Ex-citement Part 2 - a Story
  by Delta Venus

Copyright 2009, 2010


This part of town looked worse than the last, and for once
reality and illusion were in agreement - it was every bit as bad
as it looked. Luckily, and by design, the address she was heading
to wasn't deep in the middle of this burned out shell of a
neighborhood, but right on the outskirts. Kris found the place
she was looking for without difficulty, a clapboard bungalow
style multiplex, consisting of several "cottages" surrounding a
central cement patio area. A few rusted barbecue grills, some
weather-beaten patio furniture, and two big umbrellas now too
tattered to offer protection from sun or the elements, decorated
the gray slab. There might once have been a lawn, but the
crabgrass and weeds had won their battle long ago, and the
concrete had numerous chips and cracks in it. The buildings paint
was peeling, where it still existed at all, and everything was
faded to a dull gray, matching the ancient concrete.

/Great!/ thought Kris. /It looks like the scene of every other
drug shootout in every gang movie I've ever watched./

She parked the Subaru out front, behind an old Chevy Nova that
had probably started out canary yellow, and now looked more like
watery urine. The door of the second apartment on the left swung
open as she approached.

"'Bout time you showed up, bitch. Get your ass in here!"
exclaimed a huge Mexican, who would have fit right into the type
of movie Kris had just been thinking about. Head shaved down to
mere stubble, dark piercing eyes that never seemed to blink,
rolls of fat almost hiding a layer of over-pumped prison muscle,
the rolls of fat looking like a package of hot dogs on the back
of his neck, and just plain sloppy elsewhere. He was dressed in
an untucked flannel shirt, which hung down over a pair of nicely
pressed tan chinos, the collar of the shirt open low to show off
the obligatory "bling" - several thick gold chains. And tattoos.
Lots of tattoos.

Kris entered the apartment with trepidation, and was pleasantly
surprised to see that the interior was neat, and the furnishings,
although definitely cheap low-end thrift store stuff, were in
good shape and looked clean. The door slammed shut just behind
her, and the big gangbanger grabbed the duffel.

"Sit down. You ain't goin' nowhere until I make sure everything
is here."

Kris went ahead and sat down nervously on an overstuffed chair
next to the couch, and waited, watching the Mexican go through
the bag. He made no effort to hide anything, going through it all
slowly and methodically, very much taking inventory. She got a
better look at what the biker had stuffed inside. Guns. Many
guns, pistols to be more precise. Drugs. Several big plastic bags
of white powder. Two more vatos, enough like the first one that
Kris had to believe they were brothers, or at least cousins, came
out from what was probably a bedroom.

"Alright! The stuff finally got here!" enthused one of them, a
little shorter than the first, with a fucked-up looking ring
through his left eyebrow. The second man was a skinny version of
his partner, and said nothing, just stood there, arms crossed,
looking mean.

"Yes, yes, and it is all here. We can party! You like to party,
little girl?" the first vato said, looking directly at Kris with
a leer.

"Uh," stammered Kris. "I think I need to be going, lots of
errands to do, you know?"

"No, I don't know, but I can imagine. I haven't seen you before.
You a narc? You smell like bacon to me, bitch!" His face
instantly shifted from the knowing leer to a hard, scary stare.
"I think maybe you better stay here, and party a little, just ton
convince me you ain't some kind of fuzz. Come over and sit with
me, get friendly! You aren't going to be a problem, are you?" The
tone of his voice, and that penetrating prison yard stare, were
almost an assault in themselves. Kris didn't even think about her
choices, she had none. She got up, trembling, and sat next to the
big guy on the couch, eyes downcast.

"Hey, hey, kitten! No need to freak!" His voice now much more
jovial, the edge gone as quickly as it had appeared. "I won't
bite. I promise!" he laughed. "We're just a bunch of good time
boys, we like to have fun. Hey, pendejo, go put this shit away,
and bring out some supplies!"

The skinny one collected up the guns and drugs in the bag, and
took them into the back room. The shorter cousin, or brother, sat
down on the other side of Kris, putting her smack in the middle
of the two of them. He patted her knee, and let his hand slide
slowly down her thigh before he removed it, took out a pack of
cigarettes from the pocket of his flannel, and offered the pack
to the big man and Kris. The big vato took one, and Kris
hesitated for a second before taking one herself. She hadn't
smoked in years, giving them up just shortly after she had parted
ways with Brad. /Fuck it,/ she thought, /I could use something to
steady my nerves! How the hell am I going to get out of here?/

"That's better!" said the big man, "Just chillin' and getting to
know one another." He took out a gold plated Zippo, lit his
cigarette, and then lit Kris's with a flourish, snapping the
lighter shut afterward with an exaggerated flick of his wrist.
"My name is Chema, and my little cousin here is Rigoberto. What
is yours?"

"Kris. My name is Kris." The cigarette smoke was harsh and
bitter, but helped to calm her nerves some, so she wasn't
stuttering and stammering any more.

"That is a lovely name, Kris, for a lovely woman." Now Chema put
a hand on her knee, patting it first, then leaving its heavy
weight instead of pulling away, like Rigoberto had. /At least
he's not after my inner thighs, like the other one./ Kris
thought. The skinny Mexican now came out of the back room
carrying a bottle of tequila and a framed portrait-sized mirror
with a pile of powder and a razor blade on it. "Ah, the supplies!
Pedro, meet Kris. Kris, Pedro."

Pedro still said nothing, merely nodded acknowledgment of the
introduction, and set the bottle and mirror on the coffee table
in front of Chema. He sat down in the over-stuffed chair Kris had
been in, until "invited" to sit on the couch. Chema grabbed the
razor blade, and began quickly and expertly chopping up the lumpy
stuff on the mirror into a fine powder, and formed it into long,
thin lines. He pulled out a hundred dollar bill, rolled it into a
tube, and offered it to Kris.

"No, thank you." Kris said softly and politely, declining to take
the rolled up bill. "I don't do drugs." That wasn't exactly true.
It had been years, but she was no stranger to a bump of coke, and
had smoked enough weed to qualify as an honorary Rastafarian.

"I didn't ask. I'm telling. You better blow a little of this up
that perky nose of yours, or I'm going to think my original
instincts about you being a pig was right on the money. Take it!"
That scary edge was back, along with the stare, and he thrust the
bill at her, the motion demanding she take it. She did. She
hesitated for a moment. /Oh, fuck it! I'll never get away from
these creeps if I don't.../ She flipped her hair back out of the
way, put the bill to her nostril, bent down to the mirror, and
snorted up half of the smallest line laid out on the mirror.

"Fuck!" she yelled, jerking her head back, as an intense burn hit
her. Her nostril felt like she had just snorted Tabasco sauce!
"What the fuck is that? It ain't coke!"

Chema was laughing his ass off. He paused between chuckles, and
said "Don't do drugs, huh? You did that like you knew what you
were doing, pretty lady! I thought so. How do you know what coke
is like, eh? No, that isn't cocaine, darlin'. You are snorting
some of the cleanest crank you'll ever find in this shithole of a
city. Speed. Good shit!" Chema grinned, beckoning her to the
lines again. "Do a little more, baby, its good for you!" he
laughed a full belly laugh.

Kris felt obliged to snort the rest of the line, and it burned
just as badly as the first hit had. She could feel the drugs
pumping through her system, her heart beating rapidly now, taking
the chemicals straight to her brain. She handed Chema the bill,
and watched as he snorted up two of the lines, passed the bill
off to Rigoberto, who also did two of the lines. Pedro seemed
content to sip at the tequila bottle, not bothering to use a
glass.

Everyone got real talkative, and like most speed chatter, it was
mindless and without meaning, going on and on about nothing at
all. The two vatos sandwiching her in would occasionally pause to
do another bump, and offer one to Kris, who again politely
declined, and was allowed to now. The whole time they chattered
the two of them kept patting her knees, and more and more openly
caressing her thighs. They did so casually, and never wandered up
past the hem of her shorts, but they were pretty blatant about
it. They made no other overt moves on her, though, they just kept
caressing her silky thighs every chance they could. Heart
pounding, not only from the drugs, Kris kept expecting their
moves to get more sexual. She was almost certain they were going
to rape her, or at least try to seduce her. Pedro's silent form,
carefully watching his two compadres playing with her, and
looking her whole body over in a knowing way, did nothing to ease
her nerves.

Suddenly Chema practically jumped up, and loudly exclaimed "OK,
mamacita. We've got work to do, so party time is over. Shake your
ass on out of here, get back to doing whatever you should be
doing. I'm sure someone is waiting for a sexy thing like you!" He
hauled Kris up off the couch like she was a rag doll, gave her a
push towards the door, and slapped her ass with a loud smack.
"Move that sweet ass, toots! We don't have all day."

Kris was startled, but quickly took advantage of the opportunity
being presented to get away from these lowlifes. She opened the
door, and practically ran to her car. She was shaking and
sweating as she pulled out away from the curve, and pointed the
Subaru back towards the Blue Duck, and safety.

*************

Ring.

"Brad speaking."

"Hey, Brad. It's Chema. Just wanted to let you know your quail is
on her way."

"Did you do like I asked?"

"You know it. We let her get a good look at the stuff in the bag,
and we gave her the "drugs" just like you asked. She was really
freaked, but she went with the program."

"You didn't give her any real drugs, right?"

"You know me better than that, dude! I don't screw around with
that shit no more! We did it just like you said, some vitamin B6,
B12, and a little No-Doz for the caffeine and the burn, all
crushed up. Worked like a charm, I almost thought I was doing
speed myself, and I knew better!"

Brad laughed.

Chema continued, "I thought she might recognize me at first,
since I've done all those TV commercials pimping donations for
the gang banger rehab project. She didn't have a clue, though. I
felt kinda bad, putting her on like that, and I wouldn't have
gone through with it if I didn't owe you one. Speaking of which,
we are evens-stevens now, and you'd better kick down with a
little donation to the rehab fund, or I might just blow up your
shit by letting her in on the gag, my friend!"

"No need to worry, Chema! You did me a solid, and all debts are
paid in full. I will give what I can to your charitable cause,
too. Thank you for the heads up, I'll be talking to you."

Click.

*************

/That was fucking scary! Why am I so excited, though? Is it the
drugs? No, I feel more alive than I have in years, and it isn't
because I'm high.../ Kris quickly shoved these thoughts to the
back of her mind, feeling they had something to reveal, something
scary. She didn't want to know what, certain she'd be better off
not knowing, but the thoughts were still there in the background,
tickling and itchy. /I don't want to think about it, leave my
head alone!/

She put her foot down and drove faster, hurrying back to Brad,
and the comfortable, familiar things in her life.

*************

She pulled into the parking lot of the motel, screeching the
tires a little. She managed to get the Subaru mostly between the
lines of a parking space, and jumped out of the car, almost
faster than the engine shut down. She practically sprinted to
Brad's room, and banged on the door in a tizzy. Brad opened the
door, and she almost knocked him over as she grabbed him and
clung tight.

"Kris! What's the matter? Calm down, honey! Calm down. I'm here,
I'm here..."

She was crying, big racking sobs heaving her body, and she wasn't
really sure why. Brad pulled coaxed her inside, then just stood
there, letting her cry. Her heaving breasts felt great pressed
against him, and he was very aware of the rest of her body, too.
/Down, boy, down! Don't press it now, you'll fuck up a good
thing. You know you could have her, it'd be as easy as falling on
the bed, but you've got bigger plans. Don't fuck it up now by
thinking with your dick, there will be plenty of time for that
soon./ His dick wasn't listening, it was hard and throbbing, and
it wasn't going to go away any time soon. He did maintain control
of himself, though, and only held Kris as a comforting friend.

He felt her response when she had calmed down a little, a
surprised flinch when she noticed his hard cock was pressed
tightly against her. She played it cool, and pulled away without
making it obvious, but he knew she had felt it.

/Damn, I'd forgotten what a cock he's got on him!/ She almost
giggled at that thought, but let it slide away. Much calmer now,
she sat on the bed, and told Brad about everything that had
happened.

After her story, she looked into Brad's eyes and said "Then I got
the fuck out of there! I really thought I might get raped, Brad!
They looked so mean, and the things they were saying..." she
shuddered. It was all Brad could do to keep a straight face. /If
she only knew she'd been "doing drugs" with a born again minister
who did outreach to get young men out of the gangs.../ he
thought.

Keeping his thoughts to himself, he spoke quietly and tried to
reassure her. "Kris, they wouldn't have done that. They don't
want any trouble with the cops, and they know a rape would be
serious jail time, unlike the drug shit. If you get put away for
drugs, you are out quick because of the overcrowding, but if you
are in for violence, especially the rape of a white woman, you do
hard time. Hard time is bad for business! You were safe, they
just liked fucking with your head."

"Well, they fucked with it good. Brad, tell me were done with
this shit. Please."

"Baby, I'm sorry, but I've got one more day of errands you need
to run for me. Then we are done, I promise. Now why don't you go
home, and get some rest, you look like you could really use it.
I'm sorry you were scared, but you don't need to be. Stay away
from the cops, and everything will be cool."

At the mention of the cops, Kris flashed back to being on her
knees, sucking that black cops huge cock, and swallowing his cum.
It gave her a warm tingle to think about it. /God, I'm still a
slut at heart. I always did like my sex dirty and forbidden. Why
isn't Brad going for it? He should have jumped all over me while
I was vulnerable. Have I lost it? Or does he really need me
tomorrow, and is scared he'll run me off? That's gotta be it, all
those gangstas and bikers sure liked what they saw! Good thing
he's being a gentleman, cause I would have fucked him in a
heartbeat, all this excitement has really got me horny. I seem to
like it, maybe a little too much?/

She shuddered a little, and quickly pushed those thoughts away.
They were the scary ones, rearing up again. She knew she was
going to have to deal with them, probably sooner than later, but
she also instinctively knew that dealing with them was going to
mean trouble. She'd better just finish up the favors to Brad, get
him out of her life, and then she could take stock in a calm,
reasonable manner. Calm. Reasonable. Those words seemed distant
and foreign. She shook it off.

"OK, Brad. I'm sorry for breaking down on you. I'll be a trooper,
and do what needs to be done tomorrow. Then we are done. That
will be it. I'm married now, and I have a life to protect."

"Yes, baby, yes. It will all be over, and I'll be on my way. No
more favors, no more worries, you'll still have your life."
/Sure. You'll be wanting what will happen to happen. I know you,
Kris. You are still obvious to me, and still a secret slut, or
you would have run away from all this, screaming. This is going
to be fun!/

Kris went home, driving the Subaru at a much more reasonable
speed. She had a few drinks, and avoided thinking about the day
as much as she could, especially those troubling thoughts that
seemed to be peeking out of the back of her head more and more.
She couldn't help thinking about Brad's hard cock pressing
against her, and that leering Mexican gangster, and what he might
have done to her, though, and she masturbated furiously just
before passing out, coming twice. Once for Brad, and once for the
Mexican. She harbored a little guilt about it, but it was easier
than addressing her deep, dark demons. It felt better, too.

       DV

http://deltavenus.bestdamnpornblogs.com/