The dark-haired girl knelt naked on the bed and looked at the young, dark man who knelt in front of her. He was her master and her helper, she thought. He would cure her of her guilt, the guilt that she felt because she was so rich and so beautiful.
The young man held a pair of pliers up in front of the girl's soft, dark eyes and he grinned at the girl.
Then he moved those pliers down to her nipple and smiled at her as he opened them.
First, she felt the coldness of the metal on her nipple.
And then she felt the piercing pain when he clamped those pliers tight on her pinkness.
She winced and she sighed to him, knowing that this was just the kind of treatment that she needed.
"Yes, Master," she said. "Give me the pain."
And the boy knelt there silently and gave her the pain that she needed. Then he opened the pliers and moved them off her nipple and put them in his other hand.
Then he clamped down again and the beautiful, dark-haired teen-ager sighed.
"Yes, Master. Give me the pain and then fuck me. Oh, yes, Master, yes."
CHAPTER ONE
The girl was one of those dark, sweet beauties that only the islands could produce.
She was naked, and her young ripe tits were pulled high on her body because her arms were tied and she was hoisted off her feet, hanging there in the middle of the room.
The naked girl was silent, but, from where he stood, Gil Rogers could see her face and her eyes.
Those dark eyes were wide and darting around the room. She was frightened. That was easy enough to see.
And the man in the police uniform was babbling at her in Spanish, a language that Gil could not understand. But he could hear the angry hisses that the man in the uniform put into the words and he knew that that naked, pretty girl was in for a lot of pain.
Gil turned to Captain Castro of the island police and asked him the question in English.
"What is she suspected of?"
"We think that she is a rebel, and the officer is asking her to tell us where the rebel camps are."
The fat man who stood with them wheezed out a chuckle. Gil looked at him.
Gil Rogers did not like Bodden, the fat man, at all. The man was always sweating and laughing with that strange wheezing sound. Sooner or later, Gil knew, Bodden would fall down dead in his fat and sweat and he would wheeze no more. But Gil needed Bodden now. Bodden had found Gil's young sister-in-law, a girl who was something of a rebel herself.
And Bodden was the only man who could lead Gil to her.
"I can tell you where the rebels are," Bodden said, wheezing as he spoke. "I can tell you and you would not have to torture me to get me to tell you. They are everywhere. Every other person that you see in these islands is a rebel, and you know it, Castro. You know that they will soon take over."
Even as he talked about the rebel takeover, Bodden, the fat, cynical American who had lived on the islands for years, sucking at the life blood of the community, chuckled and wheezed. He pulled a cigarette from a pack in his sweaty shirt and shoved it in his mouth.
"Got a light, Casto?" he asked.
The captain of the police force lit the fat man's cigarette as he answered Bodden's accusation that the rebels were everywhere and would soon take over.
"Yes, Mister Bodden," he said softly. "They will take over one day. I hope to be on the last plane out of the islands when they take over the government, with all of my money in bags. Of course, I have already moved a great deal of the money to American banks. I love American banks, Mister Bodden."
Bodden sucked in on the smoke and laughed and then coughed.
"Yeah," he said. "There is nothing like an American bank to make an island police officer feel protected in times of upheaval."
"These are sad times that we live in," Castro said. But he was still smiling when he spoke about the sadness that was in the times. "General Rugales cannot hold power for many more months. The Russians are backing the rebels, you know."
"I have heard that," the fat man said.
"You work with the Russians too, Mister Bodden? You sell them things too?" Bodden chuckled.
"I do not know, Castro. I never ask about a man's nationality. I usually only work with men named Smith or Jones or Gomez."
And Castro laughed too.
Gil Rogers was new to the islands and he was surprised by the way that Bodden bantered with the police captain. Both men seemed to be personifications of corruption, he thought, and they accepted the corruption in each other so easily. They would work on the same side when there was something in it for both of them. But Gil Rogers understood that, for all of their friendly and cynical bantering, the fat man and the police captain would kill each other if they had to.
That was the way that things were on the islands, and his young sister-in-law had come to these islands to hide out.
Brooke would never have been noticed on those islands either, Gil Rogers knew, if Bodden did not take American newspapers in order to keep himself caught up on foreign affairs. He had griped to Gil that the island newspapers were nothing but rags and Bodden had once lived in Chicago. He was used to good, American news stories, he said.
He had looked into one of those Chicago newspapers and had found a story about Brooke Hutchinson, a former Miss Ohio and the daughter of a wealthy father, a girl who had given up everything to become a radical, bomb-throwing anarchist bitch. "Miss Radical America" the newspapers called her, although she had not even been a finalist in the Miss American pageant two years before, when she was seventeen.
She had been working in a little house in Columbus, Ohio, had been working on explosives when the house had blown up, killing two of her cohorts and three passers-by. She had run for it and she had been a fugitive from justice for more than a year.
Bodden had read that article about Brooke Hutchinson with interest because he had seen a girl who, looked just like her around the town of San Genoa. That girl lived on another island, a deserted island just off San Genoa's coast. Bodden had found out about that and he had contacted some of his friends in the underworld in the United States and those friends had contacted Gil Rogers, the ex-husband of Brooke's older sister, Bonnie.
Gil Rogers had come down to San Genoa to get Brooke Hutchinson. At least, that is what he and Bodden told Captain Casto. Gil did not know if Castro believed him, but now he knew that it really did not make any difference if the captain believed him or not.
Now Gil Rogers knew that Captain Castro was so filled with corruption that he expected corruption in others too. That was what came from living on the islands all of his life, Gil thought, and that was what came from dealing with men like Bodden too much.
Gil was a crook, but he hoped that he would never get this blas� about corruption.
The other policeman, the man in the uniform, was still babbling at the naked girl.
Gil kept looking at those girl's eyes. She seemed to be asking him to help her, but he could not help her at all. He was just a visitor on the islands and the girl meant nothing to him.
Castro yelled at the other officer in Spanish, gave the man an order. When the naked girl heard that order, she started to twist there as she hung in the middle of the room, as if she were trying to climb up that rope and escape through the ceiling.
Bodden understood Spanish. He cackled when he heard the order and he jabbed Gil with his sweaty elbow.
Gil stepped back from Bodden. He hated to be touched by that fat man. He had only met Bodden early that morning, when Bodden had introduced himself at the San Genoa airport. But he had already grown to detest that man with his sweat and his fat and his wheezing and his smelly cigarettes.
"We are going to get quite a show now, Mister Rogers," the fat man said as he rubbed his fat hands together.
When Gil saw the police officer walk over to a table and pick up a whip, he knew just what kind of show he was going to see. Gil felt a confusion of emotions then. He did not mind watching a pretty girl tortured. He had liked it back in the United States. And this island girl was certainly a beauty. But he felt a little sick at his stomach because he knew that Bodden was going to watch too. Gil knew that Bodden would react to this torture in all the wrong ways, that he would take much of the joy out of the sight for Gil. But Gil Rogers also knew that he could not turn and walk out. Captain Castro had invited them to this back room because he considered the Americans his honored guests.
It would be bad manners to refuse to watch the whipping that this naked girl was going to receive.
And Gil Rogers did not want to anger Captain Castro. He knew that that man could make a lot of trouble for him in this town if he decided to use part of his police power to stop Gil from getting to his sister-in-law.
So Gil stood there and tried to block the wheezing, fat Bodden out of his mind. He concentrated on the way that girl trembled and shivered with fear as she hung there by the rope. Gil thought that he might enjoy this if he could just forget about Bodden's being there. He had not seen a pretty girl tortured in a long time, and he noticed that his heart was beating quickly at the prospect of this sight.
The police officer stood in front of the naked girl who hung there from the ceiling and grinned at her and babbled to her in Spanish and then he cracked that big, black whip in the air.
Bodden moved close to Gil again and leaned his fat, wet body against the tall American.
"That is the way that the island cops do it," he said. "They make the girl wait for the torture. She knows that she is going to get that whip, but she is just going to have to look at it for a little while and wonder when the man is going to make that thing fall on her flesh. Nobody tortures a pretty girl like an island cop, do they, Castro?"
Finally Gil could stand it no longer. He hissed at the fat man.
"Shut up, Bodden. I am trying to concentrate on the fucking show."
The sweating man moved back and was quiet. Gil caught Captain Castro's eye and saw the policeman smile at him. The tall American knew that Castro did not like Bodden that much either. Gil figured that Bodden probably did not have a real friend in the world, and he knew that the fat man did not deserve any friends.
But Bodden was quiet. And the island officer in front of the naked, hanging girl cracked the whip again.
The girl let out a scream as if she had already been lashed. That scream seemed to pierce the inner being of Gil and thrill him. He closed his eyes for a second and sighed and felt his cock getting hard in his pants.
And, when he opened his eyes, he studied the way that the girl's long, black hair fell down her back almost to her butt. That butt was nice too, a fine, rounded, dark ass. A dark piece of meat, he thought. That was what that island girl was, and she was going to be worked on like a piece of meat in a butcher's shop.
"Do you think that she knows anything about rebel hideouts, really?" Gil asked Castro softly, not taking his eyes off the dark girl.
"Who cares?" the captain said with a shrug of his shoulders.
And Gil heard Bodden start to laugh with that wheezing sound again.
Gil turned sharply and Bodden stopped laughing suddenly. The fat man was afraid of him.
Gil grinned and then turned around to watch the policeman start the whipping.
The cop was still asking the girl questions in Spanish and he was still cracking the whip in the air. Gil wondered how much longer he would torture that girl with nothing, would make her wait for the real pain.
And then the policeman glanced toward the three men who stood at the side of the room.
Out of the corner of his eye, Gil Rogers saw Captain Castro nod his head and smile.
And the tall, handsome American knew that that was a sign.
The policeman in front of the girl threw his arm back and then lashed the girl across her naked tits.
Another scream filled the air in that room, and the girl twisted in agony.
Gil Rogers watched closely as the little, thin, red line of blood came oozing out of the top of the girl's sexy tits. He smiled and he rubbed his crotch. He would have to thank Captain Castro for this sexy show, he thought.
And then the policeman who was interrogating the girl drew his arm back again and lashed into the girl's stomach with that whip. The girl's legs jerked up as he did that, and Gil could tell that the dark-haired, island beauty was in great pain already. Another scream pierced his system and made him feel right at home here in San Genoa.
He had to admire that policeman's use of the whip. The man was obviously an expert at treating girls in such a way, and he looked at the smile on the policeman's lips. He knew that this cop enjoyed whipping girls, interrogating them for the pleasure of the torture.
"He is one of our best," Captain Castro said softly to Gil, as if he could read the tall American's mind.
"Very good," Gil said with a nod of his head.
And the blood was beginning to cover the front of the girl's body, rolling out of those two long cuts that the policeman had already put on her and turning her tits and her stomach red. Gil could see the red wetness begin to stain the dark hair of her pussy too. He also saw the policeman look at that pussy hair. When the cop pulled back his arm again, Gil knew where he would aim the whip this time.
And the whip lashed right into that pussy hair and the girl spread her legs with the pain and twisted and screamed and shouted out something in Spanish.
"Is she giving him any information now?" Gil asked Captain Castro.
"No," the police officer said with a grin. "She is praying. All of them pray at one time or another. We are all very religious down here."
And Gil heard Bodden wheezing out a laugh behind him. He closed his eyes for a moment and tried to shut that sound out.
He wished that he did not need Bodden for this journey to his sister-in-law. He wished that he could turn around and strangle that little, fat man with his bare hands at that moment.
One did not laugh during a torture session. Gil Rogers knew that and, obviously, Captain Castro did too. One could smile, but to laugh out loud was bad form. One enjoyed a torture session as one enjoyed a good play on words by a witty person, with a smile of appreciation, not with raucous laughter. Laughter was for burlesque comedy, Gil Rogers knew.
And the policeman who was working on this girl was too good with his whip to be in burlesque.
The policeman put the long, leather whip right across the girl's thighs and there was more blood and more screaming.
Gil appreciated the way that that cop worked slowly. He knew that the man was enjoying his work, but he also knew that the man was going to prolong his joy. He was not going to get all excited and beat the girl in a frenzy. The policeman worked in slow and regular and almost delicate movements and gave the girl just enough pain to keep her in agony. A frenzied whipping would have caused the girl to pass out, and the policeman obviously knew that an unconscious girl was not worth anything as a torture victim, especially when he had an audience.
The island policeman moved around the girl and looked at her back. It was still dark, although the front of her body was red with blood.
Now he would work there, and Gil seemed to suspect that the cop would not get as much pleasure out of the back.
He would still be able to hear the screams of the girl, but he would not get a chance to see her face tighten in terror and then in pain. He would not have that satisfaction.
But the cop still worked slowly, methodically with that whip.
First, he lashed the top of the girl's back and put the whip right across her shoulder-blades.
She screamed again and, when the scream died away, the girl muttered in her Spanish prayer to a God that could not help her.
Then the island policeman lashed her lower back and the blood flowed out of there because it seemed that that cut was even deeper than the others. The blood covered the girl's rounded buns and she jerked her legs around and twisted in pain.
And then the cop landed an almost perfect blow, and Gil felt the urge to applaud him. He stifled that urge because he knew that applause was not called for here, and he did not want to be the kind of barbarian that Bodden was.
The whip had landed right in the crack of the girl's ass with a snapping sound.
And the cut that that whip left caused the girl's ass-crack to grow. The line of bloody, torn tissue at the top of her ass seemed to be a fine and perfect extension of her buns.
Gil smiled when he saw that.
The girl was not screaming as much any longer. She was just jerking and muttering her prayer. That seemed to be a sign of something for Captain Casto. He turned and spoke to the tall American.
"Let us leave now," he said. "The best is over."
And Gil knew that his island host was correct. He turned with Captain Castro and walked to the door. But Bodden stood there and stared at the girl's bloody body.
"Come on, you fat pervert," Gil Rogers snarled.
And Bodden turned and followed them quickly out of the room in the San Genoa jail.
The three men walked up a flight of wooden stairs and opened a door that led into Captain Castro's office. The fat man was huffing and puffing by the time they got to the top of those stairs. When they entered the office, Bodden dropped onto a sofa and sat there. He pulled out a sweat-wet handkerchief and mopped his fat brow.
"That was one of the best that Raoul has ever done," he said. "You tell him that I compliment him on his work. That lash in the buns was perfect."
"Yes," Castro said, sitting down behind his desk. "I think that he has been practicing on that one particular strike."
And then the police captain turned to the business at hand as Gil Rogers sat down in the chair in front of the desk.
"So," Captain Castro said, "you tell me that your sister-in-law is on the island of Guertramo. I have no jurisdiction over Guertramo, you know."
"Who does have legal jurisdiction over that island?" Gil asked.
"No one."
"No one?"
"For years; we in San Genoa have been arguing with the authorities over on the island of San Bartholomew. They say that we have jurisdiction and we say that they do. Guertramo lies about halfway between the islands. The fact is, Mister Rogers, no one wants to mess with that place. There is hardly anyone there and the whole island is just a pain in the ass."
Bodden wheezed in his laughter again.
"He picked that up from me," the fat man said, grinning. "I talk to Castro and he picks up all of those American sayings. Pain in the ass."
He continued to laugh as Castro stared at him. Then the Captain spoke to Gil.
"Pay no attention to him, Mister Rogers. He sweats and he fucks fruits and vegetables."
The fat man laughed again.
"I make it a rule not to be offended by any man low enough to fuck food," Castro continued.
And Gil had to smile at that too. He looked at the fat man and wondered if Bodden did fuck food.
He was certainly disgusting enough, Gil thought, to do anything.
"I want to go out to Guertramo and find my sister-in-law. Bodden here tells me that she lives on that island with two native boys. We might have to kill those native boys because I think that they will probably be armed and dangerous."
"Be my guest," the captain said. "Kill whatever boys you like out on that island."
"Of course, there will be a bit of monetary thanks for you, Captain. I just want to get my sister-in-law off that island and back to the States. If I can get her to give herself up, I think that she will be able to get off very lightly in front of a judge."
"The Radical Miss America," Captain Castro said with a smile. "Her father is very wealthy."
"Yes."
"He can hire big and handsome lawyers to leave a jury spellbound, right?"
"Right. Or he can bribe a judge. We have not decided what we will do yet. But we want Brooke to give herself up. Her reputation as a rebel and outlaw is hurting the family. Her father does not like to see the Hutchinson name dragged in the dirt."
Castro leaned forward.
"Mister Rogers, you used to be married to this girl's sister, but you are not married to her any longer. Why are you here at San Genoa? Why do you give a shit about the Hutchinson name?"
"I am a former Texas ranger, Captain Castro," the man said. "My former father-in-law thinks that I would be able to handle this situation in the best and most discreet way. He paid me to care again about the Hutchinson name."
"Paid him a lot, I bet," Bodden said. "Paid him a lot more than I am going to get for finding the girl."
Gil did not even look at Bodden while he spoke to the fat man.
"You will get more money than you will be able to spend on this island in a hundred years, fat man."
"Sure," Bodden said. "I am not-complaining. But I did not plan to spend the next hundred years on this island. I am an American, and I have been thinking about returning to the States. I miss my native soil."
Castro chuckled.
"He will return on the same plane that I leave on," the captain said of Bodden. "When the revolution comes here, Mister Bodden's fat life will not be worth a dime."
"Rebels don't like wheeler-dealers," Bodden muttered. "I don't understand why. I got them some rifles one time. I sold them those rifles at a good price."
"You should them rifles that would not work, Bodden," Castro said with a cynical grin. "Twenty-five rebels were shot down by the police force in San Genoa when they went out on the streets with those things that jammed after one shot."
"They were European rifles," Bodden muttered. "You cannot trust a European product. If they had been American rifles-of course, then they would have cost more."
Castro laughed and Gil Rogers just sat there and thought that the men on the islands were very strange and brutal. They could laugh about dead rebels who had been gypped with bad rifles. He wondered if they would even laugh their way through a revolution.
But Gil Rogers did not want to tarry there with Castro. He had seen the show and he had enjoyed it. But now he and Bodden had to get supplies for their trip to the island where his young sister-in-law was hiding.
They had to get there and kill the girl before anyone else found her.
CHAPTER TWO
The slender, dark-haired, teen-ager awoke that morning feeling guilty.
Brooke lay there on her bed in the little house that she had found on the island, the house where she lived with Gabriel and Ernesto, and she knew that she had been dreaming of riches again.
She could still remember that dream. She had dreamed that she was lying out by her swimming pool behind her father's mansion and that Luis, the young boy who helped the gardener, was rubbing the sun-tan lotion into her back. That dream had come from her memory. She had spent many summer afternoons letting Luis rub her when she was sixteen years old. She would feel his hands on her back and she smelled the aroma of earth and growing things that he always seemed to have on his body, and she would think that Luis would make an excellent fuck. But she had not fucked him, even though he was sixteen too and handsome and willing. She could see from the way that he looked at her that he was even eager to fuck her hot pussy. She had not fucked him because he had been a Chicano, a boy from the lower classes, a boy who was not as polished in the ways of society as the other boys she knew-the boys that she did date and fuck at sixteen too.
Now that she was a radical, Brooke felt guilty about Luis. He had wanted her so badly, she remembered. And she had not given herself to him out of some snooty attitude. She had thought that she was too good for him. Now she realized that, when she had been sixteen, Luis was really too good for her. He had already been thinking about the political process and its rotten depravity. He was already making plans to do his bit to overthrow the system. But she had not known that about Luis at the time, and she would not have appreciated it even if she had known. In fact, she would have hated him if she had known that Luis was really a young revolutionary then. She would have had him fired. She would have tried to have him arrested. She had been so silly, so much a part of the system then.
She moved off the bed and stood naked beside it. She reached down and touched the mattress to steady herself as she stood there because she was a little dizzy with the guilt that she felt.
She saw her reflection in the cracked mirror that the boys had found on the island and had presented to her as a gift in their special rebel way. When she looked at her naked body, she felt even more guilty. She had no right, she thought. She had no right to be so beautiful. When she was just fourteen years old people were already telling her that she could be a model in the fashion magazines. Her long, dark hair and her tan were set off by her dark, flashing eyes and her wide, red lips.
And, in the cracked mirror, her beauty seemed to come apart. That made it a bit more bearable for her now, she thought. She had thought often in the last year of taking a knife to her face and scaring herself just so that she would not look so pure and beautiful, just so that she would seem to have something under that face except emptiness. But she did not have the courage to scar herself. In truth, she loved her looks as much as she hated them, and that confusion added to her sense of guilt.
She looked around for the boys, the two men who kept her happy out there on the island. They were not in the little house, and she walked out onto the rickety porch naked. She saw them down by the ocean. She needed them that morning. She was feeling guilty and there was only one way that she could cleanse herself of that guilt. She needed Gabriel and Ernesto to help her cleanse her guilt.
"Gabriel!" she called. "Ernesto! Come to me! I need you!"
The two young Spanish men turned and looked at her. Then they dashed up from the beach toward the house. They knew what it meant when Brooke needed them, and they enjoyed doing their bit to help her get rid of her early-morning guilt.
They came toward her and stopped in front of the porch and looked up on her as if she were their goddess.
She looked down on them and she had to smile when she studied them.
Gabriel and Ernesto were both dark and slim and strong. They both wore ragged jeans. Their chests and their feet were bare and Gabriel had a rifle slung over his shoulder.
Brooke had to admit that she liked Gabriel even more than Ernesto. He was the silent one, the deadly one. He was only eighteen and he had already killed five island policemen. But he could not speak at all. He could just smile and kill.
"I feel guilty," the girl said softly, letting her smile die away. "Come in and help me, please."
"Of course," Ernesto said.
And Brooke turned and walked back into the little house. The two, young, dark men followed her.
Brooke walked into the bedroom and stood by the bed and looked at Ernesto. He was the one who could talk, and he considered himself the brains of the gang. But Brooke knew that he was really not very smart at all. If their little band of rebels had any thinking member at all, it was the girl. But Brooke could give Ernesto ideas and make the youth think that he had come up with them himself. She did not like to take too much credit for their work together. She liked to think of herself as just a foot-soldier in the rebellion against the forces of tyranny. If she thought of herself as a leader, she just felt guilty again.
Ernesto claimed that he had killed many men too, but Brooke knew that that was all bravado, the special Latin male bravado that the young men on the islands had. Gabriel, the silent one, was the killer. She had seen that young man kill coldly without batting an eye.
She stood there and said it again.
"I feel guilty. I am guilty of something that is very deep in me. Help me, Ernesto. Help me, Gabriel."
The silent, dark youth put his rifle against the wall of the bedroom and approached her.
Then he hit her quickly, slapped her hard across the face and knocked her back onto the bed.
He never ceased to surprise her, she thought, as she touched the tingling, stinging part of her face. Even when she knew that it was coming and was eager to receive his slap, the hand seemed to come up so quickly and give her pain that she was always surprised.
And there was also something so clean about the way that Gabriel punished her, she thought, looking up at the young man. He never seemed to hit her in wrath. He just hit her, as coldly and as calmly as he killed.
Gabriel opened his jeans and pushed them down and stepped out them. Brooke looked at that long, dark, meaty cock and she knew so well. When he was naked, he moved onto the bed with her and lay next to her. She looked down as his feet and saw the bits of sand that stuck to his flesh, the sand from the beach. Then he slapped her again.
The silent, dark youth pulled her up on the bed and Brooke and Gabriel knelt, facing each other.
He did not even seem to notice his own movements as he slapped first one side of her face and then the other.
He continued to slap her again and again until the pain was like a heat in her brain. She knelt there and took that pain and that slapping and she sighed as she felt the cleaning power of the slaps begin to wash her guilt away.
Then Ernesto moved toward the bed and Gabriel turned. This was the way that they always worked together. Brooke had started to think of Ernesto as Gabriel's assistant, like the nurse is an assistant to a surgeon in the operating room.
Ernesto handed Gabriel the little pliers and then stepped back to watch and wait until he was needed again.
The silent, calm youth lifted the pliers and held them in front of Brooke's face so that she could see them through the tears in her eyes. He always showed them to her in this way before he used them on her. He opened the pliers and then let them spring shut like teeth. When she saw that, she jerked, as she always did. But Brooke knew that she needed the pliers too. She needed the pain that they would give her. It was the only thing that could keep her from feeling guilty.
Then the silent, dark youth lowered the pliers to one of the girl's pink, round nipples.
He could not speak, so Ernesto, standing nearby, snarled out the words to Brooke.
"Rich bitch. Cunt filled with money. Pussy filled with snobbish gold."
As Ernesto said those words that Brooke had actually taught him to say, Gabriel moved the pliers over her nipple and let them clamp down hard on her sensitive skin.
When he did that, the girl jerked and sighed and tensed her body. He kept the pliers on her nipple and just looked at her, with that dead, calm expression on his face.
"Thank you," she whimpered as the pain flooded her body and made her feel alive again. "Thank you both so much."
But Brooke knew that it was not over yet. Gabriel loosened the pliers and pulled them off that nipple and then tossed the pliers to his other hand as if it were a baseball.
As he moved those tight things to that other, pink, sweet nipple, Ernesto said the words again.
The torture would not cleanse her without the words, and Brooke and the two young men all knew that.
"Rich bitch. Cunt filled with money. Pussy filled with snobbish gold."
And the silent, naked youth clamped the pliers down on the other nipple too.
Again, the beautiful, American girl jerked and sighed. She felt the pain rush through her body and she noticed that her long, dark hair, falling down her back, seemed to tickle that pain and make it even more wonderful.
"Thank you," she sighed. "Thank you so much. Thank you both."
And, when she had offered her thanks like a good pilgrim in the islands, Gabriel loosened the pliers again and took them off that nipple.
Then Ernesto stepped forward and took the pliers from the naked, young surgeon who was cutting the guilt out of Brooke Hutchinson.
And the girl fell back on the bed. She put her hands on her breasts and worked her fingers around her nipples and felt more of that pain, that leftover pain that was sweet and long-lasting and kept her clean for sometimes two or three days at a time-clean and without her rich-bitch guilt.
Then she moved her hands down her slim, tanned body and she spread her legs. She slipped her fingers over her pussy-lips and sighed.
Those lips were wet and warm with juices, juices caused by the good pain that she had endured once again.
She worked two of her fingers into her snatch. She moved her hips up and bent her legs and drove those fingers deep into her sweet cunt as the island youths looked down at her.
Brooke felt her own warmth and her own wetness. She tried not to be proud of her cunt, but it was almost impossible. She knew that it was an exciting, sexy cunt, tight and sexy.
She wanted to fight the guilt of her cunt-pride too.
So she pulled her fingers out of her cunt and lowered her legs and raised up on the bed. She rested on her arms as the silent surgeon of her guilt moved over her on his knees, straddling her and lifted his dark, long cock up to her red, full lips.
She opened her mouth and took that cock into her and started to suck on it. She pressed her soft, red lips tightly around that cock and she worked her face back and forth as she felt the cock gaining strength in her mouth and getting longer and harder.
There were more words that she had trained Ernesto to say when she was sucking a cock like this.
And the dark, island youth said those words now, said them with vigor. Brooke knew that, as always, Ernesto was getting excited as he watched her suck on his silent friend's prick.
"Suck it, you rich whore. Suck that cock, you filthy bitch."
The words came out in long gasps of excited, male air. Ernesto would wait his turn and then he would really have a reason to be excited. She heard the assistant to the guilt surgeon moving and she knew that he was taking off his tattered trousers too. He was probably also groping his cock and playing with himself as he watched her suck on that cock in such a sexy way. But she did not look at him. She closed her eyes and she concentrated on the meat that was in her mouth.
She could feel the tip of the fat island meat at the back of her throat. She did not use her hands on the cock. She had made up the rules to this torture herself, and now she abided by those rules. She would use only her mouth, her red lips and her warm mouth to get the boys hard.
And she knew that her mouth was enough. She worked back and forth on the strengthening rod and then, when Gabriel put his hand on her dark hair, she knew that that was a sign that he was ready, ready to fuck her pussy and get that cunt-guilt out of her.
Gabriel moved down slowly, dragging his hard, wet cock over her tits and her stomach.
Brooke shivered and sighed when he did that and she spread her legs wide.
Ernesto said some more words, said them with excitement and tension and lust.
"You are going to be fucked hard, you rich bitch. You are going to be fucked with a good cock."
And then Gabriel was positioned over her. Brooke looked into his eyes and sought out some kindness there. But there was no kindness. And there was not hatred. There was nothing but a calm and cold stare, as if the dark, young man was just staring out to sea, thinking about nothing, preparing to do nothing.
But he was preparing to fuck her!
And Brooke felt the dark youth's hands under her firm, young buns. He was squeezing her there.
She lifted her legs and held them out wide and offered that dark surgeon of guilt her opened, pink pussy.
Gabriel moved the cock to the pink opening and slipped the head of it in. Then Brooke closed her eyes and waited for the slamming. She knew that she needed the slamming of his cock into her cunt, the slamming that would help her get rid of her cunt-guilt. She knew that that slamming would make her feel like something was tearing away at her insides, but she needed that tearing, that brutal fucking, that pain. She needed this to keep her from having the cunt-pride that always led to cunt-guilt for her.
"Fucking bitch," Ernesto snarled at her. "Fucking cunt. Fucking whore."
And Gabriel gave the beautiful girl the slamming that she yearned for.
She gasped with the pain and the delight that flooded over her and she looked up to see the dark, silent surgeon move over her and stare down at her with those calm, dark eyes. And then he started to fuck her roughly. He grabbed her legs and pressed them back and he fucked her tightness and her sweetness as if he hated it.
And the girl twisted on the bed and moaned and yelped with the passion and the pain that the fucking was giving to her.
"Fucking whore," Ernesto growled, stroking his own cock and waiting his turn. "Fucking rich bitch. Fucking beauty. Fucking beautiful whore."
And the thin, beautiful, American girl was bent back almost double as Gabriel leaned over her and fucked her with that ruthless and calm passion. She opened her red lips and she sighed to him.
"Yes, fuck me. Fuck that guilt right out of me, Gabriel. Fuck me because I am nothing but a rich bitch."
And he did not react at all to her words. He just kept fucking her hard and quickly. He rammed and slammed into her and he started to sweat with his work. Some of that sweat landed on her body and she sighed and twisted as if that perspiration was scalding her.
"Fuck me. Fuck me, Gabriel," she sighed. "Fuck my worthless, shitty cunt."
And he slammed into her and stared down at her and then he rammed his cock deep into her and kept it there.
She knew the silent surgeon-boy well. She knew what that movement meant.
It meant that he was coming.
"Yes, come in me," she whimpered. "Come in my worthless cunt. Fill me up with your come. I am nothing but a rich bitch and I want to drown in your fucking come."
And the dark youth held his cock in her and jerked a couple of times and Brooke felt the warmth of his come, his cleansing cream, spread through her. She lay there and took that warmth and sighed and whimpered with joy.
"Worthless scum-bag bitch," Ernesto snarled at her as Gabriel pulled his prick out of her well-fucked pussy.
Gabriel moved off the bed and Brooke looked at Ernesto. She knew that she would have to fuck him now.
In truth, she preferred fucking the silent surgeon, Gabriel. But she did not want to make Ernesto feel like an outcast. And she knew that she could not refuse him. She saw the need in Ernesto's eyes and she remembered that she had seen the same kind of need in Luis's eyes, not so many years ago. She had not fucked Luis and that had caused the core of her guilt. She knew that, from now on, she would not be able to refuse any dark man who wanted her cunt, any dark man with a hard cock.
But she did prefer the silent one. He was the one who tortured her so well with the slapping and the pliers. If Gabriel had been able to speak, she thought, she really would not have needed Ernesto at all.
And then she knew that that was wrong.
She needed the words, but she also needed that second fucking, the one that did not last as long as her fucking with Gabriel, the one that did not thrill her as much. She needed that second fucking in order to really feel like the common whore that she was in the center of her being.
So she lay there and waited for Ernesto to move onto the bed.
The young man came to her eagerly and moved over her on his knees, in just the same way that his friend had moved over her. She lifted her face up and opened her mouth and took his already hard cock into her.
He really did not need the sucking, she thought. He was already hard enough to fuck her.
He had been playing with himself while he watched his friend fuck that girl.
But she sucked on his cock and got it wet with her mouth. She thrilled him in that way because she knew that Ernesto wanted it. And she knew too that she could not refuse any dark-skinned lad ever again.
She was nothing but a little whore anyway, a rich tart of a girl.
Whores did not refuse any man. She knew that and she sucked on the cock.
As she sucked, the dark-skinned, young man-the one who had the voice-snarled at her.
"Fucking bitch. Fucking rich bitch. Suck that cock, you scum-bag whore."
And he reached down and grabbed some of her long, dark hair and pulled on it. She winced, but she kept sucking. He always did that to her, gave her that kind of pain. She had to admit in her mind that Ernesto did have a few tricks of his own-like his hair-pulling-that she really did like.
And then he pulled his cock out of her mouth and moved down her body. Again, she spread her legs wide and waited for him to enter her.
But Ernesto had a strange look in his eye as he moved down over her body.
She seemed to sense that it would not be the same with him this morning as it had been on other mornings.
And she soon discovered that she had sensed his mood correctly. The talking boy had obviously been thinking of some way to make her think more of him as a master.
He moved down further over her body than he had ever moved before.
"Rich bitch," he snarled.
And then he lowered his mouth to one of her nipples and sucked that nipple into his lips.
He had never done that before, she thought. Ernesto had always been content with just the fucking and the sucking and the watching before now. But now he was sucking on her nipple. And then, quickly, forcefully, he clamped his teeth into that nipple and bit down hard.
"Oh, Jesus!" she cried, jerking under him and lifting her legs up around his body.
That pain was fantastic!
Ernesto let that nipple go and she sighed. The teeth seemed to have finished something that the pliers had started. Brooke glanced down at her nipple and saw that it was bleeding.
And then she felt a pain in the other nipple.
"God! Yes!" she yelled.
He had bitten that one too, and he seemed to be trying to tear that pink flesh off her body with his teeth. But he did not tear it off. He just moved his mouth away from the nipple and Brooke looked down and saw that that one was bleeding too.
She whimpered and gasped with the pain that was shooting through her and she looked up at Ernesto. He was grinning. He seemed to be very proud of himself at that moment, and the American girl knew that he had ever reason to be proud. He had done something on his own, something that she had not trained him to do, something that gave her passion and pain.
She sighed to Ernesto.
"Oh, thank you. That feels so good, so hot, so-"
And then she could not find the words to describe it. Her brain was too filled with the pain.
The only words that came to her were words that she yelled out at her dark-skinned lover.
"Oh, fuck me! Fuck me, Ernesto! Fuck me hard and strong with that cock of yours!"
"Rich whore," the smiling youth snarled at her.
And then he slammed his cock into her pussy and started to fuck her, just as she had asked him to do. And Brooke fucked back and thought that she might have underestimated Ernesto.
Any guy who could bite a nipple like that, she thought, must have some kind of brains.
She closed her eyes and sighed and felt happy-like a common, lower-class whore.
CHAPTER THREE
Bodden had been waiting for Gil in the bar for nearly an hour before the tall, handsome American finally came in. Bodden was angry and wanted to show his anger, but he knew that he should not try that. Gil Rogers would beat the shit out of him, the fat man thought, and Bodden did not like pain when the pain came from his own body.
Gil moved into the booth across from the fat man and sneered at Bodden.
The man made Gil Rogers almost sick to his stomach, and the American would be happy with he finished his business here in the islands and got away from that tub of lard.
"I have been out picking up something for Ginger," he said.
Bodden could tell by that tone in Gil's voice that he was not apologizing. He was just stating a fact. His voice was calm and his tone was even, almost cold.
"I don't see why you brought her alone," the fat man whined. "I could have gotten you a girl to fuck here on the island. I know all the girls here. They know me too and they are very cheap. You didn't-"
"I did not bring Ginger with me just to fuck her," Gil Rogers snarled, interrupting Bodden.
"Oh," the fat man muttered.
"I brought her with me because she is a crack shot with a rifle."
"Really?"
"Really. Probably even better than I am, although she has yet to kill a person, a real human being. With targets, she is magnificent, and I figured that I could use an extra rifle when we got to the island."
"Yeah," Bodden said. "I really don't like firearms myself."
Gil sneered at Bodden.
"I did not think that you would." Gil reached in his pocket and pulled out his wallet.
"How long do you think that it will take us to find them out there?" he asked, as he thumbed through a batch of bills.
Bodden licked his lips as he looked at all that money. He thought that he might he to Gil.
But then the fat man quickly reconsidered that idea. This tall American was deadly. He would not take lightly any kind of swindle, not matter how meager it was.
"Two days at the most," Bodden said, gasping out the truth. "That is if they try to hide from us, of course. They might not hide. They might come right out and meet us. But, if they do hide, we can find them in two days. The island is not very big."
"All right," Gil Rogers said. "Here's the money for supplies and the boat. Just rent the boat. I will take it out there to the island myself. I don't want anyone with us when we get to that island."
"Of course," Bodden said, as Gil tossed the money onto the table between them.
The fat man looked around and some of the tough-looking characters in the bar and wondered if any of them had seen him pick up that money. He did not want to be robbed on the streets.
Bodden was afraid of everything, but he did like money.
As Bodden shoved the money that Gil had given him into his pockets, a waiter came over and Gil ordered a drink. Then the tall American smiled at the fat man.
"Is that true, what Captain Castro said about you?" he asked. "Do you really fuck food?"
"Just twice," Bodden mumbled, starting to sweat. "I need another drink too."
He called across the bar and ordered a drink in Spanish.
"Tell me about it, Bodden," the tall American said. He could tell that Bodden was embarrassed to be discussing such a subject, and he liked the way that the fat man shook with shame as he had to talk about his experiences with food.
Gil Rogers liked it when he forced people to do things that they did not want to do.
He thought of himself as a master of psychological torture, much more subtle than real brutality, such as the brutality that they had seen that day at Captain Castro's office.
He stared at Bodden in silence until the fat man, shivering and quaking like a mountain of whipped cream, started to talk about his experiences.
"I only did it twice," he said, "and they never let you forget about something like that."
When the waiter brought the drinks to the table, Bodden paused and looked at his drink. Then he reached out with shaking hand and threw the liquor down his throat. That eased him a little bit, but he still had to tell his story. He knew that Gil Rogers would not be satisfied until he heard the shameful story of sex and food that was part of Bodden's past.
"The first time," Bodden muttered, looking at the empty glass, "was on a train from Long Beach, California, to Portland, Oregon. It took twenty-two hours to get there on the train. But I am just thirty years old and I figured that I could handle the ride. That was before I started to ache all the time. I ache a lot now. My feet hurt constantly. The doctors tell me that I have to have my feet operated on. That is why I need the money that you have offered me. I need it for an operation on my feet."
"I don't give a shit about your fucking feet," Gil Rogers snarled. "I want to hear about that train ride between Long Beach and Portland."
"Oh, yes," Bodden muttered. "Well, I sat up in the club car all night long with some other people. There was a cowboy who had a horse back in the baggage car. There was a football player from Washington State, a big guy. There was a model from Iowa and she was a very beautiful girl. And there was a librarian from Portland. She was like those librarians that you read about or see in the movies. She started to drink and she took off her glasses and she took down her bun and she was gorgeous. Really gorgeous. Well, anyway, we were all drinking a lot that night. We drank even after they closed up the bar because the cowboy had just won some kind of prize at a rodeo and he bought the liquor in bottles from the bartender. About three o'clock in the morning, we were all drunk and we started to go back to the baggage car to get the cowboy's horse. We wanted that horse to drink with us, and that cowboy told the conductor that that horse had better manners than he did. But they would not let us have the horse. They would not even let us back to the baggage car. So we went back to the club car and sat around and tried to figure out what we were going to do to make the rest of the night worthwhile. That is when the other people there sort of matched up. The cowboy took the librarian and the football player took the model and they started kissing around and I knew that they-those two couples-were going to fuck right there in front of me. I was fat even then, and the cowboy and the football player were both big and rough, and I thought that I should just excuse myself and go back into another car and get some sleep. But then they saw me leaving and the cowboy jumped up and grabbed me and said that he did not want his little, fat buddy to feel left out. The football player and both of the women agreed too, agreed that I should not be left out. But they were already matched up and neither one of those beautiful women wanted to fuck me. The cowboy wondered what I could do for pleasure and then saw this little melon over on the bar. He grabbed his knife and cut a little hole of that melon and he handed it to me and he told me to fuck that melon. I just held it in my hands. I thought that the whole thing was obscene, but I was also frightened. And I knew that the cowboy was drunk enough to get really angry if I did not do what he told me to do. He wanted to see me fuck that melon and he still had that knife in his hand. He held it like it was a weapon that he was going to use against me and smiled. I could not do anything else. I was drunk and a little horny from looking at those two beautiful women and I was scared too. So I unzipped my pants and pulled out my cock and shoved it into that melon and started to fuck it. At first, the others started to laugh at me. But then, as I fucked that melon, everyone just got real quiet and I could tell that they were all excited to see something like that, a man fucking a melon. I knew that they were getting even hotter watching me. The women started to take off their clothes and the cowboy and the football player started to strip too. But they all kept watching me. And I was getting turned on too, fucking that melon and feeling that wet softness inside of that melon with my cock, and I think that I was also turned on by the way that the others were making me the center of attention. I knew that they were getting turned on too, and I thought that I had never been the center of attention before. That thrilled me and when the cowboy and the football player started to fuck those two beautiful women right in front of me, I got turned on even more and I listened to them gasp and sigh and I fucked that melon and I watched the way that they were all watching me. Finally, I came into that melon and I fell back on the floor and just lay there exhausted and I watched those two other couples fucking away. That was the first time that I ever fucked food, and I did like it, but I thought then that I should never do that again. I thought that it was disgusting, absolutely disgusting, even though it was also exciting in a kinky sort of way. Most of all, I thought that, if I kept fucking food, I would become addicted to it and I would want to do nothing else but fuck food. I would not want to fuck women or even leave my house. I would just have food delivered to my door and I would fuck it. So, lying there on the floor of that club car and watching the others fuck, I decided that I would not fuck food again."
"But you did," Gil said. "You said that you did it a second time."
"Yes," Bodden muttered. "I need another drink."
He yelled across the room and ordered another drink in Spanish. Gil just smiled and sipped on his drink. He liked that story and he liked the way that Bodden showed his own embarrassment when he told it.
Gil Rogers liked forcing others to reveal some hidden part of themselves. He had liked it when he was a Texas Ranger and he continued to like it, though he had left his life as a lawman when he had married into his wife's wealthy family.
When Bodden's second drink came, Gil waited for the fat man to gulp half of that drink down.
Then he gave him an order.
"Tell me about it, Bodden. Tell me about your second time with food."
"Well, it was here," the fat man muttered. "Right here in this bar about two years ago."
When the fat man said that, he looked around the bar and Gil knew that he was probably searching for someone who had been there during the moment of his shame.
He obviously found no one who had been there that night two years before. He sighed with relief.
"Big Forrest O'Rourke was here that night. He was later killed in a brawl back in the States. When he died, I heard, at least four men came to the undertaker and offered to pay that guy if they could piss on O'Rourke's corpse. I would have done it too, if I had been there. I think that he was killed in Miami, and I have often thought of going back there to the bar where he was killed and drinking a nice, cool glass in his memory. Well, actually, not in his memory. Sort of in praise of the men who killed him. I am sure that there was more than one guy who killed him. O'Rourke was six foot five and he was real strong and tough. It would take more than one guy to bring him down."
The fat man was stalling again. Gil Rogers knew that.
"Bodden," he snarled. "Tell me the fucking story or I will smash your fucking face in."
When Gil said that to him, the fat man jerked back against the booth and started to quiver and shake again. Then he picked up his drink and finished it with a gulping.
He had to tell Gil Rogers what the tall, American wanted to know, but he told him softly
Bodden did not want more people hearing about his shame.
"I was drunk that night, real bad drunk. I don't usually get drunk, but that night I was feeling good or bad or something and I had some extra money and I got drunk, real bad drunk. That night, O'Rourke was in here with a couple of his cronies and he was drunk too. You know how drunks get sometimes? How they act like the best of buddies? Well, that was the way that O'Rourke was treating me that night. He was treating me like his fat, little buddy. He was buying me drinks and he was telling me stories about how big his cock was and the time that he had fucked three Mexican, teen-aged sisters in one bed, fucked them all night long. He said that the .youngest one kept saying, "Meester Big, my turn, my turn." He would laugh whenever he told that part and I would laugh too, because it was sort of a funny story and I liked being O'Rourke's friend. I knew that no one would hurt me as long as I was O'Rourke's little, fat buddy." Gil sipped on his drink and waited while Bodden ordered another drink.
Bodden sat quietly while he waited for the waiter to bring him that drink. Gil Rogers thought that Bodden looked like a fat, little boy, sitting quietly in a school-room because he was afraid of the teacher.
Gil Rogers had never been afraid of anything.
When the waiter brought the third drink for Bodden, the fat man gulped down most of it and then sighed and continued with his story.
"O'Rourke wanted to hear me tell a story about some kind of sexual adventure that I had had. Well, most of my sex has been with whores, and it has not been very adventurous at all. I don't guess that that surprises you, Mister Rogers. I mean, you can look at me and tell that I am not really the adventurous type. The only story that I had to tell that man was the one about the train and the melon, and I was so drunk that I told it. I thought that O'Rourke would get a kick out of that story. And he did. He had his friends listened to it and then they started laughing. They kept right on laughing, and I laughed too and then I saw O'Rourke get up and walk out of the bar. He was still laughing as he left and I thought that he was just going to the bathroom or something like that. I was stupid with drink. I should have known that I was in some kind of trouble. I should have gotten up and left too. But his cronies just ordered me another drink and kept on laughing and I sat there, because I was really too drunk to get up and escape, to leave the bar."
Bodden gulped down the rest of his drink. He felt the alcohol hit his system and he closed his eyes for a moment. He knew that he had to tell this story, and he thought that that alcohol might make it easier, just as it bad made it easier to tell the first story to O'Rourke that night two years before.
"Then O'Rourke, came back," he said softly, "and he was carrying a piece of meat wrapped up in white paper. The paper was all bloody and I knew that that meat was raw. He sat down at the table and said that he had not been able to find a melon. He actually apologized for that, for not being able to find a melon for me to fuck. Then he opened the paper and I saw this long, brown piece of liver, and I shivered. I knew what he was going to demand of me now. I knew that I was no longer his fat, little buddy, and I knew that no one in that bar would protect me from O'Rourke. They were all frightened of him, as frightened as I was. He was a big man and he was used to having his way."
"He made you fuck the liver," Gil Rogers muttered.
"Yes."
"Tell me about it," the tall American said with a smile.
Bodden looked at that smile and knew that Rogers was enjoying this. He hated that tall, American just as much as he had ever hated O'Rourke. This man was not even drunk. He was just sadistic and strong and good-looking. Bodden knew that Gil Rogers was everything that he was not and he knew that the women would do things for Gil Rogers without even being paid.
And he hated that tall, handsome American and he wanted to shoot him right then.
But Bodden was not the kind of guy who could kill anyone. He was too fat, too weak, too spineless. The fat man knew the truth about himself and sometimes he wished that he could just die and get it over with. He hated his own weakness and his own fear. But that same fear that made him want to die also kept him alive. Bodden was frightened of death too.
"He told me to stand up and pull out my little whacker. That is what he called it. My little whacker. He told me to pull it out and fuck that liver right there in the middle of the bar. And he and his cronies looked at me and I knew that I would have to do it. If I did not, they would hurt me bad. And I can't stand pain. I can't stand to feel pain at all. So I stood up and I unzipped my pants and I pulled out my little whacker and then I picked up the liver and wrapped that cold meat around my meat and started to jerk myself off. When I started to do that, O'Rourke called out to everyone else in the bar. 'Hey, everyone, look at the fat man! He is fucking food!' And they all came around and looked at me and laughed as I whacked off into that liver. I hated O'Rourke and I hated myself, but I could not do anything about that hate except let it boil inside of me. And that boiling seemed to make my cock explode too. My little whacker. I came right into that liver and I dropped the liver on the table and everyone looked down at the white stuff there in the middle of the bloody, raw meat."
Bodden gulped down some more alcohol and sighed.
"I guess I was lucky," he said. "I guess I was lucky that O'Rourke did not make me eat that fucking liver after I came in it."
And then the stories were over. Gil Rogers finished his drink and looked at Bodden.
"Sometimes I think that men like you would be better off dead," the tall, American said with a snarl.
"Sometimes I think the same thing," Bodden said softly.
Then the tall American changed the subject. He had made Bodden suffer enough, he thought.
"What time tomorrow do you think we can head for the island?" Gil Rogers asked quickly.
"Tomorrow?" Bodden asked, jerking up and looking at the man.
"Yeah. Tomorrow. I want to get my work done as quickly as possible and get back to the States."
"Well," the fat man said, "it would have to be tomorrow afternoon. I would have to spend the morning getting supplies and renting the boat. I think we could leave by noon."
"All right," Gil said, standing up. "Noon it is. How long will it take us to that island?"
"Not long. Thirty, forty-five minutes."
"Okay," the tall American said.
Then Gil Rogers leaned down and jabbed his finger into Bodden's fat chest.
"You better be ready to account for everything that you spend on supplies and the boat," he snarled. "I don't want you using that money that I gave you to get drunk here and buy food to fuck."
And then Gil chuckled and stood up straight. The fat man just stared at him in anger.
Bodden was sorry that Captain Castro had ever bought up the subject, sorry that he had had to tell this American about his shameful experiences.
But there was nothing that Bodden could do about it now, nothing except wait until that American was finished with his work on the island. Then the American could leave and Bodden could spend the money that he had earned drinking until he forgot about all of his shame.
Gil Rogers turned and, laughing, walked out of the bar.
Tomorrow, Bodden thought. He would be able to get the boat and supplies in a couple of hours. That would mean that he would have to get up at nine o'clock in the morning in order to have the stuff ready by noon.
Bodden looked around the room again, wondering if anyone had seen him shove all that money into his pocket. No one seemed to take any notice of him at all.
The fat man looked at the clock on the wall. It was eight o'clock at night. He could drink until midnight or so and still be up by nine in the morning.
He ordered another drink in a bellow to the bartender.
He needed that drink, the fat man thought. He needed it in order to feel better about himself, in order to get over that guilt that he felt about his life.
He would drink and let the alcohol heat him up, he thought, sweating and wiping his brow. That heat from the alcohol would burn all the shame out of him, at least, he thought, it would get rid of the shame for a little while.
When the waiter brought the new drink, Bodden told the man to keep them coming. He downed that drink and then waited for another one.
He would pay for this with the money that Gil Rogers had given him and then he would fix the receipts tomorrow to make up for it. He knew how to cheat an American. He just did not know how to stand up to any of them, to anyone at all.
* * *
Gil went up to the bedroom that he shared with Ginger and he unlocked the door and walked in. The beautiful redhead was kneeling by the bed, a collar around her neck.
"Hello, doggie," the tall, American said.
The girl looked at him. She was beautiful with her flowing, red hair and her firm, ripe tits. She was naked and she looked like a really beautiful dog-slave.
Gil walked across the room and looked at himself in the mirror.
He looked good, he thought, damned good. It was no wonder that he had gotten all the beautiful women that he had wanted in the past.
His wife had been beautiful and sexy and the other girls from his past had been beautiful too.
But they had all wanted him so much that they had been willing to take any kind of abuse that he wanted to give them. They had been willing, even eager, to be his slaves.
But he looked at the redhead's reflection in the mirror and he knew that no woman, not even his sexy wife, Bonnie, had ever been the kind of slave that this girl had been. This girl would do anything, absolutely anything to be with her master.
Gil unbuttoned his shirt and opened it. He looked at his hairy, tanned, broad chest. Then he pulled the shirt off. He kept glancing at the reflection of the girl in the mirror as he stripped and he liked the way that she never took her eyes off him, that she kept sense of slave-like wonderment even as she knelt there like a dog. He saw her lick her lips slowly as he loosened his trousers and he grinned at her.
She could see his reflection in the mirror too, and she knew that she was pleasing him. And that was all that Ginger wanted to do. She wanted to please her master.
Gil Rogers slipped out of his shoes and then pulled off his socks with ease as he leaned against the bureau. Then he stepped back so that he could see more of his body in the mirror and he pushed his pants down and stepped out of them. He studied his cock in that mirror and reached down and gently touched the thing with his hand.
He saw the girl by the bed close her eyes and shiver when he did that, as if he had been touching her.
"Doggie," he said with a smile at his own reflection in the mirror. "Just wait until you see what I have brought for you, Doggie. It is good dog food, the best dog food that a bitch like you could have."
Gil Rogers picked up his shirt and reached in his pocket. He pulled out a little container that had a lid on it. He dropped the shirt and then turned and smiled at Ginger.
"See, Doggie," he said with a grin, holding the container up in his hand. "See what your master brought home for you? Your master went to a lot of trouble to get you this food. Do you want to know how much trouble, Doggie? Your master had to get into a cab and figure out how to tell the driver what he wanted. Finally, he made that stupid driver understand that he wanted a boy, that your master wanted to go to the section of town where boys sold themselves. The driver thought that your master was a faggot, but that was all right. Your master did not mind. He just wanted to get his doggie some food."
He stepped toward the girl and she knelt there and looked up at him with eager eyes.
"When your master got to that ratty section of town, he saw the boys standing around. He got out of the cab and he told the driver to wait for him Then he went to that bunch of boys and he picked out one that he thought that you would particularly like. It took your master a long time to explain to the boy what he wanted, because the boy did not speak English and your master did not speak his language. But then your master finally got the boy to understand and he handed the kid this little container and the boy went into an old warehouse and, in just a few minutes, he had it filled. Then your master paid the boy and got back into the cab and came back. He talked to Bodden for a long time, but now he is here, and your master has brought you to the food."
Gil Rogers opened the little container and held it under the redhead's nose. She looked down into that container and saw the white stuff, like a jell, like a glue.
"Lick it out, Doggie," the man said. "Lick out the food that your master has brought for you."
And the redhead stuck her tongue out of her mouth and moved that tongue through the jelly-like substance. It was cold by now and it was a little bitter, but Ginger licked it in and swallowed the jelly.
When she had taken that stuff into her, she pulled her face away from the container.
And Gil dropped it on the floor and smiled down at her.
"How do you like it, Doggie?" he asked. "How do you like that cold, stranger's come?"
"It is good," she gasped, still feeling the coldness and the bitterness in her mouth and throat. "Thank you, Master. Thank you."
Gil lifted up his own meaty root and ran the tip of her cock around her lips.
She knelt there and let him do that and she shivered.
"Suck on it," he said. "Suck on my cock and taste some nice, warm come, you bitch-dog."
And the girl opened her mouth wide and took that prick into her and sucked on it.
She worked back and forth on the cock, and Gil moaned, feeling her mouth work wonders on that root.
He put his hands on her red hair and twisted his fingers into the long, red stuff.
Then he slammed his cock into her mouth and held it there, letting that hardening spear of flesh work down her throat. He let the thing grow harder in her and listened to her sigh. Then he held her head and started to work his cock back and forth, fucking her mouth, giving her what she needed to be a real woman, a real dog-slave.
Ginger was happy that he was doing this to her, for his fucking cock-motion was now giving her heat in her mouth, heat that made up for the coldness of that stranger's come that her master had given her.
She sucked on the cock and felt that heat and felt Gil's fucking motion and she felt her pussy start to quiver with sexual ecstasy too. She sighed and she raised her hands and touched her bare tits.
Then Gil took his cock out of her mouth and he bent over and loosened the collar around her neck.
He pointed toward the bureau and he snarled at her.
"Over there, Doggie," he said. "Get over there and spread your legs."
The redhead stumbled to her feet and dashed across the room. Her body was aching because she had been in that kneeling position for a long time, most of the day. She had not wanted to move because her master had put her there and he would be angry with her if she moved at all.
She spread her legs and bent over the bureau and she sighed, looking at her own reflection in that mirror. She could feel the wetness and the heat in her cunt and she knew that that wetness and that heat meant that she was turned on, meant that she was something special to her master too.
Gil Rogers moved behind the girl and aimed his hard cock at her pussy, the pinkness that she offered him.
He loved that pinkness and he knew that it would be warm and sweet and giving to him.
Ginger studied her own pretty, freckled face in the mirror. There had been a time, she thought, when she had been called a pretty, sexy girl, when men had followed her around like dogs.
She was still pretty and sexy, but she was now the dog, the dog for her master.
And she felt that that was the way that it should be.
Ginger was twenty-six years old. She had been a small-time, rock-and-roll singer in Austin, Texas, when Gil Rogers had found her.
She had dreamed of being another great performer, another new Austin star, but she was beginning to believe that she did not have the style or the talent to be truly great. She had a good voice, but nothing distinguished, and she knew that she sounded like a thousand other girls who sang rock-and-roll all over the country. She knew that her big drawing card was her red-haired beauty and she used her sex appeal as much as she could. She wore tight jeans and halter-tops when she performed, but she knew that that was not enough to make her a star either. There were thousands of girls who looked good in tight jeans and halter-tops, she thought.
And then Gil Rogers had come into her life, that masterful man. He had come and sat in the audience night after night and she had been drawn to him like a moth to a flame.
When she felt him drawing her to him, she knew that she could not resist him. There was something about this man that told Ginger that he would not allow any woman to resist him. And she had gone home with him one night. That was the night that he had taught her about the doggie game.
And she had come to some conclusions about her own life that night. She knew that she would never be a star, so she thought that it was just as good to be a dog. She would be the star dog of Gil's life. She left her rock-and-roll band and she did not sing any longer. Gil would not allow her to sing. He would only allow her to whimper and moan and speak to him softly, thanking him because he was her master and she was his dog.
And he also taught her how to use a rifle. She had gone hunting with her father in the backwoods of Texas when she was a little girl, but Gil wanted her to be good with a rifle, so good and so cold that she would be able to help him in his job. It was then that she had learned that Gil was now a hired killer, and she thought that that was only right. After all, he was a man who* would not be denied.
It seemed only right that he should be a hired gun.
Now, as she looked at her freckles and thought of them as spots on a dog's nose, she felt his hard cock at her pussy-lips and she threw back her head and moaned to Gil.
"Oh, fuck me, Master," she said. "Fuck my cunt, Master. I want to be fucked by you."
And then she felt his cock slam into her. She felt that hardness invade her and she moaned and twisted and sighed there as she leaned over the bureau. She moved her hips and her butt and fucked Gil back. He deserved this kind of fucking, she thought. He was her master and he was giving her something special.
And he had gone to a lot of trouble to get her that cold, stranger's come, she figured.
Then she thought about that, about the trouble that he had gone to to get her that come, she fucked him with a certain amount of love because she thought that that trouble was a sign of something and she figured that it just might be a sign of love from her master.
As he fucked the girl, Gil Rogers looked at his own reflection in the mirror.
He watched as his own chest expanded with the deep breathing that he was doing. He looked at his own face and he saw the beads of perspiration that broke out on his brow.
As he looked at that perspiration, he thought of Bodden, who was always sweating.
Gil Rogers drew a distinction between him and Bodden. This sweat that he had on his own body, he thought, was good sweat, healthy sweat, the sweat that came with fun and work and fucking. Bodden's sweat was just fat turning into grease. As he fucked the girl, he thought of the stories that Bodden had told him and he had to laugh again.
He had to laugh when he thought about those stories and the humiliation that Bodden had had to suffer. Gil Rogers wanted to go out and find a piece of meat and make the fat man fuck it in public again.
But he ran his fingers over Ginger's sides and he decided that this was the piece of meat that he really wanted.
Gil Rogers decided that this was the piece of meat that any man would be proud to fuck.
This was sexy, beautiful, dog meat, giving meat, slave meat, hot and lusty meat.
And Ginger was fucking him back and that made Gil even happier with his meat. She was moaning and squirming against that bureau and he was filling her cunt with his cock and she was reacting to his massaging and he fucking just as he had wanted her to do.
Then Gil Rogers put his hand on top of Ginger's red hair and pressed her down, pressed her face toward the hard wood of the bureau.
"Fucking dog," he snarled.
And the girl who was his piece of meat just whimpered and turned her face slightly and felt the pressure of her master's strong arm against her head as he fucked away on her pussy.
"Bitch dog," he hissed at her, looking at himself in the mirror and smiling at his own reflection. The girl whimpered again.
"Fucking piece of shit cunt," he snarled. "You are nothing but a piece of shit and a cunt."
"Yes, Master," she sighed. "Thank you, Master."
And the girl could not help herself. She felt as if she had been found out, and she surrendered to this man who had so much power. She felt that cock working back and forth in her pussy and she whimpered and sighed and knew that she would never be a rock-and-roll star. But that did not matter, she thought. What mattered was that she was a lusty, sexy dog to her master. That was better than being a star, a rock-and roll star that made a lot of money, she thought.
And then Gil snared at her again.
"I am going to come in your fucking pussy, you cunt, you bitch, you dog."
"Yes, Master," she said. "Come in my pussy. Come in my dog cunt, Master. I want to feel your hot come in my cunt."
And she thought that she had already felt the cold come of a stranger in her mouth and throat. If she could feel the hot come of her master spreading up from her cunt, that would offset the chill and the bitterness that that stranger's come had left in her.
She tossed and moved there on the bureau, but Gil Rogers held her head down and continued to slam his cock into her pussy.
Then Gil felt his cock start to pulse and his balls start to spasm and he looked into the mirror and saw himself.
And he knew that he was a powerful man, a sexy man, because he had such a sexy and wonderful dog-slave.
He came deep into her pussy with a few jerks and then he pulled out of her and took his hand off her head.
And he stood over her and smiled down at her and then turned away.
The girl collapsed onto the floor and lay there. The side of her face, the side that had been smashed against the bureau, was numb and she slapped herself to bring back the feeling there.
When Gil heard the slapping, he turned and smiled at her and moved toward her again.
"Let me do that for you, Doggie," he said, bending over her.
And then he slapped that side of her face hard and she whimpered.
"Thank you, Master," she said.
She rolled over onto her side and pulled her knees up to her tits and lay there quietly.
Her master looked down on her and wondered what else he could do to her, and then he heard the phone ring.
Gil walked to the phone and picked it up.
"Hello," he growled.
He immediately recognized the fat man's voice. It was Bodden and he seemed very drunk.
"Hello, Mister Rogers," Bodden said, slurring his words with his drunkenness. "Is your wife a redhead?"
"What?"
"Is your wife a redhead, a little, sexy woman with nice tits?" the man asked again.
"Yeah. What the fuck business is it of yours, Bodden?"
"She is here at the hotel," Bodden said.
"What?"
"She is here at the hotel."
"How do you know?"
"I saw her."
"There are millions of redheads in the world, Bodden," Gil snarled, staring at another redhead who lay there on the floor of his room.
"No," the fat man muttered. "I not only saw her. A friend of mine is the desk clerk here and he told me that Mrs. Bonnie Rogers had checked in with a young man. Then he pointed them out to me and the woman was a redhead. The guy was big and dark and young. He looked mean."
"Bonnie Rogers," Gil repeated.
"Yes sir."
"A redhead."
"Yes. A redhead, Mister Rogers. I saw her and she is a redhead."
"That is my wife all right," Gil muttered.
"Do you think that she is here to find her sister too, Mister Rogers?"
"Bodden, that is the most stupid question that you have ever asked. Do you think that she would just show up on this filthy island to take in the sun? Of course, she is here to find her sister. But we have to find Brooke first. Understand, Bodden, we have to find her first."
"Yes. First," the fat man muttered.
"Get those supplies tonight. I want to head for the island at daybreak."
"Tonight? But I can't-"
"Do it, Bodden. If you want your money, you do it."
And Gil slammed the phone down.
The tall American turned and looked at Ginger.
"My wife is here too," he said.
"Really?" the girl muttered, sitting up. "Do you think-"
"I don't have time to think about anything," Gil muttered. "We have to get to that island in the morning and find Brooke before Bonnie does. I know why Bonnie is here. She wants to try to save her sister. She knows that her father paid me to kill the girl and she is going to try to save that little, rebel bitch."
"Do you think that we will have to kill her too?" Ginger asked.
Gil Rogers liked the way the girl asked that question, with a flat tone, as if she did not care one way or another if they killed the woman who had been married to her master.
"We might," Gil said with a smile. "I don't want to unless I have to. It might make her father angry if Bonnie is killed too."
"But if she just disappears-"
Ginger let her voice trail off into nothingness and she smiled at her master.
"Right, Doggie," the man said. "If she just disappears, no one can be blamed for anything. If we catch her out on that island, we just might kill her and leave her there. Kill her new boyfriend too."
And, when he mentioned that new man in Bonnie's life, he wondered about the guy.
Bodden had said that the guy was young and dark and looked mean. Of course, Bodden thought that everyone looked mean. The fat man was frightened by his own shadow.
But Gil wondered who the young man was. He wondered what kind of man his wife was fucking now. It had been a couple of years since he and Bonnie had split up. He wondered what kind of man his wife had found to take his place in her bed.
Gil Rogers moved in front of the mirror again and looked at his own naked, hairy body. He knew that that new guy would have to be hell-on-wheels in bed. He would have to be great in order to really replace Gil in his wife's bed.
But Gil wondered if that new guy played the same kind of games with Bonnie that he had once played.
Gil looked at the redhead on the floor and he was not sorry that he had left his wife. Bonnie had been good at those slave games, but not as good as this girl.
Still, Gil could not help but feel that little touch of jealousy in his system as he thought about a new man, a younger man, playing those games with Bonnie. Gil had taught those games to Bonnie and had trained her to enjoy them. He knew that his wife would never be able to get by without those games now.
But he wondered how this man played those games, if this new, young man had given Bonnie new little things to do in bed that Gil had not thought of.
Gil Rogers could not really say that he felt jealous. He was just curious, in the way that a scientist might be curious about what other scientists were doing in their research laboratories. He wondered what this new man was doing to his ex-wife.
But then Gil realized that he could not spend his time thinking about that. He had to get some sleep so that he would be able to start the search at daybreak.
"Come on over here, Doggie," he said to the beautiful redhead.
And Ginger crawled toward the end of the bed. She knelt there on her hands and knees and let Gil fix the collar around her neck. Then she curled up on the floor and closed her eyes. Gil moved onto the bed and turned off the light.
But he could not fall asleep right away. He thought about his wife and he thought about his wife's sister, the beautiful Brooke. She was out there on that island somewhere, and she was doomed.
Gil would not come back from the island until he had killed that girl and had earned his pay. But, when he thought about how beautiful Brooke was, he decided that he might fuck her before he killed. Yes, he thought, if he got the chance, he would fuck her first.
And then he would blow her pretty head off.
CHAPTER FOUR
Bonnie Hutchinson Rogers lay on the bed naked and wondered what was in store for her out there on that island.
She and Kirk would go out there the next day and they would search for Brooke, her sister.
But Bonnie knew that her husband was going to be looking for Brooke too, and she knew just what Gil would do to the girl if he found her first. Her father had finally admitted to Bonnie that he had hired Gil to kill the girl and leave her out there on the island. Her father said that he had done it because he just could not stand to have the Hutchinson name dragged through the mud. He said that he just could not stand to have his daughter's picture on the front page of the paper any longer.
But Bonnie knew the truth. She knew that her father had always been vaguely afraid of Brooke. The girl had always been a little strange, a little too fiery, and Bonnie knew the ultimate truth about her father's relationship with Brooke too. She knew that Brooke was not her father's daughter and she knew that her father knew that too.
Bonnie's father had raised Brooke as a daughter, but he had always hated the dark-haired girl because she was a sign of his wife's unfaithfulness and she was also a sign that something was lacking in him too, something that had driven his wife into the arms of another man.
Hutchinson could hire someone to kill Brooke and feel relieved because he knew that he would soon no longer be troubled by that girl and all the thoughts that she brought up in his brain.
But Bonnie could not allow her sister to die without at least trying to give her aid.
The redhead lay on the bed now and remembered what Brooke had been like as a little girl, thin and beautiful and sexy and fascinating.
For some reason, Bonnie had never been jealous of her sister's beauty. She had felt that she had to protect Brooke because that girl looked so lovely and strangely vulnerable.
She remembered the times that she would come into Brooke's bedroom when Brooke was just a teen-ager, beginning to blossom into beautiful womanhood. She would often find Brooke lying there on the bed naked, looking up at the ceiling. She would look dead, Bonnie would always think. And that thought would chill the older sister.
And then sometimes she would watch Brooke as the girl sat at the dinner table with the family. The dark-haired beauty would never talk much in front of her father and mother and she would keep her eyes down as if she were praying. At those moments, Bonnie would look at her and think that her sister was going to be a nun, that she already looked like some beautiful saint of a girl.
At other times, she would see Brooke walking through the house in her bikini and she would think that her little sister would be a high-classed call-girl, the type of girl that men would pay a small fortune to fuck for just one night.
But there was one afternoon that Bonnie remembered most of all, the afternoon that seemed to sum up in some strange way Brooke's existence on earth.
Brooke and Bonnie had gone downtown to do some shopping on a summer afternoon, and they were walking down the street when suddenly Brooke stopped and moved toward a window and stared in at a little bracelet, a trinket, a piece of nothing that cost about two dollars.
But Bonnie looked at Brooke and thought that the dark-haired girl was staring at that little bracelet as if she were so poor that she could never buy that piece of little junk.
Of course, Brooke had enough money in her purse on that afternoon to buy half the store, but she did not even move to go inside. She just looked at that bracelet. She was about fifteen years old then.
Bonnie moved up behind her, older and more mature and almost motherly to the girl.
"Would you like to go in and buy that?" Bonnie asked Brooke.
But the dark-haired beauty had just shook her head.
"Why not? If you like it, you can afford it. It only costs-"
"It costs more than I will ever have," the dark-haired girl said softly.
And then she turned and walked away from the window and Bonnie followed her down the sidewalk.
The red-haired sister had not understood then what the girl had been talking about, but she thought that she understood now. Brooke felt an emptiness inside of her. She knew that that simple, little bracelet would make her happy, but she had also known that if she had gone in and bought it, it would have been empty too. It would not have belonged to her really because she would have bought it with her father's money.
All her life, Bonnie thought, Brooke had been looking for something that she could really call her own.
And, when she joined that revolutionary movement, when she started to rob places and shoot up buildings with her revolutionary friends, she had found something.
Her rebellion was her own, and Bonnie did not see any reason why Brooke should have to die for that one thing that was her own.
The red-haired sister could not help but think that, if she had been a little more courageous, she might have been rebellious too. She knew what had turned Brooke on to this kind of rebellion. The girl had chanced, had found that something that was special to her, when Luis, the gardener's assistant had been killed.
Bonnie had always known that Brooke was fascinated by Luis. She would lie out there and try to tease him with her body. And Luis had been teased too. But Brooke had been too young, too much a part of her family, to let Luis actually fuck her. Bonnie understood that. It had taken quite a bit of will on her part to fuck Luis that one night that they had gotten together.
And he had told her that night that he wished that Brooke would let him come near to her too.
But, soon after that, Luis had been shot down by the police, and Bonnie knew that Brooke had never gotten her chance with that young man.
But Bonnie had gotten her chance. She had taken that chance one night behind the garage when she had seen Luis in the moonlight. She had been out walking through the expanse behind her father's house. At that time, Bonnie was married to Gil, but things were not going well in that marriage at all. She suspected that Gil was making money through some illegal means. It was only later that she discovered that her husband, the former lawman was not a hit man for organized crime.
She had been staying with her family while Gil had been out of town on one of his mysterious trips. And she had been lonely for a man, any man. When she saw Luis standing there, under the moonlight in his cut-offs, she knew that he was the just the kind of young man who could satisfy her.
And, when she saw the young man stroking on his cock, she knew that he needed some kind of satisfaction too. She moved toward him quietly, and, when he saw her there in the night, he jerked and tried to hide his hard cock.
But she just smiled at him in the moonlight and she reached out and touched his hardening flesh with her own fingers.
"You are a real man, Luis," she said, complimenting the teen-ager.
And then he seemed to be a little more at ease with her. He let her handle his cock and stroke on it and massage it and he smiled at her as she did that.
When she looked up, she could see her sister's bedroom window. The light was shining in that room, and, from time to time, Brooke would move back and forth in front of the window. She was getting ready for a date. It all came clear to Bonnie. Luis had been standing there, jerking off as he looked into that window and fantasized that he was in that bedroom with Brooke.
That did not really surprise the older sister. She had seen the way that Luis had looked at the dark-haired beauty when Brooke lay out in her bikini, sunning herself.
The boy was obviously infatuated with Brooke, and he was right to be infatuated.
Every boy in town loved that girl, thought that she was sexy and beautiful and wanted to fuck her.
"She never even speaks to me," Luis muttered as Bonnie handled his cock. "She sees me, I think, but sometimes she seems to look right through me."
"I know," Bonnie sighed and then she put her lips to Luis's neck and kissed him there.
Handling his cock, she turned him and let him put her arms around her and she felt that hard chest against her blouse.
"I see you, Luis," she murmured to the Chicano boy. "Tonight, in the moonlight, I see you and I want you."
Bonnie did not know if she would be able to make up for Brooke, for the way that her beautiful, dark-haired sister had treated the boy, but she was certainly willing to try.
She wanted to make it up to Luis that she and Brooke were so rich and spoiled and that he was so poor. He had to work hard for his money, and they had more money than they knew what to do with. Even Gil lived on that money that her father had made, although he preferred to make money of his own by going on his mysterious trips to other cities.
Bonnie took her hand off Luis's cock and she put her hands on his shoulders as he moved his fingers over her blouse and unbuttoned it. She sighed as he opened that garment and massaged her bare tits.
"Luis," she said softly, "you are really a man."
And then the lust overcame her and she pulled the boy to her and kissed him with passion.
She opened her mouth and let his young, thick tongue run into her. She shivered there on that summer night as he pushed the blouse from her shoulder and then she felt that special kinky feeling that she could never get enough of. She felt his strong chest bare against her soft, bare tits, and she kissed his face and she sighed.
The boy was strong. He had had to work all of his life. She felt like such a nothing there in his arms.
But the nothing that she felt like was filled with sexual juices and she knew that her young sister was missing out on something by not fucking this young man and giving him what he deserved as a lover.
But Brooke was still very young, and Bonnie thought that she would awaken to the need for real hard masculinity before too much longer. Bonnie was older than Brooke, the redhead remembered, and she understood her feminine needs so much better than her sister did. Bonnie knew that Gil had taught her a lot about her needs, about needs that Bonnie had never known existed before.
Now those needs were eating the redhead up, and she wanted the young, dark boy to help her fulfill those needs on this night.
She moved down his body slowly, sinking onto her knees.
As she did that, she kissed his chest softly with her lips and she felt his hands on her shoulders, pushing her down.
She knew what Luis wanted her to do, and she knew that she would do it, because she wanted it too.
That would be just one way in which she would have something that would answer her needs on this night.
She went to her knees and opened her mouth and sucked that cock into her. She took it tenderly in her mouth and pressed her lips around the boy's meat as she felt the dark boy's fingers in her red hair.
"Suck it," he moaned. "Suck it, you rich bitch."
And, when she heard those words, she was even more happy that she had found Luis on this moon-lit night.
He was calling her names, just as Gil often called her names when they played their games together.
And Bonnie knew that this man understood her needs just as well as she did herself. She knew that he would help her answer her needs and find something worthwhile here in the moonlight.
And Bonnie took the cock out of her mouth and worked her tongue around the end of that organ. The Chicano boy was very well-hung and he got hard very quickly. As she licked and sucked on his cock, she felt her own juices flowing in her pussy and she knew that she would be ready for Luis when he was ready for her. She knew that they would share something special together on this night.
When his cock was hard, the dark-haired, Chicano youth pushed her down on the ground and then he opened his cut-offs and let them drop. He was still wearing his tennis shoes and his socks, but he did not stop to take them off. He knew, as Bonnie knew, that those garments were not really important. In fact, to Bonnie, they made everything even more exciting. She thought that the side of those shoes and socks made the boy seem even more like a rough man, like a lover who did not really care about her pleasure. She could imagine the boy fucking her and then getting up and running away, giving no thought to her as she lay there on the ground, once his own ecstasy had been achieved.
Bonnie looked up at that cock and seemed to shine there in the moonlight and, for a moment, the redhead forgot that she was not yet naked herself. She was just too enthralled by that cock and the knowledge that it would give her pleasure to think about her own condition until Luis snarled at her.
"Get your clothes off, rich bitch," he said.
And then she remembered that she was not naked and she moved to take off her own clothes.
She slipped out of her shoes and opened the jeans that she was wearing and shoved them down her legs quickly.
And then she moved out of her panties quickly too, so that she could lie there naked under her new, young, dark master.
When she was naked, Luis smiled down at her and she thought that she had pleased him in a strange way. Then she saw the dark, young man look up at that window again, at the window of her sister's bedroom, and she knew that she had not really taken her sister's place in his heart.
Bonnie understood it then immediately. She was just being a surrogate for Brooke that night.
She knew that the Chicano boy would still prefer to have that girl lying before him instead of her older, married sister. But he would settle for Bonnie. He would take the older sister and try to fantasize that it was Brooke that he was fucking, not Bonnie at all.
That hurt Bonnie, but she remembered that Brooke was closer in age to Luis, that Brooke had first tempted him.
She would just take the fucking. That was what she really needed, the fucking and the cursing and the masterful touches.
After he had looked at that bedroom window, the young man looked down on Bonnie and dropped to his knees beside her naked body. He put his hands on her, one on her stomach and the other on her tit, and he held them there, as if he were praying over her.
He closed his eyes for a moment and Bonnie knew what he was doing. He was not praying over her at all.
He was trying to get it into his young bead that this sister was not the redhead but the dark-haired beauty that he worshipped more than any other girl he knew.
"I am Bonnie," the woman muttered. "I am Bonnie. Not Brooke. I am Bonnie down here."
"No," the boy said harshly but softly. "No, you are who I want you to be or you are nothing."
And Bonnie did not speak again. She did not want to anger the young man and she sensed that he was right.
At that moment, there in the moonlight she had lost her own identity and she was any girl that he wanted her to be. If she was not the girl that he wanted her to be, she would be nothing and he would leave her unfucked and unsatisfied. She knew that she would not be able to stand that.
"All right," she murmured. "All right, Luis. I am not Bonnie."
And then she felt one of his hands tighten around her tit. He was squeezing it and she winced with pain.
She accepted that pain that he gave her, because it was the kind of thing that Gil had taught her to like. That was the kind of treatment that she liked now.
And she knew that she would never be able to return to the loving kind of treatment that other men gave. She would always need to be treated harshly in order to really feel the good warmth of sex.
Bonnie sensed that her little sister, Brooke, would learn to love that kind of thing too.
She felt that every woman would learn to love it if they would only find the right master. Gil was a good master, and Bonnie knew that this young, dark boy was another good one. She felt very lucky to have found both of them.
And her pussy was flooding with juices and she could smell her own, exciting aroma in the air.
"Rich bitch," Luis snarled at her, and that only made the woman jerk more, with more passion and more lust for this master.
She sighed to him.
"Yes."
"Yes what?"
"Yes, I am a rich bitch. I am nothing but what you want me to be," she admitted to the boy.
"Right," he said, squeezing her tit and smiling down on her. "Right, rich bitch. Right."
And then she reached out and touched his cock. It was still hard and full of masculine power.
She spread her legs in the moonlight and she ran her fingers over the red hair of her cunt.
She slipped her fingers into that snatch and she sighed to him, to her master of the moonlit night.
"Fuck me, please," she begged. "Fuck my rich-bitch cunt. Fuck me and make me whole."
And she did feel that that fucking was the only thing that could ease her and satisfy her on that night. Her husband had been away for several days and she had yearned to feel that touch, that harsh and cruel touch of a man. She had found this young man and she had found him when he was yearning too. She felt that they had been drawn together by something-perhaps the moon in the sky, which controlled the tides of the sea. They had been drawn together by the moon because some higher power had known that they would be able to give each other what they wanted and yearned for.
"Please, Luis," she begged again. "Fuck me. Fuck my cunt and give it to me hard. I want it."
"Rich bitch."
"Please, fuck me, Master," she sighed.
And that word-that Master-made Luis smile down at her and she knew that she had said the right thing.
She knew that the poor boy wanted to be the master of something in his life, and she knew that he was probably not even the master of his own life and fate. Therefore, she would make him happy and make him the master of her life, at least for this one night, for this brief and shining hour in the moonlight.
"Master," she sighed again. "Master."
"Rich bitch," he hissed.
But he was smiling and she knew that she had won him then, that she was going to give Luis what he needed to make life meaningful for him.
"Master, fuck me. Fuck my rich-bitch cunt hard. Ram that masterful cock into me and take your pleasure with my body, Master. That is the only thing that I am good for tonight-just to give you pleasure."
And, when she had announced that to Luis, the dark, strong, young man moved over her and she lifted her hips and moved her legs over his sides as he put his hands under her butt. He moved his hard cock into her pussy.
Just the tip of it was in at first and that made Bonnie shiver and toss about on the ground and moan to him.
And then Luis slammed his cock deep into her and watched with eager, dark eyes as she tossed there, pleased by what he had done to her.
"Rich bitch," he snarled. "You are Brooke to me. When I look down on you, I see your sister and I think that she has finally noticed me."
That still hurt Bonnie when he said something like that.
She still wanted to be Bonnie and not Brooke to that young man.
But she was willing to settle for what she could get, and, if this young stud wanted to think of her as her sister, he could do that. He had the right to do that.
He was the master and Bonnie was the slave and that gave him the right to call her anything that he wanted to call her.
"Master," she sighed, as he fucked her diligently. "I am Brooke. I am Brooke."
And Luis chuckled when she said that, as if she had made his life truly happy with her words.
He fucked her and thought of her as her sister, and she fucked him and thought of him as a master, and their needs came together on that moon-lit night.
Now, in her hotel room, as Bonnie remembered that, she whimpered and moved on the bed as much as she could. Her wrists were bound with a rope and the rope was tied around the wood that jutted up at the foot of the bed.
Kirk had left her like that when he had gone out to drink.
But Bonnie knew that her young lover would be back very soon and then he would want to play the games with her that she had taught him. She would want to play those games too. Thinking about the night that she had spent with Luis, the ecstasy that her sister had missed but that she had not missed at all, the woman felt her pussy pulsing with a yearning for sexy, little games.
And she was glad that she had found Kirk when she did. He came in handy in more ways than one.
She had gone back to college for one year after she and Gil had finally split up, trying to improve her mind. But she had not enjoyed college that much. She was still a rich woman and she seemed to have little in common with the younger, poorer students who sat there in her classes with her.
But, when she first saw Kirk, she knew that that would have something in common.
She had met him in her advanced composition class. She had noticed him that first day, strong and dark and handsome with a smoldering look in his eyes. Other girls had noticed him too, and Bonnie thought that she would never have a chance to get to him with all those other girls, those younger girls, surrounding him.
But she still watched him, and one day, after half-way through the semester, the professor read two papers that he said were the best in the class, two papers that had been handed in for the last assignment. One of them was Bonnie's and it was a paper about the feeling of emptiness that overcame some women when they reached a certain age and knew that they would never attract the young guys again. She had tried to disguise her own feelings in that paper, had tried to talk about other women that she knew, but, when she heard the professor read that paper aloud, she blushed, knowing that her own feelings had come through anyway, that it was obvious that she felt that emptiness as much as any other woman did. The professor said that he liked the honesty of that paper and the way that it was organized. Then he read a second paper, a paper about the sense of power that the writer felt when he was firing his rifle on the rifle range. That paper seemed to reek Of power, real power, as the professor read it.
It was obvious that the writer of that paper was a male. As the professor read the essay, Bonnie found herself looking around the room, trying to figure out which of these young men seemed to understand so much about power. She felt that that was the kind of young man that she needed to have in her life, something who understood that power that a man should offer to a woman.
And then she had seen Kirk smile at her and she had known that it was Kirk who had written about that sense of male power.
And it was also obvious that he knew that she had written the first essay that the professor had read.
When class was over, he got out of his seat and walked to her and smiled.
"Would you like to have coffee?" he asked.
And she felt definitely thrilled, so thrilled that she could hardly speak.
Bonnie saw the way that Kirk looked at her and she saw too the way that those other girls looked at her.
Those other girls, those younger girls, were jealous of her at that moment and that Bonnie feel like the most important female on the college campus. She smiled and said that she would be happy to have coffee with Kirk.
They fucked together that night, in the apartment that Bonnie had rented for herself near the college campus. And soon they considered themselves lovers.
Bonnie found out a lot about Kirk during the next few weeks. He was the son of an army sergeant who had rebelled against his father and told the old man that he did not wanted to make a career out of the military.
And then he had won a scholarship to go to college and major in English. He did not know exactly why he wanted to major in English, but he had vague thoughts of writing a novel someday.
And he was going to graduate at the end of the semester.
Bonnie made plans for the two of them and told Kirk about those plans.
She wanted to quit school and live with Kirk and support him. She wanted to share her money with him and share her love with him too. She would live anywhere that he wanted to live and she would finance him while he wrote his novel about life on a military base from the point of view of a teen-aged boy.
And that was exactly what they did. They lived together and Kirk worked on his novel and Bonnie was just happy to be about him. Kirk was the most masculine man that she had met-with the possible except of Gil, her ex-husband-and she thought that it was truly masculine, truly powerful, that he still went out to the firing range once every other day or so and shot that rifle of his.
He was everything that she could want in a man.
And then, when she had found out from her father that he had hired Gil to kill Brooke, she had been outraged and she had thought that she and Kirk might just be able to save her sister.
She and Kirk had taken the first flight down to San Genoa, and now they were waiting to go out to that little island in the morning.
Kirk had come armed. And he was a crack shot, as good as Gil. She wanted Kirk to kill her ex-husband and she knew that the young man looked forward to the chance to use his rifle on a real human being, not a target. He wanted to shoot Gil Rogers too. He wanted to shoot the man who had loved and then had left Bonnie.
Tomorrow, Bonnie thought, looking at her hands bound by the rope around the wood, tomorrow the gunfire and revenge would come. But, tonight, she would suffer some more of that sweet humiliation.
Just then the door opened and Kirk came into the room. He shut the door behind him and leaned over and slapped Bonnie's bare ass as she lay there on her stomach.
She sighed with the pain of that first slap.
"How you doing, kid?" he asked, moving to the closet and starting to take off his clothes.
Kirk was so neat, she thought, so very neat and orderly. That was another sign of true masculine power. He was so neat that it showed that he had even disciplined himself.
"I am just fine, Kirk," she said softly. "But I did not think that you would ever get back."
"I heard a funny story down in the bar," he said. "Something about a fat man fucking a piece of liver."
By then, he was down to his under shorts and he turned and winked at the woman, his woman, his slave.
He had been drinking, but he was not drunk. He was just happy, happy and free, and that was the way that Bonnie liked him best, she thought.
"Rich bitch," he hissed at her.
And she pulled on the ropes that held her on the bed and sighed.
Those words were like a magic incantation to her cunt. They caused her pussy to bubble over with juices.
Those words brought back so many memories, so many connections from her past, and they seemed to sum up her entire being.
Bonnie knew that she would spend her life paying for the fact that she was a rich bitch, and she wondered if Brooke was paying for it too, paying for her father's wealth.
Kirk pushed his shorts down his legs and stepped out of them. Then he was naked in front of his lover and she looked at his cock and sighed.
He was just the kind of powerful, young man that she wanted, and he was going to be famous as a novelist too. She was almost sure of that. She had read parts of his novel and she thought that he was working on a real masterpiece of literature.
She had especially noticed the power of his words, the way that he described the male power of his father and himself and the other soldiers that he had known growing up.
It was a man's book, the kind of book that women could read and feel weak with.
It was a book filled with powerful men, some heroes and some villains, but all powerful and masterly.
Kirk understood power well. She could see that every time he approached her as he was approaching her now, she thought. She could see that he was playing with his power, so that she would recognize it and feel it deep in her bones as she looked at him and waited for him to get close.
He moved gingerly, easily, like a powerful dancer, she thought. She watched as his muscles rippled in his body. She watched and she sighed with pleasure, the kind of pleasure that a woman could only feel when she was in the presence of real, male power. Kirk lifted his cock up and held it out for Bonnie to touch it. She moved her numb hands over his meat.
"Master," she sighed.
Kirk slipped the flesh over the ropes that held her hands and he groaned with pleasure too.
Then, as his cock started to harden, Bonnie took it in her hands and held it and rubbed it with her fingers.
She liked that prick most of all, she thought, even more than his muscular body. She liked that prick and it seemed to sum up everything that a woman could need in her life.
"Oh, Master," she sighed. "Kirk, you are my master."
"Right, rich bitch," he muttered, and those words seemed to send a flame through her wet cunt.
Kirk took his cock back from her hands and Bonnie pulled herself close to the piece of wood that held her.
She put her face on one side of that wood and she opened her mouth wide as Kirk moved his cock close to her.
She ran that cock around her red lips and she felt a tingle head straight for her sexy cunt.
And then she took that cock into her mouth. Kirk held the base of the prick with his hand and he let her suck on it. He sighed to her as she sucked, sighed with manly, powerful passion.
"Fucking rich bitch," he said. "Suck that cock. You are my slave and that is all that you are good for. Sucking cock and fucking."
And she sucked as the desire ran through her. Those were just the kind of words that she had longed to hear.
She remembered the first time that Gil had treated her so brutally. She-had been afraid and she had thought that he was going mad in her bed.
That had been about a week after they were first married. It took that long before he felt safe to show her what kind of treatment he liked to give women.
And she loved that treatment. Once it started, she trusted Gil and she knew that he would never really hurt her. And she had never trusted any man before in her life that much.
It felt good to trust that much, and it felt good to be treated that way because she thought that that was the way that she should be treated, that she should be comforted for her rich-bitch guilt.
It was strange, she thought now, but she had not really understood the guilt that she had felt until that first time with Gil. And then she quickly discovered that there was no better way to fight the guilt that was in her system, no better way to be happy with a man.
Now she had that same feeling with Kirk, but there was a difference.
She had trusted Gil and he had ended up hurting her, leaving her because he found her wealthy life stifling. He had taken a lot of her money and spent it and then he had left her.
But she sensed that Kirk would not leave her. There was more love in that powerful, young man than there had been in Gil, and Bonnie thought that the young man had that love because, after all, she had taught him about the kind of treatment that a powerful man could give a woman. He had not taught her. She thought that that made a difference in their relationship, and she thought that that difference would make their relationship work for a long, long time.
"Fucking rich bitch," the young man snarled. "Suck that cock and get it hard, you fucking, rich bitch."
And Bonnie did just as he wanted her to do. She sucked on that cock and got it hard.
Kirk moaned at her while she did that and ran his strong, young fingers over her back and down her spine.
That sent a sexy chill through her body, a chill that grew in her form as she listened to his words.
"Suck it, you filthy rich bitch. Suck that cock and get it ready for your worthless cunt."
When the cock was hard, Bonnie took her mouth off the rod and looked up at young man.
"Fuck me, Master," she said. "Fuck me and fuck me hard, Master."
And the young man who was her master chuckled and moved behind her. He climbed onto the bed and she moved up on her hands and knees and waited for the fucking to start, the fucking that she knew that she needed.
"Oh, Master," she said. "Slam it to me. Fuck me hard. I need your cock in my cunt."
And the young man worked his fingers into her cunt. She sighed when he did that and pressed the side of her face to that wooden bedpost. He was digging around in there as if he were looking for something wonderful, as if he were mining for treasure.
But Bonnie knew that the treasure that she was giving him was the treasure of her cunt, the greatest treasure that he could find. She sighed and twisted there on the bed and moaned to him again.
"Oh, fuck me. Fuck my hot cunt. Fuck me. I am your slave, Master. Please, fuck me. Take your pleasure in my body."
And then she felt the fingers leave her cunt and she knew that his hard cock would be the next thing that she felt. She stretched up and felt the easing of the ache in her arms and she sighed as the young man reached around her and squeezed her tits.
Then Kirk was in her. Fast and hard and brutal.
And she loved it more than the last time that he had fucked her. She loved it more every time he took the role of master and fucked her hot, slave cunt.
As the young man fucked away, the redhead sighed to him with a voice that was filled with pleasure.
"Oh, fuck me, Master. Fuck me. Fuck my cunt. Fuck me harder. That's the way Rip me open. Fuck my sweet, slave cunt, my master. Fuck me and rip me wide open."
And, as she felt the fucking back there in her, Bonnie wondered if her sister had ever felt such a thing in her cunt, had ever felt the joys that could only come with slavery.
She hoped that Brooke hade felt these joys, and she hoped that she and Kirk would be able to save that beautiful girl once they got to the island.
CHAPTER FIVE
The next morning at dawn, Bodden was still not certain how he had done it.
He had been very drunk the night before, but, somehow, he had found people who had given him supplies for his money and he had even rented the boat. Everything was ready for Gil Rogers and Ginger at dawn when they came down to the dock.
Bodden was asleep on that boat, and Gil kicked him to wake him up.
The fat man groaned with that kick and then opened his eyes. He looked up at Gil Rogers and he then looked around at the boat and the supplies.
"Holy shit," the man said, sitting up. "I did it. I don't know how, but I did it."
"Did you get receipts for this shit?" Gil asked as Ginger stepped onto the boat.
Bodden looked in his back pocket and, sure enough, the fat man found the receipts there.
"Holy shit," he said again. "Here they are, Mister Rogers."
And Bodden even had fifty dollars left over. He handed that to Rogers with the receipts. The tall, handsome American laughed and then threw the receipts overboard.
Although he was not fully awake yet, Bodden knew that he should be thankful for that.
He remembered that he had spent some of the American's money on liquor the night before.
"Come on," Gil said, putting down his two rifles and his ammunition and heading for the steering room of the little boat. "Let's get started. Where is the island?"
Bodden stood up and pointed in the direction of the little land mass.
Gil Rogers spied it. Yes, he thought, that must be it. He could just make it out on the horizon.
Gil Rogers kicked in the motor and Bodden lifted the anchor and then they were off, headed for the island.
When they were on. their way, Bodden came up behind the tall American.
"I think that we should head for the cove on this side of the island. We might be able to get in without being seen then."
"All right, Bodden," Gil Rogers said. "And you did a good job with the boat and supplies. You might just be worth something after all, fat man."
It was the kind of compliment that Bodden accepted but did not like in the least.
The fat man knew that he was worth something, but he was not sure just how much he was worth to the American.
Bodden basically wanted Gil Rogers to finish his work on the island and get the hell out of there.
The fat man could not help but believe that the tall American wanted to shame him even more. And Bodden knew that he would have to accept any shameful thing that Gil wanted to do to him.
He was too frightened of the big man to fight him.
"You deserve a little reward, fat man," Gil said with a smile as he steered the boat toward the island.
Bodden shivered. He did not know what kind of reward that American had in mind.
He thought that that sadistic killer would haul out a piece of liver, and make him fuck it.
He was really frightened!
But it was nothing like that at all. Gil turned his head and yelled at the redhead in the back of the boat.
"Ginger! Suck Bodden's cock!"
"What?" the fat man muttered. He looked at the redhead. She was beautiful and sexy. She was wearing a pair of shorts and some high boots and a halter-top this morning and she looked good in those garments, very good and very strong. But Bodden looked into her eyes and he saw the weakness there, the weakness that was like his own weakness, he thought.
When he saw that weakness, he felt sorry for the girl who sat there in the back of the boat.
But he also felt lusty, and he knew that he would enjoy using her weakness if Gil Rogers would let him.
"Go on back there," Gil said. "She will suck your cock for you, Bodden."
And the fat man walked back slowly and sat down on a little bench built in to the side of the boat.
Ginger did not protest at all. She moved her hand over the fat man's crotch and felt the hardness of his little dick.
And she unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock and started to stroke it.
The fat man was so sweaty, she thought, and she could feel the sweat even on his cock. She knew that that prick would be bitter with sweat, but she also knew that she would have to suck on it.
Her master, Gil, had ordered her to suck it, and her master would not be denied, she thought.
The fat man leaned back and moaned as the girl put her lips around that cock. Her mouth was so soft, he thought.
This was better than fucking food, Bodden thought. This was even better than the whores that he had paid for. The whores had not had this sexy weakness, this weakness that he liked immediately in the girl.
The redhead worked her mouth up and down on the rod and felt it harden in her mouth.
"Go ahead, fat man," Gil called from the front of the boat. "Curse her. She likes it when a man calls her names."
"Really?" the fat man muttered with sweat popping out of his brow.
"Really," Gil told him.
And, as the boat headed for the island, steered by the handsome, tall American, the fat man started to curse the redhead, the beautiful girl with the weakness that he loved.
"Fucking slut," he growled. "Fucking slave slut, suck that fucking cock. Suck it. Yeah, that is the way. Lick the head. Suck that cock, you fucking whore. Suck it. Suck it. Suck it."
And the redhead sucked him just as he wanted her to do. She took her mouth off the little pole of flesh and she licked the head of the prick. She tasted the stinging saltiness of sweat there too.
The fat man seemed to be one huge sweat gland, she thought.
But she did not let that keep her from doing her duty. Her master had given her an order and she just had to obey that order.
She put her mouth around the fat, sweaty head of the prick and worked her mouth slowly down to the man's damp pants.
And she heard the fat man moan and she knew that he was going to come at any moment.
The redhead wondered if his come would taste like sweat too, as she listened to the fat man curse her.
"Fucking slut. Worthless piece of shit. Oh, suck that cock, you cunt. Suck it, you red-haired cunt."
And Bodden felt the spasming in his own body and knew that he was about to come, and he thought that he would give anything to be the master of a girl like this.
She had such a sexy weakness, Bodden thought. In many ways, she was just too fucking good for a bastard like Gil Rogers.
Rogers could get all the slaves that he wanted. He would never be able to appreciate this girl in the way that Bodden could.
And Bodden moaned and put his hand on the girl's red hair and he started to come right in the girl's eager, slave mouth.
"Take it, slut," he snarled. "Take that hot come in your mouth."
But the come was not really all that hot, the girl thought, just a little warm. And it did taste like sweat, salty and stinging in her throat. But she took it. She took it because her master had told her to take it and her master controlled everything in Ginger's life.
When they got to the island Gil Rogers picked up one rifle and an ammunition belt. He handed the other rifle and ammunition belt to Ginger. Then he picked up a pistol.
"You want to use this, Bodden?" he asked the fat man.
"Oh, no," the man muttered, putting his hands up and backing away. "I don't like guns."
Gil just sneered at him and put the pistol in his own belt.
"Okay, Bodden," he said. "You go with Ginger and head that way."
Gil Rogers pointed to the east.
"I will go west," he said. "If you find Brooke, don't kill her. Fire a shot into the air and I will head for the area where you are. Okay, Ginger?"
"All right, Master," the redhead said.
The search party split up and Bodden was happy as he followed Ginger up a path. He watched her fine buns in her shorts and he thought that she did belong to him in a way.
He would be able to appreciate her, he thought.
And then the fat man started to have other ideas, ideas about Gil Rogers and the tall American's tragic demise.
If Gil was shot here on the island and left to the vultures, then Ginger could stay with the fat man.
Yes, Bodden thought, there was a chance that he might get more than money out of this little adventure.
He might get a real and sexy slave, a redhead who would follow his orders just as she followed Gil's.
He smiled as he followed the girl and he dreamed of what could happen if Gil Rogers would only turn up dead.
With this redhead, Bodden thought, his life would be complete and he would never have to be ashamed of himself again. He would be able to work out his shame with his slave.
By working with her shame, he thought, he could rid himself of his own shame and his own memories of whores and food and things that disgusted and frightened him.
* * *
Brooke walked down to the beach and sat down next to Gabriel, the silent one.
At first, the dark boy did not even seem to notice her. He just stared at to the sea.
Then Brooke spoke to him.
"Sometimes I think that it would be nice to be a creature of the sea, Gabriel," she said.
The youth just turned toward her and smiled and nodded his head.
"Sometimes," she continued, "I think that it would be nice just to swim out there and never come back, just to spend my life frolicking in the water until I sank to the bottom of the sea and then was no more."
The girl was naked there on the beach. The boy looked at the thin, beautiful body that he knew so well.
Gabriel wondered if she needed some torture this morning, and then he remembered that she always asked for the torture when she needed it.
It was obvious to the silent, dark youth that she needed some companionship this morning, not torture at all.
Ernesto was out hunting and Gabriel thought that it would nice to be alone with Brooke, to be her lover and not her master on this soft and sexy early morning.
The silent youth turned in the sand and moved up on his knees. He was wearing his shorts, his ragged, cut-off jeans. Brooke saw him move and she moved to face him, on her knees in front of him.
The beautiful girl remembered that, usually, when they were in this position, Gabriel would work on her nipples with those pliers.
But, this morning, he just touched the nipples with his fingers and his touch was soft.
She threw her head back and moaned. Her full, red lips came open with that moan and Gabriel thought that she looked dreamy, like a beauty who was at ease with herself at that moment.
He knew that that ease did not come very often with Brooke, and the dark youth could not help feeling sorry for her in a way.
He tortured her because she demanded it, but he would rather touch her like this. She was the most beautiful girl that he had ever seen and he worshipped her in a special way.
But he had never been able to speak, to tell her how much he admired and worshipped her, how much he cared for her.
Gabriel took his hands off Brooke's tits and felt a little sad when he thought about his own inability to tell her about himself.
At times, he hated Ernesto because that dark, young man could speak, but it never seemed to Gabriel that Ernesto said anything worth saying at all.
Gabriel was certain that, if he could speak, he would be able to define everything in his system.
He would be able to find the words, the poetry, to tell Brooke just how beautiful she was when she was at ease with herself.
But Gabriel knew that his own tragedy was his silence, and he knew that he would never be able to tell Brooke anything, to speak out in poetry to her. He would just have to touch her and do the best that he could with her that way, try to communicate as much as possible with her that way.
So, when the girl looked at him with those soft, dark eyes, he ran his fingers through her long, dark hair and he pulled her to him and he kissed her.
Her full, red lips were soft and cool and seemed newly made in the early morning sun.
And she smelled of wild flowers, the silent youth thought.
When the kiss was over, Gabriel kissed her soft, dark face lightly. He kissed her eyelids.
And then the naked, beautiful girl moved back on the sand and spread her legs and showed him that sweetness that lay there waiting for him.
Her bush was dark and soft and to his touch and her pussy was wet and warm. Gabriel ran his finger over the lips of that cunt and she sighed.
"Oh, fuck me, silent boy," she said. "You are a hero of the revolution. Fuck me."
Gabriel smiled. He did not think that he was really a hero of the revolution. There would be no books written about him, he thought.
But there would be books written about Brooke Hutchinson, the Miss America Rebel, the beautiful woman of the masses.
Perhaps there would be a mention of him in those books, he thought.
And, thinking that, he lay down on the sand and opened his shorts and pushed them down his long, dark legs.
Brooke watched with eager eyes as the boy's cock came out and moved up on his body with that first bit of hardness. She thought that they had never really done it like this before, not like lovers. They had always been master and slave, surgeon and patient. And Ernesto had always joined them.
But this time was going to be different and Brooke knew that this time was going to be special too.
As the dark youth lay naked beside her, Brooke closed her eyes and remembered that other dark youth, the one that she had never fucked.
* * *
Luis had been shot in a riot in the bad section of town, the part of town that Brooke never went into. There was nothing there for her.
But Luis had gotten into a car and had driven back to Brooke's home, bleeding from his gut and gasping for breath. By sheer will-power, he had made it back to that mansion.
And then he stumbled out of his car and dropped onto his knees and called out for her.
That call was like the cry of a wounded animal, piercing in the stillness of upper class life.
"Brooke! Brooke!"
And she came to the front door and opened it and she saw him bleeding there.
When he saw her, he smiled at her, actually smiled while he was bleeding to death in front of the house.
"Brooke," he said, "I have always wanted you."
And then he toppled over onto his face and gasped one last time.
The dark-haired girl just stood there and looked at him and then she started to cry.
But she did not move near him. She knew that he was dead, and she thought that that deadness in him might be contagious. She thought that, if she touched him, she would wind up dead and bleeding too.
She had never seen anyone die before.
And then the police had come and they had told Brooke and the rest of the family the story, the way that Luis had tried to rouse the passions of the youths on the street, the way that he had said that they should kill cops. It would be merciful, he had told them, to kill a policeman. A pig.
And, when the riot had started, Luis had been one of the first ones shot. The police had followed him to the mansion, but had not been able to catch him until he was dead.
And that story-that meaningful story-gave Brooke her ideas.
She left home soon after that and went to that bad part of town and offered her services to a leader of the urban revolutionaries. She had held up banks with those revolutionaries and she had been there when policemen were shot.
When she was with the revolutionaries, she finally found something that was worthwhile, something that made her feel alive, strong, willful. She knew that, if she was ever shot, she would have the will-power to drive somewhere and tell someone that she had always wanted him.
But she could not think of anyone that she would drive to, because she had always gotten everything that she wanted. When she thought of that, the guilt had set in and had driven her almost insane. She had finally escaped the urban life late one night as the cops closed in on the revolutionaries.
She had come to this island with Ernesto, an illegal immigrant in the United States, a boy who had been a major part of the urban war. And then she had met Gabriel too, and she had come up with ways that those two young men-working together-could help her overcome her guilt.
But she thought about Luis now and she felt cold in the warm morning light. She moved close to Gabriel and the silent youth put his arms around her and held her.
She did not want to be tortured this morning. She just wanted to be held.
And she ran her soft hand down the dark boy's body and grasped his cock tenderly in her fingers.
Gabriel's prick responded to her touch with a manly hardness and she sighed and kissed his cheek as she worked him up with her hand.
Then she thought of something else that she could do for the young man.
The wealthy, beautiful girl moved down his body and kissed the tip of his hardening spear with her red lips.
The young man jerked when she did that, and she knew that, if he had been capable of sound, he would have told her that her kiss on his prick had felt good, very good.
Brooke opened her mouth and took that cock into her. It was so hard and so long in there. And she seemed to be able to taste the power in that rod. She sucked on it with her soft mouth and she ran her fingers down the boy's dark, muscular legs.
She pressed her face close to his body, so that she could feel the soft cock-hair under her cheek.
She massaged Gabriel's balls with her fingers and the boy jerked there on the sand.
She took her mouth off him and looked up at him. Gabriel's face was twisted in ecstasy and he was running his fingers through the sand of the beach.
Brooke liked the way that he looked at that moment, like a little boy who did not even know to express his satisfaction. She knew that the passion was so great in his body that it was almost pain. And she thought that, feeling that, Gabriel might really understand why she asked for the pain so often herself.
And then she pressed his hard cock back against his dark, muscled stomach and she licked the underside of the shaft with her warm, wet tongue in slow and sexy movements.
When she moved off Gabriel and onto her back in the sand, she spread her legs and she sighed to him! He knew what she wanted, but she wanted to tell him, she wanted to tell him just how much this meant to her.
"Fuck me, Gabriel. Fuck me, my revolutionary hero. Fuck me with that hard cock of yours."
And the boy smiled and moved over her in the sand. He paused for a second when he was in position over her and he listened to the waves of the ocean behind him.
Then he lifted her ass out of the sand with his hand and he felt the little grains of sand under her ass, sticking onto her soft and dewy flesh. He worked his cock into her just as a lover would.
There was no brutality on that morning. She did not need it, and the silent boy determined that he would fuck her just as a lover would fuck her.
He wondered if Brooke had ever had a real lover, a tender and masculine lover who could please her without the pain.
And he wished again that he could ask her questions about her past that came to his mind.
But he could not ask her questions and he thought that he might write those questions out in Spanish and let Ernesto read them and translate them and ask them of Brooke.
But that would come later, Gabriel thought. That would come later in that day when Ernesto was back from hunting. Right now, the most important thing that he could do to Brooke did not involve words at all.
Right now, the most important thing he could do for her was fuck her, and that was what he meant to do at that very moment. He moved his cock deep into her snatch and then he churned his hips a little as Brooke lifted her legs and moved them around him and then they started to fuck.
It was an easy, slow fucking. Brooke sighed as Gabriel worked his cock in and out of her pussy.
And she rocked with him and felt her body lowering into the sand. She would not have cared if he had buried her alive in that sand with that fucking motion, she thought.
"Oh, Gabriel," she moaned. "My silent, sexy hero of the revolution."
And she lifted her hands to his face and she touched him softly and she was almost on the verge of tears as she felt that good, warm fucking motion in her cunt.
She had never experienced anything like this before, she thought, and she knew that if she could experience more of this kind of fucking, she would not have to have the pain at all.
This fucking was as good for her rich-bitch guilt as the pain was.
She knew that and she sighed and felt the pleasure of the fucking in her cunt, felt her pussy muscles tighten around the cock as it went in and out of her, back and forth in her warm, damp hole.
If she could only fuck like this forever, she would never again feel like a rich bitch, she thought.
Now, with Gabriel, there was no question of class or money. They were just two, beautiful, healthy young people rocking on the sand and fucking with delight.
And, then, when the fucking increased in speed and vigor, she liked it even more.
She moaned and thrashed about on the sand and she knew that she was going to come with Gabriel.
As they climbed together toward their climax, she heard the one shot echo from the other side of the island and she grinned at Gabriel.
"Ernesto has gotten us some meat for dinner," she said.
And the silent, dark youth fucked away with her and nodded his head.
And then the morning air was filled with the sounds of moaning, wet and lustful moaning, and the sound of the waves of the ocean, the roar of that peaceful place.
They fucked there on the sand and Brooke felt something like she had never felt before, the warm peace that came to a girl when she knew that she was about to come with no pain at all, and she wished that she could fuck like this forever and ever and ever.
She closed her eyes and felt the warmth explode in her and she felt the cock go deep into her and she knew that Gabriel was coming too.
This, she thought, was what sex was supposed to be, lively and young and silent.
And there was no pain at all.
No pain, only warmth, only lust. And there was no guilt either. She fucked like a common girl, giving no thought to her money or her riches or her guilt. And she was happy with Gabriel on that beach that fine and beautiful morning.
CHAPTER SIX
Ginger had shot Ernesto in the back and she had killed him with that one bullet.
But, after the deed was done, she felt a little sick. She had never killed anyone before.
And seeing that lifeless body in front of her, she thought, was not like seeing a target with a hole in it.
There was blood with a real person, blood that seemed to bubble to the surface in the back of the boy's neck.
"I am sorry I did it," she muttered.
But Bodden was almost jumping up and down with glee.
"That's one down, Ginger! That one will never cause us any trouble now!"
The redhead sank down at the edge of the clearing. The boy was lying on his face just a few feet in front of her, and she sat there and she studied his form. His tanned back was strong and his legs were dark and muscled. She was wearing a pair of tattered shorts, and Ginger thought that, if she had seen this boy back in the days when she had been singing with the rock-and-roll band in Austin, she would have wanted to fuck him.
But she had not fucked. She had shot him in that back at close range. She could tell that he was dead too, that he had probably died before he hit the ground. There was a frozen finality to the way that he was lying there in the middle of the clearing.
"I don't feel well, Bodden," she murmured. "I have never killed anyone before."
Then the fat man stopped dancing around as if he had to take a piss and he looked at her.
"You had to do it, Ginger," he said. "You had to kill him. He had a gun. If he had turned around and had seen us standing here, he would have killed us. Both of us."
The fat man gasped and started to sweat again.
"You saved my life too," he said thankfully to the redhead. "You saved my life and yours."
The redhead looked up at the fat man. The fact that she had saved Bodden's life did not make her feel any better. She remembered the sweaty taste of that fat man's cock and she figured that that man's life was not worth saving at all.
"Bodden," she snarled at him. "Just leave me alone. Just leave me alone, you fat piece of shit."
She was angry with him now, and that angered Bodden too. He did not like it when that redhead showed him some of her own will. He liked her weak. He liked it when he knew that she would do anything that he told her to do.
"Fucking bitch," he snarled softly at her.
But the redhead paid him no attention. She put her rifle down and took off her ammunition belt.
She turned away from the dead body and she gasped to keep from throwing up there in the clearing. She kept thinking that, if Gil had been there, he would have killed the boy. Then she would not have had to suffer such pain. Gil was used to killing and he could do it coldly, but she had never killed anyone before.
"Worthless slut," Bodden hissed at her.
She did not look at him, but she hated him. If that fat man had been a real male, as Gil was, the redhead thought, he would have killed the kid and she would have been spared from this ordeal. But the fat man did not even carry a gun. To Ginger, at that moment, Bodden seemed less than human, like some kind of fat animal that crawled out from under a rock to hiss at her and try to frighten her.
But Bodden was thinking too. He was trying to think of what Gil Rogers would have done in that red-haired slave had called him a name.
The fat man knew that the tall American would never stand for such a thing, and he knew that he could not stand for it either, not if he wanted to win the respect of this slave girl and have a chance to keep her, if something happened to Gil.
And Bodden was thinking more and more that something was sure to happen to Gil here on this island.
This island was lawless and the fat man figured that Gil Rogers would not have a chance of getting out alive-not if Bodden had anything to do. with it. He might even pick up a gun and shoot Gil in the back and make him fall down dead, just as this dark, young man had fallen there in the jungle.
Then Bodden looked at the body, as the blood which still poured out of the young man's neck and he smiled. He knew that he had the plan then. He had just what he needed to make this girl respect him and serve him like she served Gil.
Bodden moved toward the young man and knelt down next to the body. Dead bodies did not frighten the fat man. Men who were alive frightened him but he knew that dead men could do him no harm.
Bodden ran his finger through the warm blood on the boy's back and then he glanced at the redhead, the killer.
She was turned away from him and she was not holding her rifle. He would move to her quickly and take her off-guard, he thought.
With that finger covered with the dead boy's blood, Bodden jumped toward the redhead and kicked the rifle out of her reach. Then he pushed her back onto the ground and she screamed.
"Get away from me, you pig!"
"Suck it," he snarled. "Suck that bloody finger."
And he opened her mouth with one sweaty hand and slammed that finger into her mouth and made her suck on it.
She could have bitten it, she supposed. She could have bitten his finger and then he would have pulled it out of her. But she did not bite him because she was too sick and too weak. She just sucked on that blood and tasted it sweetness and it's disgusting warmth.
Ginger felt her stomach churn inside her as she sucked that wet blood down into her system.
But she did not fight Bodden. She was too weak to fight him, too weak and too disgusted.
And she knew that Gil Rogers had made her his slave, made her used to being a slave for any man, even a fat man like Bodden.
Bodden pulled his finger out of her mouth and smiled down at her.
He was sweating again, but he was not sweating with fear. He could never be afraid of a girl like this.
"If anything happens to Gil out here on the island," he hissed, "if he is killed, you will become my slave. Hear me? You will be my slave if anything happens to Gil."
"Yes," she murmured.
And then Bodden looked around. He felt that someone was watching him and he was suddenly frightened. What if it was Gil Rogers? What if Gil had heard him tell the girl that he wanted her as his slave? He searched around the jungle of the island quickly with his eyes darting in his fat face. Then, when he saw no one, he felt a little relieved.
It was probably just his imagination, he thought. There was no one out there, no one watching. But he looked down on Ginger and he saw that she was watching and he chuckled in his raspy voice.
He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and stuck one in his mouth and lit it.
Then he sat down next to her on the ground and looked around again.
No one was watching, he thought.
So he unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out.
"Suck it again, you slave," he said softly but sinisterly. "Suck your master's cock."
And Ginger was too weak to fight him, to do anything besides what he told her to do.
She moved toward him and wrapped her fingers around his cock.
Bonnie Rogers and Kirk were behind the bushes, watching the redhead as she moved her mouth over the fat's man prick.
"She is actually doing it," Bonnie muttered. "She is actually sucking on that pig's cock."
And Bonnie Rogers did not have to be told that this fat man and this redhead had something to do with her husband.
She understood immediately that this girl must be the one who had taken her place in Gil's bed.
She saw the way that the girl moved to the fat man and she heard the way that the man said that he was the girl's master and she knew that only Gil Rogers could train a redhead to act in that way.
Gil Rogers had trained her, and he had trained this one too. Bonnie recognized all the signs.
And the woman felt the juices erupt in her pussy and she knew that she wanted to emulate that girl.
She looked at the handsome, young man who knelt beside her. Kirk was not wearing a shirt and she could see the little beads of perspiration on his shoulders as he looked at that action out there in the clearing.
"They killed that kid," he muttered. "They shot him right in the back."
"He must be one of the boys who lives with my sister," Bonnie said, looking at Kirk, not at the dead body. "They killed him and they will kill Brooke too if we do not find her first."
"Right in the back," Kirk muttered. "And there is only one rifle down there. I wonder which one of them killed him."
"Does it matter?" Bonnie asked, touching the young man's strong shoulder.
"Yes. I have to figure out which one is the deadlier of the two."
"It doesn't matter, Kirk," Bonnie whispered.
"I can tell you that my husband is more deadly than either of those two out there in the clearing."
The woman glanced back at the clearing and saw how the girl out there was sucking on that cock. She had her head in the fat man's lap and she was taking that prick into her with skill and desire.
Bonnie Rogers was not really interested in which one of those people was the more deadly.
She was interested in emulating the girl, in doing what that redhead was doing, but she would do it with Kirk and she would have more fun doing it, she thought.
The woman ran her fingers over Kirk's chest and she whispered to him.
"Lie back, Stud. I want to give you a nice blow-job."
"Bonnie," the man gasped quietly. "You can't be thinking of something like that at a time like this. You just can't be thinking-"
"Yes," the woman said, "I am thinking of something like that at a time like this."
And she pushed the young man back on the ground and moved her hand over the crotch of his jeans. He sighed and surrendered to her. She knew the truth about their relationship and he knew it too. He was the master, but she was the wealthy woman and he would not deny her her needs.
As she opened his jeans gingerly and reached inside for his cock, she looked back at the young redhead and the fat man. She thought that that servitude was very sexy indeed.
* * *
As Ginger moved her mouth up and down on Bodden's cock she felt that wetness again.
The sweat on his stomach was wetting her red hair as his fat gut was pressed against the top of her head.
And she hated that wetness, but she knew that she had to suck the cock.
Ginger knew something else too:
She knew that, if anything did happen to Gil, she would stay with Bodden.
She would be that fat man's slave, just as he had told her that she would be.
She would not be able to do anything else. She would be lost without a master and Bodden would be her master. Not as good or as sexy of a master as Gil, but at least a master.
And Ginger knew that she needed a master most of all.
She sucked on Bodden's hardening cock-
And felt the sweat-
And heard him growl at her just as a master should growl at a slave.
"Suck it, you red-haired bitch. Suck that cock, you slut. You are going to be mine if anything happens to Rogers and you know it. You are going to be mine and you are going to serve me every night. You are even better than liver, you fucking piece of shit, you slut, you whore, you slave."
And she sucked on his cock while he said all of this to her, and she wondered what life would be like with Bodden. She silently prayed that Gil Rogers would come off that island unharmed when his job was done.
She thought that she might even tell Gil what that fat man had done to her, and then she decided that she would not do that. She did not know how Gil would react to the news that the fat man had made her suck blood and then his cock.
The tall, handsome American might even laugh and pat Bodden on the back.
She would just have to wait and hope that Gil came off the island in one piece. Then she might kill Bodden herself, shoot him down as she had shot down that boy. She was almost certain that shooting Bodden would not sicken her as shooting the boy had done.
That fat tub of shit deserved to die, she thought.
But, for right now, she would just suck on his prick. That was all that she could do to him at that time.
* * *
Bonnie worked her mouth over Kirk's prick and tasted it's sweetness.
As she did that, she listened to the slurping sound just a few feet away, the sound of that other island sucking, and she felt thrilled. She knew that her own soft slurping was mixing with that girl's and was turning the island into a place where a symphony of lust was playing.
And there were other sounds too, the sounds of the birds and the sound that the ocean made as it roared against the island.
All of those sounds mixed in Bonnie's head as she sucked on that cock.
She licked the top of the prick with her tongue and stroked it and then she ran her tongue through the dark hair above the cock and up to Kirk's navel. That was when he sighed and jerked and made another sound there in the jungle paradise of lust and death.
Bonnie liked that sigh. It was the sound of her master, her master's voice.
And she knew that she was pleasing her master and that made her happy about her own life at that moment, very happy. She took the cock back in her mouth and worked on it with glee and pleasure, giving her master something that he deserved as she felt his fingers run through her red hair.
* * *
"God, I am coming, you little bitch," Bodden groaned.
And then he jerked on the ground and shot his wad into Ginger's mouth for the second time that morning. He was very proud of himself. He seemed to be full of come for this girl.
And he knew that it was her weakness, the slave-like weakness of her system, that caused that come to boil up inside his fat body. Before he had met her, the only thing that had boiled in him was self disgust. But he was past that point now, and he knew it. If he could only keep her with him, if something could only happen to Gil Rogers, he would never have to feel guilty again, not with a slave like this. The men of San Genoa would not laugh at him then. They would admire him because he had such a wonderful, sucking slave.
Bodden came in the girl's mouth and she swallowed that come. Then, when his orgasm was over, the slave-HIS slave-took her mouth off his withering organ.
He heard the man's gasp then, loud and clear and he turned toward the sound of that gasp.
Gil Rogers, he thought.
Gil Rogers was back there, jerking off. Bodden knew that that was what he would do if he had come upon a sight such as the one that he and Ginger had just given that man in the bushes.
And the fat man smiled.
He knew that he and Gil Rogers were very similar after all, that Gil Rogers had the same kind of desires that he had.
Bodden decided that he would kill Gil Rogers himself. He would not ask his slave to do it.
He would prove his manhood by shooting his rival for Ginger's slave-like affections.
Bodden reached out and picked of the rifle and crawled toward those bushes.
* * *
"Oh, Bonnie, I am going to come," Kirk moaned. "I am coming."
And the woman sucked his cock even more diligently and yearned for his come, yearned for those hot shots down her eager throat. She sighed and worked on him and then she felt those hot shots and she knew that she had given her young master the ultimate pleasure.
Kirk twisted and jerked on the ground and shoved his cock deep into Bonnie's throat and shot the stuff down her.
Then she took her mouth off his cock and she sat up and she smiled down at him.
"You are going to write one great, fucking novel, Kirk," she said softly.
And the young man smiled up at her. Then his expression changed suddenly. He looked past her and she saw the terror in his eyes. Kirk turned and tried to get to his rifle.
But he did not move fast enough.
Bonnie seemed to see the young man jerk with the pain even before she heard the loud report of the rifle. She saw the blood flowing out of Kirk and she turned and saw the fat man grinning down on her with the smoking rifle in his hands.
"Get the gun, Ginger," he snarled.
And the sexy redhead stumbled through the bushes and picked up the rifle-Kirk's rifle.
"Hold it on her," the fat man said.
And the girl did just that, aimed the gun right at the woman.
"Hello, Mrs. Rogers," the fat man said with a chuckle. "I am proud to finally meet you. Gil has told me so much about you I feel that I know you already."
Bonnie looked at the fat man and then she looked at the girl. She glanced down at Kirk and she slid back from him. He was lying there on his side, bleeding. He was not breathing, and she could see his eyes staring at nothingness.
The redhead moved up on her feet and stumbled out of the bush and fell.
But there was no relief there for her either. She looked around and saw the other dead, young man. And then she looked up and saw the fat man and the red-haired girl move out of the bushes and aim the rifles at her body.
"Are you going to kill me too?" she stammered in a frightened, little voice.
"No," Bodden said. "I don't think Gil would appreciate that. Do you?"
"This is his wife," Ginger said softly, calmly.
It was a statement, not a question, but Bodden answered her and told her that she was correct.
"Yes, Ginger, this is the rich bitch who fucked Gil Rogers before you did. She was his slave too, I imagine. Is that right, Mrs. Rogers? Were you Gil's slave too?"
The woman nodded her head.
She could not lie to them, not after seeing what they could do to people.
Bodden felt very proud of himself as he stood over the woman.
Ginger had killed the young man in the clearing, but he had shot the other young man, the one who had come to the island with Bonnie Rogers. He had killed the young man with just one bullet, as Ginger or Gil Rogers would have done.
Bodden had never felt such power before, and he knew that most of that power came from the fact that he was holding a rifle, came from the fact that he had just killed with that gun.
But some of the power-the igniting force that had caused him to be able to kill in the first place-came from the redhead who had acted as his slave, who had responded to his masterful tone and his masterful cock.
He glanced at Ginger and smiled. Then he turned his attention back to Bonnie again.
"May I call you Bonnie?" he asked. "I feel that I already know you so well."
The woman did not protest. The man could call her anything that he wanted to call her.
But she knew that she did not know him at all. She did not even know how he worked into this equation with her sister and her ex-husband and her ex-husband's slave mistress.
But she just sat there on the ground and looked at the fat man with the rifle.
She thought about Kirk, the young man that she had brought here, the young man that now lay dead in the bushes. He would never get a chance to finish his novel now.
And Bonnie felt guilty, more guilty than she had ever felt before in her life.
She had brought Kirk here and she had been the cause of his death.
She closed her eyes and wished that the fat man would go ahead and kill her too. She suspected that that was the only way that she would rid herself of the guilt that she felt-the guilt that Kirk's death had given her.
It had been so sudden and yet so final, she thought. One second he had been coming down her throat and the next minute he had been lifeless, bleeding and dead on the ground.
He had never had a chance, she thought, never a chance to reach for his own rifle.
"What are you doing here, Bonnie?" the fat man asked.
The woman jerked as if the man's voice had reminded her that she was not alone in the universe.
She saw that the fat man was now smoking a cigarette and grinning down at her.
"I have come to help my sister," she said. "I do not want Gil to kill that girl."
Bodden just chuckled.
Strange things had been happening to him, he thought, and now he was not so certain if he wanted Gil Rogers to kill the girl either. If Gil got to the girl and put a bullet in her head, he would not grieve for Brooke Hutchinson, Bodden thought, but, more than anything else, he wanted Gil Rogers dead. Not Brooke. Not anyone else.
And, as he looked at the sexy woman who sat there, looking up at his rifle, he thought that it would be only right if she should stay with him too.
Gil Rogers had trained her as a slave too, just as he had trained Ginger.
If Bodden could use that well-trained Ginger, he thought, he could also use this woman.
Bonnie Rogers' mouth was so sweet, he thought with a smile.
Then he spoke to her in that wheezing voice, but Bodden sensed that even his voice was more powerful and more manly now that he had actually killed another human being, now that he had another sexy woman for his harem of slaves.
"I will help you, Bonnie," he said.
"What?"
"I don't want Gil to kill your sister either. I want you and your sister and Ginger to stay with me."
When she heard that, Ginger felt a fury seething inside of her. She could tell that Bodden was plotting against her other master, her sexy master, and she hated the Tat man for his plots.
She was holding a rifle right now. She thought that it would be easy to swing it around and shoot that fat man in the back, just as she had shot that handsome, young man who lay there just a few feet from her.
But, for some reason, she could not do it. She could not kill again.
She closed her eyes and said the word.
"Master."
And she knew that Bodden could be her master now. Any man could be her master.
Ginger had no will left, no will to fight any master with.
She felt weak and cold, and she knew that she would probably feel just that way for the rest of her life, the rest of her slave-like life.
"Come on, Bonnie," Bodden said. "Let's try to find your sister before your husband finds her. If we can, we might be able to save her from destruction."
And Bonnie moved with speed to her feet, thinking that, if she could save Brooke, she might not feel so guilty about Kirk's death. If she could save Brooke, then she might be able to think that, at least, Kirk had not died in vain.
The three of them went through the island jungle, looking for the beautiful, rebel girl.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Gil Rogers had already found Brooke Hutchinson.
In fact, he had been sitting near the beach, surrounded and hidden by trees, when he had heard those other shots. He had thought then that he should go and find out what had happened. He figured that Ginger and Bodden had either run into that other boy who lived with Brooke or Bonnie and her boyfriend.
But then he watched as Brooke continued to fuck the other, dark boy, and he thought that that sight was just too delicious to give up. He really did not care what was happening on the other side of the island.
After the fucking was over, Brooke and that boy had stayed there on the beach for a little while and then Brooke had gone into the house, the little shack that Gil could see from his vantage point.
The dark boy sat naked on the beach and stared out at the water. He was not carrying a rifle or any kind of protection and Gil knew that he would be an easy target. He waited for a few minutes, until he knew that Brooke was busy in the house. Then he walked out of his hiding place and moved toward the boy who sat there on the beach.
He stood close to the house so that he could get in there before Brooke had time to arm herself and run out. Then he carefully aimed the rifle at the boy's head.
And he fired.
The dark youth toppled over onto the beach without a sound, and Gil knew that he was dead.
Then Gil turned and ran up the steps into the little shack and threw the door open.
He caught Brooke in the middle of the room. She was standing there, staring at him. And he had the drop on her.
"Hello, Brooke," he said with a grin.
"Gil," she gasped.
And he could see that she was glancing at the rifle that was leaning against the door.
He moved toward it slowly and picked it up and threw it out on the beach.
Then he held his own rifle on her and grinned again. He knew that he had nothing to fear from Brooke Hutchinson now.
"It is good to see you again," he said calmly, smiling at you. "I just killed your boyfriend out there. You two looked real good together when you were fucking."
"Gabriel," she muttered, feeling the loss deep in her body.
And then Brooke started to cry and whimper and she sank down on the floor. She wished that she could pass out from shock and from grief, but she could only cry and look up at her brutal brother-in-law through her own hot tears.
Gil watched her closely and kept the rifle on her.
"I have been hired by your father to kill you," he said. "Your father does not like the bad publicity that you have given the family with all of your little exploits."
Brooke nodded her head.
For some reason, the knowledge that Gil planned to kill her did not bother her as much as the knowledge that Gabriel was lying out there on the beach, cold and silent forever now. He had given her so much and she had just learned from Gabriel what it was like to fuck without guilt, and now that boy was gone, gone from her life forever.
As she cried, she muttered to her brother-in-law with a fierce, angry tone.
"All right, Gil. Get it over with. Kill me, just like my father wants you to do."
"Not yet," Gil said.
He was looking at her naked, sexy body and he was feeling a hardness in his own pants.
No, he thought, he would not kill her yet. He would fuck her first. He had always wanted to fuck his sexy, young sister-in-law. Bonnie had been good, but he knew that Brooke would be even better in bed. Those two young guys that she lived with had fucked her. And Gil wondered how many others there had been, had many other cocks had tasted the sweetness of that girl's beautiful cunt.
And he had some things to tell her, some things that her father had told him to tell her.
"Your father always wants you to know that you are not his child. You are the bastard offspring of a union between your mother and some fucking handyman, some dark and musty guy who could not even read and write. Your father wants you to know that before I kill you."
"I already know," the girl muttered. "I already know."
"Who told you?"
"My mother told me. My mother came to find me when I ran away and joined the revolutionaries in the city. She wanted to tell me that she understood, that maybe I was just following in the footsteps of my father, that maybe it was just in my genes. She told me all about it and then she went home to the mansion."
"Your father hates your mother for what she did," Gil told the crying girl. "And he told me that he only raised you as his own child in order to stop any scandal. But he never loved you. He always hated you too. And then, when you ran away and started pulling that shit in the city, he hated you even more and he knew that you had to be done away with."
The man was saying the words calmly, coldly, as if he were offering some kind of business report, not talking about death and murder and hate from a father.
And that calm, cold voice made Brooke even angrier.
"My father is a worthless bastard!" she screamed in her fury.
"A bastard, yes," Gil said. "But not worthless. He is worth quite a bit. You know that, Brooke. And he is going to pay me a lot of money when I come back with a lock of your hair and prove that I have fixed you so that you will never discredit his name again."
"Well, do it, damn it!" the girl yelled. "Do it! What are you waiting for?"
And then she looked at her brother-in-law and recognized the gleam that was in his eye.
And she knew then what Gil Rogers was waiting for. She knew what he wanted to do to her before he killed her. She sighed and fell back on the floor and whimpered to him.
"All right, Gil," she said, surrendering to the man. "Fuck me and then kill me, if that is what you want to do. I won't fight you."
"You will do more than that, Brooke," the man snarled. "You are going to give me the best fucking that you ever gave to any man. You are going to give me an even better fucking than you gave that kid out there. Do you hear me, Brooke? I order you! I order you to give one hell of a fucking!"
It did not make sense to her at all as she lay there on the floor.
Gil was not trying to make a deal with her, a good fucking in exchange for her own life.
She knew that Gil would kill her when the fucking was over because he was that cold-blooded and because he wanted the money that her father had offered to pay him. It did not make any sense to her, but she felt it just the same.
Brooke Hutchinson felt the need to give Gil Rogers the best fucking of her life. She felt the need to do her all for him, to give him what she had given Gabriel and even more.
The beautiful girl raised up and looked at him and smiled through her tears.
"All right, Gil," she said softly. "I will do anything that you want. You can be my master for the next few minutes, Gil, and I will give you the best fucking that a slave can give her master."
Gil smiled and looked down at the rifle and knew that he would not need that just yet.
He leaned the rifle against the wall and started to unbutton his shirt.
"Just like your fucking sister," he said softly.
Brooke looked up at him. "What?"
"You are just like Bonnie. She wanted me to be her master too."
"Really?"
"Really."
Brooke found that strange and she wondered why it did not surprise her even more than it did.
She guessed that she expected that she and Bonnie were more alike than they even knew.
After all, they were sisters, weren't they? And she felt that she had never been more of a sister to Bonnie than she was at this moment, as she watched Bonnie's murderous ex-husband strip off his clothes.
Gil Rogers was a handsome and sexy man, his sister-in-law thought.
And he had been the master of her sister too, just as he was now going to be the master of Brooke.
As she watched the man take off his clothes, she studied him, and then Brooke thought that she should say something to him, explain some things to him about her own life there on the island.
"Gabriel," she said softly, "used to work on me with a pair of pliers in order to cut out the guilt that I felt, Gil. Gabriel, the boy that you killed out there. He could not speak, could not make a sound, but he knew just how to handle me. He knew how to treat me like the rich-bitch slut that I am."
"I understand," Gil said with a smile. "Your sister has the same feelings, and your sister is probably here on the island somewhere too."
"Bonnie? Here?"
"Yes, she and her new lover have come here to try to save you. But I will kill both of them if I have to do that. You know that I will, Brooke."
By then, Gil was naked in front of his sexy, dark-haired sister-in-law.
She could not help herself. She smiled when she saw his meaty cock.
Her brother-in-law was certainly a stud, she thought, someone worth of both her and her sister.
And then Gil put his hands on his hips and spread his legs.
"I don't think that I will have to kill Bonnie," he said. "I will shoot her new boyfriend if he comes around here and tries to stop me. When I shoot him, I think that Bonnie will become my slave again, just as she was my slave once."
"Oh," the girl said softly, still looking at the meaty prick.
She listened to the words but she looked at the cock.
"I think that this new man brutalizes your sister too. I do not think that Bonnie could live without that fine touch of a master now, not after I taught her just how thrilling it could be."
"You taught her?"
Gil nodded his head.
"Ernesto and Gabriel taught me," the dark-haired girl muttered.
And then Brooke thought of something that just might save her-if not from the fucking at least from death.
Gabriel was dead out there, but Ernesto was still out in the jungles, hunting, she thought.
At least, she hoped that her other master was out there in the jungles. She had heard the gunshots earlier and she thought now that that might have been that trigger-happy Gil out there, blowing away Ernesto too.
No, that could not be the way that it happened, she thought quickly.
Gil had been watching her fuck with Gabriel. He had not been on the other side of the island and that was where the shots had come from.
That meant that, if she could just make the sex with Gil last long enough, she might be saved by her other, dark, young master. Ernesto might come back and save her with his rifle. Ernesto had never killed anyone, but he might be driven into a rage by what the man had done to Gabriel.
It was a slim chance, Brooke thought, but it was the only chance that she had.
Thinking that, she moved up on the floor and came toward Gil as he stood there, waiting for her.
He smiled down on her as she put her hand on his cock and slipped the meat between her fingers.
She started to jerk on that cock with a soft motion and the man groaned when she did that.
Then Brooke moved her red lips to that cock and kissed it.
She would have to make it last, she thought. The longer that she made the sex last, the more of a chance she had at survival.
Then she thought about stalling a little longer. She did not want to suck that cock yet.
She dropped the cock and moved down onto the floor and she started to lick the man's feet with her warm, wet tongue. That would make it last longer, she thought. She would lick his feet like a real slave and she would save her life if she could make the sex last long enough and keep him thrilled in that special, master's way.
She ran her tongue over his toes and then she pressed her lips to one of his feet and kissed that foot with a sexy force. She moved to the other foot and she murmured the word that she knew would thrill her brother-in-law before she kissed that foot.
"Master," she said softly.
And the man looked down and smiled and felt good.
This sexy girl was really special, he thought, and she knew just how to treat a master.
Those Spanish boys had obviously trained her well.
"Good, you revolutionary slut," he said. "Lick my fucking feet, you fucking cunt."
And the dark-haired girl licked his feet and kissed them and then she moved up his leg and started to use her lips and her tongue there. She took her long, dark hair in her hands and she massaged his lower legs with that hair.
Her brother-in-law groaned. This was really something special, Gil thought.
That hair was so soft and her lips were so moist and red.
And then new ideas started to come to Gil. He could take Brooke away from here and keep her locked up in his house. That way, she would not be out causing trouble and making headlines. And he could take a lock of her hair and give it to her father and claim that he had killed her. Then he would get his money too.
Suddenly, the tall American wanted this girl to be his slave, this girl and no other woman in the world. He felt her kisses on his knees and he knew that she would be great as a slave, even better than her sister had been, even better than Ginger.
Ginger.
He would have to get rid of that redhead. He might leave her on the island or he might order her to stay behind at San Genoa with Bodden.
Yes, he would give her to Bodden.
He just knew that he would have to get rid of her. He wanted this girl and this girl alone, his sister-in-law, this beauty, this slave, this slut of a girl who suddenly thrilled him so much and meant so much to him.
Brooke moved her tongue up the inside of the man's thigh and heard him moan and knew that he was not noticing that she was taking her time. She felt better. She thought that she could make this sex last forever if she had to.
And she had to admit that the feel of her brother-in-law's leg under her tongue made her feel good too. He was a sexy man, and she kept remembering that he had also been the master to her sister. She felt the need to match her sister in slave-like passion. She felt an unspoken challenge. She wanted to be the perfect slave, the best slave that this man had ever had. She knew that he had had a lot of slaves, but she would be the best.
She worked her tongue up to his crotch and licked the side of his balls and the man shuddered when he did that.
Gil could not stand it any longer. He knew that this girl would be great.
Her tongue was in a place where no other tongue had been and the touch of that tongue there thrilled him and chilled him and made him want to announce that she had won.
"Brooke," he groaned, "I can't kill you."
She murmured to him but she did not stop licking him. She lifted his cock up with her hand and she ran her tongue under his balls as he sighed to her.
"I will take you with me and make you my slave. I will have to get rid of Ginger, but I will do that. I will make her stay with Bodden. That is what I will do. You will be my only slave and I will cut a lock of your hair and tell your father-"
Then his voice died away. He was so filled with passion that he did not feel like talking any longer. He just wanted to feel the things that she was doing to him.
And he knew that he did not have to speak any longer. He knew that he had made his plan clear to that sexy girl.
She did not say anything, did not agree with or protest his plan.
Gil knew that she could not protest the plan. She was a slave and he was her master now.
He would take her back to the States with her and keep her locked in his house and feel this kind of thrilling thing every day with her. And he would kill anyone who tried to stop him from doing that.
He would even kill Ginger if he had to, and he knew that he would kill his ex-wife's boyfriend. He would enjoy doing that, enjoy it more than any other murder that he had ever committed in his long career as a hit-man.
Finally, when Brooke knew that she was safe, she grasped Gil's cock with her fingers and she kissed the end of that fat, big prick. She licked the piss-slit and she felt the man tremble with her touch.
Then she looked up at him and let a flash run through her dark, soft eyes as she said the word.
"Master."
"Yes, Brooke," the man moaned, looking up toward the ceiling. "I am your master. I am your master and you are my one and only slave."
When Brooke opened her lips and took the tip of that cock into her, she gave it a quick and soft, little bite, just the kind of bite that a master's cock deserved. He jerked with the pleasure that that gave him.
And then Brooke moved closer to his strong body and let that big cock run down her throat. The man groaned and felt like his cock was coming apart in her mouth. Her mouth was so soft and warm and wonderful that he felt like erupting in her right then.
But he did not want to do that. He did not want to come in her mouth.
As good as her sister was, he thought, her cunt had to be even better, juicier, tighter, warmer. He wanted to use that cock to fuck her cunt and he wanted to come deep inside of her and feel the thrill that only a real master could feel.
"Brooke," he groaned, pushing her face back from his body with a gentle motion. "I want to fuck you."
The dark-haired beauty moved back on the floor and smiled at him and spread her legs.
She could feel the juices in her own pussy. They seemed to bubble with heat in there.
And she knew that she was safe now. She knew that she had nothing to fear from her brother-in-law. He would be her master, but he would not kill her. She felt as if she had conquered him in some very important way.
Gil Rogers stood over the teen-ager and looked down at her.
"Brooke," he said. "I will fuck you and then I will take you home with me and I will keep you. I will get rid of the slave that I have now. She is nothing compared to you. She is just a Texas slut. She never won any beauty pageant at all. I will get rid of her and make you my special slave for the rest of your life and my life."
Gil Rogers dropped onto his knees and looked down at her.
"Brooke," he said softly. "I think that I may even love you."
"You fucking bastard!"
The woman's voice echoed through the room and Gil turned quickly toward the door.
He made a lunge for his own rifle, but he did not make it.
Then there was another echo in the room and Gil Rogers fell dead on the floor, with a bullet through his heart.
And Ginger lowered the smoking rifle and snarled at him.
"You fucking bastard," she said softly. "You thought that you were going to get rid of me."
Brooke was frightened for a moment, frightened that the angry redhead would turn the gun on her next. But then, when Brooke saw her sister move into the doorway, she sighed with relief.
"Oh, Bonnie," she whimpered.
All the death-Luis and Gabriel and Gil-and all the sadness of her revolutionary life seemed to bubble up in her soul and the dark-haired girl started to weep.
Her sister ran to her and knelt beside her and cradled the girl in her arms and held her. She tried to soothe Brooke with her touch, but she wondered if any of the women there would ever be soothed again.
Then Bodden moved into the room and looked at the naked, big American lying there.
"Is he dead?" the fat man asked the redhead with the rifle.
"Yeah," Ginger sneered. "I killed the fucking bastard."
Bodden felt completely free then and he thought that he would like to whip out his cock and piss on that man's body right then, piss on Gil Rogers and get a special revenge for all the shame that that man had given him over the past couple of days.
But then Bodden looked around the room and knew that he did not really need any revenge at all.
He already had his paradise, three beautiful women in need of a master.
And the fat man started to shiver with joy and sweat with the ecstasy of it all.
Gil was dead and Bonnie's boyfriend was dead and those two Spanish kids were dead too.
The fat man was the only man left on that island, with three beautiful women.
And he would be a master to them all.
"My slaves," he said loudly, like a preacher, and he stretched his arms out and seemed to cover the whole room. "My beautiful slaves."
And the three women looked at him. Ginger put the gun down and stared at the two sisters on the floor. Then all three women looked at the dead man on the floor. He had been their master too, but he was gone now.
The three women looked at Bodden and none of them denied his exclamation.
"My slaves!" he bellowed. "All of you are my sexy slaves!"
And Bodden had never felt so happy, so proud, so powerful, in all of his fat life.
CHAPTER EIGHT
By nightfall, all of the bodies had been buried. Bodden had sent his slaves out to do the dirty work, and the women had done it well. Then they had all three run into the sea naked and washed themselves clean from the stench of death of the dirt of the graves.
Then the women came back to the shack where Bodden, their master, was waiting for them.
It had been so easy, Bodden thought, looking at the three, naked, beautiful slaves. Not a one of them had put up a fight when he had taken on the role of master. He supposed that they were too used to being slaves to fight a master, that they would be lost without a master.
He had another day's worth of supplies and the slaves fixed food for him and for them.
They ate around a table. The women ate quietly and quickly and then they just sat in chairs and stared at Bodden as he ate his food. He liked that. He liked thinking that his beautiful slaves would even watch him eat. For years, he had been ashamed of his eating habits, but he was not ashamed any longer.
He would grow even fatter with three, naked, beautiful women watching him eat until he was ready to burst.
And Bodden tried to imagine what the other people in San Genoa would say when he showed up with three beautiful women in line, serving him and making his life comfortable.
One thing was for certain. No one would laugh at Bodden any longer.
And he would have money too. He had searched the pockets of Gil Rogers before he allowed his slaves to drag the dead man out and bury him. He had found a lot of cash in those pockets, even more than Bodden had planned on making from this venture.
Bodden would keep the money and would send a wire back to the States saying that Gil Rogers had mysteriously disappeared down there on the island. Bodden understood Americans and knew that no one would come down looking for Gil, looking for anyone.
Bodden would stay in San Genoa and his three female slaves would stay with him.
And he would be in paradise there in the islands.
Or perhaps, he thought as he ate, he would return to the States, to a place where he was not known and he would let his slaves serve him there. He remembered that one of his slaves-Bonnie-had a lot of money of her own. He was certain that that money would be his for the asking.
No, not asking.
He remembered that a master did not ask anything of a slave.
He would demand that Bonnie Rogers support him, just as she had supported her last master. He was not like Gil Rogers. He had no qualms about living on a woman's money at all, especially when the woman was as sexy and beautiful as Bonnie was.
When he had finished with his eating, he just sat at the table and the three slaves cleared away the dishes. Then Bodden moved into the living room area of the little house and looked down on the bloody spot where Gil Rogers had been.
That afternoon, he had thought vaguely of having his new slaves clean that spot.
But then he thought that it would be more fun for him to see it, to see it and know that that was Gil Rogers' blood, that Gil Rogers was dead and he, Bodden, was still alive.
In fact, Bodden had never felt more alive in his life.
The fat man sat down in a chair and lit a cigarette and took the smoke into his lungs.
When his slaves were finished cleaning the dishes, they came and knelt naked around him, like children at story-time, he thought. Together they all watched the sun set over the ocean. That was a sight that Bodden loved, but he had never loved it so much as he did that night. The fat man stretched out his hand and moved it slowly down and thought that he, the master of three female slaves, was also the master of the sun, pushing it down in the sky. It was a fine fantasy, and the fat man enjoyed it immensely.
Bodden thought of all the things that he had done that day. He had killed for the first time and he had ended up with three, beautiful slaves. He thought that these slaves were with him because he had killed, because he had shown that power.
And he smiled because he knew that he would be an everlasting fountain of power from now on. With these slaves with him, he could never feel ashamed of himself again.
Just power.
That was all that Bodden would feel. That was all that he wanted to feel.
When the sun went down, Brooke got up and got some candles. She lit them and set them around the room and then she joined her sister and the other, redhead at Bodden's feet. In the candlelight, the three women looked up at him and Bodden knew that they were waiting for some order, some sexy order.
And he scratched his head to think of one.
One of the women could suck on his cock, he thought, but he had only one cock.
Bodden wished for a moment that he had three pricks so that he could offer each slave something to suck on at the same time.
And Bodden was also very tired. He knew that he probably had just one more orgasm in him that day.
Then, he thought, sleep would overtake him and his slaves too.
So what to do?
He tried to think of something that would allow all three women to serve him at once. And then he came up with it.
"Brooke," he said to the dark-haired girl, "do you love your sister?"
Brooke looked at Bonnie and smiled.
"Yes, Master," she said softly. "I do. I love my sister more than anyone else in the world."
Then the dark-haired beauty caught herself and looked up at the fat man.
"Except for you, master. I love you more even than Bonnie," she said quickly.
And the fat man took another drag on the cigarette and coughed and chuckled.
"Brooke, Bonnie," he said, in a deep and manly voice. "I want you to show me how much you love each other. I want the two of you to make it together, to kiss and love each other and suck out each other's cunts. I want you to do that while Ginger sucks my cock. Your show will turn me on and make me come right down Ginger's throat."
The dark-haired girl looked at her older sister. She ran her eyes over Bonnie's firm and sexy and mature body and then she nodded her head.
"Yes, Master," she said.
Bonnie was looking at Brooke too.
"Yes, Master," the older, red-haired sister agreed. "We will show you just how much we love each other, Master."
Brooke and Bonnie moved back from the chair and lay down close to each other on the floor. Brooke lay on her back and Bonnie moved over her. The younger sister put her arms around the red-haired woman and Bonnie moved her mouth down to Brooke's and kissed her.
"Oh, yes," the fat man said. "That is right. Show me, slaves."
As he said that, the third slave, Ginger, unzipped his trousers slowly and reached inside those trousers and pulled his cock out and looked at it.
"Master," she murmured, and then she pressed her face close to Bodden's sweaty body and she sucked that meat into her mouth.
On the floor, the two sisters continued to kiss and Brooke ran her hands over Bonnie's body.
She felt the older woman's nice, firm tits and then she sighed to her sister.
"We have so much in common," she said. "The same mother and Gil too."
"And now a new master," Bonnie murmured, smelling the damp, sweet aroma of her sister's dark hair.
"Yes."
"And I fucked Luis one night," Bonnie said softly. "I have never told you that, but I fucked him one night behind the garage."
"Really?" Brooke asked with a smile.
"Yes."
"I am glad." "Why?"
"I am glad that at least one of us got the chance to fuck him before he died."
"When I fucked him," Bonnie said, "he mastered me and he fantasized that it was you that he was fucking."
When Brooke heard that, she felt warm and soft inside and she pulled her sister to her and kissed the redhead again.
Bodden sat there in his chair and moaned as Ginger sucked on his cock.
"Get her, Bonnie," he said. "Go down on that other slave, your sister."
And Bonnie took her master's command as if he had spoken from the heavens, as if he were one fat god.
She wanted to work on Brooke anyway. She wanted to taste the sweetness of her beautiful sister's flesh and of her sister's cunt too. She moved down the girl's body slowly and licked the tip of the firm, young titties.
And then she moved down a little further and lifted one of those tits with her hand and worked her tongue around the nipple.
When she did that, Brooke sighed to her.
"Yes, Bonnie. That feels so good. Suck your little sister's nipple, Bonnie. Suck it for your master."
And Bodden gasped as the other redhead continued to suck on his cock and he leaned forward so that he would not miss one second of the sexy show that the girls were putting on for him.
"Get it on, slaves!" he bellowed. "Get it on! That looks so fucking good! Get it on!"
And then he sighed as Ginger pressed her lips around his cock and pressed her nose against his sweaty pants. He closed his eyes for a moment so that he could better feel the cock-sucking that that one slave was giving him.
Then he opened his eyes with a jerk, remembering that he did not want to miss any of the action that the other two female slaves were showing him.
By then, Bonnie was sucking on Brooke's tit and the dark-haired sister was moaning and moving under her sister's caresses.
This was great! Bodden looked at the girls and felt the mouth on his cock and he wished that O'Rourke was still alive. If that big man was, Bodden would really have a story to tell him now, a story that would not involve food at all.
And, Bodden thought, if anyone laughed at him back at San Genoa or anywhere-
If anyone laughed at him, he would just have his slaves put a show for him right there in front of that laughing person and there would be no laughter any more.
Bonnie stopped sucking on the tit and moved down her sister's body.
She licked the tanned skin of the girl's stomach and then she speared the girl's navel with her tongue and Brooke jerked and gasped when her sister did that.
"Oh, yes, Bonnie," the dark-haired beauty said, spreading her legs wide. "Do it to me. Do it for our master, Bonnie. God, Bonnie, eat my fucking cunt for our master!"
And, as the tempest of desire grew in that girl's body and as the sister continued to lick her stomach and travel slowly down the girl's body, Bodden groaned with delight. He felt a similar tempest in his own body and he put his hand on Ginger's red hair and patted her as a master would pat a puppy dog.
She sucked cock so well, and he knew that those other two would be just as good.
What more could a master want in life? Nothing, Bodden thought, absolutely nothing.
The red-haired sister moved down between Brooke's outstretched legs.
She turned the girl around on the floor so that Bodden could see what she was going to do to her sister.
And Bodden smiled when Bonnie did that. He knew that she was a slave who kept her master in mind at all times. Gil Rogers had trained her to do that.
He glanced at that blood on the floor.
That was all that was left of Gil Rogers, Bodden thought, and the fat man laughed and coughed as the redhead between his own legs continued to suck on his cock.
Bonnie moved her face down over the dark bush of her beautiful, tanned sister.
And she ran her tongue through that bush, wetting it as the younger sister sighed with a warm passion.
Then Bonnie moved her face down between Brooke's legs.
She spread the pink pussy lips of her sister's sweet hole with her fingers.
And she drove her tongue into that hole with delight.
Brooke jerked when her sister did that.
"Oh, yes!" the dark-haired girl yelled out, lifting her tanned arms up into the air. "Oh, yes, Bonnie! Eat my fucking cunt! Lick it out for my master and your master and the master of us all!"
Bodden knew that the girl was talking about him, and he could hardly stand the feeling of passion that he felt at that moment.
And then he grabbed a batch of Ginger's red hair in his fat fingers and sighed and started to come as the third slave, the one who was working on him, swallowed his warm milk greedily.
"Yeah, baby," he moaned. "Take your master's come into your mouth. Take it. Take it. Take it. Take that fucking come right down you, baby."
And the redhead between his legs did just that. She took her master's come into her and she swallowed it.
When Bodden was finished with his coming, he felt like collapsing. Ginger moved her lips off his cock and slipped away from him and the fat man tumbled onto the floor and lay there, half-dead with ecstasy and gasping for breath and watching the two sisters who were still working together, just a few inches in front of his nose.
And Bodden reached out and touched that spot of blood on the floor.
Then he started to laugh, thinking that he had been the final victor.
He had defeated Gil Rogers and he had ended up with three very beautiful and willing slaves. What master could ask more in life? What master could even think of more?
No one would ever laugh at Bodden again, the man thought, as he gasped.
He gasped and he laughed and he lay there on the floor as Bonnie worked her tongue deep into Brooke's sweet cunt. The redhead knew then just what Luis had seen in that girl.
She knew what all of those men had seen in Brooke. She tasted the thing now that made Brooke exciting, the dark sweetness that was better than anything else she had ever felt in her life.
And Brooke tossed on the floor and moaned and sighed.
"Yes, lick me out, Bonnie. Oh, suck my clit. Suck my clit, sister, and make me come."
And Bonnie pulled her tongue out of Brooke's snatch and sucked that clit into her lips and started to work on it. She sucked slowly as the girl moved back and forth, feverishly, under her sister's lips, under her sister's touches.
Bonnie was reaching up and moving her hands over the Brooke's body too and giving her sister that special pleasure of touch too.
"Oh, suck it, Bonnie," the dark-haired girl said. "Suck it, sister dear." I
And Bonnie heard their master groaning there on the floor next to them as she sucked away on her sister's sweet meat.
Bodden rolled over onto his back and put his hand on his fat chest and massaged the fat there and sighed. He felt powerful, so powerful. Had there ever been such a powerful master before? He wondered.
And he thought that there had never been any master quite like he was. He knew that his slaves would agree too.
There had never been a master like fat and powerful Bodden.
The sound of the sucking filled the air and Bodden closed his eyes and thought of power, the kind of power that no one would ever laugh at.
