm, of hearing her cry out beneath him, was almost more than he could stand. If he had not been so afraid of Joaquin, he would have taken her away by force from Diego - even if it meant a knife. Then, as he saw Diego slowly lick his lips he knew he was going to have to wait even longer - but there would be value in watching Diego pay homage to the proud woman's pussy. Oh, she would cry out so! She would writhe as though a thousand devils with pitched forks were inside her body, and it would all be very exciting for him to watch.
Diego finished the last of the tequila, never taking his eyes off the waiting gringa as he drank thoughtfully. Her breasts were rising and falling either in passion or fear; it mattered not the least to him if she was frightened, for she soon would be afire with passion. "Bend your knees more and raise them, woman," he ordered, and smiled in satisfaction as she obeyed.
Excited primitive emotions flashed like lightning across Diego's dark face as he saw the beautiful American woman's cunt revealed in all its glory before him. The pink moist slit had all the coloration of a Mazatlan sunset, and the warmly glistening pussy lips looked as soft and as billowy as a meringue atop a pie waiting to be eaten. And there, right in the middle of that warm inviting crevice, was the trembling opening to all of the hidden pleasures of her womb. To Diego's practiced eyes, it looked smaller than normal. The cunt would be tight, very tight! His hungry eyes feasted on the mouth-watering sight, and he thought to himself, we shall see just how hot we can get this beautiful American bitch before we fuck her. He sat down beside her, noting that her eyes were closed - that they remained closed as he began caressing her thighs, running his hands from ankle to crotch. Margaret quivered, and Diego noted with pleasure that she had goose-bumps all across her taut belly and that, even without touching them, her nipples had sprung to a brown erect life.
"It is beautiful, no?" Diego said to Paco, not taking his eyes off the woman.
"You talk too much," Paco replied. "Do what you must do and let me fuck her too!"
Margaret heard Diego laugh, then felt his weight shift on the bed. Now he was between her outspread thighs, and she knew he was about to begin his barbarous rape of her helpless body. Then, without warning, he was kissing her abdomen. The sudden wet contact of his hot lips sent a chill racing the length of her spine. She stiffened and heard his evil laughter once again. What was he doing? What could he have in mind? She felt his teeth nibbling at her belly button, then his tongue was tracing a hot pattern across her lower belly. She abruptly became aware of his forbidden perverted intentions and tried to sit up. Diego's powerful hand pressed down on her breasts and she was forced back against the mattress. Now his mouth moved boldly down from her navel to the "V" of her crotch, spreading the sable-like auburn fleece with his thumbs and flicking his tongue - like an ant-eater - into the warm, damp cuntal crevice.
Margaret jerked from the sudden electrifying contact with her almond-budded clitoris. She fought to close her legs, but Diego merely stuck his elbows between her thighs and forced them wider apart than ever. Spread-eagled and eyes open in horrified shame, as she saw Pace's feral expression of lust, Margaret struggled futilely against his bull-like strength. She could see him on elbows and knees, white teeth bared and grinning in victory up at her, as though he were some predatory animal stalking toward a sacrificial lamb tethered at a post. Without taking his eyes from hers, Diego bent his head and licked the crevice once. He laughed in delight as she jerked against his hold.
Then all amusement fled his dark-complexioned face as he looked down at the succulent feast awaiting him. The watermelon-colored moist flesh of her naked, defenseless pussy was there before his eyes, bringing the hot saliva boiling to his mouth. He licked his lips over again in anticipation, then placed his palms flat against the inside of her thighs, with thumbs resting on the soft fleshy portals of her cunt. Slowly, with an outward movement of his thumbs, he peeled the pinkly glistening lips apart to expose the deeper set of blood red inner cuntal lips. He watched it hungrily for a minute, as though he were starving, and then with a low moan of obscene hunger, dropped his head and buried the full-length of his long hot tongue into the slippery little mouth of her throbbing pussy.
Margaret shuddered, moaning entreaties from the depths of her soul. She ground her buttocks down hard into the mattress in a futile attempt to escape this salacious attack on her cunt. This couldn't be happening to her. It couldn't! She had prepared herself for rape . . . for anything - but not this.
"Oh . . . please . . . nooooooo! Ohhhhhh! Ohhhhhh!" She whimpered in pleading supplication as his head rocked up and down greedily between her legs.
"No . . . noooooo . . ., Oh God! No!" and now it was a continual plea as her auburn-tressed head fell back onto the mattress and flailed from side to side as his hot hard tongue drove relentlessly in and out of the involuntarily dilating lips of her cunt. She found herself holding her breath, flexing her thigh muscles, and stretching her toes until they were splayed out in protest. Margaret abruptly became aware that she was fighting not only him, but also the forbidden pleasure that his rapacious tongue was beginning to bring her body. She could feel everything down there - the scrape of his beard stubble against her soft sensitive thighs, his tongue, his teeth, his hot breath ... her own deeper muscles beginning to twitch in undisguised joy.
Paco kept watching the expression on the American woman's face. He knew Diego was getting to her. She was getting very hot, even though she seemed to be trying to hide it. Why did she not let herself go like all other women he knew? Was she ashamed of being a woman? He wanted to laugh at that thought. A female with a body like this afraid of being a hot-blooded woman. Oh, well. It mattered not. She was getting hot now in spite of her resistance. That was good. The hotter the better, because he wanted her hot when his own long hard cock rammed into her the first time.
As Diego swirled his tongue wilder and wilder up between her open thighs, he began to notice the tremendous amount of sweet, thick lubricating nectar that was flowing from the pulsating walls of the gringas cunt and that her pussy lips were beginning to move and nibble back softly like a feeding baby's mouth on its mother's tit. As his tongue and mouth worked lasciviously, he moved one hand up over the rippling whiteness of her belly and dug his fingernails harshly into her straining breast, bringing a low moan of pain from her before he began rolling the hardening nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
He could tell by the way her pussy was twitching that her body was enjoying this ... and it was only a matter of moments before the proud bitch would be forced to admit it. Before this night was over, she would no longer be proud or haughty, she would be like any other hot blooded woman begging and whimpering to be fucked.
Paco began stripping off his clothes in preparation for his turn with the gringa. As he was removing his trousers, he decided to torment Diego. He walked up to the bed, gazed down at the slobbering turtle hunter, and said, "It seems the female does not respond sufficiently to your attentions. Perhaps you should let a real man have her."
Diego lifted his head from Margaret's cunt; his face was shining from his own saliva and her vaginal secretions. He grinned lewdly. "No response? No response! Hah, you are a burro. Watch this." He took his hands away from her breasts and pushed them under her wide-spread knees, lifting and pushing them up so that her kneecaps were pressed tightly against her full ripe tits. The entire naked plane of her luscious pussy was revealed in all its glory, as was her tight puckered little brown asshole. Chuckling, Diego used his hot, wet tongue to quiver and probe at the tiny rubbery anal ring.
This unexpected depraved assault on her anus caused Margaret to cringe and brought an undulating low moan of subjugation from her lips. She closed her eyes, trying to block out the sight of Paco and his fully erect prick only inches away from her face. Diego's tongue continued to flicker in sweet torment around her tiny nether opening. Although she fought these new sensations, it was only a matter of seconds before her mouth opened laxly and her abdomen began rippling as the unwanted zephyrs of lust arced heatedly through her loins.
"Oh, dear God . . . please don't do that," she pled piteously, although the wanton actions of her body gave lie to her words. She yelped as Diego's thumb and forefinger found her clitoris and tantalizingly rolled it between them.
"Ohhhh ... ohhhhh, no."
Both Paco and Diego laughed at the reaction, and at her desperate attempt to screw her buttocks into the mattress in an effort to escape this anal ravishment. Suddenly, Diego pushed his face forward and his tongue - like a hot red little prick - sank wetly into the depths of her asshole.
"Aaaaaaaagggghhhh," she screeched, not a cry of pain, but one of denial at this feeling of forbidden rapture. Diego's tongue began thrusting in and out of the tight elastic little opening, worming its way deeper, ever deeper into the soft buttery depths. He could feel her sphincter muscles expanding and contracting with each thrust.
"Oooohhhh . . . ohhhhhHHHH!" She was whimpering now, the abject whimper of a person without decency begging for more, as she felt her body short-circuiting all nerve centers of morality, modesty, and self-control. Tiny little goose-bumps of erotic pleasure stalked their way across her heaving belly and quivering breasts. And, suddenly, her brain was no longer in command of her rebellious body. Her buttocks began jerking powerfully back toward the tiny spearing tongue tip, attempting to drive it even deeper into the forbidden opening. Wave after wave of spasmodic pleasure arced through her abdomen, and raw nerves that she had never before realized existed now began screaming for physical release.
The knowledge that for the first time in her life she had been deserted by her own body brought stinging tears of shame and humiliation springing to her eyes. She fought with all her will against admitting that what he was doing to her was pleasurable. Now everything - the walls she had built - crumbled, and spreading her thighs wider, her hands dropped to the young Mexican's curly hair, pulling his face in tighter up between them. She heard Paco's cruel, lewd laugh of ultimate victory, but it made no difference to her what either of these men thought of her now. Only one thing mattered . . . the hotly beautiful assault upon her loins must continue.
The betraying words boiled out of her lust constricted throat. "Ahhh . . . ahhh, don't stop!" That was the signal for the last vestiges of self-control to vaporize. Her shamelessly aroused body seemed to bend like a contortionist as she sought to culminate the act of unnatural lust. She began a wanton jerking movement up and down against his hot, wet, maddening tongue. Her fingers dug deeper into his hair as she tried to pull him further into the steaming cauldron of her cunt. With her complete submission, she forgot about the humiliation, forgot about her promises to herself, forgot morals and decency, forgot everything but the pleasure this Mexican bandit was bringing her.
Diego knew the second she surrendered completely to him, and immediately thrust his tongue deep into her throbbing pussy again. He could feel the soft silky pubic hair grazing tantalizingly against the tip of his nose and the sides of his cheeks as she ground her buttocks in impatient little circles up against his face. He watched expressions of lust and eagerness contort her face. She was his now . . . she would do anything he wanted.
And suddenly, he knew he had to ram his aching prick deep into that hot little belly of hers and fill her with a boiling flood of cum. Now, he had turned the beautifully aristocratic American woman into one who was like all the others, he gloated, just another hot little bitch who was crying to be fucked . . . and she would be fucked, fucked until she couldn't walk a straight line for a week. There would be nothing left for Paco when he was finished.
He pulled his mouth and tongue away from her now hungrily pulsating pussy lips and was rewarded with a low moan of distress from her:
"Oh, no ... please don't stop."
"Don't worry puta. Now I'm going to fuck you like you've never been fucked before. Spread your legs."
Margaret found her brain and body in heated conflict. She wanted to fight him, to deny him the easy access to her body that he seemed to feel was his due, but even as she deliberated, her trembling legs were opening of their own will - as though they were in control of her body.
Less than a second later, Diego fell forward onto her and, at that moment, thrust his hips forward, driving his huge golden cudgel of muscle and gristle through her tight, but now unresisting little cuntal opening; the big, throbbing rod of hardened flesh raced into her belly like a brakeless elevator plunging into a heated shaft.
"Aaaaaggghhh," her scream was that of a hawk diving from high places. His mouthings at her vagina and anus, together with the six-inch hard rubber pena, had built her up and partially prepared her for this, but never in her wildest imaginations had she ever dreamed that an alien penis - any cock! - could have felt so exquisitely divine as it plummeted into her depths. Of its own accord, her pelvis rose desperately, greedily, to meet his balls, and the two bodies met in mid-air, fought each other momentarily for supremacy, then drew apart to slam powerfully into each other again.
"Oh . . . God! Oh ... God!" she repeated in undisguised ecstasy as his prick began pounding deep up into the portals of her womb. She simply let her body take over; indeed, there was nothing she could have done to prevent this usurpation of her brain's normal function. And suddenly, as she felt the ripples of sensation spreading outward from the pit of her belly, she knew that her body now had been taken over by an even greater power ... her cunt!
In all her 18 years with John, she had orgasmed only a few times. But now, in this earth-packed Mexican adobe hundreds of miles from civilization, lying in abject submission under the muscular body of a wild, animal-like ravisher and criminal, Margaret knew she was close to a climax within seconds after his animal-like brutal penetration. The knowledge terrified her by its implications. She threw her head from side to side, refusing to acknowledge what her cock-filled pussy was feeling, and then, unable to hold back any longer, she reached up and grabbed Diego by the neck, pulling his face down hard upon hers while her tongue savagely thrust into his surprised, half-open mouth.
As the ripples moved outward from her twitching hot vagina; scalding tears welled up in her eyes. She hadn't wanted this to happen. It was impossible that it could be happening. What had made her act this way? The only explanation was that having acted as a mother, she was as vulnerable as any female. As Diego's thick cock continued to thrust imperiously into her clasping hungry cunt, and her own traitorous body rose like a fighting fish to meet it, she began crooning, "Harder . . . fuck harder . . . fuck me, Oh God ... fuck me!"
And Paco, watching everything, saw the woman's toes suddenly curl. Her breath was coming like the panting, snorting of a burdened locomotive climbing a very steep incline. From his vantage point, her moist pink pussy clasping Diego's cock looked like a voraciously bearded mouth hungrily devouring a long flesh colored banana.
Margaret had felt her body building to a climax, but she was unprepared for the suddenness or intensity of the orgasm when it hit her. It was as though someone had thrown an electrical switch at the base of her spine. She stiffened, gasped, then gurgled almost unbelievingly, "I'm cumming . . . Oh, God . . . I'm cumming . . . Fuck me . . . Fuck me-eeee. Aiiiieeeee! I'M CUMMMING!" Her body went into an insane frenzy of uncontrollable writhing as the sensations shot from nerve endings up the spine to her skull where brain and senses shorted out in an ecstatic explosion of unbelievable rapture. She was an untamed horse attempting to unseat her first rider, rearing, snorting with only the whites of the eyes showing.
Somewhere in the dim recesses of her wildly exalting mind, she was aware that his prick had swollen and now it was throbbing hotly up deep inside her open belly. He was cumming in her . . . and that knowledge deepened her orgasm's intensity even further. Once again she wrapped her arms around the Mexican's neck and pulled his face down. Her tongue worked and slavered up into his mouth, and small mewling sounds of velvety pleasure came from deep within her throat.
She continued to kiss him until she felt the last beautiful twitching of her cuntal muscles begin to fade. Then the realization of what she had done - what had been done to her - hit her with the suddenness and pain of a lash from a horsewhip.
Smiling in satisfaction, Diego pulled his deflating prick from her relaxed pussy; it came out with a loud wet plopping sound, and a small white river of backlashing cum began running down her cuntal crevice. Then, less than ten seconds later, before she knew what was happening, the other Mexican's pulsating impatient cock slammed between her widespread thighs and on up into her cum-filled cunt with all the force of a pile driver ...
Chapter Nine
After Margaret and the two men had left the dining room, Carolyn stood obediently by the door waiting for further orders. Joaquin ate slowly, his eyes focused on the beans in the bowl in front of him. The girl watched him closely, taking in the sharp hawk-like features by flickering candlelight. His high cheek bones revealed all too well the amount of Indian blood in him, but somewhere along the line in the centuries before there had been a Spanish nobleman who had planted his seed on the shores of this distant country, and it had been a hardy seed. Looking at him now, it was difficult to believe that he would kill without compunction, that he could be brutal and unfeeling; but Carolyn knew this peaceful, gentle portrait was an illusion - a dangerous one. Soon her mind drifted back again to the earlier scene on the boat when he had forced her mother to take his mammoth penis in her mouth. It was so huge! In some respects, it had looked god-like, beautiful in a frightening way ... so strong, so massive, so invincible! She stirred restlessly, wondering what was happening now to Jean and her mother. They were both going to be raped, she knew that, but she also knew that the rape itself would not hurt after wearing the penas.
The pena! Just the thought of that barbarous instrument of torment was enough to make her shiver. She had seen its effects on Jean Pepper, the poor girl had been about to scream until Carlos had taken her away to be fucked. The effects on Margaret had been more subtle, but Carolyn, knowing her mother, knew the woman had been fighting with all her formidable willpower not to show a reaction.
When she looked up, Joaquin was staring at her. She felt a jolt of sudden fright shoot through her.
"Come here," he said gently.
Her knees weak, the girl walked to the table.
"Closer." He pointed to a spot right next to his chair.
She moved to the designated place, then stood trembling as his hand moved wonderingly up her leg to her thigh.
"So beautiful," he said, "I would not have believed such beauty existed."
Carolyn flinched and tried to draw away when his hand moved over the gentle swell of her buttocks. "Stand quietly," he ordered, his voice still gentle. The girl was forced to submit to his caresses. Fright was her main emotion now. Abruptly, his arm snaked around her waist and pulled her down into his lap. She could feel his mammoth throbbing prick beneath his trousers. He was getting an erection! Her fright really began building. He had promised her mother that no one would molest her, but his hands moving familiarly over her body seemed to signify his promise was worthless.
Without warning, he bent his head and placed his hot wet mouth on her breast and began sucking. "Oh, no. Don't," she said, trying to struggle. His arms merely tightened around her waist, and he sank his teeth into the nipple. She could feel his mustache tickling the sensitive mound of flesh. "Aaaagh . . . please! You promised."
The remark worked. Joaquin took his mouth away from her breast and grinned at her, his white teeth flashing beneath his long mustache.
"What did you say, chiquita?"
"You promised my mother that none of your men would molest me."
He threw back his head and laughed in delight. "And I am a man of my word. None of my men shall touch you. But I said nothing about myself. I intend to touch you . . . touch you with my friend here." He glanced down and Carolyn felt his penis flex beneath her buttocks.
She began struggling again, but her strength was no match for his. He merely picked her up bodily and began carrying her to the door. She opened her mouth to yell for help when he said, with ominous quietness, "If you scream, I shall cut out your tongue and let you drown in your own blood while I fuck you." He meant it, she could tell he was coldly, mercilessly, sincere. She put one badly trembling hand to her mouth, then closed her eyes in despair as she was carried from the dining room, outside and toward his adobe.
As they passed Diego's domicile, he paused, grinned lewdly, and said, "Listen to your mother, chiquita, as she sings her song of a real woman's passion to Paco and Diego."
Carolyn couldn't believe what she was hearing. She knew positively that her mother was frigid, yet there was no mistaking that wanton voice that screamed and pled, "Fuck harder . . . oh, yes . . . fuck me . . . bite my tits . . . oh, God ... fuck me 'til I die ..."
Joaquin looked thoughtful. He said quietly, "I knew that she was a woman of hot blood, but I did not realize she was so much of one. She makes the plump little gringa who likes to fuck so well look almost cold by comparison. My men will be worthless all day tomorrow after she finishes with them tonight. One would think she had not been fucked in years, and yet she is married. Have your gringos no cocks to take care of a woman like her?"
Carolyn was in a state of mild shock. Nothing could have prepared her for this. She could scream for help until her tonsils fell out, yet she doubted her mother would hear. And suddenly, she realized she was completely alone, completely at the mercy of this man - this Mexican criminal - who was going to violate her body. With Charlie Webb and Paul Ford, it was she who planned to pick the time and the place. With them, even if it had not been love, it had been a heart-felt fondness at least. But with this stranger, the only emotion she felt was fear . . . and that was a poor substitute for love.
Joaquin had reached the low opening to his adobe when Carolyn felt him stiffen in alarm. He dropped her just as a screaming whirling black figure leapt at them; all Carolyn saw was the glint of steel and the legs of a woman, and then Carmencita was screeching, "I shall kill the gringa! You are my man." Joaquin struggled with her, and the knife dropped to the sand. He drew back his open hand and viciously slapped the Mexican girl's face. She staggered and fell down sobbing against the adobe wall.
Joaquin, breathing rapidly from his exertions with her, growled, "I am the man of no one woman. You know that."
"You are my man," she sobbed. "The gringa is not enough woman for you."
"She is enough for tonight and tomorrow and for as long as I desire her."
Carmencita swallowed her hiccupping sobs, then slowly stood, wiping her eyes. Her face slowly changed and twisted in a mask of hate. She spat contemptuously on the ground at Joaquin's feet. "You will be sorry," she said. "I will make you pay." Before the man could answer, she had slipped into the darkness.
Joaquin entered his adobe and a second later Carolyn saw a candle come to life. "Come in," he ordered.
Slowly the last vestiges of hope flickered away in her mind. She had thought her mother might be attracted by Carmencita's outraged screams of hatred, but now she knew she hadn't heard a single thing . . . she'd been too busy screaming out herself and it was a shrill cry of sexual exaltation, "I'm cumm-mmiiiing! I'm cumming! Fuck ... harder!"
Subserviently, Carolyn bent her head and walked into Joaquin's adobe. In that small space of time he had already removed his clothes and he stood, feet wide apart and hands on hips, gazing at her. In the half-light he was a beautiful man, and his fully erect, throbbing, massive penis cast a shadow on the wall - it was a shadow that looked exactly like the mighty scepter of a king.
Carolyn started trembling again as his hands began caressing her body and his hot kisses rained across her shoulders and breasts. Her quivers became almost continual shuddering as his fingers began sawing across the fevered pink and rose lips of her cunt. Unwanted and terrifying little spasms of desires were beginning to twitch in the deeper part of her pussy, and it was with a sense of shame that she knew the lubricant of love was commencing to ooze from her vaginal walls . . . just as it had with Charlie and Paul.
Joaquin began pushing her backwards, and she moved slowly until she felt the mattress behind her knees. Then he pushed her gently back until she sat, continued to press her shoulders until she was flat on her back. A moment later he lifted her feet onto the bed, then sat down beside her.
His eyes devoured her lovely white body. She was like something out of a dream, he thought. She lay there with her eyes closed. That wide, generous mouth with its full lips . . . the graceful neck, the wide shoulders . . . the beautiful rising peaks of her breasts looking startlingly white compared to the brown of her tan, the taut little belly with its dimpled navel, and the glorious nest of golden pubic hair . . . her thighs, trembling now.
Reverently, he put his hands between her thighs and spread them apart. A soft exclamation came from his throat as he saw the soft fleshy layers of her cuntal lips. They glistened as though there were a hundred tiny little lights burning deep inside them. As the candle wavered, the lips seemed to be puckering, moving. Again he brushed his fingertips over them and felt the girl respond with a moan. She was already damp there - ready to fuck now ... if he desired. He used his hands like soft puffs of wind against her inner thighs, always returning to the moist, hot layers of flesh between her legs. Her breath deepened, increased in tempo, until she was almost panting.
Carolyn could feel her fear being replaced by a hot physical need. One by one, her defenses against him were falling. She felt as though she were about to be born - as though she must break through a shell now or die. His huge, throbbing penis was the instrument for breaking that shell, for giving her birth. She was poised on the threshold of womanhood; only he could give her the gift of life.
As his fingers expertly worked at her seeping pussy lips and clitoris, she found herself wanting to repay the favor. Twice she started to reach for his cock and each time she forced her hand to withdraw. She lay there, slowly surrendering to the intense beautiful sensations as he built her up to an insatiable peak of tormented desire. Soon, her quivering thighs were wide open in silent invitation. Her breath came in hoarse rasping pants, and her belly and cunt muscles moved beneath her taut skin like a savage rip tide.
Joaquin bent down over her helpless young body and gently bit the erect brown nipple of her straining left breast. A bird-like cry came from her throat - the shrill trilling of a creature meeting a new dawn. She cried out again, lasciviously this time, as his hot hungry lips began devouring the lush palpitating mound of pure white flesh. Mewls of pleasure gurgled from her throat as he moved from left breast to right, and her pelvis began a slow rotating movement as though it were some underwater creature seeking to capture food.
The movement did not escape Joaquin's notice. He grinned knowingly, then said, "I knew you were a woman. Feel how your cunt cries out for my cock. And it shall have what it wants. Before this night is over, you will be screaming to be fucked - fucked until you can no longer stand erect."
Carolyn lay there, not really listening to his words, but feeling a vast impatience that he was talking instead of relieving her. Somehow or another, the gist of his lewd conversation sank into her consciousness and excited her even further. Still, though, she fought one last battle within herself against her own willingness to be subjugated by this criminal who had no conscience, scruples or morals.
Then it was too late. Joaquin levered himself up over her helpless body and used his knees to force her thighs even further apart. He dropped one hand down between their bodies and took his hard, throbbing cock between his fingers and guided it forward. Carolyn's eyes flickered shut, then just as rapidly flickered open again with a shudder as she felt the thick rubbery head begin to part the full, fleshy lips of her fevered vagina. The first contact between his prick and the sensitive edges of her moist pussy was akin to a small, but powerful electrical shock which brought her back to immediate reality and awareness of what was about to happen. This was no boy like Charlie Webb. This was a man! And he would hurt her.
"No," she cried, reaching up suddenly against his chest and pushing frantically against his weight. "No . . . you can't!"
Joaquin's sadistic laughter was the only answer to her abject plea. "It is too late, little puta. Too late." Carolyn gasped in fear as she felt the first hard pressure against the tight little virginal opening.
The pressure continued . . . built up intolerably.
"Aaaaagggh," she cried loudly, flailing her head from side to side as though that would relieve the pain. She felt as if her thighs were being ripped apart, a burning roman candle was being shoved into her vagina. "You're hurting me-eee! In reply Joaquin shoved his hips forward in one vicious jerk. Carolyn screamed at the top of her lungs as she felt the tight elastic opening to her femaledom caving in to the inexorable pressure.
"Oh, God! No ... you're killing me. Stop . . . stop. AIIIEE!" The last was a shrill cry of agony as the mammoth head of the cock insinuated itself fully inside the stretched-beyond-capacity cuntal lips. Joaquin made his prick jerk a couple of times and was rewarded with a pleading moan.
Carolyn looked up at his swarthy smirking face and cringed in fear as she suddenly realized that less than an inch of his monstrous fleshy staff was buried inside her. He would kill her. He would split her apart. She saw his expression changing. It was as though the savage Indian and the noble Spanish blood within fought for control of his mind and body. The Mexican won! There would be no mercy from this savage. Now his brown-skinned face grinned lewdly down at her as though he relished her expression of pain.
Abruptly, the grin on his face was replaced by an implacable mask of feral lust, fearful in its intensity. He was no longer willing to play the white man's game with her, his impatient prick was commanding him to fuck and fuck right now! The sight of this lush, tender young white girl spread-eagled helplessly beneath him was something that must be conquered.
With a hoarse cry he fell forward, and his weight crushed the melon-like ripe tits against her own chest. His hips shot forward at the same moment and his long, hard, rigid shaft of muscle, blood and flesh roared into the tight virginal confines of her cunt like a powerful, diamond-headed, case-hardened drill boring into the earth. The soft warm flesh of her vaginal walls held firm against the penetration for less than a second and then gave way before the brutal invasion. The thin, slight remains of her hymen resisted, bent elastically inward, then was shredded - torn like a piece of paper being touched with a hot poker.
"AAAAAGGGGHHHHHHHH" the gurgling scream of pain was a cry of pure unadulterated agony, as Carolyn felt virginal flesh and membrane ripping away. His mighty cock continued to plunge down into her pussy with all the force of a dive bomber, and the outward rippling waves of pain were unbelievable in their intensity. And still he bored in ever deeper until finally, with a loud groan of animal delight his heavy sperm filled balls slapped against the upturned white cheeks of her tightly clenched buttocks.
"Aaaaggggghh . . . You're . . . you're killing . . . meeeee-eeee!" she shrieked, her words almost incomprehensible - coming as they did from between bloodless lips drawn tight with pain. Great shining tears cascaded down both sides of her face.
A grimace of pain crossed Joaquin's face as he felt her vaginal walls clasping his prick like a steel fist inside a velvet glove. "The little puta has a tight cunt," he said. "And your mother spoke the truth; I am your first man. Well, you shall not be disappointed. That I promise you, chiquita." He flexed his ass muscles and made his prick jump in the tight nested confines of her cringing pussy.
"Aaaggh, don't move," she pled. Never before had she felt such intolerable pressure and pain. It was as though someone had hammered a railroad tie deep into the soft sensitive flesh of her innermost femaledom - not only shoved in the tie, but had-taken a high pressure water hose and filled the reservoir of her uterine cavity. She was positive she had been ripped from anus to navel, the flesh having been torn apart as easily as the fragile wishbone on an over-cooked chicken.
Every mighty muscular ridge of that fleshy shaft could be felt pressing against her tortured vaginal walls, and the mammoth mushroom head throbbed like a monstrous metronome keeping time, beating in the echo chambers of her womb. He had taken her virginity by force - a virginity she had been willing to give away to two different men through an act of love. His animal-like behavior made her realize that her tears of shame and humiliation and pain were bringing added pleasure to him, but she was incapable of controlling them.
Carolyn was right in thinking that Joaquin enjoyed seeing her tears, but - unlike her - he knew that within minutes those tears of supplication would be replaced by a contorted expression of raw lust - an expression that cried out to be fucked. It wouldn't take long to turn this young, inexperienced cunt into a craven, begging puta afflicted with helpless desire. She would be just as hot, as wanton, as her mother; the same blood flowed in their veins. This little gringa had a hot streak of wantonness in her, that had been all too evident as she had wide-eyedly watched her mother sucking his cock to the cumming back in the boat.
Joaquin lay still for a moment, feeling her deeper inner muscles expanding and contracting like a bowel trying to pass something, trying to expel this monstrous invading shaft. Grinning, he suddenly flexed his cock; the movement caused the huge Cyclopean head to burrow in even deeper into the tight warm confines of her cunt.
"Ohhh ... no ... please don't move it," she groaned.
"What did the little puta say to my brother?" he asked, deliberately tormenting her by making his prick jump once more.
"Aaaggh," she moaned, and Joaquin felt her vagina tighten as her stomach muscles contracted once more in pain.
Carolyn's mind was churning in confusion and uncertainty. She knew that it was supposed to hurt the first time, but no one had ever prepared her for this kind of pain. She wondered if it was because of the size of his prick, and yet she had taken it all. It hurt all right, but her earlier thoughts of being ripped and irreparably injured by the mammoth cock had obviously been false and unfounded. She even felt a certain pride that she had accommodated him. Gradually she began to relax beneath him; the next time he flexed his hardness in her it felt almost pleasurable.
Above her, Joaquin sensed the girl's acceptance of the inevitable, and that was all the signal he needed to begin fucking seriously. He began a surprisingly gentle rocking motion back and forth between her thighs. His huge, fleshy instrument came partially out, then moved slowly back in again. It hurt, but not so much as before. The intolerable pressure was still there, it still felt as if she were being stretched far beyond the point of any human endurance, but the earlier agony had faded.
Joaquin felt the tight narrow-passage widening slightly with each smooth stroke he made into her cunt. Tentatively, the girl's body began to react in small ways beneath him. It started with an almost imperceptible twitch on both sides of her pussy lips, then something wonderful was happening to her cervical and uterine walls as she alternatively tightened and loosened her stomach muscles. Then a warm, slippery-like lubricant gushed out of her smooth vaginal membranes, and his prick began riding smoothly in and out of her suddenly willing and eager cunt.
Within a minute, Carolyn's entire body was twitching and writhing beneath him. She started a continuous mewling into the coffee and tequila scented moistness of his mouth, and then shoved her tongue with a fiery wantonness deep into his throat. Low moans of lewdly servile acceptance came from her passion-constricted throat. Her face was disfigured by an implacable animal-lust equal to his own, and her nostrils flared as she raised her knees to clamp his pumping buttocks between them.
"Ah, chiquita, I knew your fires would burn brightly once they were kindled by my cock," Joaquin said, staring down at her mouth working, at the straining neck tendons, and at the beads of perspiration that had suddenly broken out on her forehead under the now disheveled soft blonde hair.
Carolyn began riding with him, raising her pelvis slightly to meet each inward thrust he made. Now that she was working in unison, and cooperating, the Mexican slipped his hands under the supple warm globes of her moving ass and jerked her harder to his strokes. With each new powerful thrust, the moist hot hole of her pussy opened further to receive his cock to a deeper penetration.
As the quest for pleasure took command of her nerve centers, Carolyn's legs on either side of his impaling hard shaft began quivering and then jerking in uncontrolled abandon. Her eyelids fluttered like trapped butterflies, and her tongue slavered up into his mouth, driving in and out as though she was tongue fucking him. Her groans of pain had long since given way to animal mewls of pure pleasure. Neck and thigh tendons stood out like guide wires and her stomach muscles rippled like ground quakes as her pelvis moved beneath him with an abandonment that surprised them both. No longer was there room for any thought in Carolyn's mind except the wonderful sensation of lying beneath this cruel, avenging savage who was violating her body, raping her, fucking her to near oblivion . . . and her own desire to give back every powerful thrust of his with one of her own.
Joaquin labored above her, no longer wanting to humiliate her . . . only to dominate her. She was more woman already than Carmencita, and she was still a child. She was meeting him halfway off the mattress now, and when their bodies clashed against each other, she fought him - rotating her hips and rearing and bucking in the air - like a well hooked marlin leaping high out of the water on its tail attempting to dislodge the cruel bark of the hook.
Abruptly, he moved slightly higher on her in order to bring his cock into greater contact with her clitoris. He began making longer strokes that brought his prick almost all the way out of her now hotly sucking young vagina on the backstroke and then plummeting forward into the uplifted buttocks until he could feel the hard slap of his testicles smacking down against the defenseless little lips of her anus below. Grinning lewdly, he quickly slipped his hand further under the smoothly rounded mounds of her buttocks and pressed the tip of his middle finger teasingly against the soft warm anal ring. He could feel the tiny virginal asshole nibbling his finger as though it were some toothless animal trying to feed. Before she could protest, he pushed into it with a quick movement, feeling the tight elastic little mouth giving way against the onslaught.
Carolyn's body stiffened and her eyes widened in pain, "That hurts."
Joaquin immediately thrust harder, feeling sadistic pleasure at her pained protest as his long thick finger slid in all the way to the second knuckle.
"Aaaagh, you're hurting me!"
The Indian laughed cruelly then began worming his finger around inside, stretching the rubbery softness of her back passage wider and wider. Within seconds another finger had joined the first, and soon he felt the tight resistance fading as her asshole accommodated them both without further resistance.
The young white writhing girl was moaning once more - guttural mewls of pleasure as her anus gradually became used to this unnatural invasion.
Joaquin's face was wrapped in a smile of conquest and victory as he felt her tentatively screw her rectum back onto his probing fingers. She winced as a hang nail caught painfully on the soft warm rubbery walls of her rectum. The pain passed and she began twisting and squealing in complete abandonment under the double rape of her virginal loins.
Carolyn realized she was hopelessly impaled between his mammoth pounding prick in her pussy and his fingers working in and out of her asshole, and the knowledge sent a shiver of delight running up her spine. Nothing had ever felt so masochistically beautiful before in her life! She liked being here, an abjectly helpless love slave for a brutally insensitive savage. There was a new and more pleasurable kind of pressure building up in her vagina now. Every muscle there had begun tightly clasping his throbbing, pounding prick, as though unwilling to let it pull out. Sensations, some of them almost unbearingly exquisite, were beginning to arc through her ganglions with each long, hard, pile-driving thrust inward.
Joaquin sensed she was about to cum, and he quickly moved his other hand up between their two nakedly straining bodies and began fondling the tightly contracting lips of her cunt where he entered her, feeling and playing with the clitoris and bringing a low continuous moan from her throat. He felt himself coming closer to release and his thrusts became more urgent. Carolyn responded, thrashing beneath him, as her fingernails raked his back, bringing long rows of raw redness to his muscular brown shoulders.
The white girl was almost there, he could feel it as her legs on either side of his buttocks jerked wide and up as though she were inviting one last destructive thrust. He drove into her cunt like a maniac. Abruptly, her knees were beating a savage drumbeat of desire against his hips and she began chanting, "Jesus . . . Jesus ... oh ..." Her face was contorted by the hot, feral lust that pounded maddeningly through every nerve and artery of her body.
"Ohhhh . . . OHHHH! . . ." That was all she could utter before her body stiffened and she stopped breathing as though locked in the final throes of a quickly coming death.
Joaquin groaned and quickened his stroke, grinding hard and deep so that his long hot prick roamed far up into the unchartered, untouched ravines of her cunt. Her breasts quivered and strained up against the powerful muscles of his chest, and the hardened nipples pressed against him like hard little brown chocolate kisses.
Then it happened! Joaquin suddenly felt her pussy opening up all around his cock, and a warm gushing flood of hotly searing liquid poured out of her pulsating pussy lips. Carolyn tried to gasp the message that she was cumming, but no words could force themselves past her dry, passion closed throat. All she could do was repeat over and over again, with a vast sense of wonder echoed in her taut almost inarticulate voice, "Oh . . . OH! Joaquin, darling . . . Ah...ahhhh? AIIEEE!"
The Indian dug his cock far into her cuntal chasm, then with her body convulsing against his, he gave his prick one final thrust and held it deep inside her.
"I'M cumming ... I'm cumming," he groaned, as the hungrily twitching lips of her warmly welcoming young cunt nibbled back and forth against his cock, milking it of every bit of its heavily surging strength. Boiling hot semen shot through the long throbbing length of his cock and spurted deep up into her warm, throbbing belly.
Carolyn was swimming in a warm velvet pool of pure sensation as she felt his prick jerking and the heat of his sperm filling her. Unconsciously, she wrapped her arms around the Mexican bandit chieftain's muscular chest and crooned, "Yes . . . yes . . . cum! Cum in me, darling." His cock continued to jerk and thrust as his savage seed puddled in the joyously twitching recesses of her no longer virginal young womb.
Chapter Ten
Margaret awakened shortly after dawn, and for a moment could not remember where she was. Then, feeling a slight soreness between her thighs, the memory of the previous night washed over her. "Oh, God," she breathed. She was so ashamed. She had acted like a wanton street whore. Three men had complimented her on her pussy, and she had actually felt pride! Paco and Diego had fucked her repeatedly, bringing on climax after climax; and then Carlos had brought Jean in, and the men made the two American women lie side by side while they fucked them simultaneously. That lewd spectacle had excited her beyond measure, and she had orgasmed continually until finally passing out from exhaustion at midnight.
Now, she was almost afraid to open her eyes, for fear of what she might see. When she did summon up enough courage to look around, she found herself alone in the middle of the rumpled bed. Her pena had been shoved back into her and the leather thongs tied around her waist.
Feeling degraded and dirty, Margaret went outside. The camp seemed deserted except for one thin trail of smoke rising from the dining adobe. Quickly, she made her way to the pool, then stood frozen in horror and growing anger as she saw Carolyn bathing herself.
Her young teenage daughter wore a pena!
"Carolyn!" It was almost a shout of pain. "What are you doing with that . . . that..."
Carolyn stared at her mother with a clear direct gaze, a faint tinge of red in both cheeks was the only indication of embarrassment. "I must wear it like the other women now."
Slowly the message soaked into Margaret's brain. Everything she had done had been in vain. "That beast," she said, beginning to sob. "I'll kill him! He promised me. He gave me his word."
Carolyn walked through the water and out of the pool, coming to stand by her mother. "He promised that none of his men would molest me. Joaquin said nothing about himself." She made the statement quietly, not regretting what had been done to her, even defending the man. He had made her feel like a woman the first time; the second and third times her burning need had been as great as his ... and this morning at first light, wanting him again, she had made him feel like a man and had not hesitated to awaken him by using her lips to gently nibble at that sleeping instrument which had brought her so much pleasure.
Margaret put her arms around Carolyn's waist and wept. "I'm so sorry, darling ... so dreadfully sorry! It's all my fault."
"No it isn't, mother. Don't blame yourself. Please don't." She looked down at Margaret's cum encrusted bare legs. Gently she took her by the hand, led her into the pool, and began washing her as she might a small helpless child.
"I've made such a mess of things, I'm so ... ashamed!"
Carolyn had never seen her mother like this. Always before, even under the worst circumstances, she had been a tower of strength. It was as though all of her defenses had been stripped away, leaving her vulnerable. In her mind she heard once again Margaret's wanton entreaties last night, "Fuck me ... fuck harder!" Now she knew what her mother had been shouting for. It was a normal reaction, one which neither of them had any control over . . . so why be ashamed? It was something to think about - something not yet to be discussed with her mother.
Finally Margaret seemed to regain some semblance of control. She stared at her daughter, closely inspecting her face and upper body. "Did he hurt you?" she asked softly, her voice full of concern.
"No. Well... at first... a little."
Margaret looked as if she wanted to ask another question, and so Carolyn answered it to avoid embarrassing her mother, "Four times." She didn't add that it probably would have been only three, the fourth time had been strictly her show.
"That bastard," Margaret said angrily.
"He really isn't that bad. He can be surprisingly gentle." She paused, carefully choosing her words, "As long as we're in the fix we're in, and we have no choice in the matter, then I'd rather be with him than Diego and Paco."
Margaret's eyes narrowed and once again she felt a wave of shame boil over her. "You know?"
"Yes. Joaquin made me listen outside your adobe."
"Oh, God! I'm ashamed."
"Don't be," Carolyn repeated. "There's nothing to be ashamed of. You had no choice. And once it started, you couldn't help yourself . . . any more than I could. Joaquin says that we are hot blooded women; that I should be proud to have a mother who reacts so intensely to a man . . . and that your blood has passed to me. I guess I never realized before that you . . . that you . . ." The girl could not finish the cruel sentence.
"Nor did I," Margaret said softly. "I've been such a rotten wife."
"Mother, please don't."
The woman smiled ruefully and nodded her head a couple of times. "Okay." She made a pretense of brightening, then asked, "Where is everyone?"
Carolyn immediately grew solemn. She recounted the incident with Carmencita, then said, "This morning Dona Louisa reported that Carmencita did not sleep in her bed last night. The men have gone looking for her; I think they fear she may report them to the police. Meanwhile Joaquin says we must continue to wear the penas ... or else."
"I could have gone all day without that last bit of information." Margaret grimaced, "These aren't the most comfortable things in the world."
"They're a little distracting, too." Carolyn looked at her mother; their eyes locked, then a little grin puckered up the corners of the female judge's mouth. "They are," she said quite succinctly, "damned distracting!" They smiled at each other, the smile of one woman acknowledging another, speaking openly, candidly.
Dona Louisa and Jean Pepper were drinking coffee in the adobe kitchen when mother and daughter walked in. Jean blushed when she saw Margaret, then lifted her eyebrows, shrugged, and said, "Morning."
Margaret soon learned that everyone had gone in pursuit of Carmencita; even Maria, who had left her baby behind. Finishing breakfast, Dona Louisa put Jean Pepper to work in the little vegetable garden that had been planted behind the adobes. Carolyn was assigned the task of cleaning pots and eating utensils and helping Dona prepare for the later meals.
Margaret, somewhat apprehensive, was given charge of little Enrique, the seven month old infant. The fat Mexican woman laughed good-naturedly when she saw how gingerly the female judge was holding the child. "He will not break," she said, "hold him on your hip or up to your breasts. Go walk with him, you will soon become accustomed to him and remember when you carried your muchachita." When Margaret walked out, Dona Louisa went to the door and watched her with serious eyes. There was a change in the gringa from yesterday afternoon; she supposed the men had been responsible . . . although obviously weary, the American woman seemed to be softer, more feminine today.
Carolyn worked, chattering away with Dona Louisa. She liked the fat Mexican woman, and the feeling seemed to be reciprocated. She learned that Dona Louisa was her real name; she was actually a "Dona". Twenty years before, when she was eighteen, she had been kidnapped by Joaquin's father. She had been his woman for four years, until the police had killed him in an ambush. Although she had been offered her freedom, she stayed on and had been a second mother to young Joaquin. She told the girl she had never liked Carmencita, and that Maria was the wife of Jose who was serving a five year term in prison.
When Carolyn took a break after washing the cooking utensils, she found her mother bouncing the gurgling child on her knees and cooing to it. Rather than disturb them, she visited Jean Pepper, who complained of getting sun-burned on her "untanned ass". Then, feeling she had stayed away from the kitchen long enough, she started back to the adobe. She stopped, completely alert and motionless, as her eyes caught the sight of her mother in the shade of a tree by the pool. Margaret was holding the crying baby close to her chest. Even as Carolyn watched the infant reached out a tiny hand and clutched at the bare breast; his cries stilled as his little open mouth began suckling. Margaret appeared to be terribly embarrassed at first, but then after glancing around surreptitiously and seeing she was unobserved, the woman relaxed and her face lit up. Complete and utter contentment was etched on both faces. Carolyn had never seen such a look of soft serenity before about her mother, and she wished that she were a painter or a photographer able to capture this moment forever.
Silently she slipped back to the kitchen.
Lunch time came and went, as did siesta. The baby slept happily and peacefully beside the slumbering Margaret.
The sun had gone behind the canyon walls and light was beginning to fade when the men returned to camp.
Stumbling along with them, his hands tied behind his back and a trail of new blood seeping down the right side of his face was a man.
"Father," Carolyn screamed and started toward him.
He looked up and saw the running nude figure of his daughter and his nude wife - like some painting come to life - carrying an infant on her hip. He closed his eyes prayerfully. "Thank God, you're alive. I thought you were dead."
Chapter Eleven
"Tie him," Joaquin said, pointing to a post near the dining adobe. Paco and Carlos dragged John to the pillar, where Diego quickly wrapped a horse-hair lariat around his shoulders keeping him in an upright position.
"Dona Louisa," Joaquin bellowed, "come quickly." The fat woman, alarmed, waddled out of the kitchen.
"What is it, my son?" she. asked, concerned.
"Take little Enrique from the white woman and go to Maria's village. Wait with Maria there until we send word that it is safe. I do not want any harm befalling Jose's child or wife. This gringo lies too easily. He says he found our trail by accident; I think that bitch Carmencita has told him all."
"Mother of God," the fat Mexican woman cried, "all is lost."
"No, not yet. We will make the lying gringo speak the truth."
"I go at once, my son," Dona Louisa said, shoving past Jean Pepper and snatching the child out of Margaret's arms. The infant began wailing loudly as it was abruptly taken from its substitute mother. A moment later, the fat woman had disappeared into the dark shadows as she ran light-footedly down the canyon trail.
He snapped his fingers once. "Carlos, three bottles of tequila to quench our thirsts."
The boy was back in seconds carrying the liquor, Joaquin took one, pulled the cork out with his teeth, then spat the cork onto the sand at John's feet. "Now, amigo, we shall talk. One lie from your throat and your wife dies. A second lie and your daughter dies. A third lie and you die. So I would advise you to speak the truth." He grinned evilly as he took a drink from the bottle.
"I told you the truth."
"You lie!" Joaquin shouted through gritted teeth. He stepped up rapidly and slapped and back-handed John's face. The scientist's head snapped back and forth from the force of the two blows.
"Leave my father alone," Carolyn cried. She started toward him, but was grabbed by the lewdly smiling Diego.
Joaquin slowly turned and faced her. "Chiquita, had you not been such a good fuck last night, I would even now be cutting your throat for questioning my authority."
"Why you bastard," John yelled, his face red in anger. "If you so much as touched her, I'll see you in hell."
"Then assuredly, my American friend, you will be in hell many years before I arrive there because I am going to kill you now. Before you depart this land of the living, you should know that your wife has enjoyed the favors of all my men, and they truly wonder at the magnificence of her cunt. No trained whore in the fanciest of whorehouses could have done nearly so well with them. Yesterday, when she took my cock in her warm wonderful mouth, I swear I thought for a minute I was in paradise." He laughed obscenely and was joined by his men as John struggled like a madman against his bonds. "And when your daughter awakened me this morning with her lovely lips nibbling away at my cock, begging me to fuck her for the fourth time, I thought to myself, 'Surely that gringo is a lucky man to have two such women under his roof.' But it appears now you are not so lucky . . . for you are going to die unless you speak the truth quickly. Did you talk to a woman about .this place?" He moved forward before John could answer, grabbed his hair, and yanked his head back. "The truth!"
The three American women watched in a state bordering on terror at the confrontation. The two men stared at one another as if each could read the other's mind through the eyes. Neither looked away. John said, "It is the truth. When my men did not return from the airstrip yesterday, I had my choice of going after them or searching for you. It was not difficult to follow your trail once I discovered it. After all, how often does a party of four men and three women walk a path?" John put all of his conviction in his voice; these savages must not suspect the truth or the women and he would soon be dead. He had carefully thought out his phony story after he was captured, and now he decided it was time to play the fool, he began blustering; "I advise you to free us all, for surely the government troops will soon be reaching here."
"And what does that mean?" Joaquin asked ominously.
"That means before I left the camp, I wrote a note to my men telling them what direction I was going in ... and I left some signals along the way. Shortly, the two scientists and the two Mexicans I hired will come with the troops."
Joaquin stared at him for a moment, then began laughing. He was quickly joined by the others. They laughed uproariously, stopping only to guzzle the tequila, then doubled up again in merriment.
John managed to look puzzled. "What's so funny?"
The Mexican bandit leader, still chortling, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and answered, "Dead men do not read notes. The two gringos you counted on to help you will be rotting in the belly of a vulture by now. The men you hired have only one loyalty ... to me! They are my men. And their orders were to cut the throats of the gringos."
"No!" John gasped, hoping he wasn't over acting. He must continue to stall these savages. All he needed was about an hour, by then Paul and George, together with the force of fifteen soldier-policemen should be coming up the canyon . . . providing Carmencita had been as money hungry and as angry as he thought. He had given her one hundred dollars for the information about the camp's location, and written a note to Paul at the expedition headquarters requesting she be paid another $250.00 if she talked to the police and soldiers who had arrived this morning. The military had flown in after a suspicious Paul and George had disarmed the two Mexican laborers and radioed for immediate assistance after discovering John unconscious and the women missing.
Joaquin turned to his men. "Shall we keep the stupid American alive for a little while? Shall we show him the heat of his woman?"
There was a chorus of agreement.
Margaret, with a growing sense of dread, realized what was about to occur. Did she have any choice? Was there some way she could protect Carolyn? What happened to her own body now didn't matter. She felt she probably should be punished anyway; this whole miserable travesty was her fault.
Joaquin's demeanor changed rapidly. Now he was the good-natured host at a party. "Do not be selfish, share your tequila with the women.'' Setting an example, he offered his bottle to Carolyn, who shook her head. "Drink it," he snapped and his voice indicated he expected the order to be obeyed ... or else.
Carolyn tilted her head back and took a mouthful of the burning liquor. She choked as it went down. Margaret stared contemptuously at him as she drank. Her throat jerked several times as she sought to deaden her senses again.
The Mexican bandit leader seemed satisfied. He turned to John. "And now, gringo, you shall see how a beautiful American woman should be fucked. Like the common puta - a whore." Cruelly smirking, he looked over his shoulder at Margaret. "On your hands and knees, puta."
John struggled manfully against his bonds. He had not expected this to happen. It had never occurred to him that the kidnappers would do more than hold the women for ransom. His mind had been reeling ever since he realized that his wife and daughter had been used as love slaves by these brutal savages. "Don't, Margaret," he cried out in anguish. "Don't do it."
Joaquin grinned evilly and turned to Diego. "If the American woman is not on her hands and knees within ten seconds, cut the daughter's throat." He turned back to John. "What do you say now, amigo?"
"You inhuman bastard," John spat out.
Joaquin's smile evaporated. "That is the second time you have referred to me as a bastard. Do not say it again or your limp little cock shall be cut away before your throat." He continued staring at John and called out, "Is the woman in the position of a dog to be fucked?"
Diego answered, "She is."
"Then have the daughter remove the pena from her mother's cunt. Have her hold it up for the gringo to see." He did not turn to observe the spectacle, but spent the entire time watching an expression of bewilderment, disgust and anger work their way across the captured man's face. "You see," he taunted. "Your women wear the pena all day. At night they want a man, a real man . . . not an American eunuch without the balls of a man, unable to please or satisfy them." Something in John's expression made him laugh and he realized his remarks had hit a sensitive spot. "It is true, is it not? My men tell me the gringa's cunt was as tight as a young girl's. They say she was so hungry for the feel of a man's cock that she reached peaks of glory dozens of times and screamed her joy with lungs of a female whale. Do you not use her cunt very often? Is it that you prefer the assholes of young boys?"
"I swear by all that's holy, that I will kill you," John hissed.
Jaoquin merely smirked. "Threats from a dead man do not frighten me." He turned rapidly and saw Margaret on her hands and knees. Beside her, Carolyn stood white-faced, holding the rubber prick. Jean Pepper trembled in fright as she stared with big round concerned eyes first at Margaret, then John. He snapped his fingers once again. "Carlos fuck the puta in the asshole. Paco, stick your little brother into her cunt. Let us see the fire that burns within the gringa's body. It will be an education for the gringo. But first, you know, it has occurred to me that perhaps he really has no balls. Remove his trousers, puta," he snarled at Jean, "and move quickly when I speak."
Trembling, the little secretary went to John's side. "I'm sorry. Dr. Dunn," she said.
"It's all right, Jean. I'm sorry, too." He stiffened as her fingers released his belt and unfastened the waist snap of his tropical shorts. She pulled them down around his ankles before turning around for other instructions from Joaquin. "The rest of it. We cannot see if he has balls." Jean sighed, then quickly peeled John's jockey shorts down. As his testicles and penis came into sight, there was much whistling and ribald comment from the Mexicans. John's equipment was not insignificant, there had never been any complaints from the women before and he was fully as large as Diego, but still the men continued their insults. Paco walked up closely, peered and squinted as if he were having difficulty seeing something so tiny, then said, "Amigos, it is true. You cannot, of course, see them from your distance, but the hombre does have balls and a penis. They would do justice to a rabbit, perhaps, but not a man."
John bore the insult quietly, praying for strength and a chance - any chance - to avenge himself. He had never felt so completely helpless before in his life. He had no doubt that Margaret was about to be raped and sodomized, and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, he could do to prevent it. What would happen to Carolyn and Jean was anyone's guess. He could not believe Joaquin's statement that Margaret had orgasmed dozens of times and had screamed in ecstasy. That, he was positive, was a lie. Still, though, now that he stared at her waiting on her hands and knees like a docile horse about to be mounted, he noted there was a difference in his wife. Although obviously feeling humiliation, she seemed changed - less imperious, less professional - more female! He attributed that to a temporary condition, her knowledge that she was completely at the mercy of these bestial savages and must cooperate to stay alive. Her heavy magnificent breasts swayed like ripe white melons as she shifted weight from one knee to the other. His glance flickered toward his daughter. Carolyn was staring at his nudity; she blushed and turned away as she realized he had seen her speculative look.
Joaquin had intercepted the look between daughter and father. His eyes narrowed, then his white eyes flashed and he grinned lewdly. Paco and Carlos were removing their clothes in anticipation of mounting Margaret. He put out a hand to stop them. "A moment, my brothers." They paused, he continued. "It would appear that the little puta is hungry. I, myself, have seen her starving look as she gazed upon her father's cock. So let us permit her to feast, and at the same time we shall see if that ant-sized penis is capable of becoming erect."
Margaret gasped as she realized what was being suggested. "No, you can't," she shouted, getting to her feet, her eyes blazing with an unholy fire. Her cry of protest was echoed by the wildly struggling father, whose exertions had caused the cruelly tight lariat to dig into the soft skin below his inner arms; a thin stream of blood and sweat ran down his rib cage.
Joaquin stared menacingly at Margaret. "I give the orders. You take them."
"Then kill me, you filthy beast. I'd rather be dead than have my daughter subjected to that."
"Very well," he said in a soft voice. "Diego. Cut her throat."
"NO!" Carolyn's high pitched scream cut the late afternoon air like the first unexpected blast of an air raid siren. "Don't touch her. I'll do it! I'll do it!"
"Darling, you can't." Margaret began sobbing. "Let them kill me ... Oh, God . . . Oh, God . . . what have we done to deserve this?" Her short-lived defiance abruptly left her and she slumped to her knees weeping. "Kill me," she gasped.
Joaquin jerked his head to Diego who had pulled out his knife, and the knife was returned to its sheath. "Chiquita," he said to Carolyn, "whether your mother lives or dies is up to you. On your knees in front of the gringo. You know what to do, you did it so well this morning to me."
It was Jean, summoning up all her courage, who stepped forward and said, "Please ... let me take her place. It is not right that a daughter and a..."
"Be quiet," Joaquin hissed.
"Don't do it, darling," John said. "It doesn't matter what happens to me."
"It does matter, father," Carolyn said, then knelt in front of him. She reached out with one trembling hand and cradled his testicles in her palm. John flinched as though he had been touched with an electric cattle prod. "Don't," he groaned.
Carolyn bent her head forward, opened her mouth, and placed her warm trembling lips around the head of her father's cock. "Oh . . . God . . . don't," he moaned, trying to twist away. His flaccid prick came out of her mouth; it was already glistening from the heat of her saliva. Carolyn looked in back of her. Margaret was weeping silently now, her hands covering her face is if the act of blocking out the sight would make it not happen. Joaquin's eyes narrowed in warning and Carolyn returned to her father.
This time she used her hands to cup his white buttocks, so that he could not twist away again. Then the warm oval of her mouth took possession of the cock again. She began a soft sucking, interspersed with a gentle nibbling. Her tongue swirled around the head and she licked the sensitive underside of the trunk. John was rapidly losing what little composure he had left. He fought the sensation, fought his body's response to it, then groaned loudly as his body began to surrender to this sweet delight. "Oh, God . . . I'm so sorry," he said to Carolyn as his prick began coming to life in her mouth. Once the erection began, there was no stopping it. Carolyn felt it elongating and swelling, and the knowledge of what was happening sent a sudden perverted thrill shooting up her spine. She was sucking her father's cock, and he found it pleasurable. Already she could feel it beginning to throb, to beat with a life of its own - even though it had not reached half of its girth or length. She began moving her head up and down on it, taking it into the back of her throat . . . sucking, nibbling, licking. John's groans had turned into low grunts and, for the first time, Carolyn felt his ass muscles relax. She began kneading his buttocks as her hot, wet lips moved up and down the shaft. It was fully erect now, an instrument to be proud of.
Jean, standing nearby, was mesmerized by this salacious spectacle. Never before had she seen anything so wickedly exciting. She fought the insane impulse to run forward and join this pagan ceremony. She realized that she was rubbing her own thighs together, grating against the pena, pushing it in and out with short little muscular jerkings of her stomach. Even as she watched, she saw John's complete surrender to the sensation the slavering girl was bringing to him, and his pelvis made one tentative little movement forward - one little jab into her warm soft mouth.
The movement-was witnessed by the Mexicans, all of whom had been growing more excited by the second. Joaquin said, thoughtfully, "Perhaps he is a man, after all. He has the equipment of a man." His eyes focused on the white full cheeks of the young gringa's ass moving in little circular movements as her head bobbed up and down, up and down on her father's cock. Next, we shall have a little fiesta, he thought. Diego had indicated his desire to fuck the young girl. He would let him use her asshole. They would do it at the same time the mother of the girl was being fucked by Carlos and Paco. And the gringo could watch; perhaps he would learn how to fuck a woman.
At the post, John had begun fighting again for he knew he could not stand this delicious licking, sucking much longer. "Stop," he groaned, but before Carolyn could react, there was the shouted command from Joaquin. "Continue!"
Carolyn sensed her father was about to cum. It felt as if his cock had increased ten degrees in temperature as it throbbed and twitched alarmingly in her mouth. Suddenly, she wanted him to cum, to fill her mouth with the heat of his sperm - the same seed from which she had sprung. She wanted him to have pleasure, and so increased her efforts. The kneeling girl sucked his cock like a hungry calf feeding from one big teat. Her fingernails dug painfully into his buttocks and her lips became a tighter ring, increasing the hot wet friction.
"Oh . . . God," he moaned, as his pelvis began an abandoned thrusting into her eager young mouth, and he began babbling, "Sorry ... so sorry . . . sorry." Suddenly, Carolyn's throat was filled with a hot thick liquid that erupted with volcanic fury from the head of his wildly throbbing prick. She continued sucking voraciously until the hard rod stopped twitching and began to soften. Then, feeling an animal excitement almost beyond her control, she sat back on her haunches and stared up at her father's white, shaken face.
John closed his eyes in shame as he looked down at the cum, his cum, shining lewdly on the lips and face of his daughter. "I'm so sorry," he repeated.
Joaquin swaggered over with his bottle of tequila. He held it out to Carolyn, who took a deep drink this time. When he took it back, he looked with disgust at the mouth of the bottle then disdainfully wiped where her sperm-covered lips had been. He passed the bottle to Jean who seemed almost in a sexual delirium from the effects of the pena and the lewd scene that had just been enacted in front of her. She drank too much from the bottle and felt the hot liquid spreading a warmth through her belly; the hotness expanded until it met the heated area of the pena.
What she had just watched - daughter sucking father to orgasm - had excited her to an insane fever pitch of desire. She had to use every bit of her self-control to keep from screaming, "Fuck me, someone." For all she knew, there may have been a moment there when John was cumming in his daughter's face that she might actually have bellowed out her plea for release.
When she returned the tequila bottle to Joaquin, she brushed her breasts against his muscular arm. He laughed and said simply, "Your turn will come, cow. Remain here. Do not move one step until I tell you to."
The Mexican leader was all business now. "Diego, check the gringo's bonds," he jerked his head toward John. "What he will now see will madden him." He waited until Diego cinched the lariat tighter, then grabbed Carolyn by the arm and lifted her to her feet. "Over there by your mother, little puta. I know your hot blood is boiling . . . and we shall cool it for you."
Margaret did not think she could ever lift her head again. When the men had grown breathlessly silent and the only sounds were that of John's grunts and Carolyn's sucking, Margaret had glanced up in spite of herself. She saw the look of agony and ecstasy on John's face and knew what he must be experiencing. He had cum at that moment, and the thought of what he was doing had brought one jolt of excitement rippling through her body - an excitement that was quickly suppressed and overwhelmed by an immediate sense of guilt and shame.
The boy, Carlos, almost shyly held out a bottle of tequila to her. She started to refuse, then took it and drank. She needed to be numb to get through these next hours. What they did to her didn't matter any longer; what mattered was that Carolyn would be on her hands and knees right beside her, and there was nothing she or John could do to keep the girl from being debased.
The Mexicans removed the last of their clothes. Joaquin stared down at the two kneeling American women and thought: Surely there has never been a matched pair like this before in the history of man. His long massive prick, already terrifyingly erect, seemed to grow even larger as he gazed at the helpless women. He took his cock in his hand, turned to John, and peeled the thick foreskin back. "You see, gringo. This is the shaft of a man, the measure of a man. Now you will see my magic act. I shall make it disappear into the cunt of your daughter."
"God damn you," John shouted. "Let me free and I'll kill you!"
Joaquin laughed loudly. "I think perhaps we should cut out the gringo's tongue, Diego. He makes too much noise. It will interfere with our fucking."
Margaret cried out, "John, please don't say anything else. Please! We know how you feel. You're only going to make things worse for you." She began weeping futilely, a slave prepared to take the vilest command from her brutal master.
Tears of frustration had welled up in John's eyes as he heard the pitiful plea from his wife. His shoulders slumped in defeat, all he could do now was pray that the rescue party arrived before this perverted act began. His wild, unhappy eyes looked around for help, but saw only a vacant eyed Jean, moaning low in her throat and rubbing her thighs together.
"Let it begin," Joaquin said, and with one quick yank, tore the leather thong from Carolyn's hips and withdrew the pena. She moaned as she felt the rubber prick pulled from her womb. It was as though there was a vacuum there now, a hole that must be filled.
The men were like drunken pirates in a fine ladies silk shop, laughing and shouting crude obscenities to each other as their hands crawled over the bodies of the two kneeling American women.
Paco had a cruel, unyielding glint sparkling lewdly in his eyes as he first looked over his shoulder to make sure the gringo was watching, then wiped the oozing head of his cock around Margaret's lips. Behind her, the gentle Carlos had caught the madness and said, "Open your thighs, puta." She obediently spread her knees out a few inches. She looked up once at John and saw the look of impotent anger and agony on his face. One tear of shame coursed down her soft cheek and fell to the white sand.
Paco growled, "You can do better than that. Open wider. We all want to see that wondrous cunt of yours. I could not see much by candle-light last night." Margaret spread her thighs wider, but Carlos, losing patience, grabbed her knees and forced them sharply apart, bringing a whimper of protest from the woman as her defenseless vagina was exposed to the men's leering eyes.
"Is that not the most beautiful sight your eyes have ever beheld?" Paco said, still taunting John. He reached down and dug a finger into the soft raw flesh of the thin, softly bearded slit.
Margaret moaned in abject humiliation. Oh, God, this is going to be far worse than last night, she thought. At least then I was partially drunk and, if I'm honest with myself, I partially wanted them inside me. But not now! Not here with Carolyn and John seeing everything.
Carlos had gotten down on his hands and knees behind Margaret. Now he dipped his head and peered up between her outspread legs as though he were inspecting the belly of a horse. "Truly it is a special cunt. I shall enjoy fucking that. Behold the soft little pink opening, like delicate fruit to be plucked from a tree." He reached up a thumb and forefinger and tweaked the softly trembling little lips. Margaret jumped and moaned.
Paco danced around. "Tell us, Carlos, how is the asshole?"
The answer came back, "Small." The boy stuck his finger in his mouth, wetting it, then pressed it against the little brown puckered ring. The woman groaned in pain as the finger disappeared into the tight elastic opening. He made a grimace of mock fright, "Aiieee. It is devouring my finger." Margaret's tears began flowing more rapidly now as the men laughed crudely at her discomfort.
Carolyn watched this cruel humiliation of her proud mother with mixed emotions. It was exciting her, and she felt guilty about her stimulation. Combined with this emotion was an equally strong feeling of pity because she knew how deeply ashamed her mother was. She could see her kneeling there, piteous streams of tears rolling down her cheeks and dropping to the sand, forced to accept the crude caresses and obscenities of the two Mexican bandits.
While she was watching, she became aware that the levity was rapidly evaporating as the men became more aroused. Paco had knelt behind Margaret and now he suddenly bent forward, used his thumbs and palms to peel apart the cheeks of Margaret's buttocks, and deposited a mouthful of spit just above her anus. Then, with a cruel implacable look of lust on his swarthy face, he began pressing his middle finger into the rubbery opening of her rectum. Margaret cringed, bearing the indignity in silence, even after he began worming his finger in and out. A moment later a second finger joined the first, and a grimace of pain crossed her face. Now, as the fingers worked back and forth in the asshole they could all hear the obscene sucking sounds and Paco's excited breathing.
Carolyn could feel her cuntal juices - activated by the day's wearing of the pena and excited further by the lewd spectacle being enacted only inches in front of her eyes - flowing down her naked inner thighs. She felt Joaquin's hands on her own buttocks and, without thinking about it or taking her eyes off her mother, obediently raised her haunches like a bitch dog in heat. And then she felt the long, hot throbbing hardness of Joaquin's cock scraping and rubbing against the dampened feverish lips of her pussy. The pena had made her ready for him, she needed no further build up, and so reached back under her body, grasping his massive rigidity and pulled it forward until she felt the hot pulsating head pushing between the sensitive moistened ridges of tender flesh on either side of her cunt. He pressed forward slowly and with one long ecstatic stroke slid it all the way up into her heaving belly.
"Aaaaagghhhh," she moaned, and not even John could mistake that cry for anything except animal exaltation. Carolyn continued to moan in delight as she felt the head batter softly up against her cervix, buried as far into her steaming pussy as it could go.
Margaret, who until that moment had been hopeful that maybe something would happen to protect her daughter, Carolyn, heard the cry and moan and knew that it was already too late. She glanced toward the girl and saw her with mouth dropped loosely open as she squirmed back against Joaquin dog fashion while he rotated his mammoth prick deep inside her.
Carolyn wanted to cry from the beautiful sensations he was bringing her. His huge, god-like cock head scraped riotously and deliciously against the seeping super-heated walls of her hungry womb, and she realized he was in even deeper than he had been last night. She wanted to close her eyes in rapture, but to do so would have deprived her of the exciting sight of her mother being fucked from behind by the one named Paco. She had heard Joaquin declare that they both would be fucked in the asshole, and yet she had refused to believe that such a depraved act could physically take place. The disbelief of the impossibility of the act disappeared abruptly as she saw Paco remove his fingers from her subserviently kneeling mother's anus and then announce, "She's ready to fuck." The obscene thought of the unnatural depraved ravishment about to take place right in front of her eyes caused her to groan in new excitement, and she ground her own buttocks tighter back against Joaquin's undulating pelvis as he continued to fuck her with long smooth strokes.
Paco's throbbing prick, long and sinewy, stood out in front of him with thin blue lines of veins pulsating around it. Carolyn's eyes widened in horrified wonder as she saw the immensity of it and the smallness of her mother's anal opening. She couldn't take that barbarous instrument in that tiny orifice. My God, he would kill her, she would be split in half!
The Mexican bandit got down on his knees and cakewalked until his belly was pressing in against Margaret's full white buttocks. He used thumbs again to separate her buttocks.
It was then, as she felt the cool rush of air between her thighs, that Margaret lost the balance of her composure and began whimpering. "Oh, no. Please don't. I can't let you. Not that way!"
John struggled silently against his bonds, his face purple in anger and frustration, as he saw Margaret attempt to get to her feet.
"Hold her, god-damnit, Carlos. Hold her." Paco yelled, pushing his hand down hard into the small of her back. Margaret continued to struggle impotently against the strength of the two bandits, then sobbing in defeat, finally submitted to their vile bestial demands with her body trembling like a frightened, beaten animal.
Carolyn watched as Paco ran his hands greedily over the long, firm muscles of her mother's shaking calves and up the inside of her thighs to the heated interior of her legs. The moist cleft between them was as shadowy and inviting as a cave on a summer's day.
John shuddered as he saw the Mexican run the edge of his hand down the smooth crease of his wife's buttocks. It was as though he were making an indentation in soft bread dough. A moment later, Paco pulled the rich full mounds apart so that the tiny puckered little anus was visible to everyone. Margaret groaned and tried to flex them shut again, but the bandit dug his fingers hard into the soft pliable flesh. John saw her relax once more as she gave up the fight completely and let the Mexican do as he willed. His eyes turned painfully toward his daughter on her hands and knees before the leader. The expression on her face as she was being fucked dog fashion was frightening in its total wantoness as she screwed her buttocks hungrily, greedily, back against the impaling shaft of hardened gristle. The scientist could feel the blood streaming down both rib cages now, as his violent struggles had caused the lariat to reopen his earlier wounds. There was nothing he could do! Only the thought of ultimate revenge kept him from wishing he were dead or from shouting insults which would result in his death. These animals had debased not only his daughter but his wife as well. He would make them pay even if it took the rest of his life. He would hunt them down and kill them in the most painful, agonizing way possible.
Carolyn was so engrossed in the lewd spectacle presented by her mother that she barely felt Joaquin's massive cock thrusting in and out of her like some powerful white drill boring inexorably into the warm fertile depths. There, so close she could reach out and touch them, Paco and her mother were meeting as man and woman, master and slave.
The young girl saw him open Margaret's buttocks wide with his thumbs and lean forward to place another large drop of spittle to lubricate his entry. Then he reared up slightly and the great long length of his aching prick throbbed in the warm crevice of her ass, its monstrous pulsating head resting against the small rubbery opening wet from his spit. Putting his hands on her hips, cruelly digging in with his fingernails in order to hold her painfully captive, he positioned the iron hard cock and then began pressing forward.
Carolyn stopped all of her own movements and held her breath for what seemed to be an eternity until she saw the inflexible fleshy shaft slowly slip through the tight little anal ring. She watched, unbelieving, as the tiny little anus devoured the head, then slipped halfway down the white, blue-veined length of the prick. Margaret cried out once in pain and struggled against Carlos and Paco's unrelenting grips, fighting in an effort to escape the brutal impalement. Her movements only worsened her situation. With each wild lunge toward freedom her body made, Paco's cock skewered deeper and deeper into her tightly resisting little asshole.
"Ohhhh . . . aaaaaaaggggh!" Margaret cried out as the last of her strength faded, and Paco's turgid heated shaft slipped unimpeded into the warm rubbery depths of her rectum. His hairy scrotum, taut with desire, rubbed against her vaginal lips.
Margaret had never felt anything so painful before in her life, but the pain faded into insignificance when compared to the shame and humiliation she felt at this cruel debasement. She could not resist any longer, to fight them only caused new and even more painful and shameful things to be inflicted on her.
Paco's eyes rolled in bliss. "Ooooh, what a tight, hairless little asshole," he announced to all. "Tight and very warm." He ground his teeth together and took several long strokes into her, bringing a low cry of pain and humiliation with each thrust.
Carlos could stand the sight no longer. "Turn the puta over, my cock is getting impatient." Paco obediently locked his hands tightly around Margaret's hips and rolled to the side, pulling her backwards on top of him. His monstrous, pulsating penis was still imbedded deep inside her wide stretched anus as she lay full length on her back tight against his stomach and chest. Her legs were splayed obscenely on the outside of his legs, and when she tried to close them, he merely raised his knees which acted as barriers.
The Mexican boy lost no time in grasping his own long hard shaft and guiding it toward the defenseless wide-open entrance to her cuntal cavern. He thrust forward impatiently and the cock without hesitation slithered deep inside her belly, joining Paco's prick already buried deep up in her rectum.
"Oh . . . God," Margaret groaned piteously, and then lay there skewered between them right before her helplessly bound husband's eyes, moaning and sobbing from pain and humiliation - a lush soft body sandwiched between two dark muscular strangers. Only the thin membrane between her cunt and anus separated the two alien, hard cocks fucking up between her wide spread thighs.
Carolyn, her eyes burning with a strange fever, tried to squirm in even closer, and was unknowingly assisted by Joaquin who started ramming her young body with long powerful strokes that went deep into the farther-most regions of her cunt, thrusts that jolted her forward through the sand.
The two Mexican bandits took only a second to establish a natural rhythm, buffeting her mother's helpless form between them like the clapper of a bell moving from one side to the other. She moaned continuously, a low whine which gradually built up in volume as they rammed into her cunt and rectum with ever increasing force.
Carolyn watched them, never taking her eyes away, as the two thick cudgels slammed into Margaret's defenseless cunt and grotesquely stretched rectal mouth like twin pistons of doom. She saw the shining long cocks - wet their full length from her mother's copious vaginal outpourings - disappear into the ass and vagina, only to reappear again less than a second later. She could see the flanged flamingo pink edges of the cunt leap up, like a sun storm and cling to Carlos's cock on the outstroke, saw it pushed back and disappear again as the young Mexican boy rammed it home again . . . saw the little brown puckered opening of the stretched asshole rise on the outstroke and then move in and indent on the inward thrust.
John was almost blinded by the perspiration that ran over his eyebrows and into the pupils. He sensed something happening with Carolyn and then heard her cry of dismay, "Oh, no ... not yet, Joaquin. Wait for me." He watched as his young daughter began rotating her hips madly, and as the Mexican leader made one powerful thrust inside the depths of her cunt, before straightening up with his eyes rolled up in his head. "Aaaaieeee," Joaquin shouted, and it was the cry of a dying Indian. "No, not yet," Carolyn yelled again, but the words were no sooner out of her mouth than the Mexican withdrew his massive prick. The torrents of cum gushed down her leg. Beside him, John heard Jean moan loudly. He took one look at the passion distorted face, at the heaving belly, and knew that her stomach muscles working incessantly on the pena imbedded inside her had finally made her cum.
All of that was unimportant. What mattered was Margaret, for he could hear the low whining moan of protest gradually changing. He wasn't sure at first, hoping and praying that he was mistaken, but it soon became apparent to everyone that the woman was beginning to mewl in passionate pleading.
His cruelly sandwiched wife's final defenses had crumpled. Her body was taking command again from her mind. She was feeling a masochistic joy that left no room for doubt. The helplessness of her position, the thought of being fucked half to death in front of daughter and husband, of being fucked by two strange men at the same time ... all of these contributed to the overriding emotion, to the undeniable fact that she was beginning to enjoy this. She looked up through her disheveled hair at her husband, mutely pleading for his understanding, then simply let her body take over. Her hips began to move backwards to meet each of Paco's wonderful thrusts ramming into her rectum, then forward to devour the entire length of Carlos's long sinewy prick into the suddenly boiling cauldron of her womb. Her whole body quivered and shook in undisguised rapture, and her white full buttocks rotated in wild wanton circles. "Ah . . . ahhhh, oooooh," she crooned like a soft-voiced cheerleader urging them on in time to their buffeting blows against her pussy and asshole.
Carolyn was beside herself in frustrated unhappiness. She had been left up in the air by Joaquin, and there was no doubt in her mind that he had done it on purpose, deriving some sadistic joy at leaving her unsatisfied. She started to rise when she felt the sting of a rope against her bare buttocks. "I did not give you permission to get to your feet," Joaquin snapped, then jerked his head at the hot-eyed, heavily breathing Diego. "Fuck her," he said, then added, "In the asshole!"
Diego needed no further urging. He almost ran forward in his slobbering impatience to have her. He rubbed the throbbing, blood-filled head of his prick against her seeping cuntal lips to lubricate it, then placed it against the girl's tight, helplessly cringing little anal opening and thrust forward in one mighty lunge of sheer, implacable lust.
"Aaaaggggh . . . OHHHHH." Carolyn shrieked. She hadn't known it was going to be as painful as this; it was like a burning axe handle being pounded up her rectum. She wasn't given time to think, for Diego began fucking into her asshole with all the fury of a dog gone mad.
John closed his eyes to the sight, but he was not able to shut out the sound of his wife's voice urging Carlos and Paco on. All three of their delirious groans were taking on a greater urgency and their bodies were moving now in a tarantella of sexual abandonment. In spite of his frustration and reluctance to see his wife and daughter further debased, he found himself staring in rapt fascination at the sight. It was with a feeling of shame and humiliation that he realized he was getting another erection, and he could see Joaquin staring in savage amusement at him.
Margaret suddenly screamed, "Oh, God . . . more . . . more. I'm almost there. Aaaaggh? Aaaahhhhh? Aiiiieeeeee ... I'M CUMMING ... I'M CUM-MEEEE-NNNNGG!"
John's mind was reeling from the impact of what he was seeing and hearing. The woman he had for years thought was totally frigid had taken on two men and now was screaming out an orgasm that seemed to go on and on, never to stop. The two Mexicans as if by some secret signal, both imbedded their throbbing pricks far, far into her womb and rectum and began spurting their hot sperm deep up into her rippling belly.
This salacious sight further infuriated the sex-maddened Diego, and he began pounding with even more savagery into the teenage Carolyn's asshole. He had reached around at the same time and begun alternately fingering her large erectly throbbing little clitoris as though he were trying to squeeze a grape from its skin. The combination of the two sensations were driving her out of her mind, and she could feel all of her muscles, and nerves girding themselves for the orgasm which was only a glittering moment away.
It could have been pity for the horribly aroused man or sympathy for the woman who'd had to bring relief to herself, but Joaquin abruptly said to Jean, "Remove your pena, and let the gringo fuck you dog fashion."
Any protest John might have wanted to make died on his lips with a groan when Jean impatiently took his aching cock and stroked it a couple of times sending a new fever of need throughout his loins. Then she backed into him, lifting her buttocks up high back against him in order to get the cock inside her. Feeling the throbbing head pushing against her hot, moist, love-starved cuntal lips, she used her fingers to guide it into the fold, wiggled experimentally until she was sure it was pointed properly, then jerked her hips backward skewering herself all the way up to his testicles with a loud moan.
Carolyn started screaming, "I'm cumming . . . I'm cumming." John began stroking into Jean's all too willing pussy.
The young girl's wildly thrashing figure threw the powerful Diego off balance and then, with a silly stupid grin of delight on his face, he toppled sideways, his cock coming out of her asshole with a loud "plop" just as it started ejaculating. He lay flat on his back with the white cum spurting high in the air like a whale blowing water. Even before his wild spewing had diminished, there was the shrill high cry of exaltation as Margaret-for the first time-felt the true majesty of Joaquin's mammoth prick slide into the depths of her again voraciously starving cunt. She put her arm around his waist and raised her hips to meet his thrust, while beside her - within touching distance - her daughter took Carlos's cock in her mouth in order to resurrect him.
John came, was sucked back to life again by Jean, and fucked her again; while on the ground before them, his wife and daughter had orgasm after orgasm as the Mexican bandits fucked them every way possible.
It was almost completely dark when the first shot came from about twenty yards away. There was a shout, and the sudden scurrying of nude bandits fading into the darkness like shadows.
It took John almost a half a minute to realize that they had been rescued.
When he looked up, only his wife and Carolyn were there - staring at him as Jean shamefacedly pulled her lips away from his impaling erect cock where she had began sucking him moments before. It was Paul Ford who untied him and George Henry who stood on guard as the women gathered their clothes. Two hours later, with the military and police scouring the area for the missing Mexicans, the expedition party reached the Land Rover and began the long trek back to their camp. They were silent. After the first exchange of information, no one had felt like talking. Someday they would talk, but not now; and the truly important things might never be said or mentioned.
In the back seat, Margaret reached out for her daughter's hand and, a moment later, felt the scalding tears spring up in her eyes as her husband reached for hers.
They sat that way all the way back to the expedition headquarters, knowing that without a doubt, things would be better for them now. They had learned a lesson back in that bandit's camp, and never again would she turn her husband away from his rightful place in her bed . . .
