WARNING:
This story is fiction and should be treated as such.
The following story contains descriptions of explicit sex.
If you are not an adult or reading descriptions sex stories upset
you, do not read any further.
I am not the author. I don't have the talent.
I can only be the "TheEditor."
Naked and Helpless
Chapter 1
The spring sunshine was bright and the flirtatious west wind
brought a whiff of salt air to her nostrils as Jill Conklin
stepped out the door of the garrish pink stucco house on Bay
Street and headed down the hill towards Aquatic Park, a battered
wooden paint box and large sketch pad under one arm, a webbed
folding chair and wooden stool under the other one. She felt an
exuberance bubbling through her young body and a curious sense of
anticipation, as though something were about to happen. She had
felt it since she first awoke in the musty, rose wallpapered room
she rented in the eccentric widow's home. Josephine was a
"character," a non-stop talker who was into metaphysical digests
and painting rocks for her baroque garden, but the rent was dirt
cheap -- fifty bucks a month -- and Jill had kitchen privileges.
Fortunately, Josephine retired to her own bedroom at 7:00 each
night with a vintage Zenith black and white television set, so the
young girl was spared hours of occult monologues -- no one ever
conversed with Josephine; one listened and nodded one's head.
Still, it was somewhat depressing being in the house, whose
furnishings were redolent with time. The grand piano was sadly
out of tune; the brocade divan was never sat upon. Josephine
lived in the kitchen, where the gas stove provided the only heat
in the house. For one so old, she apparently had good
circulation. Jill nearly froze to death, and had to wear warm
socks and flannel nightgowns to bed. At times, her fingers got so
cold she could barely sketch, until she found a cheap old electric
heater for $4.00 at a garage sale and ecstatically lugged it home.
Josephine seemed almost hurt!
Now, as she walked purposefully past Ghirardelli Square, she
felt relieved to be away from her often lonely and tomblike digs.
The sun caressed her young scrubbed face, her glossy long brunette
waves and the alluring curves of her nubile eighteen year old
body. She couldn't fail to notice the admiring looks she drew
from both men and women, as she strode proudly down the hill, her
pert, braless breasts jostling provocatively under a saffron
yellow tank top, and the ripe mounds of her buttocks swaying
deliciously in the skin-tight, paint-spattered jeans.
There were street musicians, magicians, tourists, peddlers of
every sort and couples walking hand in hand. They all paid
tribute to her with their eyes, and some spoke to her with
comments and suggestions -- both clean and dirty. She had grown
accustomed to this sort of attention, and fielded both looks and
remarks with aplomb. It was great for the ego and yet, she knew
how lonely she really was being a young girl away from home, away
from Chris and very much alone in San Francisco. The couples who
sat sprawled on the sloping green of the park gave her a pang of
remorse, as she remembered Chris ... and those wickedly exquisite
nights in her bedroom in Kansas City ...
* * *
Jill's heart fluttered with anticipation as she lay in bed
watching the shadows cast by the moonlight on the leaves of the
big old oak tree outside her window. He would be appearing soon,
climbing over the fence and up the tree like a cat, the muscles in
his lean hard frame rippling as he shimmied up the branches.
Chris played soccer, he was on the varsity team at college, and he
was also a champion diver -- and his body mirrored his athletic
prowess. He was also a champion muff diver, as Jill had
discovered several months ago when she had let him eat her pussy
for the first time. Now she looked forward again to what had
become almost a nightly ritual with them.
Chris was her first real boyfriend, and certainly the one guy
she had let get into her panties -- though she wouldn't "go all
the way" -- no, she just couldn't do that, not yet. She felt
guilty, actually, letting him satisfy her without giving him what
he wanted -- though she finally had played with his penis, and
even sucked on it a little bit. But she never made him cum.
Well, he knew the rules, after all, and he really loved to eat her
... it wasn't her fault if he was willing to put up with the one-
sided arrangement. Besides, Chris was in love with her, she knew
that, and he figured they would get it on sooner or later ...
Jill sucked in her breath as she heard a slight rustle
outside. She lay perfectly still. Moments later, a large shadow
appeared before the window, and then two hands raised the sash
almost noiselessly.
Chris climbed into the room and tiptoed over to the bed, as
quiet as an Indian. He was barefoot, as usual -- he hated wearing
shoes, and his broad muscular chest was bare above dirty Levi's.
"Hello, Beautiful," he said, sitting down quickly on the bed
and planting his full, sensuous mouth on hers. He kissed her
deeply, thrusting his hot tongue into her willing mouth and laving
her oral cavity for all he was worth. Jill put her bare arms
around his neck and drew him close to her. Her pussy was already
tingling with anticipation and her young nipples began to harden
under her sheer cotton nightie as they were crushed under the
hardness of his bare chest muscles.
Jill's long wavy hair was spread against the soft white
pillow as her brawny boyfriend began to move one of his large
strong hands up her side and between their bodies, seeking one of
her ripe nipples. He continued to French her mouth as he raised
up slightly on the other elbow so that his hand could have greater
access to her upthrust mound, and he kneaded the pliant flesh
between his fingers and churned it round and round, causing the
teenage brunette to become even more excited. A feeble mewl from
her throat goaded him on, and soon he was fumbling with the flimsy
string ties down the front of her gown, exposing more and more of
her warm, naked flesh.
Finally, he reared back and straddled her helpless form,
sitting on his knees, and parted the nightie completely, leaving
Jill totally nude except for the matching bikini panties. Then he
bent down to her chest, taking one yearning breast in his mouth
and sucking it so hard that she gave a little gasp of pain. He
eased up a little then, sucking it more tenderly, and nibbling the
erect nipple between his teeth. He turned his attention then to
the other breast and repeated his lusting ministrations, causing
Jill to go out of her mind with desire. She wanted it so badly!
As Chris caressed her firm young breasts, cupping each mound in
his hands to suck greedily at the tiny throbbing pink nipples,
drawing them one at a time into his mouth so that he could flick
his tongue around them, she felt she could almost cum right then!
She moaned with ecstasy, feeling her want building up again
in her belly and her pulsing vagina juicy with expectation. She
couldn't wait for his tongue. "Finger me, Chris!" she begged,
goosebumps forming over her flesh as his eagerly working mouth
gently nibbled across her breasts and then up and down along the
heated cleavage. She was quivering uncontrollably from the
flicking sensual arousal and her voice was thick with excitement.
She felt his big hand slide down her belly and grip the thin
cotton panties, sliding them down gingerly over her smooth, sleep
thighs and calves. She kicked them off and lay spread eagled,
ready for his digital assault. The handsome, brooding youth
continued to use his pleasure-giving mouth around her throbbing
breasts as he placed his hand on her furry pubic mound and parted
the puffy cunt lips with his thumb and middle finger. The
breathless girl flinched as the cool night air came in contact
with the super-sensitized furrow, now oozing with the secretions
of sexual excitement. His hands splayed open the tender lips of
her vagina even wider to slip a finger up into the soft slit
around her clitoris, the way his tongue was opening the lips of
her mouth to find her tongue again. Immediately, the passionate
brunette established a grinding movement with her hips, reveling
in the wicked sensations his lewd fingering was bringing her.
God, she was excited!
Chris' finger slid up and down on the slippery cuntal furrow,
massaging every centimeter of her secret passage. She couldn't
help herself -- she was beginning to cum already!
"Ohhhh ... aaahhhhhh!" the young girl cried out as the first
wave of orgasm coursed through her naked body. She bucked and
spasmed and gasped aloud as the indescribable surges electrified
every nerve end and she rocketed with ecstasy.
Chris thrust his finger deep inside her vagina and continued
his maddening assault as the young brunette came and came. Then
his tongue was snaking down her body, lingering in her navel, then
moving relentlessly into her dark pubic thatch. He sucked on her
pubic curls, bringing pleasurable sounds from his girlfriend's
sensuously opened mouth. She was anticipating his next move, the
thought of it quickening her heartbeat and bringing a hotter flush
of pink to her rosy cheeks.
"Oh YES, Chris, lick it! Lick it!" she cried out
shamelessly, almost wild with craven lust.
He did. He licked and sucked and Frenched her pussy until
she came again and again. His knowing tongue circled around
maddeningly up inside her, flicking lustily against the wet
sensitive walls of her cuntal passage. In response to the
salacious titillation, she wrapped her long legs around his waist
and pulled him closer to her, twining her fingers in his longish
light brown hair and thrusting her pelvis harder into his face.
Chris reacted immediately to her excited want, licking up
from the entrance of her vagina to her clitoris and back down
again with long strokes of his tongue, feeling her legs tighten
and relax, tighten and relax around his waist to help him in his
lascivious labors. He finally pushed her legs up high so that her
knees brushed her breasts, allowing him to bury his tongue deeper
into her hotly pulsating little cunt.
When she had cum three times more, her little pussy was so
over-sensitized that she pushed his head away and begged him to
stop. She almost passed out from the sensations and lay on the
bed, sweating profusely and gasping for air. Her eyes were closed
and her whole body trembled. The hot-blooded youth moved up her
body and kissed her passionately on the mouth, giving her a taste
of her own cuntal juices mixed with his saliva. She responded
weakly. In the next moment, she heard the recognizable sound of a
zipper descending its track and felt Chris squirm against her body
as he struggled to free his heavily throbbing cock from the tight
Levi's.
Jill felt a little stab of anxiety. He had promised not to
try and fuck her -- he knew she wouldn't do that! Still, he
wanted something in return, and she would have to feel his cock at
least ...
But her alarm grew as she felt the rough denim scrape down
her body, along her silky legs, and she came into greater contact
with an expanse of male flesh. Then she felt his rigid bare cock
pressed demandingly into her loins and her eyes opened wide in
fear.
"Chris -- what are you doing? You ... you know we can't go
all the way. You promised not to try ..." she stammered.
"Please, Jill -- just this once!" he begged her. "I've
waited so long. I've got to tonight!"
"NO! I can't! Not till after we're married! Then I'll do
anything you want. But not now!"
"Then suck me off at least -- please, Jill!" he begged, and
he scooted up her body, placing a knee on either side of her head.
He placed both his hands under her pillow and raised her head so
that her lips were only inches from his huge, glistening cock.
"Suck it, honey. SUCK IT!"
His beautiful girlfriend meekly opened her mouth; she wanted
to place her lips around that temptingly throbbing organ, but she
was afraid that Chris might actually cum in her mouth -- then she
would have set a precedent, and would have to suck him off all the
time. And once she had sucked him off, what would prevent him
from trying that much harder to get her to fuck? He was strong as
a bull, and had a temper like one -- he was, in fact, a triple
Taurus, and fit all the astrological cliches of that earth sign.
He could rape her so easily if he wanted to, she knew that, and it
was only his regard for her and his naivete which kept him
slavishly satisfying her without getting full satisfaction from
her in return. In one way, she secretly despised him for his
long-suffering patience -- why did he put up with that? But she
was very careful to play him just right, to twist him around her
little finger with just enough fooling around to keep him hopeful
and interested.
"Kiss it ... just kiss it, for God's sakes!" Chris implored
again. He thrust his pelvis forward until the wet tip of his cock
was grazing for her soft lips. Obediently, she placed a
noncommittal kiss on the throbbing head of his prick. Then
another, a little further down on the veiny undershaft. His balls
were cradled against her throat, and the sparse hairs tickled her
skin.
"Open your mouth; take it in your mouth!" he called hoarsely
to her.
"I ... I'm not comfortable this way," she lied. Actually,
she had visions of his spewing his hot cum down her throat and
strangling her with the hot liquid. Besides, she somehow wouldn't
be a virgin any more, once she had sucked him off -- that was
mouth fucking, wasn't it?
"Couldn't I use my hand?" she asked, hoping to placate him.
"A hand is no substitute, dammit! Why can't you suck me,
Jill? I can't stand it any longer. How much longer am I supposed
to wait? You don't want to do a fucking thing for me!"
"Sure I do, Chris, and I have done some things ... it's just
that ... well ..."
"Well what! Yeah, I know all about your precious virginity
and why you say you have to wait -- at least, why you tell me you
have to wait! But you know you want it as much as I do. It's
just not fair, dammit!"
Yes, she thought to herself, I want it as much as you do.
One day I will suck this awesome thing. And I'll let you shove it
deep inside me and fuck me and fuck me and fuck me. Oh God, I do
want it so much -- but not yet!
"Please, honey ... do something! You're driving me out of my
gourd! Let me fuck you!" he gasped frantically.
In one catlike movement he was lying atop her, trying to
force her now tightly clenched thighs apart, his hard prick
pressing demandingly into her naked loins. He forced his mouth
onto hers again and burrowed his tongue deep inside, kissing her
passionately, urgently as he writhed around on her naked flanks.
An idea formed in her head that it would be wonderful to feel his
untamed, pleasure-bearing penis inside her desire-inflamed cunt,
and she wriggled her buttocks in response to her thought. But a
red light flashed in her brain, followed by the word NEVER!!!, and
she quickly thrust her hand down between their bodies and grabbed
his cock just below the head. It felt bigger than ever. Surely
it would kill her, would split her vagina wide apart and tear her
very womb if he were to ram that weapon up into her tight unused
pussy! Yet the obscene feel of its pulsing hardness gave her a
thrilling sense of sensual happiness, its throbbing presence
comforting to her hand in some strange way, and she kissed him
back more passionately. She commenced stroking and massaging the
hot member, rubbing the soft skin back and forth to Chris' excited
moans. She thrilled at the slippery ridge below the blood-filled
head, the tender flesh beneath, and further down the turgid shaft
of the blood-engorged tool. She reached even further down, to the
plump twin sacs of his balls with their minute ridges and sparse
growth of wiry hair.
"Oh ... oh, God, Jill, I want you! I've got to have you
tonight!" he cried out to her.
"No, No, Chris, don't you see? It would ruin everything for
us. If we did it now, I don't think I could bear to go to San
Francisco -- and you know how much I need to succeed in my art
career. Would you want to have a frustrated, unhappy chick on
your hands; one who was bitter about missed opportunities in life?
I know you wouldn't. Anyway, you'd despise me afterwards for
being so weak, so dominated. You might not even want me then, and
where would I be?"
"That's crazy! I love you, Jill. I don't know how I'm going
to live without you for nine months. That's all the more reason
for making love now -- we're going to be away from each other for
so long!"
She felt herself beginning to weaken as her body kept telling
her that she must let him fuck her while her brain continued to
shout, "NO WAY!" How she yearned to have that cock shoved far up
into her cunt! The tip of his cock was taunting the erect bud of
her clitoris, sending wild sensations racing through her with each
stroke of the slippery head. She knew she had to give him some
relief, otherwise, she might lose him forever.
"I'll be back before you know it. Then we'll get married and
make love all the time, if you want to. But for tonight, Chris
..."
He cut in rudely. "For tonight, nothing, right?" he spat out
in disgust.
"No, I said I'd use my hand," she answered with bewilderment.
"Forget it, baby. I'm fucking you tonight whether you like
it or not!" he hissed at her, and he used his powerful hand to
shove her legs apart.
Panic-stricken, the young brunette started to pound her fist
against his muscular back. "No! Stop it, Chris!" N000000!" she
shrieked, gripping his burgeoning penis even tighter in her hand.
He was suddenly like an enraged bull with one purpose: to get his
cockhead into the mouth of the elusive passage denied him by those
adamantly locked thighs. Her cunt lips were yielding under the
force of his thrusting pressure and in desperation, she reached up
and grabbed his hair in her hand and yanked as hard as she could.
He reared back his head in pain and let out a cry. A split second
later, she felt a jet of hot sticky liquid spew out of his
exploding cockhead into her belly. Chris was cumming! That had
to be it! She had actually made him cum! She felt both surprised
and proud, but not for long. As she looked up into his face, she
saw a look of hate in his soulful brown eyes that she had never
expected to see. He was panting heavily, but his lips curled into
a sneer. He reached down to kiss her and before she realized what
was happening, he drew her lower lips into his mouth and bit down
so hard it brought blood. She let out a muffled scream -- Wendy
was sleeping in the next room and her parent's bedroom was across
the hall.
Chris drew back, a triumphant yet wounded look on his face
mixed with deep anger and indignation. "Something to remember me
by, lady. Hope you and your goddamned prick-teasing virginity
have a wonderful time in San Francisco!"
In her rage and humiliation she lashed out at him
unthinkingly. "Get out, you crude bastard! I never want to see
you again! You're like all men. All you're interested in is
what's between a woman's legs. All you want is a fast fuck! I
hate you! GET OUT!"
He gave her one last, searing look. Then he was up and
zipped into his Levi's and out of the bedroom window in one fluid
maneuver, without another word, leaving a tearful and confused
young Jill with a painfully bleeding lip and a broken heart. She
regretted her words as soon as they were out. But it was too
late. She never saw Chris again before she left a few days later
for San Francisco. It was a bad omen.
Chapter 2
Jill tried to turn her mind away from Chris and Kansas City
as she headed towards The Cannery. She reviewed her life in San
Francisco as a fine arts student at the Art Institute. She had
been naive back in Kansas City. Sure, she had talent, more than
anyone in her class at high school. But in San Francisco, where
so many aspiring artists come to study and paint, she was just one
of many talented young people, and certainly not the best, she had
to admit to herself. Some of her classmates were intimidatingly
gifted, others, appallingly ordinary. There was a lot of hanky
panky going on, too. And she found that the females who put out
for their instructors got the best grades and the most
"assistance." Well, she was not going to get ahead that way!
At first, she had stayed at a student residence club, but she
got hassled there, too -- not only by the manager, but by several
other residents ... both guys and girls! So, she answered an ad
posted on a laundromat bulletin board and wound up with Josephine.
The old lady was slightly balmy, but at least, she was safe! It
was all far from the fantasy she had had back in Kansas City, and
far from the glamorous life she glowingly portrayed to Wendy and
her parents. But she had too much pride to admit the truth to
them, and she especially didn't want Chris to know how lonely she
was. At times she chided herself for the folly of her determined
flight to San Francisco, trying to play the liberated "woman" when
she was really a vine-covered-cottage and picket-fence girl at
heart. You've come a long way, baby! she thought ruefully, then
added, Yeah -- and you've still got a long way to go! But there
was Art, and her career, and this was San Francisco --
"Everybody's favorite city" -- and she was determined not to go
back to Kansas City with her tail between her legs ... or anybody
else's! She had persisted in her fantasy that she was going to be
discovered, and this felt somehow like the day it would happen.
This was not going to be another of those days where she would
make a few bucks doing quick portraits, as she had taken to doing
in the last several weeks, then pack up her supplied and trudge
back to Josephine's with no more prospects than the lewd
propositions she got from wise-cracking teenagers and dirty old
men.
Jill found a sunny spot facing the fish stands across the
street and set up her chair and stool outside one of the arcade
entrances to The Cannery, where the tenants paid very fancy rents
for their plush and attractive shops. Jill and the other street
artists, musicians and vendors capitalized on the advertising
those tenants footed the bill for to bring thousands of tourists
to their doors. Some of those tourists were art dealers, people
who were always on the lookout for fresh talent.
Jill laid out her portraits and some of her smaller acrylics.
She tacked a discreet sign to a nearby tree which read: 5-Minute
Color Portrait - $2.00 ... and waited for her first customer.
A middle aged couple sauntered by, he wearing a double knit
cranberry jacket and plaid pants, she with a knit pantsuit and
flat-heeled, patent leather loafers. She was carrying an
oversized fake leather tote bag -- they reeked of "tourist."
The man, who was smoking a foul-smelling cigar, grinned
sheepishly at Jill, the corners of his eyes furrowing into a
thousand wrinkles. She smiled back shyly. The wife gave Jill a
cautious sniff and started to move on.
"Merle, wait a minute. Let's have the little lady do your
picture," he said, winking at Jill.
"Now what in the world would I want with my picture?" she
stated rather than asked. "Nobody's given me any beauty prizes
lately."
"Well they're even less likely to next year," he persisted.
"'Sides, I'd kinda like to see what the little lady does for an
old bat like you in just five minutes," he grinned. Jill gave him
a hip smile, knowing that the wife must have heard these good-
natured jibes for years.
"Well I wouldn't. You know I wouldn't like it anyway. If
you're so int'rested, why don't you get that ugly mug of yours
preserved for posterity -- if she can stand to look at you for
five minutes!"
The wife meandered on. The man hesitated on the brink of
indecision. Jill made a gallant gesture towards the chair,
motioning the man to sit down. "My pleasure, sir!" she said,
flashing him an irresistible smile.
"You got yourself a deal, little lady," the portly man said,
seating himself in the chair. He started to remove the cigar from
his mouth. "No, please ... leave it there. It suits you," Jill
encouraged.
She worked quickly as she sat on the stool, a large clipboard
propped on her thighs. She carefully selected colors from her
extensive assortment of oil pastels. She liked working in this
medium actually; Craypas had the depth and durability of crayons
with the translucence of pastels, and without the mess that
ordinary chalk pastels created. She studied the man's face for
several seconds. To her credit, Jill did have an unerring eye and
the ability to faithfully reproduce the essence of things, and
since studying at the institute, she had evolved from a rather
sophomoric photographic rendering technique to a looser, more
sophisticated one. Her quick sketches had a Matisse-like quality,
and she was able to capture, at times, some facet of personality
in an uncanny way. This ability set her apart from so many of the
other portraitists who lined the sidewalks. Their work seemed to
reproduce people who were stilted effigies of human beings.
A crowd was gathering. She could see people out of the
corner of her eye, and hear some of their hushed comments. She
had grown accustomed to being watched, and she felt a particular
excitement now. She knew her sketch of the tourist in the
cranberry jacket was an exceptionally good one.
The crowd of onlookers was growing now, many of them far more
interested in the beautiful artist than they were in her sketch
pad.
Her subject was enjoying every minute of it. He loved the
attention he was getting from the crowd, and he loved being able
to stare unabashedly at the gorgeous brunette who was caught up in
her rendering of him. Damn, what he wouldn't give for a hot
little piece of ass like that! Hell, she was far and away better
than any of them topless broads he had seen at those clip joints
on the Broadway strip -- and some of them were knockouts. But
this little girl had them beat by a country mile. Damn, it made
his cock twitch just to think about her -- and that wouldn't do it
at all! Not here!
"Don't forget to sign it now. I'm gonna put this in a frame
and hang it in my office," he said jovially as he chewed on his
cigar. Some of the gapers chuckled and Jill smiled warmly as she
put the finishing touches on the portrait with a soft lead pencil.
She took one last, searching look at the man, added a little touch
of color here and there, made a few more lines with her pencil
then scrawled "Conklin - 5/14/76 S.F." on the bottom. She was
very pleased with her efforts. She felt she had truly captured
the man on sketch paper.
"I hope you like it, sir," she said as she handed his
likeness to him. The crowd was almost hushed with anticipation,
and the big man played his scene for all he was worth, studying
the portrait critically from every angle as he chewed on his
cigar. Finally he smiled, and his smile widened to a broad grin.
"Well I'll be darned. That's the best darned picture
anybody's ever done of me! It really is! I paid some jerk $200
last year to paint my portrait, and I had to sit still for what
amounted to almost two weeks, and he didn't do half as good a job
as you did in five minutes, little lady! I surely do want to
thank you," he said, reaching in his pocket and producing a five
dollar bill from a money clip. "Here, you take this," he said,
pressing the fin into her hand.
"But, sir, it's only ..." she started to protest.
"It's only a small portion of what it's worth. I know. Now
if I can find that stubborn wife of mine, I'm gonna drag her back
here and have her pose for you. She's not goin' home without a
picture done by you, Miss ..." he looked at her signature,
"Conklin. What's your first name, Miss Conklin?" he asked,
leering down at her.
"Jill."
"Jill, eh? Well now ain't that a coincidence -- mine's Jack,
Jack Dawson. Here, have one of my cards. Do you have a card,
Jill?"
"No, sir, I'm afraid I don't," she said with embarrassment.
People were listening to the exchange.
"Well you should, Jill. Any artist as good as you needs a
business card. I'll see you later, Jill. I'm going to find that
wife of mine and drag her back here for a picture." And he was
off, cigar smoke billowing in his wake.
A quiet couple with a pigtailed little girl had been standing
patiently to one side. They stepped up to her. "We'd like you to
do Tammy's portrait," the wife said.
"I'd love to do a portrait of Tammy," Jill said sincerely,
smiling down at the freckle faced seven year old. "Children are
really fun, and a challenge. They can't sit still."
The whole day was like that. One customer after another. It
wasn't until the wind came up at three o'clock that Jill realized
she hadn't stopped for lunch. She was suddenly ravenous, and
starting to get chilled. She started to break out in goosebumps
and her nipples were standing out erect beneath her thin T-shirt.
She cursed herself for forgetting to bring her sweater. Three
raucous hardhat types started to give her a bad time. They were
making embarrassing and insulting remarks, and staring at her
proudly upthrust breasts with the very visible and erect nipples.
Suddenly Jill caught sight of Jack Dawson coming towards her.
But the big man in the cranberry knit jacket was not accompanied
by his wife -- there was another man with him, a very
distinguished looking gentleman who was the antithesis of the
cigar smoking tourist. Jack Dawson's companion was a tall,
refined and elegantly handsome Latin with an impeccably tailored
beige silk suit, light blue shirt with French cuffs and navy blue
silk necktie with white polka dots. His whole aura bespoke
breeding and authority, and he had the unmistakable smell of
wealth about him. Jill gave the pair a grateful smile of
recognition. "Why, Mr. Dawson!" she called out. At that the hard
hat boys dispersed muttering epithets under their breaths.
"I brought a friend of mine to have you do his picture.
Couldn't get the missus out of them bo'tiques. She needs a
supermarket cart to put everything in! Jill, this is Mr. Garcia."
"Ernesto Garcia, Miss Conklin," the elegant man offered in a
deep and slightly accented voice. He took her extended hand and
shook it warmly, looking directly into her eyes in such a
penetrating way that Jill had to suppress an involuntary shudder.
"How do you do, Mr. Garcia," she said a little breathlessly.
"I think we are too late, Jack. Miss Conklin is obviously
finished for the day. You look chilly, my dear."
"Well, yes, I am a little cold, actually."
"Here, I'll give the little lady my jacket," said Dawson,
starting to undo the gold buttons on his cranberry knit.
"Please. Miss Conklin should not be imposed upon," Garcia
insisted with an air of quiet authority. His eyes never left her
face, and he smiled ever so slightly as he spoke. "Let us see
Miss Conklin home. Perhaps we can prevail upon her to do my
portrait another time." And he signalled for a taxi with one
commanding gesture. Instantly the Yellow Cab was at the curb
before the flustered Jill could protest that she only lived a few
blocks away.
Jill sat between the two of them, feeling small and
overwhelmed. The suave Latin produced a business card from a
snakeskin case. "Will you be my guest for dinner tonight, Miss
Conklin? Jack and his wife will be joining us also, of course,"
he asked in such a way that made refusing awkward. Then he added,
with a twinkle in his eye, "You see, I have an ulterior motive."
Jill was conscious of the feel of Dawson's thigh pressed
tightly against hers. She looked up uncertainly at Garcia. "An
ulterior motive?" she echoed naively. Garcia handed her his card.
"Now you can't say 'No,' Jill," Dawson put in, leaning more
heavily against her. Mr. Garcia is a pretty important person in
the art world. He just might help a young artist like you a whole
lot."
Jill read the card: Ernesto Garcia, Pres. Galeria Garcia, New
York, Mexico City, Acapulco.
Jill's large hazel eyes widened. Even from her rudimentary
high school Spanish, she knew that "Galeria" meant "Gallery" --
art gallery. This could be the break she'd dreamed of for so
long.
"And be sure to bring samples of your work, Miss Conklin.
I'll have Jack and his wife pick you up in a taxi at 8:00 ... if
that's convenient," Garcia said confidently.
"Y-yes. Eight would be fine, Mr. Garcia," Jill answered
breathlessly. There was something almost hypnotic about the
smooth Latin. She couldn't refuse.
The taxi had stopped in front of Josephine's garrish pink
house. Jill felt a flush of embarrassment in the presence of a
man of obvious wealth as she followed Dawson out of the cab and
collected the things he had thoughtfully carried to the door.
"Thank you, Jack. See you at 8:00," she said cheerily, as she
opened the dark wooden door and stepped inside the musty hallway
of Josephine's "mausoleum."
Chapter 3
The first thing Jill did when she got home was to turn on the
electric heater in her bedroom and change into a warm robe.
Fortunately, Josephine was out in the garden, so the young girl
was spared a boring monologue.
The second thing Jill did was to count the money she had made
that day. Sixty-five dollars! This was her best day ever! She
looked again at the discreet engraved business card Ernesto Garcia
had given to her. A thousand conflicting thoughts were swirling
like dry leaves in her beautiful head. She couldn't understand
why a man like the important gallery owner would be interested in
someone like her, a mere student. It was only then that she
remembered Jack Dawson's business card. She had stuck it in her
pocket without looking at it. She fished it out of her jeans.
So that's it! she said aloud as she read the card: DAWSON
REPRO, INC. Lithography. Printing. Art Service.
The card listed Jack Dawson as President, and there was a Los
Angeles address. One question was answered: the curious
connection between a worldly and polished man like Garcia and the
homespun, almost boorish printer. That had bothered Jill, the
incongruity of that association.
Now another thought hit her: she had nothing decent to wear
tonight. She checked through the few simple dresses in her
closet. Everything seemed so unsophisticated, so terribly "Kansas
City." Certainly, Merle Dawson was no fashion plate -- but her
"career" was homemaking; she didn't need to impress the urbane
Garcia, who definitely was an elegant dresser.
Jill glanced at the money still spread out on the bed. In a
flash she pulled on her jeans and a heavy Irish knit sweater and
went to Ghirardelli Square, to Paraphernalia, where she bought a
very hip and sexy crepe dress and some ultra sheer panty hose with
seams up the back, very 40's and Dorothy Lamour looking. She
found a pair of outrageous red satin sandals with platforms and
five inch heels at another shop and exultantly brought her
purchases home. She had a quick sandwich and a glass of milk
while she waited for the tub to fill, then eased down into the
fragrant honeysuckle-scented bubbles until only her graceful neck
and beautiful head remained above the bubble-frosted water.
The events of the afternoon flooded back to her mind as she
relaxed in the soothing hot tub. She couldn't believe that she
had actually been invited to bring her art samples along this
evening. Maybe this was the break she'd hoped and dreamed about.
At least, she would have an opportunity to have her work evaluated
by the handsome dealer, which would be extremely helpful. Only
fleetingly did it occur to her that Garcia might have an interest
in her apart from her work. Still, that was the sort of thing you
read about in magazines -- small time artist being "discovered."
Just wait till Chris finds out about this!, she thought smugly.
Then she remembered their last night together, and the awful scene
in her bedroom, and she was suddenly filled with sadness and
remorse. Her angry words echoed again in her mind ... Get out,
you crude bastard! ... I never want to see you again! ... You're
like all men ... All you're interested in is what's between a
woman's legs ... All you want is a fast fuck! ... I hate you ...
GET OUT! ...
She closed her eyes against the pain of remembrance. Why, oh
why had she said those things? Chris was the last guy in the
world interested in a fast fuck! He had proved that to her over
and over again. And she still loved him. She thought now that
perhaps she loved him more than ever. But he wouldn't answer any
of her letters, and Wendy was strangely evasive about the handsome
youth, except to write that Chris was starting mechanics school in
the summer.
Maybe she had been too uptight. Maybe Chris was right...
maybe she was a ... a prick teaser. God! The words made her
shudder. She had ruled sex out completely until marriage, and
until she had satisfied her driving ambition to study in San
Francisco and "make it" in the art world on her own ability,
without relying on her face or figure. She had made this vow to
herself while still in high school.
But hadn't she broken it already ... just a little ... by
letting Chris satisfy her in every way except in the way that
would give him any real satisfaction? How could she be so
selfish, and such a hypocrite?
Jill's hangup was her own stunning good looks and a very
strong sex appeal, an appeal she knew about because she had to
admit that she felt sexy -- probably more than most girls. The
twins had attracted more than their share of attention from the
time they were babies, winning photo contests and other such
vanity awards. They were both outstandingly beautiful children,
and the favorites among relatives from both sides of the family.
Everything they wanted was given to them by their doting parents
and relations, and while Wendy remained relatively unaffected by
the adulation, Jill became a spoiled and demanding little girl.
It soon became apparent to her that she got what she wanted
because of her looks and charm. Later she discovered what those
looks meant to men. She was dismayed to realize that they valued
her not for herself, but because she had a fantastic body and a
great face -- the large hazel eyes with a thick fringe of black
lashes, the flawless alabaster skin, the full, pouting lips and
even white teeth, and a dainty, upturned nose, all framed by a
yard of thick, glossy, deeply waved hair that was nearly black,
except for shimmering strands of gold and auburn.
Being a sensualist, she also admired her body, and would
often stand in front of a full length mirror and caress her full,
pert breasts, her trim waist and gently flaring hips, and her long
creamy thighs and calves as well as her trimly taut buttocks.
As she mused on this sexual reminiscence, Jill found her
fingers moving of their own volition, gliding silently in the
soft, warm water of the bath, through the foamy bubbles and down
to her wet cuntal mound. The other hand found its way to her
breast, and began to massage the pointed pink nipples. She parted
the bubbles to watch her hands, then, embarrassed, she closed the
passageway, so that only her two rosy and bubble-tipped nipples
shone above the white spume. This gave her even more of a turn-
on, and her fingers moved into her love-starved slit and began to
massage her clitoris into twitching hardness. She couldn't resist
playing with herself this way; she had done it so many times since
coming to San Francisco. Certainly her fingers were no substitute
for Chris's hungrily, lapping tongue -- God!, how she missed those
nightly sucking sessions! -- but it was the only acceptable way
she could satisfy herself now. Besides, it was natural. OOOHHH,
YESSSSSS! And it felt soooooo good!
She was breathing heavily now, and her eyes had a fixed and
glassy look. The maddening throb in her little sex bud
imperiously demanded that she give vent to her needs.
Involuntarily, a moan escaped the masturbating girl's lips as
she worked faster and harder on her palpitating mound, thinking of
Chris ... of his hot sticky tongue in her cunt, whispering, "Oh,
suck me, Chris ... lick me off, baby ... suuuuuccckk!"
She arched her back as the first wave of the long-awaited
orgasm swept over her.
"Yeeeeeesss, ooohh suuuccck! Ohhh Chriiisss!" the writhing
girl hissed as her fantasy lover gave her the most deliciously
drawn out climax, causing her beautiful face to contort in
uncontrollable passion, her nostrils flaring and her sensual lips
parting to show her glistening white teeth. Several seconds later
she came again. In all, she had two more orgasms before she took
her fingers out of her spent pussy.
Finally, the exquisite explosion faded through the tingling
nerve ends of her cunt and the electric thrills that had exploded
like skyrockets through the flat plane of her belly to her firm
ripe breasts began to subside. As conscious thought came slowly
back to the spent girl, she felt a deep pang of longing for her
boyfriend so many miles away. Why, oh why did I ever leave my
darling Chris?, she chided herself. I was a stupid fool to treat
him the way I did. Then an idea popped into her head like the
proverbial electric light bulb. I'll phone him ... tonight! I'll
phone him and tell him how much I miss him, and love him, and how
sorry I am for being such an ass ...
Chris Sandinger lived alone in a small two-room apartment
above the garage where he worked part-time as an apprentice
mechanic and service station attendant. He got free rent in
exchange for his services. Jim Bandy was quick to see that the
boy was a mechanical genius, and he was only too happy to let him
stay in the rudely constructed dwelling instead of having to pay
the kid, especially since Chris was also remodeling the kitchen
and laying new tile on the bathroom floor!
Chris' parents had money. Old man Sandinger was president of
the family bread bakery, a big concern in the midwest. And it
embarrassed the Sandinger's that their only son had elected to
work with his hands, and in a low-class occupation at that. They
offered to send him to the finest colleges in the East. But Chris
was a maverick. Despite his brilliance, he contrived to flunk
most of his high school courses, until his senior year, when he
made some effort and managed to get on the honor roll.
He used to make money doing chemistry papers for his
classmates, and typing up themes for kids who couldn't hack it.
And at one time he was heavily into drugs. In fact, he could tell
what kind of grass was in a joint, where it came from, and what
season of the year it had been planted. He also used the hard
stuff, except for smack. But, rebel that he was, he one day
decided that he was going to quit weed, and he did. Just like
that. Now he confined his "habit" to cocaine, a very expensive
indulgence. But he knew how to cut it so that he still got what
he wanted out of it. And he dealt to certain friends. That kept
him in pocket money.
When the phone rang at eight O'clock that night, a totally
naked Chris was just sharing some of his coke-cut with a very
alluring and very horny brunette ... Jill's twin sister, Wendy ...
"Hul-lo," he answered in his flat, non-committal way.
"Chris ... this is Jill," came the familiar voice over the
line.
Chris was taken aback. Jill was the last person he expected
to hear from at that moment. He hesitated a few seconds, unsure
whether to hang up the phone right then or give her a piece of his
mind. He felt a stab of emotion in his chest. "Yeah? Well, eh,
howya doin'?" he answered as though he were speaking to a buddy.
"I'm fine, Chris," she answered, the disappointment apparent
in her voice. "How are you? What have you been doing lately?"
"What have I been doing lately?" he brightened, giving a
knowing grin to Wendy. "Why I've been making a lot of love ...
sweet love. You know, fucking ... things like that. Matter of
fact, I was just about to fuck when the phone rang. How about
you? Are you still the Kansas City Cock-Tease?, or have you wised
up?"
There was a short silence, followed by a choked sob. Then
Jill blurted out, "Oh, oh you monster! How could you do this to
me! How could you say such horrible things! I wanted to make up,
to tell you how much I missed you ... a lot of things. But you
had to spoil it! I was right about you all the time, wasn't I?"
"I guess you were, baby. And now, if you'll excuse me, I've
got to take care of this beautiful lady who's been waiting
patiently for me to get off the phone. Isn't nice to keep a lady
waiting, you know ..."
"Anybody who'd let you make love to her couldn't be much of a
lady!"
"Now, that's no way to talk about your sister ...
"Sister! You ... you mean ... Wendy?"
"That's the only sister you got, ain't it? Unless you're
referring to the N.O.W."
"I don't believe you. You're lying!" Jill insisted.
"Oh yeah ... Hold on a minute. Hey, Wendy, want to talk to
Jill?"
When Wendy picked up the phone she got the familiar buzz of a
disconnected circuit. "She hung up," Wendy said dejectedly.
"Don't worry about it, baby. Serves her right. What the
hell did she expect, calling out of the blue after eight frigging
months!" Chris said hotly.
"Chris ... do you still have feelings about ... about Jill?"
Wendy suddenly asked.
"Sure I do -- I hate her guts! I'll never forgive her for
what she did to me," he roared defiantly as he took a long swig
from a bottle of Miller's High Life. But his emotions were
playing two records at once in his head. He had been hurt,
terribly hurt. And it took him a long time to get over it. In
some ways, he still hadn't. He thought about Jill a lot, always
with bitterness, always with regret. He kicked himself verbally
for being such a patsy. He knew that part of his motive for
resuming things with Wendy was to spite her prick-teasing twin.
Actually, Wendy didn't turn him on as much as Jill did. She was
almost as beautiful, but there was a certain "X" quality missing.
And the girls were very different in personality. Wendy was a
thinker, a realist, a compulsive doer. She had been a counselor
at Planned Parenthood since she was 16, and was on the pill. Jill
was a dreamer who lived in a fantasy world. Outwardly, Jill was a
prude. But there was a smoldering sexuality beneath her
conservative facade; Chris just hadn't been able to penetrate it
completely. He knew, though, that she would be one helluva bed
partner once she let go of her goddamned virginity! That's what
really hurt his ego -- knowing how much he had done to make her
happy while some other dude was going to hit the jackpot ...
"Are you sure you're not still in love with her?" Wendy
demanded to know.
"Aw fuck Jill!" he said with disgust.
"No ... fuck me!" Wendy grinned.
"Just what I had in mind!" he said, and he came over to her
and scooped her up in his arms, giving her the most uninhibited
and passionate of kisses. But even as he felt his cock begin to
harden, his analytical mind was engaged in a Socratic
dissertation.
Why should I be faithful to a girl a couple of thousand miles
away ... one who got me so worked up and frustrated I damn near
raped her? Sure, she wrote to apologize, but that didn't cut any
ice. She hurt me like hell, and she deserves to be punished. And
what better way to punish her than to fuck the ass off her twin
sister? Maybe it will wake her dizzy little head up to the fact
that nobody has to wait for wedding bells to play house!
"Now if you want to see the sun, you'd better pull up the
shades!" Chris said, lifting her light dress to get his hands
under the top of her panties and pull them down. He had a curious
way of putting things that was heavily inflected with a black
accent. It was an affectation he'd picked up from dealing dope
with spades, and he almost went to some effort at times to appear
uneducated.
His burgeoning cock was urging him to hurry, and as Wendy
lifted the dress over her head, he bent down to lick the pert
mounds of her ripe breasts. Wendy kicked off her sandals and
lowered her head to watch him lick her tender globes, while his
feverishly working tongue wetly gazed the sensitively rising buds,
sending maddening spasms that lashed her naked body with bullwhips
of desire. Instantly she was fired with a passionate longing, as
she had been so many times before when the handsome grease monkey
had made love to her. She secretly felt that Jill was out of her
mind not to give herself to Chris. But was she grateful! She was
barely coke-drugged, yet she felt slightly faint as a craving
desire tingled through her body from her dark head to her bare
toes.
Oh, what bliss, she realized happily as Chris' head moved
down her bare torso, he's going to lick me down there!
Chris dallied on his way down, kissing around the luscious
brunette's narrow waist, lingering over her navel, sucking wetly
over her smooth belly. Then he raised his head to kiss her again,
pulling on her small, pointed tongue that darted into his mouth,
feeling her anxious desire to be fucked in the way she ground her
belly into his and searched for his hard rod with her pussy mound.
He marvelled at this nymph-like creature with her shapely
body and firmly molded thighs tapering down to slim legs. She was
built very much like Jill, and he realized that fucking Wendy was
almost tantamount to fucking her sister. That gave him a perverse
pleasure, too.
Wendy raised her mouth to place her lips over his nose, then
kissed down his cheek to his neck, all the while tip-toeing up to
grind her soft furry cunt against his throbbing member.
"Eat me!" she begged, pushing his head down and taking a
spread-eagle stance. "Please, Chris. I want it so much!"
Chris needed no further urging. He went down on his knees,
easing her legs even farther apart with his hands as his tongue
parted the dark curls to slip into the top of her pussy groove,
tasting the hotly flowing juices over her raised clitoris. She
moaned weakly, her hands drawing his head tighter to her so that
it was locked into the trembling vee between her legs. It was as
though he had never made love to her before, a new experience.
Wondrous vibrations were passing between them and they both
realized that there was a strong sexual attraction between them
that must be satisfied NOW.
He bent her knees, causing her to sink down onto the shag rug
as his strong hands clasped her firm buttocks, his fingers
pressing into her ass-cheeks so he could feel her puckered little
anus. At the same time, he kept his face buried against her
cuntal crevice, licking the tantalizing bud of her clitoris. This
was what she wanted first, he knew instinctively, even if she
hadn't begged for it.
He moved his head lower to lick up from her anus along the
parted lips of her vaginal passage back up to that hardened
wanting core of oral satisfaction. She was giving herself
completely to this part of their loving, her eyes closed in
concentration to experience the pleasure of every second as he
licked wetly again and again right up her pussy slit, occasionally
darting his tongue maddeningly up into her cunt. She had flung
her legs over his back, locking her feet together and, liking the
feel of his tongue brushing her anus, had raised her undulating
buttocks so he could easily explore there again. The message was
understood. Chris lustily extended his operation to dart his
tongue up against her small puckered anus, but to do so he
unlocked her legs and pushed them up and backward until her knees
pressed into her breasts. He brought his head up again, his
avidly working tongue beginning to concentrate on the narrow pink
crevice now pulsing slightly and so invitingly between her splayed
thighs. Wendy trembled and mewled uncontrollably as he licked
upward over the full length of her openly spread pussy.
"Ooooooohhh! Chris! Ooooooohh! ..." For minutes she had
been on the verge of cumming, the lewd sensations stabbing and
fluttering as they raced deep into the very nerve centers of her
being. The way he stabbed into her anus and licked upward through
the moist crevice of her parted vaginal lips to her clitoris and
her writhing in a wanton frenzy of desire. When at last Chris
drew back his head and then thrust forward hard with his
outstretched tongue, penetrating farther than she would have
believed it would go, her mewling changed to a convulsed gasp and
she shamelessly pushed her cunt hard against his face. While he
licked deep up into her hotly grasping vagina, she felt his finger
enter her tightly clenched little anal hole, giving her an extra
sensation that she found unbelievably satisfying.
Chris was denying himself the raging demands of his cock for
he knew what Wendy really wanted first, and he was determined to
satisfy that twitching hungry cunt of hers with his cleverly
probing tongue. It gave him a tremendous sense of power to be
able to satisfy a woman so well. And he was an unselfish lover,
always giving his partner great pleasure before he attempted to
satisfy himself. From a woman's viewpoint, this made him the
ideal lover. And he was imaginative, too, always trying new
techniques and position experimenting with every facet of
lovemaking.
Intoxicated with a searing lust drive that spread throughout
her entire underbelly, Wendy lost all sense of time. She had no
idea how long Chris's head had been pressed into her furry,
desire-swollen pussy mound. She only knew that he was there, his
mouth and tongue bringing wave after wave of pre-orgasmic spasms
which were building in frequency and strength. The ninth wave was
fast approaching, and she could do nothing to stop it, not even if
she wanted to.
The perversely satisfying tongue licked wildly over and over
into her moistly inflamed cuntal flesh until she involuntarily
squirmed, her whole naked body reacting automatically to the
almost unbearable pleasure.
"Ooooooohhh ... aaaaaahhh ... oooooohhh ..." she moaned,
almost screeching, as he worked more greedily into her hot
tormented vagina, the clutching mouth of her passionately burning
cuntal passage signaling its immediate want. "Make me cum ...
ooohhh can you make me cum ... you're going to do it ... lick
faster ..." she groaned aloud, almost delerious with overpowering
passion, her hands pressing against the back of his head to help
guide his mouth back to her clitoris. That's where she wanted it
now, that hard and continuous licking.
"Ooooh, God! I'm cumming! Now! I ... I'm
cuuuuuummmiiing!" she gasped.
As soon as he felt her stiffen in orgasm, Chris pushed his
body up and guided the blood-swollen head of his pulsating cock to
the open lips of her heated vagina, then slid it hard and deep up
inside her. At the same time, he covered her open mouth with a
full, throaty, lovejuice lubricated kiss, feeling the high passion
of her cumming in the way she sucked and tongued back at him in
the same wanton way as her eager pussy was clamping over his
hungry cock. She broke her face away to mumble gratefully. "Oh
you wonderful lover!" She continued to kiss him for long, long
minutes while he ploughed up into her, her cunt continuing to
convulse in orgasmic spasms all the while.
Wendy's seemingly endless cumming excited Chris beyond
control, abbreviating what he had planned to be a long leisurely
fuck. He tried to lie still, to make it last, but her quivering
cunt and its spasmodically clenching muscles worked at his prick
without his having to move at all. He raised himself on his hands
to look down at her breasts, which were flushed from the pressure
of his chest, and at her firm white belly glistening with sweat.
By drawing in his own belly, he could see the root of his embedded
penis protruding from the widespread lips of her vagina until
Wendy pulled him back down over her heaving breasts.
"Mmmmmmm ..." she mumbled. "So that's what my pussy tastes
like!" she added, licking her lips salaciously. "I want to taste
your love juice, too!" She moaned as if she were reaching another
climax, though it seemed to Chris that she had been in orgasm ever
since he'd sucked her. Jeez ... what a lay she is! he thought to
himself. Thoughts of Jill flashed through his head, along with
images of her beautiful face, her hair, her elegant body. She
couldn't be a better fuck than this! He quickly put her out of
his mind then, concentrating on the naked writhing girl under him
as they sweated together, belly sliding against belly while he
slid his cock back and forth in her cunt. He withdrew slowly
then, almost until his cockhead touched her outer cuntal lips,
then he plunged back into that pulsating hole of moist, warm,
tightly ripping vaginal flesh. His rhythmic fucking kept her at a
constant fever pitch of satisfaction, her juices flowing to
lubricate his impaling cock. Sensations of base lust filled her
sensuously slaving body as she thrust upward onto the ever-
thickening penis that skewered her belly deeper and deeper and
faster and faster. She wanted him to stick his finger in her anus
again; she never dreamed she would let anyone do it, much less
enjoy it. But she really loved the feel of his oscillating digit
in her dark nether orifice.
She reached for his hand and tried awkwardly to direct it
under her flanks. Sensing her desire, her incited lover placed
his hand under her and jabbed at the tautly puckered ring. He had
never done this to any other girl, and it made him swell with
pride to know he could do anything he wanted to with Wendy, who
was giving herself to him so completely. She even wants to suck
me off! he thought with satisfaction. Jill can go to hell!
His finger moistened by her cuntal juices, he slipped it up
into her anus while he gripped her asscheek with his free hand.
Wendy reacted with ungovernable whimpering sounds and rotated her
softly rounded buttocks lewdly while grinding her hot clinging
vagina walls back over the length of his pummeling cock with a
masochistic cry of wanton passion. He had controlled his wild
urge as long as he possibly could ... now, with a long, drawn out
moan, he rammed violently up inside her, his cock firing out his
white-hot semen, filling her already juicily moistened cunt.
Spasm after spasm shook her gyrating body until at last, he
collapsed heavily on top of her, panting heavily.
"Oh Chris, I love you. I love you!" Wendy whispered into his
ear. "I'll never let you go. I want more ... MORE! I want you
to make love to me forever!"
Chapter 4
Jill lay across her bed sobbing her heart out and feeling
very sorry for herself. Chris and Wendy! No wonder her sister
was so evasive about him. No wonder he didn't answer her letters.
She had been betrayed by both of them ... the two people she felt
closest to. And there she was, all by herself in San Francisco!
A knock at the door interrupted her tearful reverie. Then
Josephine cautiously opened the door a crack and peered in, her
face wan and ghoulish in the dim hall light.
"What's the trouble, dear? Are you homesick?" the old lady
asked. Josephine had a psychic sense that unnerved the innocent
Midwesterner.
"Y-yes, that's ... yes, Josephine. I'm a little homesick. I
just talked to my boyfriend," Jill answered wistfully, fresh tears
coming to her lovely eyes.
"Aw, that's too bad. I know how you feel, dear. It's tough
to be away from all your loved ones. Maybe you should just forget
about that school and go home."
"No!" Jill shouted vehemently. Then, softening her tone, "I
mean I couldn't bear to do that now, with only another six weeks
to go. Besides, I'd feel like a real baby," she whined.
"Sure, sure. I understand, dear," the septuagenarian
answered sympathetically. "I'll make you a nice hot cup of tea
... herb tea. It's a special recipe I found in this ancient book
I picked up at the Goodwill. It'll do you a world of good. Then
we can have some supper together, if you don't have nothin' better
to do."
"Oh!" Jill cried, sitting bolt upright.
"Whatsa matter?" Josephine's nonexistent eyebrows arced and
her watery eyes popped open wide.
"I do have something to do, something very important
Josephine." She showed the old lady Garcia's card.
"Read it to me. I don't have my glasses on, dear. "
Jill proceeded to tell the whole story to the wide-eyed
Josephine. "... And he wants me to bring samples of my work
tonight, isn't that terrific?" she asked breathlessly.
"That's wonderful, dear," Josephine said without enthusiasm.
She was studying Jill's face curiously. There was evident
apprehension in her searching look.
The young girl's hopeful smile turned slowly to a look of
dismay. "What is it, Josephine? Aren't you happy for me?"
"Of course I am, Jill. I'm tickled pink. But I want to tell
you something. You be on your P's and Q's with that foreigner.
I've read about young girls being shanghaied into white slavery
with characters like that ..."
Jill couldn't suppress a giggle. She covered her mouth with
her hand. "I'm sorry, Josephine. I apologize for laughing, but
if you'll pardon me for saying so, I think you're a 'character.'
You've been watching too many late movies on the tube, I'm
afraid."
"Maybe so, maybe so. Take it for what it's worth," she
answered with a shrug. "But if I was you, I'd be very, very
careful. Don't mind me buttin' in, willya? I'll go make the
tea." There was an ominous tone of foreboding in her voice that
made Jill shiver.
* * *
In his sumptuous suite at the Fairmont Towers, Ernesto Garcia
was having a quiet but intent conversation with the burly printer,
Jack Dawson. They were examining a lithograph together.
"Genius. Absolute genius, Jack. This is your best device to
date," Garcia enthused. He had carefully peeled back the outer
bond paper on which the Miro painting had been lithographed.
Under that was a sparkling film of evenly distributed white
crystals, which looked much like a thin layer of sugar. The
granules were perfectly adhered to a special plastic film; not one
minute particle could be shaken from the adherent. Yet, when
Dawson passed a small magnetic device resembling an old fashioned
upright vacuum cleaner over the surface, every granule instantly
disappeared into a thin rubber bag, leaving the adherent intact.
The lithograph could then be remounted without any sign that it
had been removed.
The white particles were pure heroin. Using Dawson's process
on a litho approximately 24" X 30", it was possible to adhere ten
ounces of the pure stuff. At market value of $2,280 an ounce,
that was almost $23,000 for each litho. A very profitable
"gimmick," to say the least!
The system was simple. Lithographs are always print and
series numbered. Dawson would select certain numbers and treat
their mountings for dope. The treated mountings were then shipped
to Mexico City as part of the collection of finished
reproductions. Through an elaborate coding system known only to
Dawson and Garcia, the gallery owner was able to select the
treated lithos and have them filled with smack or coke -- the
process worked equally well for both drugs, and while cocaine
brought in more money on the street, its wholesale value was less
than pure heroin -- about $18,500 for the ounces.
The lithos containing the dope were then carefully
distributed in Garcia's three galleries and selectively sold to
"messengers" (men who posed as art collectors) at the established
litho price and noted in the books as normal sales. When the
"messengers" delivered to the real collectors" (the dealers'
dealers) the rest of the money would be forthcoming -- in cash,
and under the table. Care had to be exerted to keep the sales
people from selling a "hot" litho to an innocent customer. But
Garcia had devised a way to get round that, too. A man in his
business couldn't be too careful. He knew the CIA was constantly
on the prowl, as well as the FBI and several other crime-busting
organizations. How he despised those professional "snoops" for
their deceit and hypocrisy. Many of those flat-footed flunkies
had grown quietly rich from drug payoffs. And how many murders
had they committed in the name of "justice"? How many political
assassinations had they engineered? How many peasants had they
paid to strike against the prevailing governments of impoverished
Latin countries? Pigs!
But none of the intelligence agencies had been able to trace
a shipment to him; Ernesto had an elaborate network of go-betweens
in front.
He received the raw dope at Acapulco, through contacts on
cruise ships, mostly. The best cocaine came from his native
Colombia, and it was easy enough to get that. But he had to
depend on shipments of heroin from the Far East; from China
mainly, though Burma and Korea were good sources, too. Some of it
was transported on freighters or tankers, though the narks were
particularly thorough with such vessels, and once in a while, a
valuable shipment was confiscated. But the poppy fields were
flourishing, and there was always more, always more of the
lucrative white stuff.
If anyone suspected Ernesto Garcia of illicit dealings, it
was as a white slaver. At one time he was into high-priced
procuring in a big way. But once he began to realize an immense
profit from hard drugs, he confined his procuring to wild and
orgiastic exhibitions, in which the subjects became "art objects"
to be auctioned off to the highest bidder, for relatively short
periods of time. His "clients" were usually men with whom he
dealt in narcotics, his "collectors," though he often held private
exhibitions for his personal friends. On these occasions, he
would act as the gracious host, not allowing financial
transactions to sully a party.
The "models" were young and gorgeous girls from countries all
over the world. Many of them entered willingly into the
arrangement -- they were very well paid for their services and had
a mini ranchero of their own in which to live, with studios and
art supplies, and all kinds of recreational facilities to pamper
them. There was a huge pool, and horses to ride, a sauna and
tennis court. It was very much like an exclusive resort, except
for one thing -- the buildings and grounds were under constant
guard. Not in a military way, but it was evident that the "ranch
hands" and other personnel were employed to prevent the girls'
escape. Occasionally, a desperate young woman would make a break
for it, but to no avail. Such exemplary misbehavior was rewarded
with exemplary punishment ... most discouraging. Sometimes the
girl would simply vanish in the night, and the others would be
told that she had truly been allowed to go home, and that they,
too, could leave any time they liked. At other times, the poor
escapee would meet with a tragic and maiming accident ... her
"suicide" usually followed within a few days.
But there was another reason why the majority of girls stayed
on: each of them was hopelessly hooked on drugs. They knew well
enough what kind of horrors awaited them in the legit world if
they were let loose on their own.
"What about the girl, Don Ernesto?" Dawson piped up. He used
the Spanish title of respect for an aristocrat on occasion,
especially when he wanted a favor. The big man leaned forward in
his chair and rubbed his beefy hands together in salacious
anticipation.
Garcia gave him a cool, steady smile that came suspiciously
close to a sneer. He had a way of doing that when he was annoyed,
or when he wanted to gain the upper hand with another person.
Dawson shifted nervously in his chair. "I haven't decided," he
said matter of factly, as he drew elegantly on a thin Havana
cigar. "It is risky. The girl is living with a widow; surely she
has given the woman her family's address and phone number."
"But Don Ernesto ..."
"... And she is a student. The school will have her
particulars as well. Besides, she looks too straight."
"Well, so what? Once she gets a taste of that Mexican
hospitality, she ain't going to want to go back home for a while!
Especially when she gets hooked on them "persuaders" you got for
her. Anyways, I just know that under that innocent little kitten
face of hers there's a ragin' she-cat dyin' to be let loose!"
"But have you forgotten, Jack ... she-cats have long and
dangerous claws, claws that scratch rather painfully. And the
wilder the cat, the sharper its claws. I detest the sight of
blood, don't you?"
"You can always keep a box of Band-Aids handy, Don Ernesto.
That's what I do," the printer wise-cracked. "C'mon, pal. I
can't stand to think of you passin' up a juicy little cunt like
that. Goddamned, I get a hard-on just thinkin' about her. I bet
she's got the sweetest little twat this side of Heaven!" The big
man chuckled lewdly and rubbed his hands together again.
"Spare me your pointed cliches, Jack. It's time to go fetch
her," the Colombian said, cocking his arm to look at this diamond-
studded gold Piaget watch. "I'll give you my decision at dinner
-- when she goes to the ladies room."
"Ladies room?"
"Young girls always go to the ladies room during dinner; they
are so boringly insecure." (Garcia much preferred mature women,
finding them far better lovers than inexperienced females,
regardless how fresh and innocently beautiful they were -- though
he always had to try one once, just to satisfy his ego. But he
never took one of them out; never had any kind of real
relationship with them other than business that was also risky ...
young girls were invariably jealous because of their youth and
immaturity. And they had nothing to say.)
"Well, if you don't mind, Don Ernesto, I'm gettin' in her
pants tonight whether we take her south with us or not. This
one's too good for me to pass up."
"And your wife?"
"No sweat -- I put Merle on a 5:00 o'clock plane, and with
hardly a fight. She spent so goddamned much money in them
bo'tiques that she was worn out just from carryin' the parcels.
'Sides, I explained how you and me was goin' to have to talk a lot
of heavy business stuff, and that bores the shit out of her."
Garcia winced. He loathed vulgarity of every sort, and if
Dawson weren't the technologist that he was, Garcia would long ago
have terminated their "partnership." Rising to his feet, Garcia
tamped out the half-finished Cuban cigar. This was Dawson's
signal to be on his way. The lusting printer was all to happy to
comply.
Chapter 5
"Chris ..." Wendy said casually as she bent over her spent
lover, her full round breasts pressing into his belly as she
fondled his cock in her hand, "have you ever ... have you ever
fucked anybody from behind?"
"You mean, doggie fashion?" the relaxed youth asked.
"No ... I mean ..." she placed her lips over the head of his
cock, savoring the taste of their commingled sex juices. She
licked it tenderly, feeling the organ begin to harden again. Her
desire for him still was not sated. She wanted more and more!
"No ... I mean, where you had your finger?" She felt a
little shy about asking him. Perhaps it was morally objectionable
to him.
"Greek style, eh? Well, no, I haven't tried it ... not yet.
Is that what you want to do next?"
She didn't answer. Instead, she sucked harder at his cock,
thrilling to the feel of its growing hardness in her mouth. She
would like to suck him into orgasm in her mouth if she didn't have
such an aching want in her loins, a want that demanded his long,
thick rod of flesh.
Chris couldn't believe that Wendy actually wanted him to ass-
fuck her. Hell, Jill would never let me do that, married or not!
he mused inwardly. He had all those frustrating months of
unfulfillment with Jill to work off, those days and nights of
torments when she would break away whenever his penis hardened up
against her skin. Now he could relish his naked erections,
knowing that Wendy was only too happy to have him do whatever he
wanted with her. The thought of fucking her up the anus appealed
to his curiosity. He'd always wanted to try it, but never
believed any girl who wasn't a whore would stand for it. And
Wendy was suggesting it! Live and learn. Her uninhibited
sensuousness appealed to him so much now that he would have fucked
her nose or her ears or her navel, and with her massaging mouth
and hand on his heated cock, he felt he was her's anytime she
liked.
Wendy raised her head, noticing the sex-crazed expression in
his eyes. "Well ...?" she said seductively. He grinned at her,
then reached for some loose pillows to place under her belly,
elevating her beautifully rounded asscheeks in the air. The two
sensuously curving mounds captured his gaze, and he reached out as
if in a trance to run his coarse hands over them again and again.
They were like warm marble. Wendy moaned in encouragement.
Finally, he used his fingers to spread the gently quaking
cheeks as he darted his tongue into the puckered center, bringing
a louder moan of pleasure to the girl whose long dark hair spread
out over her shoulders and fanned out along her bare upper arms.
She had her fingers in her pussy and was slowly but wantonly
caressing the slick crevice, an erotic display that brought
Chris's penis into a harder state of electric pulsation. He
placed his bulbous cock-head against her wet pussy long enough to
spread some of their coital wetness around the intruding hardness.
They both instinctively knew that his heavily straining cock would
need to be well lubricated to slide into the tight little walls of
her asshole.
Holding her ass-cheeks wide apart, he began to push the head
of his cock into her pinkly puckered anus, which yielded, amazing
as it was, enough to take the thickness of the glans. (His own
seeping seminal fluid helped.) Wendy gasped and bucked forward
slightly.
But she came back hard against it, surprising Chris and
causing him to lose his balance momentarily. Wendy stopped
rubbing her clitoris with her finger and reached low to cup his
balls in her hand, trusting him to move up into her anus slowly.
He stopped thrusting, letting her move back onto him according to
her own comfort level, gradually skewering herself deeper and
deeper.
Chris was astounded that such a small opening would enlarge
enough to take his thickly swollen cock and just as astounded that
he liked the feel of it very much. It was tight and hot inside,
and achingly exciting to his stiffened hardness. He was in a
position which allowed him to reach over her back and cup her pert
breasts in his hands and he could feel the softness of her legs
against his -- the farther in his cock went the closer he came to
feeling her satin-smooth buttocks against his loins. Jeez -- I
sure didn't know about THIS! he marveled to himself.
He was far enough in now to be able to experimentally move
his hot shaft back and forth a little in her slickly clutching
anus. His balls felt wet from the oozing cuntal juices stimulated
by Wendy's masturbating.
"You're in, lover!" she cried out excitedly. "It feels
great. But easy does it, OK? I don't want to be disemboweled!
How does it feel to you?" Little mewls of pleasure began to
escape from her throat.
"Fantastic! I love it! And don't worry, sweets, I'm not
going to tear you apart -- I just might try to, though!" With
that he pushed his obscenely impaling weapon hard forward as far
as it could go. He couldn't stop himself. The tightness of her
anus and the feeling of her finger-fucking herself on the other
side of the thinly separating membrane drove him to a maddening
desire to fuck as hard as he could go.
"Aarrrggghhh... owwwooo ..." Wendy shrieked, crashing her
loins forward to take the shock of his thrust, moving so suddenly
the young mechanic had to throw his hand around her and grab her
pussy to make sure his impaling rod stayed hard into her anus.
The mound of cushions separated and got pushed to each side of the
young girl's body, so that Wendy lay flat on her belly with Chris
mounted on top of her. The sharp pain of his rough intrusion
subsided and her moans of pain turned to mewls of pleasure as he
started to pump his cock slowly up inside her. He replaced the
throw pillows so that Wendy had some elevation and was able to get
her middle finger between the inflamed lips of her pussy again.
He was certainly heavy -- Chris was six foot three --
nevertheless, she found the position immensely pleasurable and
could tell by the way he was enthusiastically fucking away that he
was enjoying it, too. Remarkably, his distended shaft was now
sliding easily inside her, encouraging her, as she mewled endless
incoherent whimpers, to rotate her moving rounded buttocks lewdly
back at him in a brazen fury, grinding her hot, tightly clinging
anal passage back over the throbbing length of his turgid cock.
Again she cried out hysterically, this time with a renewal of
her orgasmic delirium brought on by the action of Chris's
thrusting cock and her own manipulation of her clitoris.
"I'm cuuumm-iinng again, Chris! Oh, you fantastic lover!
Oh, ooohh ... it mustn't stop ... don't let it stop eeevvverrr..."
the befuddled girl begged, feeling the molten fire of her orgasm
course through her body as Chris stepped up his relentless asshole
fucking.
Fired up by her orgasm, Chris knelt up and pulled on her
thighs, doubling her into a jackknife position to implant himself
more deeply. He fucked furiously on, his balls slapping against
her buttocks as the dribbling wetness trickled down the trembling
softness of her inner thighs.
Again her cries of "Don't stop ... don't ever stop!" filled
his ears as he slammed hard against her white ass-cheeks in one
frantic lunge, emptying his balls deep inside her quivering
rectum, deep into her belly, the long, hard spurts triggering
sensations of shattering satisfaction that caused her to gasp to
the rhythm of his jerking spasms.
Wendy sighed contentedly, stretched out like a cat on the
shag rug and murmured, "That was beautiful ... just beautiful.
You'll never get rid of me now, Chris ... I'll do anything you
like ... I'll never leave you ..."
Chris heard what she said, and he knew that Wendy meant it.
It kind of shook him up. On the other hand, he thought as he
looked down at her beautiful and well-satisfied form, maybe that's
not such a bad idea ...
* * *
"My, my, my. If you're not the prettiest girl in San
Francisco!" Dawson gushed as she opened the door to greet him. He
was practically watering at the mouth. He took her portfolio and
quickly ushered her into the waiting taxi. As the cab pulled away
from the curb, Jill glanced up to see Josephine peering from
behind one of the dusty brocade draperies.
Dawson couldn't take his eyes off the young brunette, and no
wonder -- Jill had to concede that the red dress was a very
flattering choice. Her luscious breasts stood up from the low
decolletage, and the dress swung freely around her legs from the
hips, where it hugged her figure perfectly, without being
overtight. The sexy platform shoes made her long legs seem even
longer and more shapely. She had even worn a red silk rose
attached to a narrow velvet band around her neck, and the effect
was charmingly provocative. Her dark tresses shone with touches
of brilliantine, and she smelled subtly of exotic flowers. The
total effect was devastating, and very Latin, though she hadn't
consciously put things together to appear anything other than a
totally American girl.
Dawson was obviously impressed, and it became apparent to
Jill, from the man's nervous gestures and his confused babbling,
that something was bothering him. Something was, all right -- his
cock! He could barely keep it in his pants, so turned on was he
by the innocent art student. How would he ever be able to wait
until after dinner?
Something was bothering Jill, too; several things, actually.
Ever since she had drunk Josephine's tea, she had felt strange
flutterings in her lower belly, and in her pussy. It seemed as
though everything that touched her down there produced sexual
arousal. She couldn't understand it, but rationalized that the
feelings were a carry over from her fingerfucking in the bathtub.
Secondly, she hadn't been able to get a satisfactory answer
from Dawson as to his wife's whereabouts. He evaded the question
until she finally asked him again, point blank.
"Jack, I didn't get what you said about your wife. Is she
still at the motel?"
"My wife? Oh, why, eh ... to tell you the truth, little
lady, Merle's having a short nap. She made me promise not to tell
you ... didn't want you thinkin' she was an old fogey. But the
truth is? she got wore out shoppin' today. She's not used to
doin' all that walkin' -- down where we live ever'body drives, you
know." The big man chuckled a bit too heartily.
"But she will be joining us for dinner, won't she?" Jill
asked somewhat anxiously.
"Well she'd better, or she's going to hear about it from me!
Now don't you worry, Jill," he added, patting her hand
solicitously, "we're going to take good care of you ... very good
care of you. Just think of Merle and me as foster parents ..."
The taxi pulled up in front of the Fairmont and the liveried
doorman stepped up to help them out of the vehicle. Jill got a
very appreciative and curious look from the cab driver, which made
her blush. He obviously thought she looked pretty good too.
"Might as well have Ernesto take a look at your portfolio
right now, Jill, don'tcha think?" the printer said as they walked
on the plush floral carpeting towards the tower elevators.
"I think that's a super idea," she bubbled. "I hope Mr.
Garcia likes my work as much as you do, Jack."
"Honey, I know he's going to love every bit of it!"
The dashing Colombian was wearing another elegant suit, this
one of charcoal gray silk. His shirt was the palest shade of
pink, and he adorned his necktie with a small diamond stick pin --
one which matched his cuff links. Jill got a whiff of his cologne
as he ushered her into his luxurious suite. The effect was
intoxicating. She thought Garcia even handsomer than she had
remembered him. He looked like one of those society men who pose
for Town and Country Magazine, and his courtly manners, his deep
voice with its educated accent, and in particular, the way he
looked at her, gave her strange feelings that she couldn't quite
cope with. She was terribly impressed, and more than that, she
found herself quite attracted to the smooth Latin. Suddenly her
clothes and her look seemed all wrong. The dress, the ridiculous
shoes and the seamed stockings and rose became a costume for some
lifesize Barbi doll. At that moment, she would have been more
comfortable in her jeans and tee shirt; at least that was honest.
Garcia was in no way taken in, though he would be the last to show
his amusement in front of her ... he was too well bred for that.
"How beautiful you look, Jill," he said, taking her hand and
pretending to kiss it as he looked into her eyes. An involuntary
tremor caught her off guard, and she let it move her shoulders.
This made her feel even more like a kid. "You've brought some
samples of your work for me to see. Good. Let's have a look at
them. Oh, may I offer you an aperitif first?" he said, with a
gracious and assured smile.
His skin was smooth and deeply tanned. When he smiled, a few
furrows around his eyes made him even more attractive. Jill
guessed him to be in his late thirties, though he certainly didn't
look "old" in any way. There were a few strands of gray in his
dark, sleek hair. And he had beautiful hands, with long, elegant
fingers. She would love to sketch his hands.
"Oh, why ..." she stammered.
"I'll take care of the drinks, Ernesto," Dawson interrupted.
Jill was terribly relieved ... so that's what an aperitif was, a
cocktail!
Jill arranged a few acrylics on the vast marble coffee table.
Garcia, sitting next to her on one of the seven foot couches,
studied the paintings critically, his well-manicured hand brushing
his narrow upper lip in a slow, sweeping motion. This was a group
of still lifes -- not his favorite subject. One of the paintings
was quite amateurish, although the color was good. But the brush
work and the general composition reeked of "student cliche."
"Very interesting. Lovely highlights on this one, and I can
see you have a well-developed sense of color, Jill."
"Thank you," she acknowledged breathlessly, and yet, in the
presence of Ernesto Garcia, she was suddenly able to see flaws she
had never noticed before. She realized the things were simply not
that good, and she regretted bringing them.
The next grouping showed abstracts. Garcia's face reflected
greater interest -- he happened to be very knowledgeable about
abstract art; Klee and Miro were two of his favorite painters, and
he very much admired Alexander Calder. But he was also more
critical. The abstracts were hopeless, though he didn't tell Jill
that. He tactfully complimented her on the best aspects of each
painting and asked to see the next drawings. He was very
interested in those. The girl did have a feel for the human form
that was not visible in her still lifes and abstracts.
"These nudes are promising, Jill. You've done the boy very
well ... is he a special friend of yours?" Garcia wanted to know.
The drawings were of Chris. He had a beautiful body. "Oh,
oh no," she lied, "it's just a model they use a lot at school."
Dawson was leaning over their shoulders, a gesture which
particularly irritated Garcia. "Sure is a ha ... sure is a
handsome fellow." (He had almost said "hung"!) Garcia did not
turn around, but his icy vibrations were so powerful that the
printer quickly stood upright and walked a few steps away. "I
think she's a real find, don't you, Ernesto?" he added.
"Decidedly," came the level reply.
When the gallery owner had carefully studied the last of the
figure drawings, he turned to the portraits. It was in these that
Jill excelled -- yes, the human face and figure were definitely
her purview. An idea came to him.
"Jill, have you determined what it is you want to do with
your art? That is, what do you hope to achieve with your
studies?" he queried, looking intently into her eyes. Again, she
felt an involuntary shiver course her spine, and she squirmed in
the soft, deep cushion of the long couch. Delicious little
sensations of pleasure reverberated through the walls of her
pussy, and she couldn't understand why she felt so turned on. Was
it Garcia, or something in that strange tea Josephine concocted?
She had never been turned on like this without overt stimulation
... Chris's tongue, or her own hot fingers ...
"Well, actually, Mr. Garcia ..." she began.
"Please ... Jill," he answered smoothly, looking at her with
dark eyes full of warmth and sincerity, " ...please call me
Ernesto. You make me feel like a very old man, and I am not yet a
senior citizen!" A warmer smile, showing straight white teeth,
melted the innocent ingenue. Jill flushed.
"I-I didn't mean it that way, Mr... . I mean, Ernesto," she
stammered. "You're very young."
"Not all that young, I hope. I have no desire to be a youth
again," he said, making his point in a good-natured but
nonetheless firm way. "The point is, I want you not to think of
me as Mr. Garcia, the gallery owner, but as, Ernesto, your friend.
Do you understand that?"
"Yes, I do. And I appreciate that very much ... Ernesto.
And as far as my art is concerned, I guess I really haven't
thought enough about how I want to be great -- but I need to be.
Very much," she answered, looking up at him with wide eyes. She
was beginning to feel the aperitif, too. It didn't taste strong,
but it certainly had a powerful effect.
"You are an intelligent young woman, Jill. And you have
talent, I can see that. What you lack is focus ... if you'll
permit me to be very frank. It is a common flaw in the young
artist. Today is the day of specialization, and art is no
exception. You cannot be a GP in the art world and make a name
for yourself. In medicine there is the internist, the
endocrinologist, the pediatrician, et cetera. So it is in the
graphic realm. In my opinion, your best aptitude is for
portraiture and figure drawing, the unclothed body ..."
(When he said, "the unclothed body," Jill felt another
tremor, and she became aware of a sticky wetness oozing from her
pussy.)
Garcia went on intently, his eyes never leaving hers. His
gaze was mesmerizing, and the young artist nodded her head in mute
acceptance. "If you are willing to concentrate your energies on
those, and forget still lifes and abstracts, which, I must say, do
not generate the excitement necessary to promulgate instant
success, I think you can do quite well and perhaps, even command a
following. But of course, I do not know how interested you are,
nor to what degree you are willing to dedicate yourself. Perhaps
you intend to finish a year of schooling and find a nice young man
and settle down to the cozy domestic life ..."
Oh, he was clever! Garcia had an uncanny ability for honing
in on a woman's vulnerabilities. He phrased it just right.
Putting it the way he did, the "cozy, domestic life" seemed
terribly stultifying compared to a glamorous 'career' as a
renowned artist! Besides, there was little chance to enjoy a
domestic life with Chris, based on that brief and disheartening
phone call to Kansas City. Where did that leave her now?
"No!" Jill said resolutely, her big hazel eyes flashing
sparks. She bounced on the couch for emphasis, feeling the
sensations in her pussy increase. Garcia smiled ever so subtly,
in his bemused fashion. From another part of the room, Dawson,
who had been watching and listening avidly, felt his cock twitch
to semi-hardness. Goddamn, he swore to himself, she's already
gettin' hot! I can almost see the claws agrowin'! Stuff's
workin'fast!
"How's about a little touch up before dinner, honey?" he put
in, sweeping her unfinished drink from the table before she could
protest. Hovering over the bar, he unobtrusively pulled a small
paper packet from behind his belt, perforating it with the prong
on his buckle, and emptied the white powder contents into her
glass. It dissolved instantaneously into a colorless, odorless
and powerful aphrodisiac as he refilled the glass with Pernod and
water. Hell, Pernod was a turner-onner all by itself! The big
man chuckled quietly as he noisily added cubes from a silver ice
bucket.
"... And furthermore, I have no intention of giving up my art
for any togetherness scene, not for a long, long time. I want to
be a truly fine artist more than anything in the world!" Jill was
insisting vehemently as Dawson put the refilled glass in her hand.
Garcia was not deceived, though at that moment, Jill almost
believed it herself. She was more angry than hurt now, and she
wanted to get back at Chris -- and Wendy. The gallery owner had
turned her head, and she was convincing herself that her fantasy
was nearly a foregone conclusion!
"In that case, Jill, I think I can be of help," the Latin
offered.
"You can???" Jill asked incredulously, her eyes widening even
more.
"Didn't I tellya, little lady? If anybody can help a
struggling artist get to the top, it's this guy right here!"
Dawson bellowed enthusiastically, slapping Garcia on the shoulder.
Back-slapping was another vulgar gesture of familiarity the
cultured Colombian did not enjoy. He edged forward on the couch,
giving the printer a pained smile.
"Please, Jack, I am not a Sol Hurok of the art world," he
said levelly. "I can merely give Jill the benefit of my
experience ... and provide her with a studio, materials, models,
and the best instructions in Mexico. Oh, and there is an
immediate job possibility that would be quite lucrative ..."
"Oh! Ernesto, really? You would do all that ... for meee?"
she piped. "But how ... when ...? I mean, how can I ..."
Garcia grinned broadly. He was charmed by her youthful
enthusiasm, and the way she gesticulated as she sat squirming on
the couch. "We can discuss it further over dinner. I never ask a
lady to do anything on an empty stomach!"
Chapter 6
"Would you gentlemen excuse me? I have to powder my nose,"
Jill said coyly as she struggled to get up from the plush
banquette at the intimately lit restaurant. Both men rose, and,
as she brushed past Ernesto, she fell against him unsteadily, the
ripe mounds of her buttocks pressing into his loins. He grabbed
her elbow with one steady hand and placed the other on her waist,
guiding her surely out into the room. She didn't know what was
the matter with her -- the sensations in her hot little pussy had
grown and grown until she couldn't stand it any longer -- she had
to do something. She had the wildest urge to reach over and grab
the handsome Latin's cock and fondle him under the table. She had
never felt like that before. But worse, there was a feeling of
emptiness inside her vagina, the feeling that it needed to be
filled with a man's hard, wildly fucking cock!
She made her way to the ladies' room, breathing a grateful
sigh when she found herself alone. No time to lose. Locking the
door of the stall, she quickly ripped a paper seat cover from the
dispenser, placed it on the toilet and reached up under her dress
to roll down her pantyhose. Then she sat back, spreading her
long, shapely legs out in front of her, her head against the wall.
The puffy, furred crease between her legs was already swollen
with warmth and raging desire. She parted the pouting lips with
her feverish fingers, shivering as the cool air produced yet
another exciting titillation to her throbbing furrow. She teased
the little bump of her clitoris, advancing her finger further down
the slippery passage. Her finger moist, she worked it into her
cuntal chamber, then out again, bringing it up the length of her
pussy and onto her clit once more. She let out a sigh as shivers
of delight coursed through her. God, she was hot! She had to
cum! She needed to cum more than anything in the world.
Her eye caught sight of some prurient graffiti scratched on
the inside of the door. She blushed scarlet as she read the lewd
suggestion: HOW ABOUT EATING YOUR CUNT? Oh God, that was too much
-- another woman wrote that! A woman eating her cunt, the way
Chris had done; locking her, sucking her, using female lips and
tongue to make her cum the way Chris had done ... (Her finger was
moving faster and faster, in and out, up and down, around and
around in the deliciously responding groove of her pussy. She was
breathing faster and harder, drawing close to a longed for, self-
induced climax.) Ohhh, oh nooo ... ohh ... YESSSSSS! EAT IT!
SUCK IT! FUCK ME! SUCK ME! ANYBODYYYYYYY!!!
She writhed and spasmed again and again on the toilet seat,
relishing the bliss of her orgasm, her fingers still stroking
furiously up into her hotly gushing pussy, when suddenly the outer
door opened and two matronly women walked in. Instantly, Jill
pulled her legs back and flushed the toilet, still rocking from
her orgasm. She swore under her breath at the interruption. She
could have cum and cum, and even then, she felt somehow
unsatisfied. Her climax only left her wanting MORE! God, what
was wrong with her? She could barely control herself. She felt
like grabbing the first man she saw and thrusting her scalding
pussy into his face or onto his big hard cock!! Oh, if only Chris
were here, she bemoaned, I'd do anything he wanted -- I'd suck his
cock, even let him fuck me! No -- what am I saying! God help me!
The two matrons halted their conversation in midair when they
caught sight of her. A quick glance in the mirror told her why:
her face was flushed and her eyes glazed, her mouth had a slackjaw
appearance, and she was weaving noticeably.
"Are you sick?" one of them asked sympathetically.
"No ... no, thank you, I'm OK," Jill answered unconvincingly.
She splashed cold water on her face and touched up her hair and
makeup as best she could. She had trouble focusing on the mirror
image. The room seemed smokey; there was a haze around the
lights. Her tongue felt thick and she had a curious and
unpleasant taste in her mouth. With an enormous effort of will,
she drew a deep breath, smoothed her dress and walked out of the
ladies' room, determined to make each careful step purposeful and
regular.
The two companions at the plush banquette had been conversing
intently in her absence.
"You fool! It was stupid of you to put it in her drink!"
Garcia's eyes blazed. He was speaking through angrily clenched
teeth. "You had no right to take matters into your own hands.
The only way it can work with her is by total assent. The note
must be in her own handwriting. We don't want her waking up
tomorrow morning with a bad case of remorse and a keen desire to
be elsewhere! Do you want every federal agency on the continent
breathing down our collars?"
"But Don Ernesto," the burly printer argued, "back in the
hotel room you said ..."
"I know what I said," he cut in icily, "and I know also that
the plan is unique. It was impromptu, so to speak, because I
recognized the unique virtue of the girl, of her circumstances.
This is not intended as a permanent arrangement, as with the
others, don't you see. Most of them have no family ties, no
situations that are easily traceable. Nor are they virgins. Jill
is an experiment ... and as with any experiment, one has to be
exceedingly cautious. Ah ... here she comes. Let me handle it
..."
"Well, there's our little lady, looking prettier than ever!"
Dawson said jovially, as both men rose to greet the drugged young
artist. Jill exerted all her motor control to get back into her
place without falling over the stocky printer. She could feel his
coarse breath on her back as she slid into the banquette.
"What's that?" she asked dumbly, looking at the miniature cup
with the syrupy black liquid.
"It's Turkish coffee, Jill," Garcia offered. Very sweet and
strong. Perhaps you'd like to try it?"
"Coffee ... yes. Coffee," she answered dazedly, putting the
small cup to her lips. She liked the taste. Coffee would help.
Suddenly she looked point blank at Jack Dawson. "Your wife,
why didn't she come?" She had totally forgotten about the frumpy
matron until that moment.
Dawson cleared his throat. "Say ... that's right! I've got
a bone to pick with her! That was downright inhospitable of her,
wasn't it? 'Course, knowing Merle, I'll bet she's still sawin'
logs over't the motel!" he laughed heartily.
"Jack, why don't you go to my room and collect Jill's
portfolio. You can phone your wife from there. We'll be ready to
leave by the time you get back. I have to notify Julio when to
bring the car," Garcia told the printer. He used his head to
indicate that Dawson was to get lost for a few minutes -- that's
all he needed.
"Sure. Sure, Don Ernesto. Will you excuse me, little lady?"
he asked, addressing Jill with a lecherous smile.
"Oh, certainly, Jack ..."
When Dawson was out of sight, Garcia leaned forward, placing
his elbows on the table and crossing his arms. He spoke to Jill in
hushed, intimate tones while she sipped her Turkish coffee.
"Well, Jill, have you made your decision?"
"I ... I don't know. I mean, it's very tempting -- yes, it
sounds so wonderful, but what about school? And isn't Josephine
going to worry?" She looked at him with dazed confusion; he felt
sorry for her at that moment -- a lost little lamb bleating
pitifully under the influence of stimulants she could not control.
Curse that stupid vaquero -- all he thinks about is pussy!
"Don't you remember, Jill -- you will leave a nice note for
Josephine when we take you to pick up your things. Then she will
not worry. She will be glad that you are taking a wonderful
vacation, that you have an opportunity to continue your studies
under some very accomplished instructors. We can phone the school
tomorrow, or send them a note, too, if you prefer."
"And I can come back anytime I like?" Jill asked anxiously.
"Anytime at all -- you will be my guest, my portage ..."
Jill's mind was a jigsaw puzzle with pieces floating willy
nilly in space. She was trying desperately to put the pieces
together. The old suspicions threaded their way through the maze.
Was he interested in more than her "talent"? Was it possibly
because of her ... her looks? Or her body? Ernesto seemed so
sincere, so businesslike.
"Is there ... is there a catch, Ernesto?" she asked
ingenuously.
"A catch?" he asked back, his lips beginning to form a smile.
"Yes, Jill, there is a catch -- you will have to work hard and
apply yourself; no lolling by the pool all day and dancing all
night with the ardent young chicos around. They are dangerous for
a beautiful woman like you. You will be there to learn and to
perfect your talent ..."
How reassuring were his smooth and promising statements.
Ernesto would protect her! He was offering her so much and asking
nothing in return -- just the way Chris had done, but in a
different way! Chris -- fuck him! And Wendy, too! Just wait
till the two of them found out where she was headed! Jill
Conklin, the famous artist, discovered at eighteen!
"Oh, Ernesto, it all sounds too good to be true. How can I
ever thank you?" she breathed huskily. She wanted to kiss him on
the cheek, but she didn't dare -- the way she felt then, she
wouldn't be able to leave it at that!
"Jill, I'm delighted that you have accepted. Now we must
compose a note for Josephine. We are leaving tonight, you know."
He withdrew a leather case from his inside breast pocket and
opened it before her on the table. There was a slim gold pen
inside, and some blank paper. Jill took it shakily and began to
write, having difficulty as she slowly scrawled the letters in
less than her normally meticulous hand.
"Dear Josephine -- Guess what? I'm going off to Mexico for a
while to work and study -- a terrific opportunity to learn from
some of the finest artists there. Will explain more later in a
long letter. Don't worry about me -- I'll be fine. Enclosed is
some money for the next couple weeks, in case I'm not back before
then. Will let you know. Fondly, Jill. P.S. Will notify school
and folks back home."
Garcia discreetly placed two twenties inside the folded paper
and directed it to his breast pocket. "I'll give this to Jack; he
can help you pack." Seconds later, the printer appeared and
Garcia helped Jill up before the big man reached the table. "Good
news, Jack. Jill has decided to join us on the flight back
tonight. I told her you'd get her things -- here's the note for
the landlady. Phone me when you're all set. I'll see that Julio
is here with the car and we'll pick you up at your motel."
"Wonnerful, Ernesto!" Dawson enthused. "Little lady, you
certainly made the right decision!" And to himself, Yessiree, God
Bless your sweet pussy if you didn't. And God Bless the
sonofabitch that came up, with that ever lovin' love potion, too
...!
Chapter 7
Jill was becoming drowsy. She was having increasing
difficulty keeping her eyes open. She sat with her legs tightly
crossed, squeezing the inflamed lips of her pussy against her
distended clit -- it would have been so easy to cum right there on
the back seat of the cab! Dawson kept asking her if she were all
right, kept leaning against her, patting her hand as they drove
from Nob Hill to the pink stucco house on Bay Street. "Merle'll
fix you up, honey. She's a darn good nurse, if nothin' else," he
assured her.
The printer insisted that she wait in the taxi while he
gathered her things together. At first she protested, but she
felt so weak when she tried to get out of the cab that at last she
gratefully conceded that he could pack as easily -- and certainly,
faster -- than she. She took advantage of his absence to sink
back into the seat and close her eyes ... for just a moment ...
Again Chris came into her befogged mind. She tried in vain
to shake away his image, but she couldn't deny the longing that
she felt for him now. What was she doing, going off to Mexico in
the middle of the night with men she barely knew? If only she had
given in to Chris, had let him make love to her completely -- the
way he was doing to Wendy -- it could all have been so different.
She would have known the satisfaction, the delight of having a man
fucking deep up inside her; his beautiful cock sliding right
inside her pussy the way he was doing to Wendy ... I love you,
Chris ... I want you ... she moaned softly in the back seat. The
driver watched her in the rear view mirror.
A half-hard cock motivated Jack Dawson to tear dresses off
their hangars and pull sweaters out of a drawer with nervous
dispatch. Jill had told him where to find things, but he hadn't
expected it to be that easy. The kid didn't have a lot of gear,
still, he was surprised to find a suitcase in plain view with some
cosmetics and paint supplies already in it. Things seemed to have
been laid out efficiently, as though by prearrangement. Well,
I'll be damned, he muttered, the kid had somethin' in her head an
along! And she was comin' on with the sweet-and-innocent-routine!
This little doll's a helluva actress, too! Bee-oootiful ... jus'
gives me that much more bangin' time!
Dawson shut out the light and cautiously opened the door,
checking for sounds from across the hall before venturing out of
the room. There was no light under Josephine's door, and the TV
was silent. He started down the hall, when he suddenly remembered
the note. Shit!, he swore under his breath. Carefully putting
the bags down, he tiptoed back to Jill's bedroom and, without
turning on the light again, placed the note containing the forty
dollars in the middle of the bed. Then he eased his way down the
stairs, his heart beating fast, to join his luscious and very
drugged young companion, who was only minutes away from losing her
virginity ...
Jill was out cold when he got into the cab. The cabbie gave
him a knowing look. "Sure got a live one there," he wisecracked.
"Can't hold her booze; typical, ain't it? Better pull up in
the garage, huh buddy?"
"Gotcha!" the driver answered, his face creasing into a
fraternal smile. He gunned the Yellow Cab towards the Holiday Inn
at the Wharf.
The watery eyes in the wrinkled face at the living room
window watched the taxi disappear from view, then Josephine let
the dusty drapery fall back into place before she switched on a
small metal flashlight and walked down the hall to Jill's room.
Turning on the light, she went straight to the bed, picked up the
note and opened it. A dark smile came across her craggy face as
she saw the money. Quickly then, she went to her own bedroom and
picked up the phone.
* * *
Dawson made two trips in the garage elevator -- one to
deposit Jill's bags, the second to deposit his beautiful half-
slumbering "baggage." Jill leaned against the big man heavily,
her body limp as a rag doll's. She moaned softly and mumbled
unintelligibly as they went to the room.
"Now you jus' lie down right here, honey," he said as he
deposited the drugged artist on his bed. Jill attempted a weak
protest, but she was too far gone to muster any strength towards
getting up on her own power.
Dawson went to the bathroom, leaving her in the darkened
motel suite. When he appeared a few minutes later, he was stark
naked! The light from the bathroom illumined the supine art
student, whose long glossy hair was spread out on the pillow and
whose red dress was raised above her knees, showing her firmly
molded thighs. Dawson's hardening cock twitched violently and
grew into upright rigidity. He went to her and began slipping off
her shoes.
"Might as well get comfortable, honey," he said, leering at
her salaciously. He placed a beefy hand under her and rolled her
over onto her stomach. With one deft "zii-iip" he had the zipper
down. His hot hands began to force the fabric over her arms.
A warning bell was sounding in Jill's half-conscious brain.
She was beginning to regain a small portion of awareness, though
it required every effort she could muster to force herself out of
the pleasant stupor she languished in. She also felt dizzy, and a
bit giddy, and as her consciousness increased, so did the hotly
flooding yearning in her pussy.
"Wha ... nooo ... don't do that ... noooooo," she mumbled as
Dawson lifted her up slightly to yank the dress off her shoulders.
"Nooo ... NOOOOOO!" she said more vehemently, her survival
instinct beckoning her to self-defense. She began to flail and
kick her legs, punching the air in an effort to escape her
attacker. But her arms were like lead, and her blows fell on the
soft mattress ineffectually.
"Now, now ... honey, no use makin' a fuss. You ain't got a
snowball's chance of gettin' away from the fuck ole Jack's gonna
give you. Might as well relax and enjoy it, as the Chinks say,"
he told her, pulling the dress on down over her rounded buttocks
and smooth legs.
Jill began a scream (she was on her back again, with Dawson
clawing at her panty hose, the only thing left to keep her from
complete nudity) but his big hand came down tightly over her
mouth. "I wouldn't do that, honey," he told her, leaning close to
her face, his breath reeking of cigars, "you're liable to get
laryngitis! Then too, you wouldn't want Uncle Jack to get rough,
would you? Huh?" He chuckled cruelly and continued to peel down
her new pantyhose. God, he'll ruin them!, she thought
paradoxically.
She was fully conscious now, her eyes big with fright. Dear
God, help me ... don't let him hurt me!, ran her thoughts. In
silent answer, Dawson suddenly released his hand from her mouth.
She blinked, afraid to speak. He grinned and grunted with
satisfaction. "That's better, you little hypocrite."
" Hy-hypocrite?" she asked dumfoundedly, "what ... what do
you mean?"
Dawson just grunt-chuckled deep in his throat again. She was
completely naked now, and he ran his greedy eyes over her cringing
nakedness as he raised his bent leg up and placed it between her
legs, forcing her naked thighs apart.
"NOOOOOO!" she cried out, gathering her strength to claw at
his face. He grabbed both her wrists and pinned them to the
pillow on either side of her head.
"Hha-heh-heh-ha," he chuckled lewdly, "the little sex
kitten's turnin' into a tigress, eh? Goodd. Goood, baby, that's
the way I like 'em! Jus' fight all you want, but if you open that
pretty little mouth with one peep, I'll break your beautiful jaw!"
"Just wait till Ernesto finds out -- he'll get you for this!"
she answered self-righteously.
More lewd laughter. "Yeah, just wait! Heh-ha-ha-ho-ho-ho."
The poor girl prayed for a miracle, for the appearance of
Ernesto Garcia and his chauffeur. Then she realized that the
dignified Colombian would perhaps find her in shameless and
humiliating subjugation to his printer; he would see her body!
Repulsed as she was by Dawson's nakedness over her, she felt a
treacherous flash of desire rising again in her pussy. Her
drugged body developed a cunt-hunger pain that darted insidiously
between her pussy and her anus.
Dawson pressed his mouth onto hers and thrust his thick
tongue into the warm, moist cavern. She could feel his prickly
chest hair on her upthrust breasts and his paunchy stomach on the
warm flesh of her smooth, flat abdomen. Dawson was heavy set, but
he wasn't really flabby? That surprised her. With only the light
from the bathroom, she was unable to see his body clearly, and
hadn't really had a chance to look him over since coming back to
full consciousness.
She tried to avert her mouth from his slobbering kisses, but
he used his head to keep hers in place. She was forced to submit
to his tonguing, and despite her fear, the hotly scrambling little
sensations in her pussy increased. What was wrong with her,
anyway? Her body was betraying her flagrantly.
Dawson stopped kissing her lips and moved his head down to
her nakedly trembling breasts. He paused, sucking his breath
through his teeth. "Goddamn!, if those ain't the sweetest boobs I
ever laid eyes on! Pure sugar tits!" he enthused.
"Nooo ... please don't, Jack!" she moaned loudly, squirming
under his heavy frame.
He chuckled venally again, his huge cock pressing against her
thigh. She could feel the wetness of his pre-cum juices on her
bare flesh. She struggled, arching her back against him, but her
arms were firmly pinned at either side of her head and Dawson
tightened his grip, causing her to wince in pain.
His lips went to a breast and fastened over her pinkly
throbbing nipple. More surges of unwanted pleasure coursed
through her pussy. The nipple saluted his oral attentions, and
the printer sucked more greedily at her defenseless tit, drawing
the flesh into his mouth and massaging avidly with his tongue and
lips. He was grunting like a hungrily' sucking child, licking,
lapping and sucking at her tender nipples until she wanted to
scream in mixed protest and encouragement. Then he turned to the
other one, and repeated his lewd licking and sucking.
He had broken out in a heavy sweat. He buried his face in
her cleavage and wallowed in breast flesh, mouthing every inch of
her firmly throbbing tit. His hands were still fastened tightly
on her wrists, and she was beginning to feel bruised from the
pressure.
"Please, Jack, you're hurting me ... my wrists," she
complained.
He stopped rooting in her bosom, looked up at her for a
moment, assessing her sincerity, then loosened his grip. "You
gonna keep still while I fuck you?" he asked her warily.
"I have no other choice, do I?" she whimpered back.
"Not if you wanna keep your pretty face intact."
He kissed her forcibly on the mouth again as he pressed
against her harder with his stocky body, forcing her legs further
apart.
"Don't ... please don't," she mumbled into his mouth, "I'm a
virgin!
"No shit!" he answered unsympathetically. "Don't tell me you
haven't fooled around before ... and don't tell me you don't want
my cock -- all of it. You're as hot as a pistol, little lady!"
"No! It's not true -- I am a virgin. The only thing I've
ever done is ..." She stopped short. She wasn't about to reveal
the things that went on with Chris!
Dawson was now intrigued. His prurient interest was aroused,
along with his huge prick. "Is what?" he demanded. "Tell Uncle
Jack what sorta foolin' around you done."
"It's nothing. Nothing. I can't tell you!"
He grabbed her jaw in his powerful hand and squeezed it hard,
forcing her lips apart at a distorted angle. "Tell me! In nice,
plain, good old American English!"
Jill was frightened again. He was so strong, so powerful;
she knew he could hurt her easily, and she was practically
defenseless.
"Just a few things ... like ..."
The grip tightened. A sharp pain shot up through her cheeks.
"Like ...?" he said in a louder voice.
"Oooowww ... ahh ... ahhh ... like someone sucking my
breasts," the frightened girl answered.
"Tits! Sucking your tits! That's nothin'. What else, baby?
You little hypocritical cunt! You love it, don't you? I'll bet
you'd love to have Uncle Jack suck your pussy, too, wouldn't you?"
he hissed at her.
"Nooo ... ohhh, noooooo!" she wailed, the sensations growing
between her legs. She wanted her pussy licked more than anything
-- but not by him!
He let go of her jaw then, and her body stiffened as he began
to move down her body, his hands coarsely exploring her breasts,
feeling the nipples, his mouth then following his hands. He
sucked again at one breast, then at the other, licking and
nibbling at her taut pink buds. Down and down his head went, his
tongue flickering in her navel like a fork of fire while he humped
his back, rubbing his throbbing turgid cock through her dark nest
of softly wafting pubic curls. She tried vainly to force her legs
together, but his huge legs were planted firmly between them. She
was experiencing another unbidden surge of excitement that shot
through her belly, and the irresistible demands of her sex-starved
pussy were encouraging her to wriggle her body upwards in feigned
pleasure, revealing more of her nakedly spread pussy to the heated
printer.
Goddamn, this little bird is hot for me to eat her nest!
Dawson realized gleefully. In bet she's been a real cock teaser,
gettin' guys to go down on her without puttin' out all the way!
But she'll find out soon enough what it's for!
Placing his hands under her sensuously squirming asscheeks,
Jack Dawson lifted Jill's body high in the air and wrapped her
legs around his neck, so that only her head and shoulders were on
the mattress. He plunged his long wet tongue into her
spasmodically twitching pussy, bringing a low, sensuous moan from
the young girl's throat. Spurred on to greater salacious
activity, he darted his tongue right up into her vaginal passage,
tasting its hot, sweet-pungent wetness and feeling the clasping
rubberinees of its walls. Jill bucked in frenzied response to the
thrilling sensation and clasped her legs tighter around his neck,
sliding forward to allow the printer's tongue to penetrate her now
traitorously lusting cunt as far as possible. How she loathed
this man, and yet he aroused in her the same overpowering desire
that Chris had when he had sucked her pussy so many times before.
She loved it, craved it, wanted it never to stop. She couldn't
resist moving in time to the printer's skilled tongue thrusts.
She was so hot. She had to have it!
For some reason, Dawson stopped and looked down the valley of
her body into her face, which was clearly marked by rapturous
enjoyment. Her eyes were closed and her mouth glistened as she
savored the delicious cunt sucking the older man was giving her.
Suddenly her eyes flew open. Oh God, no! He mustn't stop
licking me! He mustn't fuck me!, flashed through her drugged
brain.
"What's the matter, Jack? You want to lick me, don't you?
Lick me again. Go down on me. Please ... suck me some more," she
crooned sexily, grinding her pelvis upward.
Dawson grinned, feeling the power he had over her. A bitch
in heat ... a hot-boxed little bitch in heat!, that's what she is.
Ernesto's got himself a beaut this time! Once I get done with
her, she'll be spreading her legs for everybody -- even the
braceros on the ranch!
"You asked for it, baby," he said, giving her a lecherous
smile as he plunged his tongue into her greedily nibbling pussy
with renewed fervor. His cock was throbbing with almost
uncontrollable desire. Damn, she tasted good! Sweetest little
cunt he ever ate! He tongued her eagerly, licking over her hotly
pulsing clitoris repeatedly. He heard her moans of passion, could
feel her legs tense; the soft, curl-fringed lips of her pussy
seemed to clutch at his tongue to draw it further into her cuntal
passage.
His cock was dripping like mad as he licked and sucked wildly
at her lusting furrow, looking at her from time to time to relish
the mask of lust that was on her face. Suddenly, she stiffened
entirely and emitted a throaty cry of passion as her cunt juices
burst out all around his hotly licking tongue.
"Aaaaaaggggghhhhh ... ah ... ahhhhh!" she cried, and her
whole body spasmed and bucked against his face. Her heels beat
against his back and her. arms and head flailed against the bed.
"Oooohhh ... uuuggghh ..." It went on and on.
The printer could wait no longer. He knew if he didn't fuck
her soon, he'd shoot off without ever getting his cock in. While
she was still in the throes of orgasm, he lifted her legs from
around his neck and kneed forward, placing her thighs at either
side of his waist. Then, taking his massive penis in his hand, he
guided it teasingly to her pussy. Moaning loudly, he thrust it
hard, straight into the unfucked depths of her virginal young
cunt.
"Aaaaggghhh!" Her cry was of another sort this time, as the
huge weapon plowed into her, tearing what was left of her thin
little virginity to shreds.
"NOOOOOOO!" she cried out, "Nooooooo!"
There was nothing the cock-filled young virgin could do but
cry tears of rage and humiliation and remorse. Her greatest
sadness was that it had not been Chris's beautiful hardness inside
her. Her first time -- and with this brutal ass, this fucking
bastard of a rube! Oh God, he was killing her, fucking her
mercilessly, his rock-hard plunger fucking in and out of her
virgin pussy for all it was worth. She wanted to kill him ... if
she only had the strength to throw him off ... a gun, a knife ...
anything ... any way ... ramming his blood-swollen cudgel into her
impaled vagina! Her cunt was being ravished by this heartless old
lecherous sonofabitch! Oh why, why was her treasonous body
wanting it ... wanting it ... his big cock insider her hot cunt
...?
"Stop -- you'll make me pregnant!" she cried out. The
horrifying thought suddenly presented itself in her dazed mind.
"Shut up and fuck your hot little pussy back, baby," he
commanded her. "That ain't no problem any more, and you know damn
well it ain't."
He leaned heavily onto her nakedly heaving breasts and held
her cheeks so that he could kiss her protesting mouth. He forced
her lips apart again with his tongue and flicked the organ inside.
Despite her loathing, the drugged young virgin began to respond,
to kiss back, swirling her tongue hotly around his. At the same
time, she locked her thighs tight around his hips and began to
move in rhythm to his thrusts, marking an end to her resistance.
His cock was heedlessly ravishing her hot moist cunt; the first
cock ever to enter that sacred orifice of pleasure.
The throbbing pole of fiery cockflesh no longer hurt the
young artist. There wasn't one segment of her tender vaginal
passage that did not respond to the scintillating presence of the
printer's chunky knob. She only wished desperately that it was
the smooth hard muscle of her darling Chris's lovely cock. But it
was too late to bemoan that fact any further. The hot pummeling
member within her was fuseing with her cunt and there was nothing
she could do except give in to the dictates of her body. I am
just an animal, she thought, striving to divorce her womanly
instincts from the higher ideals she had set for herself.
"God, you're tight, you gorgeous she-cat," Dawson gloated,
"with the sweetest little cunt I ever fucked."
Jill turned her head away and emitted a deep moan of shame.
"I hate you!" she blurted out. But her willfully gripping young
cunt belied her words and clasped the invader tighter, as if to
encourage the weapon embedded deep within it to violate her
further.
Dawson grunt-chuckled again. "You may hate me, but you love
my cock, honey. You love to fuck, don't you? Now ain't you sorry
you waited all this time? You didn't know what you were missin'!"
He drew back, pulling his cock almost all the way out, then
he slammed home again, creating a loud wet sluicing noise as he
plunged back into her vaginal depths. "Put your hands on my butt
and pull me into you," he said, grinding his pelvis into hers.
Jill complied, and he gloated silently again, feeling that he had
one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen completely at his
mercy -- even if it was because of the aphrodisiac! But hell, he
rationalized, if I'd had more time, I coulda gotten her anyway!
She was hating him with her mind and fucking back at him with
her body as if he were the greatest stud in the world; as if his
cock were the most desirable cock in the world to have stuffed up
between her legs. How he'd give anything just to keep this doll
all for himself. He could set her up in a swanky pad in Beverly
Hills, give her all the charge accounts she wanted and have her
there to come over and fuck anytime he wanted -- which would be
all the time he could get!
"You like that, honey, you like ole Uncle Jack's big cock in
your tight little pussy?" he asked quaveringly, his voice
mirroring his intense excitement.
Her eyes were glazed with drug stupor, but there was contempt
in them, too. "What do you think, mister? It's your ballgame.
Go on, fuck away, Dixieland!" She spitefully pulled his broad
face to hers and kissed him passionately on the mouth, her tongue
burrowing inside to deliberately excite him all the more. She
wrapped her arms languorously around his neck and ground her naked
tits seductively up into his hairy chest. He was treating her
like a whore ... well, she could out-whore the bastard!
She gave every effort to fucking then, moving in smooth and
provocative synchronization to his every thrust, forcing him into
longer, smoother strokes. She was calling the shots now, making
him march to her drum, using her internal vaginal muscles to suck
at his cock in an effort to draw the semen out of the blood-
engorged instrument. She gyrated beneath the panting printer, and
he, catching her rhythm, began to move as she manipulated him.
His balls slapped wetly against her undercarriage, and she reared
back and banged into them as hard as she could, mustering all her
strength for the counterassault. She would take every inch he
could give her, and milk his balls dry with her tightly clenching
pussy. She knew he fully intended to empty his balls into her, to
fill her with his steaming cum, shooting millions of spermatozoa
into her defiled cunt. And she was ready for it! She was about
to cum again herself, and she would make this bastard give his
load to her!
By tacit agreement, they both increased the tempo. Dawson
was puffing like a steam engine -- The Little Engine That Could,
she suddenly thought, and she gave out a momentary giggle as she
remembered the children's story of the locomotive trying to make
it uphill. I think I can, I think I can, I think I can, it puffed
as it climbed higher and higher, higher and higher, until ...
"Aaarrgggh ... I'm cumming! Ooooohhhooo!" Dawson moaned as
he stiffened and shot his load of steaming white cum into her
milking pussy. Jill felt the first gush of the seminal torrent
that was about to fill her, and she worked her pussy muscles even
harder to draw the sticky jism out of his balls. It was so
exciting, so thrilling, so absolutely wicked that she couldn't
control her own sexual energies any more. The tide of ecstasy
rose again in her loins and spread through her belly and up into
her chest and head and down into her thighs and legs to her toes.
She was cumming again! God, it was wonderful, beautiful,
fantastic. And she needed it so much!
"Oooohhhh ... yeeeeeesssss!" she hissed sibilantly as she
spasmed again and again against the burly seducer. Their bodies
were slippery with perspiration and the strong unmistakable scent
of copulation hung heavily in the air like tobacco smoke in a
closed room. Jill felt she could go on and on. She had found a
reserve of strength she didn't know she had and despite her second
thrilling orgasm, she felt she needed and wanted more!
Suddenly there was a knock on the door, bringing both Jill
and the printer out of their dazed sexual euphoria. They both
started as if shot, and Dawson swore under breath.
"Jack? Jack, open the door," came the resonant,
authoritative voice.
"Ernesto!" Jill cried out.
"Just a minute," Dawson called out gruffly. He was panting
and weak, and he reluctantly got off of the post-virginal artist,
drawing his sticky cock out of her tortured, sex-hungry cunt. The
young girl wriggled out from under him and rolled off the bed,
grabbed her dress and panty hose from the floor and made a dash
for the bathroom. She locked the door behind her and turned on
the water. It was then that she noticed Dawson's clothes on the
floor. She had an impetuous and very devilish thought. Tossing
the clothing into the bathtub, she turned the faucets on full
blast and pulled up the shower knob. Moments later, there was a
knock on the bathroom door.
"Jill, are you all right?" Garcia wanted to know. "Please
come out, Jill, I want to apologize for this unspeakable incident.
"No, I won't come out, Ernesto. I can't. It's a horrible
nightmare. That brute, that ... animal! He raped me!"
"Please Jill, please get dressed and come out -- or let me
come in. I deeply regret the unfortunate incident -- it is beyond
contempt. But it is already fait d'accompli. so to speak; it is
past. And we must continue in the present, as intelligent adults.
Please open the door, Jill."
Jill was dressed, now, and though she felt an acute sense of
mortification, there was something so commanding, so reassuring in
Ernesto's voice, that she felt obliged to comply with his request.
How could she ever face him, though?
The shower was still going when she turned the lock and
opened the door a crack. She did not show her face. Gently,
cautiously, the refined Colombian pushed the door open and stepped
inside. He closed it again behind him.
Jill leaned against the lavatory, her head hung in shame.
Garcia looked toward the shower after seeing the crestfallen girl,
noting the soaked garments of her seducer. He had to suppress a
laugh. So, the girl has some spunk! She is a she-cat after all.
And Jack says she is the best fuck he has ever had ... Caramba!
He went to her and tenderly placed his arms around her
shoulders. His embrace was paternal. Jill began to cry. She was
so bewildered, so embarrassed, and yet, so turned on!
"My dear Jill," Ernesto began in his most consoling voice, "I
had no idea you would be subjected to advances from my associate.
It was beastly of the man, taking advantage of an innocent young
woman like yourself. Most probably, he had far too much to drink,
and seeing you in a vulnerable condition, his beastlier nature
overcame him. You are so sweet, so beautiful, so desirable, it is
difficult for a man to contain his baser nature ..."
"Oh, Ernesto, it was so terrible. He forced me, he hurt me.
I was afraid he would really kill me or something," she said,
sobbing into his chest. He stroked her hair as though she were a
little girl with a skinned knee.
"Of course, darling, of course. I can only imagine your
ordeal," he sighed heavily. "And I blame myself ..."
Jill looked up suddenly and blinked at him. "You? Oh no,
Ernesto, it wasn't your fault!" she insisted.
His face was filled with pain. He smiled sadly. "You are
very generous to say that, nina, but in truth, it is I who am to
blame. I should have escorted you myself."
"But you didn't know, you couldn't have know. He said his
wife was here. No, Ernesto, it isn't your fault at all. No way!"
"Then you'll still come to Mexico with me? You'll still let
me do everything I can to help you, to further your career?" he
asked earnestly. "I want to make up for all this grim business
with Jack tonight. As a matter of fact, if he weren't my business
associate, I would call the police. I would have him arrested.
Unfortunately, I am dependent upon him for my printing -- he is
the best man I have found. So, naturally, I cannot see that
justice is done. But you can be assured that as long as I am with
you, he will never harm you against your will again."
The good looking man managed a smile. Jill looked at him
intently. Oh why couldn't it have been Ernesto?, she agonized
silently. He's such a beautiful man, a kind man and so
considerate of me. Why couldn't it have been his hard penis
inside my cunt? ...
"I ... I don't know. I don't know what to do now," Jill
answered finally. She was genuinely torn between her fear and
embarrassment, and her desire to be a famous artist.
"Of course, if you do not trust me ..." Ernesto continued.
"Oh I do, I really do, Ernesto. It's just that ... that man.
I don't want to see him anymore."
"Another couple of hours, and I promise you, you won't have
to. Unfortunately, he must fly as far as Los Angeles with us.
We'll be dropping him there. Until then, I'll see that he rides
up front with Julio. You needn't talk to him again, if you don't
wish to."
"Oh no -- no, I really don't want to have to speak to him
again," Jill stated.
"Then you won't have to. In fact, there is a berth on the
plane. You can sleep all the way to Mexico City if you like.
Shall we go?"
Without thinking further, Jill answered a simple, "Yes."
Chapter 8
Jill was numb and dazed as they drove across the Bay Bridge
to the Oakland International Airport. She sat in the back seat of
the sleek, black Coupe de Ville with Ernesto, wondering where the
car came from and who it belonged to. The man at the wheel drove
swiftly and expertly. From time to time, Jill studied his head
and the back of his neck, and she could see a portion of his face
in reflected in the rear view mirror. Garcia, ever the gentleman,
had not introduced him to her, realizing her acute embarrassment
and distress, and Julio -- called "Hulio" -- was sensitive enough
and discreet enough not to look at her directly. Fortunately,
Jack Dawson rode in the front seat with him. Julio was not
wearing a chauffeur's uniform. He was dressed in sports jacket,
slacks and a turtle neck sweater, a good looking young man of
perhaps twenty-six or seven, with a dark, curly beard and a full
shock of brown curls. His eyes were a startling blue, which
surprised Jill. Naive as she was, she expected all Mexicans to
have black hair and eyes.
Julio never spoke unless addressed. Yet, he was in no way
servile. Indeed, he seemed to have a great deal of pride and a
natural intelligence that one could sense rather than experience.
Once or twice during the ride, Ernesto would lean forward and
speak to him sotto voce in Spanish. The garrulous printer would
rattle on about sports or politics, making embarrassed small talk.
Julio's replies and comments were spare and to the point. He
seemed to tolerate Jack Dawson even less than did Garcia.
It was almost midnight when the big black Cadillac pulled
into a hangar at a far end of the air field. Three men were
awaiting them, two in mechanics' jumpsuits, another in street
clothes. Only the man in street clothes spoke in Spanish as she
was whisked into a waiting Lear jet. Drugged and confused as she
was, she noted the exterior design as one of Alexander Calder's
whimsical abstracts, not unlike those he had done for Braniff
Airlines.
The interior was something out of a James Bond movie -- more
like a luxurious hotel room than a plane, with a bar, plush arm
chairs that swiveled and -- a small bedroom with its own bath
containing a stall shower! Jill thought at that moment that
seeing the plane was recompense enough for deciding to make the
trip.
The unidentified man in street clothes, who had stringy black
hair and bad teeth (which showed under a thin, clipped mustache)
assumed the position of co-pilot, as Julio took the controls and
ushered the aircraft into the midnight sky.
Despite two cups of coffee, which Ernesto offered to her as
soon as they were airborne, Jill found herself becoming sleepier
and sleepier. At Garcia's suggestion, she went into the "bedroom"
and was soon fast asleep on the double bed ...
The two partners in crime talked intently in another part of
the streamlined plane. They sipped rare cognac from Baccarat
snifters as they discussed their "ward."
"I tellya, Ernesto, the kid's dynamite. Hell, if you hadn't
got antsy, I'd have gotten a blow job out of it, too! For
Chrissakes, why'dja have to break it up so soon? You said you'd
wait for my call!"
"Sorry, Jack, but it became obvious that you were all set to
make a night of it. You tend to forget yourself at times, and
drugging her the way you did, you knew she was in no position to
refuse -- particularly under fear of pain and disfigurement ..."
"Hell, I just wanted to scare her a little bit; adds to the
excitement, know what I mean? I didn't have no intention of
hurtin' the kid."
"I do not care for violence of any sort, Dawson -- you know
that. You don't seem to realize that this one has to be handled
with kid gloves. I told you I had something slightly different in
mind for her."
"Yeah? Well I think you're bein' more kid glovey than you
need to be, Ernesto. Gimme another crack at her and she'll get on
her back for burros!" Dawson chuckled evilly at his intended
witticism, but the laugh petered out when Garcia reacted with an
icy, penetrating stare.
Leaning forward, the refined Colombian spoke in level,
measured cadence. "Listen, amigo," he said, stressing each
syllable of the Spanish word for 'friend,' "if you have one more
'crack' at her, she'll bolt back to San Francisco and spill
everything to the police! You have already behaved stupidly --
you could have waited until she had been seasoned under the
Mexican sun. I'll have to do that much more for her now before
she is right to exhibit. "
"The hell you will! Drug or no drug, this little cunt has
everything in her to be your fuckin' star performer! You ought to
thank me for gettin' rid of her goddamned virginity and the hang-
ups that went with it. The loaf's been sliced once now, and from
now on, it'll be slice-heaven for everybody!"
A voice came over the intercom. "Don Ernesto, the time ees
come now?"
Garcia sighed heavily. "Si, Martinez, si," he answered
impatiently. The tall man rose from his chair and looked at his
watch, addressing Dawson. "We'll be landing in Burbank in twenty-
five minutes. I promised Martinez -- he doesn't mind fucking a
woman who's not awake." Garcia grimaced at the thought. Some men
settle for so little when there was so much more!
"Neither do I!" Dawson answered. "Maybe I'll give him a hand
-- though I'd rather do it all by myself," Dawson chuckled again.
"Undoubtedly, so would Martinez!" came the unsympathetic
reply.
* * *
The knockout drops in Jill's coffee would insure her sleep
for the next seven or eight hours. The unsuspecting girl would
awaken in the luxurious hacienda that was the principal resident
of her Colombian benefactor. Meanwhile, she would be preyed on
once again by not one but two coarse men -- both of whom she would
have rejected under conditions of undrugged consciousness. Now
she was at their mercy, as she lay on the bed in the Lear jet,
being whisked to her grim destination at more than 400 miles per
hour!
The two lusting males undressed her as though she were a
lifesize mannequin, leaving her beautiful young body totally naked
to their lascivious stares and caresses. They were naked, too,
and they mauled her with their hands and mouths, unable to get
enough of her unblemished baby-soft flesh.
While Dawson sucked and mouthed her breasts, Martinez, the
co-pilot, lifted her legs up and spread them wide apart, staring
with a lewd, debasing expression at her helplessly exposed pussy.
"Smooth as silk, ain't she?" Dawson remarked, as he began to
rub his beefy hands down her body and around the insides of her
thighs, feeling their tender softness ... down to her pussy, where
he inserted a finger and stirred it around obscenely in her
vagina. Jill started involuntarily in her drugged sleep, and her
pussy muscles contracted around the printer's large stiff finger.
"See that? Even sleepin' she's hot to trot!" he chuckled.
Martinez grinned back, showing what was left of a row of yellowed,
chipped teeth. He was sporting a wet erection, and his oozing
cock stood, like a long, thin pole, from the base of his sparse
black pubic pyramid.
"Get a taste of that sweet meat 'fore you fuck it," Dawson
encouraged him. "That's some taco, I'll tellya!"
Martinez shook his head enthusiastically and buried his head
in Jill's pussy furrow, licking and sucking at her tender slit
like a dog lapping at a succulent piece of meat. He rolled his
eyes upward as he ate her, in silent agreement with Dawson.
Even in sleep, Jill's body involuntarily responded to the
lewd pussy licking she was getting, and the lips of her pussy
began to puff up with excitement, and her clitoral bud sprang to
erectness. She began to moan and toss slightly on the bed,
delighting both men with her motor response.
"Look at that!" Dawson exclaimed. "Even loaded with nappers
she's hot as a firecracker!"
Encouraged, the Mexican co-pilot sucked with more fervor at
Jill's defenseless pussy. It wasn't long before he felt her
stiffen. Her moans grew louder, and she suddenly spasmed
violently. She was cumming in her sleep!
"Well, I'll be damned!" Dawson exclaimed. "You better plug
this hot box fast -- I'm goin' for broke right now!" And he
kneeled beside her head and placed the moist head of his huge
cudgel against her open mouth. He rubbed the head of it back and
forth across her soft lips and glistening teeth, sucking in his
breath excitedly as Martinez withdrew his head from her pussy and
wiped his mouth on the sheet.
"Let's change the poseetion, ameego," Martinez said. "Turn
her over."
Together, they rolled Jill over on her stomach and placed her
crosswise on the bed, so that her arms and head hung limply over
the side. Martinez then took the pillows and doubled them in
half, placing them under her pelvis, so that her buttocks were
raised high in the air, exposing the entire track of secret
anatomy between the cheeks of her ripely rounded asscheeks. Her
puckered little anus was in full view in the center of her
forbidden furrow, along with the moist ring of her vaginal
entrance. He spread her legs wide apart as he knelt behind her,
holding his long pole in one hand. Dawson was kneeling on the
floor in front of the comatose artist, his upright cock only
centimeters away from her flaccid lips.
"Ready, senor?" Martinez grinned, his prick poised at the
entrance of Jill's vagina.
"After you, Alphonse!" Dawson quipped.
Martinez leaned forward, pushing his penis in through her
vaginal lips, which he had parted with his fingers. Jill's
rounded asscheeks fitted down over his black pubic hairs as he
slowly advanced into her vaginal passage. The silky softness of
her skin seemed to caress his advancing pelvis. Without warning,
he forced his surging shaft deep up inside her cunt. Jill let out
a reflexive grunt, and Dawson chose that moment to plant his rigid
penis inside the poor girl's mouth. She frowned in her sleep and
moaned some more. She moved her drooping head from side to side
in an unwitting effort to spit out the invading organ, but Dawson
followed her every movement, taking advantage of whatever response
she offered to pleasure his lusting cock.
Her movements were also beneficial to the lanky Mexican, who
thrust harder into her as he held tightly to her upper thighs and
pushed and pulled her onto his fucking weapon. She was being see-
sawed back and forth on the bed, and her mouth drew back over
Dawson's cock, then slid down over it again. The printer took her
jaw in his hand and placed his thumb and forefinger in her soft
cheeks, manipulating her lips over his prick, which oozed
lubricating juices from the glans slit at the head. He looked up
at Martinez with a smile of triumph. "Not bad for twofer's, eh?"
he drawled.
"Fantastico!" panted Martinez, who was grunting with
satisfaction, his slapping balls filled to bursting with semen as
he rode up high over the luscious buttock mounds of the sleeping
American girl.
Jill was being rocked steadily between the two men, one
fucking her from behind, doggie fashion, the other trying his best
to fuck her mouth. Jill was breathing coarsely, and if she hadn't
been so thoroughly drugged, she would have awakened instantly,
gagging as the printer's bludgeoning cock hit the back of her
throat.
The thick penis withdrew a little way through the copious
saliva in her mouth but was shoved back again, bulging her cheeks
obscenely. Dawson kept working her slack mouth over his cock,
grunting as he knelt on the floor, his paunchy midsection shaking
above the head of the unconscious girl, sweat pooling in the
fissures of his belly.
Martinez ground his loins against her soft white asscheeks,
feeling the building heat of her beautiful pink-seamed crack and
the building tension in his own taut balls. He was going to cum
... he was ... going to ... going to ... CUM! Aeeiieee! Martinez
tensed for an instant, then fucked into her like a bunny, his
greasy hair hanging down in his eyes as his balls gave out their
load and he filled Jill's ravaged pussy with a fiery jet of milky
semen. And as the Mexican's pistoning cock buffeted Jill's pussy,
the violent pushing and pulling gave the excited horny printer
enough additional cock massage to bring him to his climax.
"Uuuuoohhh! Suuuuccckkk! Baby, suuuccckkk iiittt!" he
gasped as he shot his wad deep into her warm throat. He had a
vice-like grip on her head, pulling her into his loins so that she
could not escape the full torrent of his sticky white issue.
Dawson grunted in animal satisfaction in time to the emptying of
his large hairy balls.
His cum splashed against the back of her throat and against
the sides of her cheeks and melded with her saliva. Moments
later, both trickled out of her mouth and onto the printer's spent
cock.
A red light flashed on the wall, and Garcia's voice came over
the intercom. "We'll be landing in approximately ten minutes.
Get back to your seat, Jack -- if you can make it! Martinez, take
over for me up front."
Dawson weakly reached behind him and pressed a switch on the
wall. "Dammit, Ernesto, you got the worst goddamned timing!" he
growled into the speaker.
"Sorry, amigo -- regulations, you know. How was it this
time?" came the impersonal voice over the intercom.
"I'll tell you all about it right after I finish cumming!"
Dawson snapped and switched off the speaker. Martinez was up and
wiping off his cock. He was dressed in a flash. It took some
effort on Dawson's part to rise from his knees -- he was still
weak from his orgasm. He had the decency to take a towel and wipe
the slumbering artist's mouth off and get some of the sweat off
her body. God, how he loved to feel her buttery skin! He
carefully rolled her over on her back and hoisted her lengthwise
on the bed. Then he stuck the towel between her legs and wiped
her cum-filled pussy.
"Ain't she somethin'?" he said to the co-pilot, who was
combing his greasy black hair in front of the bathroom mirror.
Martinez finished his grooming by patting the sides of his head
with his hand as he stuffed the comb into a breast pocket.
"Fantastico!" Martinez enthused, raising his eyebrows and
grinning broadly. "Don Ernesto has heet the hyackpot dees time!"
Chapter 9
The bright sun filtered in through the broad louvered
shutters that covered the floor-to-ceiling window doors in the
guest bedroom where the beautiful young artist slept, unaware that
a man walked silently across the room, his footsteps drowned in
the lush pile carpeting. The entire room was white, or shades of
white. An elaborate wrought iron headboard and two tall spires of
iron at the foot showed dramatically against the plastered walls.
A long high chest of carved pine stood-on a low bench at the foot
of the bed. The hasp and hinges were rusted, denoting antiquity.
A few tall tropical plants provided dramatic highlights in the
stark room which was, though sparsely furnished with Spanish
antiques, the quintessence of understated good taste.
The few paintings on the walls were by contrast, boldly
contemporary, with bright streaks and dots of color. It all
worked to create a restful yet stimulating ambiance.
The man placed a breakfast tray on the round table next to
the bed. He looked down at the sleeping girl for several moments,
then he turned and went silently out of the room, closing the door
behind him. Seconds later, the phone on the broad bedside table
jangled noisily.
The persistent ringing jolted Jill Conklin out of her
dreamless sleep. She wasn't quite awake, however, when she
dazedly reached for the nagging instrument. She thought she was
back in San Francisco, at Josephine's ...
"H-hel-lo?" she said dreamily.
"Good morning, Jill," came the deep and resonant voice of her
benefactor. "How are you feeling this fine day?"
Slowly, slowly, she was regaining consciousness, but there
was still confusion in her mind. She felt woozy -- a drug
hangover -- and she tried very hard to shake the cobwebs out of
her head.
"Don Ernesto? Where are you? Where am I?"
He laughed sympathetically. "Look out your window, Jill, and
you will see where you are. If you squint your eyes and look far
into the distance, you will note the flat-topped structures on the
horizon. They are the Pyramids of Teotihuacan ..."
Jill's brain sprang to alertness. She sat bolt upright and
clambered out of bed, pulling back the louvers and opening the
doors onto the tiled verandah. Leaning forward, she squinted into
the horizon as Garcia had suggested. Wow! The dim shapes in the
distance were unmistakable. She had seen pictures before. The
air smelled dry; the chirrups of exotic birds suddenly caught her
attention.
"I'm here! I'm really in Mexico City! I can't believe it --
how could I sleep through the whole thing ... the flight, and
getting here ... how did that happen?"
Garcia laughed again. "You had a long day, and a most
fatiguing evening, Jill -- I can see that you are not accustomed
to liquor ..."
"I guess not," she said sheepishly, suddenly remembering the
nightmare of her being raped by Dawson only to confront Ernesto
moments later after his "discovery." Oh, God, she was still so
embarrassed, so humiliated!
"I'll see to it that that doesn't happen again," he assured
her. What was he referring to ... the drinking ... the scene in
the motel room? Jill was still confused. And she was suddenly
aware of a terrible taste in her mouth, a thick bitter taste which
she attributed to the Pernod or maybe the Turkish coffee.
"In the meantime," he continued, "I hope you won't object to
my taking charge of your introduction to Mexico City. I want you
to enjoy the breakfast Julio brought you a little while ago. It
is typical of what we take in the morning -- with perhaps a few
embellishments. Then, when you are ready to make a public
appearance, I shall show you around the place. The pool is very
inviting at this time of day ... I hope you'll join me for a swim.
Are you agreeable, Jill?"
"That sounds terrific. I'd love to!" she answered
breathlessly.
"Good. Hasta luego. Ciao."
Jill hung up feeling happy and excited. She plumped up the
pillows and sat back to enjoy a delicious breakfast of rich
Mexican chocolate with hot milk, some unknown and savory sweet
rolls and chilled papaya with lime. Afterwards she went into the
bathroom -- almost as large as her bedroom at Josephine's! -- and
filled the enormous tub, which was faced with hand painted tiles.
The whole ceiling was mirrored, and there was another full-length
mirror covering one wall. A silver vanity set and crystal jars
sat on the large dressing table. It was rich and sensual, with a
large, soft animal skin on the floor. After her bath, Jill was
dusting herself with powder from an ornate silver bowl, watching
herself in the mirror as she patted herself between the legs with
the elder down puff, and she couldn't help admiring her body. She
had always been a narcissist, and many times before, when she had
been doing self-portraits while looking in a full-length mirror,
she had gotten turned on sexually. She began to stroke, rather
than pat, her skin with the downy puff, creating delicious
feathery sensations in the wake of each languid caress. She
encircled her firm, pink-nippled breasts, creating hard nubs at
each tip as her nipples sprang to erectness. She moved the puff
down the cleavage, down her high ribcage and past her tiny waist
to her smooth flat belly. She was standing on the cushiony fur
rug, unaware that under the rug was a "floating" tile, and under
the tile a button connected to a buzzer that would sound upstairs
whenever anyone stepped on the rug ...
It was from this vantage point, in the room above her, that
Don Ernesto and his trusted aide Julio observed the unsuspecting
girl through a two-way mirror of the type common to any gambling
casino. From the moment Jill entered the bathroom, they had been
able to observe her every movement! Now, their eyes widened as
they watched the young artist engaged in self-love play, her hands
now caressing her firm, molded thighs and the soft dark triangle
between them, holding the pink puff against her pubic mound as an
adornment and smiling at her reflection in the mirror. How many
times before had she taken her paint brush and parted the puffy
lips of her cunt with the wooden tip, sliding it down the moist
furrow to titillate her clitoris. Then she would use the soft
bristles of the paint brush to "paint" her pussy slit, until she
came and came against the tickling brush hairs.
Now the desire in her loins had increased to the point where
she could not deny herself any longer. She got down on the rug
and lay back, spreading her long legs languorously apart as she
continued to lightly caress her pubic mound with the feathery
powder puff. Upstairs, Garcia switched on a speaker so that the
two men could hear the girl's heated breathing, her moans and
sighs and whatever might issue from her lips. The handsome
Colombian sipped coffee from a tall glass mug and smiled with
prurient satisfaction. He was wearing black Continental swim
trunks under a saffron yellow velour robe. The bearded young
Julio was casually attired in chino's and a loose-fitting, white
Mexican shirt, huaraches on his feet.
Jill was breathing faster now. God, she was hot. She had to
cum! Looking at herself full length in the ceiling mirror was a
fantastic turn-on, her luxuriant black hair spread out over the
thick white fur, her black pubic mound contrasting against her
creamy, alabaster skin, and the delicate pink of the powder puff
highlighting everything. What a self-portrait that would make!
She would do it against a somber background, like Sargent's Madame
"X." Yes, she could entitle it, "Young Girl at Her Toilette." No
... "A Virgin at Her Toilette" ...
She remembered the motel room, and Dawson's heartless attack.
Damn him! Sadly, she faced the fact that she was no longer a
virgin. All right then, "Apres le Bain," very Degas! Oh ... shit
-- she would call it, "After the Bath," and give it to Ernesto
before she returned to San Francisco. Yes, it would be her
surprise, her thank you to her benefactor.
But now ... now she had to cum, and as her feverish fingers
toyed with the soft hairs of her pussy and tweaked her turgid
clitoral bud, she thought again of Chris, of the times he had
eaten her so beautifully with his mouth. How she cursed herself
for not letting him fuck her. "Ooooh, ooh Chris, oh baby, do it
to me, baby. Stick your tongue in my cunt and lick me up and down
..." she said aloud.
Upstairs, Garcia frowned as he said to Julio, "So, there is a
boyfriend. I knew it! That could be trouble. Find out who he
is, where he is, and just how serious the girl is about him. Get
to know the girl, romance her a little bit -- you know what to
do."
It was Julio's turn to frown. "But Don Ernesto, there is so
little time. What makes you think that she will willingly ..."
Garcia stopped him short with a scoffing grin. "Compadre
mio, por favor! They do not call you El Rey de Macho Cabrio for
nothing!" he teased. How I should like to have such an impressive
title: The Billy Goat King! How are you at modeling, amigo?"
"Modeling?"
"I promised the girl a model. See to it."
In the bathroom, Jill was drawing closer and closer to the
first of her self-induced orgasms, panting loud and squirming her
buttocks on the floor. She held the powder puff in one hand as
she massaged and cupped her taut breasts, tickling her flesh as
she stroked her skin. The fingers of the other hand were busy at
work in her pussy, massaging the entire furrow of her heated slit
and burrowing up into her vagina, pumping in and out, in and out,
moaning aloud, crying out for Chris: "Fuck me, Chris, oh yeeeees,
fuuuuuck meeeee! You're going to make me cum, baby ... you're
making ... me ... CUUUUUUUMMMMMM!
She bucked upward off the rug and flailed her head from side
to side as the first throes of orgasm shook her body and she was
filled with the incomparable fiery sizzles of rapture that
emanated from her pussy and spread through every part of her
lusting body.
"Dios!" Garcia exclaimed under his breath. He shifted in his
leather chair. Julio cleared his throat but said nothing. Both
men had hard cocks and each was imagining himself in a situation
of mutual ecstasy with the American girl, though each also
nurtured private thoughts relating to other very practical
applications of the girl's "talents."
Jill barely relaxed from her first orgasm when she came
again, her tweaking massaging fingers never leaving her pussy.
Each climax only made her yearn for another one, and her mind
dwelled on Chris, and on the events of the night before, which, in
her moment of excitement, did not seem so repugnant now. In fact,
she admitted to herself that she wanted cock, COCK, and MORE COCK.
She wanted a man's cock, his balls, his lips, tongue and hands all
over her. She wanted to be fucked and sucked again and again.
God, what had come over her? With the loss of her virginity she
had lost all her vows of chastity-until-marriage. Chris was
thousands of miles away, fucking her twin, no doubt. And she was
in Mexico. What was she going to do? ...
* * *
Ernesto Garcia's hacienda was more a palace than a house;
huge, white and sprawling, a structure almost futuristic in
design. It sat high on a hill alone, overlooking the city, which
was sadly shrouded in smog. Sitting around the enormous free-form
pool with her host and Julio, Jill felt as though she were living
in a dream. Dorothy in The Land of Oz. The sun was bright and
hot. It caressed her oiled body as she sipped cold tea between
refreshing dips in the pool, feeling relaxed and lazy and quietly
horny again!
She assessed her two companions, who were different in
physique. Garcia was tall and lean. Well-built but slender, with
smooth dark skin, a hairless chest, and very little hair on his
arms and legs. Julio was the shorter of the two and very
muscular, with an ample crop of chest hair and hairy arms and
legs. Each man was, in his own way, very good looking and very
sexy. But that thing that stood out about Julio was the huge
bulge in his trunks! Jill stole furtive glances at the young
man's loins, fascinated and appalled at the same time. She
couldn't imagine how any woman could possibly accommodate a weapon
of that size -- why, it must be ten inches long when erect!
He swam beautifully, gracefully, with long powerful strokes.
I wonder if he fucks that way, she mused idly. She was a good
swimmer too, and did her best to impress both men with her aquatic
skills. But Julio barely seemed to notice her. This piqued the
young artist, who was accustomed to the slavering attentions of
all kinds of men wherever she went. She knew she looked stunning
in her brief, emerald green nylon bikini as she stretched out
catlike on a long chair. Her attempts to make conversation with
the bearded "man Friday" had evoked barely more than monosyllabic
replies. He seemed actually somewhat hostile to her, which both
perplexed and angered the self-centered young girl; indifference
was a thing she could not bear, and at one point she made a silent
vow to herself that she would have him panting after her before
long or she wasn't Jill Conklin, The Prettiest Girl in Kansas
City! Chris's rejection had stung her to the quick, and she felt
a spiteful need to get back at him, though he might not ever learn
about it. Dirty old men like Jack Dawson didn't count -- they
were too easy. But Julio -- that stuck-up Latino hired hand --
there was simply no reason why he shouldn't fall madly in love
with her!
As for Don Ernesto, the cultured art dealer was the kind of
man she didn't know how to cope with. He was the perfect
gentleman at all times, and he couldn't have been nicer or more
hospitable. Yet she felt like an awkward little girl around him,
all too aware of the gulf between them by virtue of both
background and experience. Though she found him devastatingly
appealing, she couldn't quite picture herself in bed with him.
She realized then, that she felt inferior to the aristocratic
Colombian.
"Have you ever been to the bullfights, Jill?" Garcia asked
her.
"No ... never," she shook her head.
"Good. We are going this afternoon. I have an interest in
bull raising. It is my custom to go every Sunday during the
season. In my youth I wanted to be a matador. But my family had
very strict objections." He sighed deeply. "So I never got to
wear a Suit of Lights. But as a breeder -- it is a little
sideline, a hobby, so to speak -- I have professional
justification for maintaining close contact with the corrida.
Take along a wrap -- nights are cool in Mexico City at this time
of year. The altitude, you know. Afterwards we will meet some
friends at the Cortijo La Morena. One of them will be the man who
will give you a job at his club, so be sure to have your portraits
along ... Senor Valdez does not yet know you are to be his
employee!
Chapter 10
The next morning she was again awakened by the telephone.
This time Garcia said, "I hope you won't be offended, Jill, but it
seems that you have clothes that are not entirely suitable for
Mexico. I think we must do some shopping. Are you agreeable to
that?"
Was she! It was a fairy tale, a dream. She couldn't believe
how fortunate she was to have found a Fairy Godfather like Ernesto
Garcia, a man who was not only very rich and very prominent in his
field, but one who was terribly generous as well!
"That sounds absolutely great, Ernesto. Will you give me
half an hour?"
"An hour would be even better. I have several long distance
calls to make, and the Mexican telephone system is not as
efficient as Ma Belle!"
Jill was smiling as she hung up. Ernesto had a way of making
everything seem so easy, so smooth. He was commanding,
authoritative, and yet so nice to her! She was faintly surprised
and almost disappointed that he hadn't yet made a pass at her.
She couldn't figure it out. As for Senor Valdez, the fat niteclub
owner, she was sure he would try to paw her the first chance he
got. The leering man, who wore diamond rings on his pudgy fingers
and clear nail polish (she hated men who had professional
manicures) almost drooled at the mouth when she was introduced to
him at the bullring. She felt uneasy about her new "employer,"
though she had been too embarrassed to communicate her fears to
Garcia.
The job was easy -- she would solicit portrait work from the
club's patrons as they sat enjoying cocktails and listening to
music. An easel set up in the lobby would show samples and
advertise her work. Valdez thought it was an intriguing gimmick,
something that hadn't been tried before. Jill would wear a long
gown under a plastic smock and wear a lightweight easel-board that
was hung around her shoulders by a cloth strap. With pastels and
pencils in the easel tray and sketch paper clipped to the board,
she was totally equipped to earn money as a quick portrait artist!
Best of all, Garcia had told her that many prominent people
frequented "La Jacaranda," the most famous niteclub in Mexico
City, and who knows ... she might get a commission for a portrait
in oil! The sketches would sell for the equivalent of five
dollars in American money, with three dollars going to her. And,
she could expect generous tips -- it was the custom in such
establishments!
Of course, wardrobe was a problem. She didn't even own a
long gown, except for a very girlish one in cotton gingham.
Perhaps that is why Ernesto had so tactfully suggested taking her
shopping.
Driving along the Paseo de la Reforma in her mentor's
midnight blue Mercedes 600SL was a thrilling experience in itself.
Julio threaded the shiny limousine through the crazy Mexico City
traffic with aplomb. How, she couldn't guess; she was on pins and
needles most of the time for fear that twelve cars would plow into
the costly machine at once. Instead, she noticed traffic
deferring to the obvious symbol of wealth and prestige. Don
Ernesto had special license plates. She found that he was known
to many, and in every one of the exclusive boutiques they visited
the clerks would gush over him while they treated her with
restrained professional courtesy. Only once or twice did she
notice a cluster of salesgirls whispering behind their hands at a
safe distance.
Don Ernesto, besides being an elegant dresser himself, had
exquisite taste in women's clothes as well. Jill was
flabbergasted at the array of parcels Julio placed in the trunk of
the limousine, and in less than two hours of shopping! Garcia
knew exactly what he wanted, and he wasted no time in indecision.
There were dresses, both long and short, skirts, blouses, evening
pajamas, shoes for dancing, sandals for casual wear, scarves and
some lovely jewelry. (Many of the salespeople commented that she
should be a model or, was she perhaps a young American film star?)
It suddenly occurred to her, however fleetingly, that Don Ernesto
was her Henry Higgins, and she, his Eliza Doolittle. Or was he
her Svengali?
"Ernesto, I'm overwhelmed," she breathlessly confided when
they were once again seated in the plush back seat of the
luxuriously appointed Mercedes. "I just can't believe this is
really happening to me, an art student from Kansas City, Mo!
Nothing like this has ever happened to me before, and in my
wildest dreams, I never expected anything so marvelous!"
Garcia patted her hand paternally. He gave her a bemused and
enigmatic smile. "Jill, you must always expect marvelous things
to happen, otherwise you will find yourself settling for the
crumbs of life. You are much too lovely -- and too talented -- to
allow that. Just wait, nina -- there are many more marvelous
things to come ... things you truly never expected. This is only
the beginning ..."
He gave her hand a squeeze, and Jill felt a little flutter of
sexual excitement from her chest down to the valley between her
legs. She blushed and happened to look up quite suddenly to catch
Julio's eyes in the rear view mirror. Their glances locked for
one long instant, then the quiet young chauffeur again directed
his eyes forward. She could not fathom his expression, but for
some reason it troubled her faintly.
At length the sleek Mercedes pulled up in front of a splendid
white edifice that was starkly modern. Even in her brief journey
along the streets of Mexico City, Jill had already formed the
impression that it was a city of contrasts: the very old and the
very new, the terribly poor and the terribly rich, the clinically
clean and the appallingly dirty. She read the script on the white
canopy: GALERIA GARCIA.
"Oh Ernesto, this is your gallery!" the wide-eyed girl
exclaimed.
"Yes. And you shall see it now. I hope you approve, Jill,"
he said, flashing her a devilish smile. Again, the little tremors
of excitement. Garcia said something in Spanish to Julio as they
got out of the car. The taciturn young man barely nodded. He
seemed always to know exactly what was expected of him.
Jill's jaw was hanging slack throughout most of the tour.
She had never seen a more exciting gallery. Curved walls, some
white, some matte black (a fabulous backdrop for paintings) and
one carmine red! Pin spots on tracks discreetly mounted and
perfectly focused. Polished black, hand-hewn tiles on the floors
throughout. The effect was stunning and faultless.
The main gallery featured contemporary paintings -- clearly
Garcia's preference. One small room was devoted to primitive art,
with ancient carvings and exquisite wall hangings (some very old)
made by Mexican and South American Indians. Another room was very
different in character, with Oriental rugs on the floor and gems
of French Impressionism. One got the feeling of being in a
collector's home rather than in a commercial gallery.
There was a special room devoted to lithographs and etchings
-- Miro, Chagall, Dali, Klee -- a fabulous collection of less
costly works, beginning at a mere several hundred dollars! It was
in this room that Garcia lingered, mentally calculating how much
such lithographs would bring when they became containers for
cocaine and heroin! The old way -- drilling minute holes in
frames, filling them with the dope then sealing and shipping them
was expensive, and too risky. The narks had come very close to
catching on. And there was always a residue that clung to the
wood. Eventually it added up to several ounces, and several
thousands of dollars lost. Yes, Dawson's "invention" would
revolutionize his private enterprise, providing a trouble-free
method of making him a multi-millionaire. Then he would be free
to devise other intriguing occupations to satisfy his passion for
illicit intrigue ...
The staff at the gallery (they were all mature men and women
who wore mostly black or dark brown suits and dresses; Don Ernesto
had obviously planned it so that they would not be confused with
the clientele -- though you could hardly categorize these well-
groomed, professional people as "sales clerks") were not only
knowledgeable about art, they were linguists as well. Jill not
only heard them speaking in Spanish, but in English, French,
German and Japanese. She was overwhelmed, and conveyed her
impressions to the gallery owner.
To Jill's effusive praise Garcia replied, "I'm glad it
pleases you, Jill. My chief contribution was the notion that
there should be a consistency, a uniformity of feeling to each of
my galleries, so that one identifies immediately with the
character and aim of the Galeria Garcia: to offer a selection of
the finest representation of art works from all over the world,
bridging time (that is, period) and culture -- nationality. If
you walk into the Galeria Garcia in New York or in Acapulco, you
will find yourself in exactly the same ambient, down to color of
paint on the walls and the tiles on the floors. It is a costly
way to run a business, but in the long run, much more profitable.
And there is much satisfaction to be gotten from the pursuit of
excellence."
A middle aged woman who was handsome for her years, her black
hair pulled back severely and done up in a sleek chignon, appeared
from behind an unmarked door and approached them.
"Excuse me, Don Ernesto, but there is a client waiting in
your office," she said in perfect English, knowing Jill to be an
American.
"Thank you, Pilar. Tell him I shall be there momentarily."
He took Jill by the elbow and propelled her gently but
purposefully out of the lithograph gallery. "I'll see you to the
car, Jill. Julio can take you to lunch, and then you might want
to do some sightseeing or go for a swim. Incidentally, I've
approached Julio about posing for you. He's never modeled for an
artist, to my knowledge, but he should be adequate for some
studies. Would you like to work a little this afternoon?"
"Why ... eh ... yes. I'd like that very much. Only ..."
"Only what, Jill?" he asked, stopping in the main gallery
before they reached the ornate brass and copper doors.
"Well ... I don't think he likes me much," she answered in a
little girl voice.
Garcia smiled and ushered her through the door, which were
opened by uniformed attendants wearing white gloves. "I can
assure you, he likes you very much! He is merely shy. Besides, I
have "suggested" to him that he would enjoy posing for you, so he
is unlikely to refuse!"
When she was inside the waiting limousine, Garcia spoke
several words to Julio in Spanish. Then, flashing her another
devastating smile, he said, "See you later, Jill," and gave her a
quick wave before he turned on his heel and walked quickly back
into the gallery.
Jill felt uncomfortable in the presence of the taciturn
chauffeur. She scooted nervously on the seat and tried looking
out the window as though absorbed by the sights. After several
awkward moments she finally said, "Eh, have you worked for Senor
Garcia very long?"
Julio said something she could not understand. They were
several yards apart and moving through the ear-splitting din of
Mexico City traffic at an hour approaching midday.
"What? I beg your pardon?" she called to him.
Julio made a sudden turn off the Reforma into a side street
and pulled the Mercedes swiftly over to the curb. He turned to
her. "Get in front," he ordered her.
"What?" she asked with surprise.
"I said, get in front. Or do you want to practice shouting?"
Jill was somewhat nonplussed by his curt and ill mannered
behavior. After all, he was Ernesto's help, while she was the
gallery owner's guest! Still, it made sense to sit next to him if
they were to converse at all. But it bothered her that he didn't
even get out to open the door for her.
They sat in uncomfortable silence for several blocks more.
"Are there a lot of good restaurants in Mexico City?" she finally
hinted. She was dying to go to lunch, though not necessarily with
Julio. Handsome as he was, he was a cold and sullen bastard with
her!
"If by good you mean expensive, yes. But we are not going to
such a place. Such a place is for people like Ernesto Garcia. We
are going to a good restaurant -- a little place that has very
good food. And it is not expensive. It is for the common people
... people like me -- and you."
That was the end of the conversation until they reached the
restaurant, a little place in an old section of the city, with a
charming outdoor dining garden. What a romantic setting, a
perfect place for lovers, and here she was with a man who treated
her with callous indifference! Jill tried to drown her sorrow in
Sangria, despite Julio's disdainful warning that alcohol was not
for children! Oh! She resolved more than ever to make him fall
in love with her. She had childish fantasies of having him crawl,
having him beg to let him kiss her hand!
The Sangria went to her head very quickly in the high
altitude and she found herself babbling, telling all about
herself. At one point, he surprised her by asking about her
"boyfriend."
"What do you mean?"
"This person ... his name is Chris, isn't it?"
Jill was shaken. How did he find out? She asked him.
"You talk in your sleep, a dangerous habit. Are you in love
with him?"
His candor angered her. "That's none of your business!" she
shot back. "Besides, you have no right to come into my room when
I'm sleeping."
"It's not by choice."
"Well, I'm going to tell Don Ernesto that you are not to
bring my breakfast any more!" she answered hotly.
"Good. Is this Chris in love with you?" he asked,
indifferent to her anger.
"No! I don't know. How dare you ask that!" Her eyes were
blazing and she tossed her hair back over her shoulders, raising
her head indignantly.
"That's why you went to San Francisco, to mend a broken heart
..."
"No, no, NO! It had nothing to do with him. I was planning
to go anyway!" she screamed, the cords on her lovely throat
standing out. The other patrons were looking at them and
laughing. Julio called for the check. When he had paid it, he
got up and started for the exit, not bothering to wait for her.
She was crimson with embarrassment. What a contrast to the
courtly Garcia, who treated her as though she were a noblewoman.
Oh, she would make that bearded bastard pay for this!
When she reached the Mercedes, she opened the back door and
got inside, ignoring Julio in the driver's seat. Two points for
her. Under the influence of Sangria, she slept the rest of the
way to Garcia's and awoke freezing cold. Julio had the air
conditioner turned on full blast! She tried to get out of the car
but the doors were locked. Julio lounged in the driver's seat,
chuckling at her discomfort.
"Let me out of here, you bastard!" she screamed at him, "I'm
freezing to death!"
"Haven't you heard the Chinese weather report? Chile today,
hot tamale," he answered insouciantly.
"Oh, I hate you, you ... you ..."
"Pinche. I think that's the word you're looking for,
senorita. Pinche. I'm being a prick."
"Oohh! And a foul-mouthed one, too! You're a foul-mouthed
... flunky! That's what you are -- Ernesto's flunky!"
At that Julio vaulted across the front seat and pinioned her
with his powerful body. His blue eyes were shooting sparks and he
spoke through clenched teeth. "Listen, you little puta, don't you
ever call me anybody's flunky. Before long, you will realize that
you are the flunky here. I am the only person who can possibly
save you -- if I care to, though I'm not so certain that you are
worth it!"
Jill blinked up at him. He was pressing into her, and she
could feel his massive penis growing against her loins.
"What do you mean, save me? What is there to be saved from?"
He peered into her eyes, assessing in his mind how much he
should reveal to her. He was sorely tempted to kiss her. But
that could ruin everything, his plan. He had to play it just
right; he didn't know if she had brains enough to be made a
confederate.
For one moment there was an irresistible current of desire
that passed between them. Then Julio got up, releasing her from
his grip. He switched off the air conditioner and flipped a
switch that released the locks on the rear doors. Then he sprang
from the driver's seat and opened a door for her, holding out his
hand. Jill hesitated, more confused than angry now, but finally
extended her hand to let him help her out of the car.
"Are you in the mood for creating a great work of art,
senorita?" he teased.
"Not really."
"Too bad. I am in the mood for being preserved for posterity
on a sketch pad."
Jill managed a feeble laugh. "Oh, all right. I suppose I
should have something to show Don Ernesto."
"That's true. After all, he only brought you here because of
your potential. The Don doesn't take an interest in every girl he
meets on the street ..."
Chapter 11
Days passed. Jill worked very hard for about four hours each
day. Julio proved to be a very good model. She found herself
becoming more and more attracted to him. But she could not figure
out his behavior. She had tried every tactic to win him over, and
the full range of emotions she had used so successfully on Chris
and the other boys she wound around her little finger, but Julio
seemed immune to her charms. She knew it couldn't be so -- she
drew considerable attention at La Jacaranda, where she did her
portrait sketches for three hours each night. And as she guessed,
Senor Valdez couldn't keep her hands off her. She was subjected
to frequent ass-pats every time the slimy fat man got within an
arm's reach. At one point she complained to Julio that the older
man was always trying to "feel her up," but he infuriated her by
suggesting that that sort of thing was no problem for a "real
woman."
He never repeated his behavior in the back seat of the
limousine, never made a pass at her. Nor did Don Ernesto, who,
though attentive, was often away from the house for long periods
of time. She was thoroughly convinced that the suave Colombian
had no other interest in her other than to further her career in
the art world, and she found herself feeling actually regretful.
She didn't know why, but for some reason, she sensed that
something strange was going on. Sometimes Don Ernesto would go
off in the middle of the night, driving his chrome yellow
Lamborghini Mura down the winding driveway at dangerous speeds.
At other times, Julio would chauffeur him, and she would be left
alone for a couple of hours. Once she picked up the phone at
three a.m. as she nervously paced in the study, unable to sleep.
When she answered, there was a silence, and then a "click."
Sometimes, when she was left alone like that, she would go to
her "studio" -- a glass-enclosed sun room where she kept her art
materials -- and work on her self-portrait. Julio had moved a
full-length mirror into the room, and she used a high work table
draped with cloth as her "bed." The portrait was close to
completion, and Jill felt personally that it was the best thing
she had ever done.
She had met many people, she was even learning a few phrases
in Spanish. Basically, she was happy. But there was something
missing. She longed for Chris. Or perhaps, she longed for
someone to share her experiences with, to do to her what Chris had
done, and more. She was hungry for love. She needed a man. Her
continued masturbation (usually on the bathroom rug, though
sometimes in bed) had only made her more anxious, more desirous
for a man's body next to hers. To make matters worse, Julio had
taken to posing in the nude for her, and she couldn't take her
eyes -- or her mind -- off his genitals.
She was feeling particularly horny one afternoon as she was
doing a sketch of him. It was a wretchedly hot day, and as Julio
sat in profile to her, the far leg drawn up to his chest, the
other resting on the floor, she was surprised to see him getting
an erection! He was perspiring, and the sun glistened on the
beads of perspiration that clung like dew to his beautiful body.
In frustration and in anger, she threw down her charcoal and
stamped out of the room muttering, "Peon!" She went straight to
her bedroom and threw herself on the bed, sobbing into the
mattress.
Moments later, the bedroom door burst open and in stormed
Julio. He was at her bedside before she could move. Roughly, he
turned her over on her back and slapped her hard across the mouth.
She kicked up at him, narrowly missing his groin with her bare
foot. "Peon! Pinche! FLUNKY!" she screamed out at him through
her hysterical sobs. He grabbed the top of her smock and pulled,
ripping it right off her body. Jill was stark naked, except for
sheer panties, which the bearded young man also yanked off of her.
She screamed and tried to cover herself with her hands.
He flung her hands away and spread her legs apart, looking
point blank at her pussy. "I think a peon's prick is just what
you need," he said, as he reached between her legs and thrust his
fingers into her soft cuntal furrow. She was already wet and
sticky, and he knew that she really wanted to make love. "Or
would you rather go lie down on the bathroom rug and do it to
yourself?"
Jill's lovely face turned scarlet, and she gasped, covering
her face with her hands. "Oh NOOOOOO!"
"You self-centered, stuck-up little bitch! Why do you think
you're here? To paint pretty pictures and wear pretty clothes?
To be wined and doted on? Que stupida!"
Jill lay there, shuddering in fear and humiliation. It was
almost too much to bear. Worst of all, she was a raging cauldron
of desire. She wanted Julio to ravish her!
"Go on, go into the bathroom and play with yourself!" he
commanded her, pulling her up from the bed and shoving her toward
the mirrored room. "I don't want you crying RAPE! at me. If you
need me, I'll be in my room!"
He left her then, standing in the middle of the floor, her
brain whirling with anger, humiliation and desire. She had never
met a man who treated her so cruelly, a man she could not have
kissing the ground she walked on. She felt at that moment that
she was hopelessly in love with Julio. Yes, the appeal of the
heel. That's what turned her on. Spoiled as she was, she was
undeniably drawn to a man who would not take shit from her.
Without thinking further, she ran to his room. He lay on his
bed, calmly reading a magazine. "Julio ... I ... I'm sorry I
called you those names ..." She was standing in the doorway, the
sun spotlighting her glorious hair, her ripely rounded, pink-
nippled breasts, her gently flaring hips and her curvaceous legs.
Julio put the magazine down. His cock was still fully erect and
menacingly magnificent standing up from his loins. "Come here,"
he told her.
As in a dream, Jill walked slowly over to the bed, her body
shaking with emotion. For the first time since she had known him,
Julio gave her a full and very warm smile. (She never realized he
had such nice teeth.) Then he reached up and caught her hand and
drew her down on top of him, kissing her lightly on the lips. He
paused then, and gave her another smile. Her whole body was
trembling. She kissed him, thrusting her tongue between his lips
and laving his lingual member wantonly, feeling the strange
caressing softness of his beard against her face.
In one graceful maneuver, he rolled her over so that he lay
atop her, his elbows taking most of his weight. His enormous
penis pressed into her naked flesh like a rolling pin of flesh.
The great menacing weapon was already oozing its seminal fluid up
into her navel as he rubbed his cock-shaft insinuatingly back and
forth over the top of her cunt slit, arousing her inflamed
clitoris. She found her buttocks beginning to move upward.
Julio aroused her further by licking her neck, sending
goosebumps all over her body. Then he licked down her chest,
across her full proud breasts to her nipples, which rose and
hardened to the touch of his tongue. He licked and sucked all
over her breasts, forcing gasps of pleasure from her throat. She
ground her pelvis harder into his loins, aflame for more.
"You're ready for it now, aren't you, puta mia. You want it
now ... the full length of a peon's cock deep inside you," he
whispered in her ear. He followed his words with his tongue,
licking in the sensitive little channel and setting Jill on fire
with craven lust. "Don't you?" he whispered again.
Pride captured her tongue, and the aroused artist did not
speak. She whimpered and fretted and closed her eyes.
"Muy bien. If you don't really want it, then we can wait for
another time ..." he taunted her, raising up on one elbow as
though to get off. Only the tip of his fiery cock touched her
body.
"No!" she cried out, reaching her slender arms up to clasp
him around the neck. "I do want it ... now."
"Want what?"
"Your cock ... I want you to ... to fuck me, Julio."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, oh YES. FUCK ME!" She kissed him passionately on the
mouth again and ground her breasts and her pubis into his hard,
muscular body.
"In Spanish we say, Chinga me ..."
"All right, then, chinga me. Chinga, chinga, CHINGA!"
Julio could wait no longer. He kissed her passionately again
then slid down her body a little, so that his huge throbbing cock
was poised at the entrance of her delectable cunt. Using his cock
as a probe, he inched forward until he was sure he was right on
target, then he pressed hard so it was tight against her vaginal
lips.
"Julio ... be gentle with me. It's only the second time,"
she said softly, her voice quavering with desire.
"Si, si," he answered, coming down onto her body again and
reaching under her to grip her ripe buttocks.
The pressure of his cock rubbing against her clitoris created
new sensations of arousal, and she found herself opening her legs
wider to admit her Mexican lover. He was slowly forcing her pussy
lips open, steadying his cock with his hand as it pushed into the
waiting lips of her pleasure hole. As he pulled at the quivering
half-moons of her buttocks, pulling her onto his throbbing shaft,
he shoved his tongue into her mouth again and started licking into
her cheeks. Jill's clitoris was fully aroused by the contact with
the slowly advancing penis, and her buttocks voluntarily moved
upward under the forcefully gripping hand to get more of the
exciting stimulation. He was in her now, at least a couple of
inches, worming his way slowly into her velvety cuntal moistness.
She felt a lascivious thrill from his tonguing into her
mouth. She ran her hands over his back, his arms, his neck,
thrilling to the feel of Julio's hard, powerful muscles. He
flexed his muscular thighs, moving his enormous shaft a little
further in. There was pain -- she thought her vagina would be
split apart -- but she could endure it because she wanted his huge
rod of flesh inside her. Her body cried out for it, demanded it,
and there was no turning back.
"Oooohhhh ... aaahhh ... aanngghh ..." she moaned, grimacing
with the pain. Julio paused for a moment, panting above her, his
body slick with sweat. His beard tickled her cheeks and her neck,
sending more shivers down her spine. He wriggled his thighs then,
warning her in advance of an imminent thrust far up into her cunt,
so she stretched her legs wider apart and drew her knees back,
leaving her pussy in a more open and vulnerable position to
receive the immense, blood-bloated rod of throbbing flesh. Its
pounding heat was already enticing the juices from her vaginal
walls -- her pussy, her vagina, her clitoris wanted more.
He groaned aloud, then suddenly whammed his buttocks down and
forward, sending his palpitating shaft deep up into her, searing
her vagina as if a boiling thermos had been rammed into her belly.
Jill let out a loud gasp of pain. She bucked and quivered and
squirmed on his cock, trying to evade his impaling weapon. But it
was useless. He knew that he had her. He gave an extra shove,
feeling the tip of his cock butt against her cervix. Dios, she
was tight! If his cock had lungs he would have strangled to
death.
They lay still together for a long moment, he giving her a
chance to get used to his cudgel. They were breathing in synch.
He flexed his throbbing member inside her, and she contracted her
vaginal muscles around it.
Julio slowly eased back out a little, feeling as though his
cock were being gripped by strong hands; clenching, slippery hands
as he shoved in again hard. Jill gave a stifled cry. Back out a
little and in again. (She groaned.) Out ... in ... (She gasped,
then sighed.) Out, in ... out, in ... (a little longer stroke
this time) out, in ... (She was moving under him, her buttocks
were coming to life. Out, in ... faster now ... (She was
thrusting her pelvis up harder to his loins.)
God, it was exciting! She had never felt so thrilled in all
her life. She pulled his head down and thrust her tongue hungrily
up into his mouth, her eyes closed, a steady whimper of pleasure
emanating from her throat. Julio returned her kisses with ardor.
They were both consumed by passion, their sweat-soaked bodies
locked against each other, creating a sauna of flesh in the sun-
drenched bedroom of Garcia's "man Friday."
A long stroke now -- her cunt was wet and hot; his cock was
hot and sticky -- in, out ... iiiiinnnnn ... ooouuuttt ... She
was loving it! She couldn't get enough!
Jill's long legs were tightly wrapped around his contracted,
rock-hard buttocks. Her moans of pleasure grew in volume until
they reached a crescendo as the well-fucked American ingenue rode
the full length of Julio's massively thrusting cock into her
stretched vaginal passage.
Her passion peaked at that instant. "Ohhhh ... ohh my God
... I'm ... I'm cuuuummmmiiinnnggg!" She bucked furiously against
him and ground her pussy as hard as she could around his skewering
cock, flailing her head on the bed and spasming throughout her
sweat-drenched body. Her sighs of rapture culminated an act she
had intended to deny herself until she was married. And while she
was in the throes of orgasmic ecstasy, the powerful, muscular body
on top of her shuddered violently and filled her pussy with
spewing jets of sticky hot cum.
"Vino la familia," he said later, while they both lay there
spent and surfeited with the afterglow of orgasm.
"What?" she asked, a puzzled look on her face. Her eyes were
heavy lidded and shimmering.
"Vino la familia," he repeated, brushing a clinging strand of
hair from her cheek. "It means we came together. That is very
good -- especially for a beginner." He smiled at her, and for the
first time, there was a look of tenderness in his eyes.
"Your eyes, they're so blue," she said.
"I got them from my Irish mother. She was born in Boston.
Mary O'Brien. Thus, I am Julio Cabrillo-O'Brien. In Mexico we
take the mother's maiden name."
"I never knew that," she said dreamily, feeling another surge
of desire stir her loins.
"There are many things you do not know, chiquita," he said,
flexing his cock inside her once again. She could feel his organ
beginning to expand. "But you must learn them ... and very soon.
First, I must be certain of some things. And I will need your
cooperation ..."
"Anything, Julio. Whatever you say," she answered huskily,
squeezing his burgeoning cock with her clasping vaginal muscles.
"Tell me what you want me to do."
"Yes ... yes, I will. Later ..." And he fastened his mouth
again over her soft, yielding lips.
Chapter 12
"Well?" Garcia looked up from his desk in the study, where he
was busily writing something on a piece of paper. At Julio's
appearance, he hastily took the paper and placed it in a small
drawer. Taking a fine gold chain from out of his pocket, he used
the single small brass key to lock the drawer. He then returned
the key to his pocket and leaned back in his chair, waiting for
Julio's "report."
"There is nothing to worry about, Don Ernesto. The girl and
her boyfriend parted in anger ... he became impatient with her
virginity." The two men exchanged knowing smiles. "As the old
woman told you, the girl did make a call to her home city that
evening, before she went to dinner. But from the girl herself I
learned that the call to her boyfriend was disappointing -- he
apparently had decided to switch rather than fight ... he said he
was making love at that moment to the girl's twin sister ..."
Garcia smiled broadly. "So, she has a twin. Caramba! It is
a pity the twin did not come to San Francisco also. What an
exhibit the two of them would make! But then, you would have to
work twice as hard, Julio ..."
The bearded young man grinned back. "I enjoy my work, Don
Ernesto. Especially my most recent work."
"Una pinocha deliciosa?" Garcia queried, raising his eyebrows
with interest.
Julio joined his fingertips and brought them to his lips,
making a loud smacking sound as he kissed them. "Dolce. Dolce,"
he said, elongating the words.
"Interesante. Muy interesante. Perhaps I shall have to
taste that little pinocha with my own lips ... In the meantime,
there are business matters to attend to. We are going to Acapulco
tonight."
"Tonight'?"
"Si, si. Dawson will arrive at ten. He will meet us at the
plane. Phone the hangar and instruct them to make sure everything
is in order -- we take off at ten-thirty.
"And the girl?"
"She can come along -- a brief vacation. You can fill her
time, I trust; Dawson and I will be occupied -- oh, phone Acapulco
and tell them to have the car waiting. And alert Maria that we
shall have a chavalita guest overnight. I want everything in
order, including champagne and caviar for two -- in my bedroom."
Garcia gave his aide a sly smile.
"I thought you would be occupied with Dawson, Don Ernesto."
"True. But not in the bedroom! Even a business man must have his
moments of leisure ..."
"In that case, you had better rest before getting into bed
with her," Julio replied. "And what about Valdez?"
"I have already spoken to him. He is chagrined that Jill
will not be at work tonight, but I reminded him that the exhibit
will be held in two days. It is not so long to wait. Which
reminds me, you must also phone the ranchero and tell them to get
the girls ready. You will have to drive up there and pick them
up. I want them briefed -- the girl is to know nothing. You can
stress to them the consequences of indiscretion, Julio ..."
The suave entrepreneur of the underworld looked up at his
right hand man. Julio understood perfectly well what sort of
"instruction" he was to give the girls. In Don Ernesto's circle,
a few well chosen words sufficed to instill fear of reprisal into
the addict-prostitutes. In addition, they would all be given
ample quantities of dope and alcohol, then transported in the
Mercedes. High-density gelatins would be attached to the side and
rear windows from the outside, creating zero visibility. The
window between the driver's seat and the passenger compartment
would have the same kind of obscuring shield. The doors would be
locked electrically. There was no chance for escape. Uniformed
"security guards" -- several of the most corrupt members of the
Mexican police force -- would stand watch throughout the grounds,
to make certain no one attended or left the party who was not an
invited guest.
"I think that's everything. Now, where is the girl?" Garcia
asked.
"Sunbathing, at the pool."
Garcia's eyes lit up. "Rebueno. I think I'll join her for a
little chat."
* * *
"... And so, Jill, I want you to take your paper and paints
to Acapulco and do some studies for the exhibit Saturday. I will
have on hand a quantity of mats from the gallery. The work will
show better that way. Perhaps you will even find time to do a
portrait of me in pastels."
"Oh, Don Ernesto, that's right! I haven't done one of you
yet! You're so busy ..."
"And you have been busy too, my dear. Haven't you?" he said
cryptically.
"Well, yes. I have gotten quite a bit done ..." she
answered, a little flustered.
"How do you find Julio ... as a model?"
"He's quite good, actually," she answered, ignoring the
innuendo.
"I hope you will find me as satisfactory. I should like to
be able to include your study of me at the exhibit."
"Oh, of course. As a matter of fact, I have something else.
A self-portrait. I wanted to give it to you as a surprise, to
show my appreciation for all you've done for me, Don Ernesto."
"A self-portrait. How charming! I am really touched, Jill.
Is it finished?"
"Yes. Except for a few finishing strokes. I'll do that
today. But you can't see it until Saturday. That would spoil the
surprise."
"I shall find it difficult to wait ..."
* * *
Except for the irritating presence of Dawson, the journey to
Acapulco was exciting for Jill. The printer arrived from Los
Angeles with a big package wrapped in brown paper. He explained
that they were lithographs, and he didn't want to leave them in
the trunk of the Mercedes -- theft was too easy.
When they arrived in Acapulco, Julio drove them to the
gallery owner's beach house, which was nestled in a private cove
at one end of the Bay. They had cordials in the spacious living
room which, though casually furnished, with big soft armchairs and
low couches, was nonetheless the essence of good taste. Half an
hour later, Jill was asleep in her bedroom.
The house was dark and silent, except for the croaking of
frogs and the chirrups of crickets and other creatures of the
night. Silently the door opened and a man walked across the room
to her bed. He looked down at her beautiful face, which was
illuminated by the tropical moon. He undressed quickly, walking
around the bed to the other side. Then he drew back the sheet and
got in bed with her.
He pressed against her warm back, placing his arm over her to
cup one of her luscious bare breasts in his hand. She stirred and
moaned softly in her sleep. He nuzzled his face into her hair,
and kissed her on the ear and down her slender white throat to her
shoulders. "Jill! Wake up!" he whispered, jostling her breasts
with his hand. His hard cock pressed into the crease between her
buttocks.
The young girl stirred and stretched her lithe body like a
cat. Her eyelids fluttered then opened. She let out a small cry
of fright, which was quickly stifled by a powerful man's hand.
Then Julio's face appeared before her eyes, and ovalling his lips
he whispered, "Shhh. Don't make a sound. We must be very quiet.
The housekeeper sleeps with one eye open in the next room."
She turned around to him and wrapped her arms around his
neck, pulling him down to her. They kissed long and hard. She
was on fire for him again, and they made breathless, passionate
love. Afterwards he said, "Jill, I have to tell you something
very, very important. Not only because I need your help, but
because I care about you."
"You do?" she asked incredulously.
"Yes. And you will not enjoy what I have to say. It will
mean a great sacrifice on your part. But you will be doing your
country and my country -- and the poor people all over the world a
great and heroic service. Do you want to help the people? Do you
want to help me?"
She nodded her head mutely, her eyes wide with curiosity and
apprehension. "Yes, Julio. But I don't understand."
"Listen. I am not who you think I am. I am a secret agent
with an organization similar to the CIA -- the Federacion
lnternacional Contra la Criminalidad. . . FICC. We operate in
Spanish speaking countries all over the world."
Jill was really bug-eyed now. "But ..."
"And your gracious benefactor is not who you think he is. He
is a notorious white-slaver. More than that, we strongly suspect
him of wide-scale drug operations. In fact, we know that he is a
principal figure in illicit drug traffic. But we have never been
able to find out how he is passing the drugs, nor to whom he
passes them. Garcia is a brilliant criminal. And like all men
possessed of nefarious genius, he is extremely cautious ... and
extremely dangerous.
Jill was barely breathing, so awestruck and so tense was the
naive young girl. "Don Ernesto? I can't believe it."
"Can you believe that my kid brother died of an overdose when
he was only fifteen years old?" Julio said through a clenched jaw.
"Oh Julio -- I'm so sorry. That's horrible. Tragic."
"Yes. Someone got him hooked on drugs -- a junkie who needed
to support his own habit. And that junkie got it from someone who
dealt with a man like Ernesto Garcia, if not Garcia himself! Does
that not make your gracious benefactor a killer?"
"Well ... when you put it that way, of course. But he's been
so kind to me, so generous ..."
"Yes, chiquita. Very kind. Very generous. He can afford to
be, for he intends to use you very profitably!"
"Use me? How?"
Julio told her the whole story, including the grisly fate
that would befall her after the debauching orgy. She would become
a captive at the ranchero, forced into addiction and prostitution
along with the other kidnapped girls. Then he told her that
Josephine was a witch of some kind who was the Don's procurer in
San Francisco, how he had personally delivered a large sum of
money to her before going to the motel -- it was no accident that
Garcia arrived when he did; Josephine had tipped him off as soon
as Dawson left with the suitcases. Dawson knew nothing about
Josephine's part in the conspiracy. Garcia was extremely wily.
He told some people part of his operation and to others, he told
other things. But no one knew everything. He had never hinted of
his dope dealings to Julio.
Jill was crushed and horrified. Josephine! That tea -- it
was a drug of some kind! And the exhibit! A party in honor of
"such a promising young American artist!" Oh God!
"Listen. Tonight I saw Garcia and the printer go down to the
beach in the dark. I was able to observe them through a small,
infrared telescopic device. A little later, a small motorboat
arrived at the cove with a partial shipment of special hi-potency
vitamins -- feed additives for the fighting bulls he raises. He
has it imported by ship, supposedly from Argentina. The bags were
transferred to the car and the boatmen paid generously. When they
left, Garcia and the printer drove away. The lithographs are
missing from the printer's room ...
"So the dope must be in the bags of vitamins!" Jill
interjected loudly.
Julio's hand came down over her mouth again. "Naturally.
Now we know where it is. But we have yet to learn how it can
possibly be transferred to the lithographs -- unless the package
does not contain lithographs. I've been trying to figure that
out. It seems impossible."
"But why can't you have someone break into the gallery -- if
that's where they are? You can get Dawson, too!" Jill smiled
smugly at the thought of the crude printer getting his
comeuppance.
"It is not enough. We can imprison Garcia and Dawson. But
our organization is far more interested in breaking the entire
network. I know Don Ernesto too well -- we could not elicit a
confession from him, even by torture. He would go to his death
with his lips sealed. He could have been jailed for white
slavery, for kidnapping in the past. But those crimes would not
keep him in prison for long. He is too rich, too powerful. He
has too many employees in local government. International
trafficking in narcotics in another matter, and ultimately, of
political importance. Pressure can be brought to bear -- high
ranking officials are not anxious to lose their posts. We are
very close now. But we must have that paper. I think it will
tell us what we want to know, and that is how you can be of help."
"Me?" Jill asked incredulously.
"Exactly. Now, here is what you must do ..."
* * *
Julio took Jill into the city the next morning, to markets
and other places of interest, where she did some wonderful
sketches of the Acapulcans. They had lunch in a charming
restaurant, then went back to the house for a cooling swim, making
love on the beach. That evening Don Ernesto took them all to La
Perla, the famous restaurant where the Indian Divers plunge into
the ocean from a high cliff. She knew he chose the touristy hotel
for her benefit, and despite knowing his evil designs for her, she
couldn't help feeling a little sad for the courtly Colombian. And
she felt sorry for herself. She was having a wonderful time, a
fabulous adventure in Mexico. No one had ever treated her so
grandly as Don Ernesto. And he had made good every promise to her
so far. Looking at him across the table as he sat there, so
handsome, so aristocratic with his tanned skin and crisp white
sharkskin suit, she could hardly bear to think of him in drab
prison uniform, his beautiful face drawn and wan from bad food.
Yet he was a criminal, and a predator. And if she failed to do
her part to bring him to justice, she would be failing thousands
of people everywhere. Worse, she would be endangering Julio's
life, and possibly her own! She could never forgive herself if
anything happened to Julio. She was definitely in love with him.
No, she mustn't fail ...
They drank Margaritas and danced and she had a marvelous
evening. Don Ernesto was more attentive than usual. He treated
her differently ... like a woman he wanted to make love to,
holding her tight against him as they danced, kissing her softly
but lingeringly on the forehead. The fluttery feelings of
excitement danced in her belly and in her loins. The first part
of her assignment would not be difficult at all ...
When they got back to the house, Julio made a hasty retreat
to his bed. After lingering over a nightcap, the brutish printer
yawned widely and said goodnight, leaving the two of them alone.
Apparently Dawson knew what was in his associate's mind!
"Jill ... how about a little champagne and caviar?" Garcia
suggested.
"Oh, eh ... well ... I guess there's always room for a little
caviar ..." she stammered. There was a hard knot in her throat
that swallowing wouldn't take away. Her heart was beating like a
trip hammer. Dammit, why did he have to be so attractive! It
would be so much easier to betray him if he was a boorish clod
like Dawson!
"Marvelous. Come with me," he said, standing up and coming
over to her, extending his hands and drawing her up to him from
the couch. He looked deep into her eyes with the faintest glimmer
of lust. She thought he was going to kiss her. But he did not.
He took her by the hand and led her down the hall ... to his
bedroom.
He switched on a small lamp and closed the door. "The
champagne and caviar are over there, Jill," he said, pointing to a
bedside table.
She stood there, not daring to look up at him. He placed his
hands on her shoulders and gently turned her around. Looking
intently into her eyes he said, "I want to make love to you, Jill.
I've wanted to make love to you for a long time. But I am not an
animal. I will not force you. Whatever you give me of your body,
your beauty, your warmth, you must give willingly ..."
Jill was confused, bewildered. Those couldn't be the words
of a heartless white slaver, a dealer in wholesale narcotics! Oh
God, why did this have to happen to her?
"Ernesto ... I ... I ... oh yeeesss. YEEESSS!" she cried
breathlessly, lifting her face to receive his lips. He enfolded
her in her arms, crushing her against him. He wedged her legs
apart with his knee and pressed his hard, heated cock into her
pussy mound, massaging her cunt as he placed his hands on her taut
asscheeks and squeezed them firmly, kneading them as though they
were two plump loaves of dough. Jill was wet between her legs,
and her clitoris throbbed against her panty hose. She felt weak
in the knees.
Suddenly he drew back from her. "Let me undress you,
preciosa." And he did, while she stood there shivering with
desire. He was still fully clothed, and standing there naked
before him gave her a lascivious thrill, as though she were a
concubine and he, the Sultan of the harem.
He picked her up and carried her over to the bed, placing her
on the pristine white sheet ever so carefully. Then he undressed.
She saw the gold chain attached to his belt loop as soon as he
took off his jacket and placed it on the back of a chair. Then
followed the tie, the cufflinks and the shirt. He slipped off his
snakeskin shoes, then pulled off his socks as he sat on the edge
of the bed. Next came the trousers, which he carefully folded on
the crease line and placed across the chair seat. Lastly, his
monogrammed silk undershorts.
Ernesto stood before her, his throbbing penis jutting out
from his sparse black pubic hair. He was a sensational man. His
penis was not as large as Julio's, but it was beautiful, and more
than enough for the breathless young artist. His balls were
smooth and nearly hairless. How she would love to have Ernesto
pose nude for her!
"Well, my magnificent beauty, would you like your champagne
now or later?" he asked, sitting down on the edge of the bed and
grinning at her warmly. (God, she could have cared less about
anything to drink at that moment!)
She fanned her arm out languorously towards hum. "Later,
Ernesto ... much later ..."
He kissed her then, kissed her whole body all over.
Everywhere. He tongued her pussy and she came on his mouth again
and again. Then he fucked her -- oh, did he fuck her! Ernesto
was a well-oiled machine, his cock a piston that gave her another
thrilling orgasm before he stiffened and cried, "Dios, arribo!"
and blasted her pussy with his boiling load of cum.
They rested then, and sipped champagne and ate caviar on
English water biscuits. Then he ate her pussy again, squirting
champagne into her vagina with his mouth, then siphoning it out
again with the same pleasure-giving orifice. He was a master
love-maker, and she never came down from her sexual high.
Julio had told her to "wear him out" so that he would be
certain to sleep heavily. Instead, it was all she could do to
keep pace with her masterful Colombian lover, despite taking an
upper that Julio had given her earlier. Finally, she crawled down
between his legs and kissed his smooth cock. It bobbed in
reaction to her stimulus. Garcia placed his hand on her head.
"Are you certain you want to do that, nina?" he asked her.
"Yes, Ernesto. I want to kiss your beautiful cock. I want
to kiss it, and lick it and suck it until you fill my mouth with
your wonderful hot, sticky cum."
Dios! The girl has learned well -- and in such a short
time!, Garcia remarked to himself, I must give compliments to
Julio. Dawson was right: she is a she-cat!
Jill covered the underworld magnate's penis with kisses,
which became more fervent by the moment. Then she licked where
she had kissed, poking the tip of her pink tongue in the tiny
glans slit to taste his seminal lubrication. And as she sucked
and nibbled, her pussy became more inflamed with nibbling desire.
An electric surge washed over her cunt as Garcia reached down
between her legs and placed a long, elegant finger between her
pussy lips to massage her tautly distended clitoris.
At that, she opened her mouth wide and placed her lips over
the head of his heated shaft, drawing it in and licking it inside
her mouth as she folded her lips over the points of her teeth to
keep from hurting the tender cockflesh. She bent down, taking
more of the turgid prick into her mouth. Her lips were tautly
ovalled around him, and as she drew his cock into her mouth as far
as it would go, Garcia let out a heavy moan of pleasure and
momentarily stopped manipulating her clitoris.
Jill drew back, until the slippery head was almost out of her
mouth. Slowly, she sucked it deep inside again, and when she let
it slide out, she grasped the base with one of her hands so that
she could control it better. She was determined to give Ernesto
the best blow job she could. After all, he had satisfied her so
beautifully. And she felt guilty, despite what Julio had told her
about him.
He resumed his clitoral massage. Her lust-inflamed cunt
moved forward and back, forward and back against his finger as she
ground her pussy in tempo with her furious sucking mouth. She
wanted his cum! She was hungry for it, thirsty for it. She
wanted to milk him dry with her tongue and lips, to taste his
fiery seminal sauce. And she wanted to cum, too. Her cunt wanted
lt. Her clitoral nubbin wanted it. Oooohh, God it felt heavenly!
Garcia's moans and sighs were becoming more urgent. He
thrust his free hand into her dark, abundant hair and grasped her
scalp with his fingertips, forcing her into his loins. He was
fucking up into her mouth with his cock, sending his slender hips
forward to add more impetus to her mouth fucking.
Jill gyrated her hips feverishly, feeling the building heat
of her beautiful, pink-seamed crack. She was going to ...
Ooooohhhh ... she was cumming!
"Aaahhharaahh ..." she moaned onto Garcia's cock as the tide
of incomparable rapture washed over her body. She squirmed and
shook throughout her wanton orgasm, her lust more incited than
ever, and she sucked avidly on Garcia's cock, begging him with her
body and her mouth to join her in ecstasy.
He did. His balls released their pent-up jism, sending the
fiery fluid down the length of his engorged shaft and into the
young artist's mouth, where it splashed against the back of her
throat. He gripped the back of her head firmly, to make sure she
took the full surge of his ricocheting cum. She sucked and
swallowed it in quick gulps as her cheeks inflated and deflated
from the pressure of his endlessly squirting orgasm, savoring the
pungent, sperm-filled fluid as though it were a delicacy. She
continued to suck Garcia's spent cock after he had released his
hold on her head, until she had licked it clean.
When there was nothing more to lick, she crawled out from
between his legs and scooted up the bed to where he lay with his
eyes closed, one arm thrown across his forehead. She kissed him
full on the mouth. Then she went into the bathroom to freshen up,
praying that the handsome Colombian would fall asleep. She would
have loved nothing better than to dream in his arms for the rest
of the night. But she had a job to do. She splashed cold water
on her face and shook her head to shake herself alert. She
dawdled in the bathroom for several minutes. Then she cautiously
opened the door and tiptoed out.
She crept over to the bed and looked down at the still form
on the mattress. He lay just as she had left him. She called
softly to him, "Ernesto ... Ernesto ..."; and he groaned in
answer, then rolled over on his side. She waited, fearing to
move. His breathing was deep and rhythmical. Yes, he was asleep!
Her heart was beating fast and her hands were trembling as
she unfastened the gold chain from the belt loop and carefully
pulled the key from his trouser pocket. She slipped out of the
room noiselessly, still stark naked, and hurried to Julio's
bedroom. She had to shake him to wake him up.
He used a small pen light to see by until they were in the
bathroom. Then, with the door closed, he switched on a light. He
took one quick glance at her nakedness, raised his eyebrows and
gave her a quizzical look then held his hand out. She handed him
the key. He took a hair brush from the medicine cabinet, lifting
the bristles out. Jill's eyes widened as she saw the mechanism
inside. Mounted against the metal backing was something that
looked like a Zippo lighter without a top. It was filled with a
kind of red paraffin. Below the device was a battery cell and a
tiny switch. Julio dipped the key in a small bottle of white
liquid on the basin. Then he turned on the switch and placed the
key in the wax. He explained that the cell heated the wax
sufficiently to take an impression. In a few seconds, he turned
off the switch, waited a few seconds more, then gently pulled out
the key, which he washed with hot, soapy water and carefully
dried. The whole operation took less than sixty seconds!
"Get this back ... and be careful," he told her. Then he
kissed her lightly on the lips. "How was it?" he asked, his
professional cool barely concealing his jealousy.
"Just a job, like any other job," she answer, trying to
appear nonchalant.
"Con cuidado, senorita," he cautioned her. "That is what all
the hookers say ..."
She left him, her eyes blazing with anger and indignation.
This would be the worst part -- getting the key chain back on the
belt loop and the key into the pocket without being discovered.
She would get Julio later for his unkind insinuation. For now,
survival was foremost in her mind, and she opened the door a crack
to peer into the bedroom. The lamp was still on, and Ernesto's
back was to her, as it had been when she left. She estimated that
she had been gone about three minutes, possibly four.
It took that much time to get the damned chain back on the
belt loop! She was hurriedly gathering up her clothes when she
tripped on a shoe, and fell backwards onto the floor!
Garcia awoke with a start. He rolled over, blinked and
looked down at her. She looked like a frightened waif with her
clothes bundled between her legs.
"What are you doing there, Nina?" His look was more puzzled
than suspicious.
Jill's heart was in her throat, and when she spoke, the words
came out in a high-pitch squeak. "I ... I thought you would sleep
better if I went back to my room. Besides, there are people
around and ..."
He smiled sympathetically at her. "Of course, nina. I
understand. But I shall miss you. Very much."
"I'm going to miss you too, Ernesto. I really will ..."
Chapter 13
They flew back to Mexico City the next morning, dropping
Garcia and Jack Dawson (who clutched the wrapped lithographs
tightly under his arm) at the gallery. Julio drove to an old
section of town. They walked for two blocks, hailed a taxi and
rode for several blocks more, then walked another block, into a
locksmith shop, where Julio handed the stooped keymaker a brass
padlock, explaining in Spanish that he had lost the key. The old
man's face was expressionless as he shuffled into the back of the
shop. In about five minutes he returned, handing Julio the lock
and a key. Julio thanked the man, paid him and they left, taking
a different route back to the parked Mercedes.
In the limousine, he explained that the man was "with us ..."
When they got back to the house, Julio went immediately to
the study. Using the key the locksmith had given him, he opened
the padlock, which was hollowed out. Inside was an exact
duplicate of the key on Garcia's chain.
Julio quickly opened the drawer and read the paper which lay
on top His eyes widened. "Caramba!" he breathed. "We've got
him!"
Taking what looked like a package of chewing gum out of his
jacket pocket, Julio held the wrapper between his thumb and index
finger, pulling out one of the "sticks." He produced a miniature
camera, which he used to photograph the paper. It was a list of
names and numbers -- series numbers like those used on
lithographs! There were also dates next to the numbers. This was
a real bonus. Now Julio knew who the "clients" were and when they
were to come for their dope. If all went well, they could nab all
the big dealers in the Western Hemisphere!
Julio pulled out the second "stick" and placed it in front of
the first one. He took another photograph. He handed the stick
to her. "Here. Guard this with your life. If anything happens
to me, take this to a man named Roy Harris at the U.S. Embassy in
Mexico City. Tell him Senor Sombrero asked you to give it to
him."
"Oh Julio," she cried, throwing her arms around his neck, "I
don't want anything to happen to you. I love you!"
He looked at her strangely, wistfully. "Que lastima!" he
said softly. "What a dirty business it is, avenging crime. In
order to bring criminals to justice, we must become criminals
ourselves at times."
He left her then. He had things to accomplish before he
picked the two men up at the gallery to chauffeur them back to the
house. Then he would drive to the ranchero to fetch the girls.
She would not see him again until the "exhibit" ...
* * *
The hour for the orgy arrived. Jill had let herself be
drugged with cocaine, and she accepted any drink that was offered
to her. Julio had promised her that when the raid came he would
give her an injection of some powerful antidote that would clear
her mind and rouse her from her drugged stupor. God, she prayed,
don't let anything go wrong!
Her whole body felt numb from the coke she had snorted, and
the alcohol had dulled her brain. Yet she felt horny as anything!
She was introduced to the other "artists," and each of the girls
kissed her on the mouth. They were all in various stages of
druggedness and intoxication. Lovely girls with beautiful
figures, and each costumed to represent a character from a famous
painting. Jill detected several foreign accents. The air was
thick with a mixture of hashish, incense and cigar smoke.
She saw Dawson feeling the ass of one willowy young blonde
whose silky hair hung down over one eye. Valdez, her employer at
La Jacaranda, was there, in close conversation with Ernesto and
two other men, one of whom she recognized from the bullfights.
And there were several others whom she had never seen before. All
the men had an aura of wealth and importance about them. There
was even one in uniform with stripes on his epaulets and badges on
his chest who was introduced as "El Capitan." There were no
women, other than the young females who would prostitute their
bodies for the lusting guests.
Her self-portrait drew genuine compliments and enthusiastic
response, even from the girls. She wondered sadly what would
become of it once Don Ernesto was arrested.
Even her many sketches of Julio, and the portraits she had
done in Acapulco were displayed around the room -- a large
mirrored ballroom in a separate wing of the house. (Even the
ceiling was mirrored!) In the center of the room was an enormous
circular platform (it must have been twelve feet in diameter) and
flanking it, four curved, sectional sofas. The male guests sat on
these as Ernesto announced each painting character and the girl
appeared, parading around the stage like a beauty pageant
contestant to the men's cheers.
Jill was the last to come on stage, taking her place in the
center while the other girls did a kind of Busby Berkely ballet
around her.
"It's time to strip, baby," Goya's Maya whispered to her.
Under the influence of dope and alcohol, Jill 's inhibitions were
thoroughly repressed, and stripping seemed like the natural thing
to do. Lautrec's La Goulue rolled down her black silk stockings.
The Mona Lisa unfastened her dark dress and let it fall from her
shoulders. Monet's Odalisque, a sloe-eyed Oriental girl, took the
veil from her face and wriggled out of her sheer harem pants.
Clothes were flying in the air like a line of wash in a high wind
and there were female hands all over her, caressing her hardened
nipples, stroking the dark curls of her pubic hair.
The forbidden act of a naked girl intimately touching another
naked girl strangely excited the drugged young ingenue. Primitive
Spanish folk music played loudly in the background. A battery of
colored lights and psychedelic slides played grotesquely on the
girl's beautiful naked bodies as they danced and kissed and
fondled each other's bodies. They wrestled and rolled together on
the stage, pressing their warmly pulsing cunts together tightly,
stirring in Jill a forbidden excitement she couldn't deny ... the
gnawing ache, the yearning for sexual fulfillment, the hot feeling
that craved a cock, a tongue, a finger. When the blonde girl
tongued into her mouth passionately while thrusting a finger into
Jill's heated pussy, a man cried, "Vamanos!," and leaped up on the
platform. The others joined him, and soon there were naked male
and female bodies locked in sexual maneuvers all over the place,
with clothing of every sort flying off the platform.
Jill couldn't keep tabs on her conflicting emotions. On one
hand, she was horrified at the things that were happening --
especially the things that were happening to her (La Goule's
bright red lipsticked mouth was fastened over one of her breasts,
the girl's tongue licking avidly at the captive nipple.) On the
other, the very pervertedness of the lewd contact stiffened her
clitoris and created an almost unbearable sexual desire in her.
Suddenly the Odalisque was spreading Jill's legs and sticking her
tongue right into Jill's steaming pussy. The young artist nearly
swooned. Ooooohhh! Oh God, what's wrong with me? What am I
allowing? I can't let her do it ... got to stop ... but ...
nooooo, it feels sooooo wonderful! In her dazed state, she
flashed on the prurient graffiti scratched on the restroom door:
How about eating your cunt? The sensuous Oriental girl had her
slender hands on Jill's asscheeks and was burrowing deeper into
her cunt, her licking, sucking tongue painting crazy abstracts in
the steaming, sensitized furrow. There was another girl at each
of her breasts, their heads bobbing as they nursed on the taut
flesh. Through the haze of lights and colored images, Jill saw
Valdez and another Mexican advancing towards her, their cocks
jutting out like spears. Hands grasped her waist from behind and
pulled her down on her back, the other three girls still clinging
to her and sucking her breasts and pussy. What was happening?
Ohhhhh ... ooohhh ... she was CUUUUUMMMMMING!
Jill let out a banshee cry as she creamed the Oriental girl's
face with her pussy. Instantly, another mouth fastened on hers,
then there was a scramble of bodies, and a different head was
hovering between her legs. Then growing larger as it moved up her
body, until she was staring into the face of the fat man, Valdez,
who leered at her and gave her a sloppy French kiss.
Without warning, he shoved his cock into her open pussy and
began to fuck her. Jill clenched her eyes shut against the
whirling sensations shooting out of control through her loins and
belly, fighting with all her might against the betrayal of her
body to a nightmare of perverted lust. Soon, Valdez shot his hot
cum into her pussy, but not before she had cum hotly again around
the fat man's thickly jerking cock.
When the Mexican withdrew his spent organ, another girl --
the Mona Lisa -- fell on her body and licked the sticky cum out of
her while she spread her legs over Jill's face and shoved her cunt
onto Jill's mouth, forcing the young American to twist and move
her lips in an effort to find a breathing space. She had never
tasted a woman's pussy, and she was surprised to find the musky
sweetness exciting to her. She began to lick the girl's cunt in
earnest, sensuous hallucinations filling her confused mind.
There were bodies all around her -- feet, arms, torsos, cocks
and cunts, in various positions of sexual play. The Mona Lisa
clamped her thighs tightly around Jill's head, almost suffocating
her, and came, licking and sucking Jill to another cunnilingual
orgasm before she was pulled off the young artist's body. Another
pair of lips came down on Jill's face and tongued deeply into her
mouth, getting the residue of the Mona Lisa's pussy juices.
She heard cries of "Chinga! Chinga la pinocha!" around her,
then, "Mira-las nagas!" Hands turned her over and she was placed
across Dawson's body as she felt another pair of men's hands
groping at her asscheeks. Long, silky female hair brushed against
them then, and she bucked as she felt a wet pointed tongue in her
tight, puckered anus. Aaaahhh! Oh, nooooo!
At that moment, La Goule's face appeared under her and the
girl put her arms around Jill's neck and pulled her face down,
kissing her wantonly. Dawson's beefy hand was playing with her
breasts, cupping the tender mounds of flesh, squeezing them,
tweaking the berry-red nipples. The ass tonguing stopped -- to
Jill's disappointment -- and she felt another kind of stimulation
there: the tip of a man's hardened cock! NOOOOO! She couldn't
take that!
But she did. She had no other choice. Dawson's left hand
began to play around the moist lips of her vagina, triggering her
wanton loins into action, and she thrust her buttocks up in
response to the printer's lewd fingering. The hard, smooth penis
was cradled between her asscheeks. Someone grabbed her ankles and
began to lock the soles of her feet and her ankles, sending
agonizingly delicious shocks of feeling through her legs and into
her pussy. La Goulue was still kissing her passionately, and
grabbed Jill's hand and placed it around her melon-sized breast.
A silken, throbbing penis was placed in Jill's other hand. She
opened her eyes. It was the painter, Rafael De Vargas, the man
with whom she was supposed to study portraiture. He grinned at
her lewdly, his face the face of a lusting satyr in the weird
light. Moment's later, it changed to the creviced mounds of a
woman's ass, as Maya stood above the kneeling painter and
straddled his face, pulling his gray head into her pussy.
She saw the Odalisque kneeling between Dawson's legs, her
mouth fastened over the printer's cock and her raven hair skipping
over his hairy thighs. Drunken, drugged faces blurred and
elongated in hallucinatory transfigurations. Dawson was fingering
her pussy madly, and she squirmed against it. As she sought to
satisfy the craving of her pussy, she automatically massaged the
painter's wet cock up and down and grasped it harder in her hot
hand. She was perspiring under the psychedelic glow of the lamps
and from the sex heat generated by her own excitation and by the
heated sea of bodies around her. Where was Don Ernesto? She
wanted him to fuck her. Why wasn't he fucking her? Why wasn't
somebody fucking her? Please fuck me, somebody!
The cock that had been cradled between her asscheeks was
suddenly thrust into her anus and she cried out in pain,
tightening her grip on De Vargas's cock and squeezing La Goulue's
breast painfully. She half turned her head to see whose cock had
plumbed her virginal asshole. It was Don Ernesto's! She couldn't
understand how it had passed the tightly resisting sphincter
muscle, but it had. The sodomizing shaft was in her hot rectal
channel, searing its way deeper and deeper into her unviolated
passage. She felt that it would punch through her belly and into
her throat.
At that moment, De Vargas shot his hot sperm obscenely into
her face and trickled onto her fingers. La Goulue, who was being
fucked by El Capitan, stuck out her tongue to lick the painter's
hot cum from Jill's eyelids and cheeks and chin. The gallery
owner's cock inside her rectum pressed deeper and deeper into her
defiled rectum, which miraculously began to accommodate the
invading weapon.
There was a momentary pause, as Garcia's cock came to the end
of the channel. Then he drew back, pulling most of the reaming
prod out. Jill relaxed her rectal muscles as the slippery prick
withdrew. Without warning, Garcia slammed his hips forward,
sending his throbbing cock all the way, until his balls smacked
hard against his lower asscheeks, sending her sliding forward over
Dawson's sweaty midsection until her ripe breasts smothered La
Goule's face, and the sex-hungry girl took them greedily into her
mouth and sucked gluttonously. Oh God! Jill was about to cum
again! She lifted up her head, gasping loudly, her whole body
quivering. The last thing she saw before she closed her eyes in
orgasmic ecstasy was the officer's cock as it slid out of La
Goulue's cunt. As Jill spasmed with another quaking orgasm, she
felt a hard cock, musky with the scent of a woman's pussy, being
shoved into her open mouth. Strong hands pulled her head into the
man's loins so that there was no escape for the cumming artist,
who was being cock-fucked from both ends.
Dawson shot off into the Oriental girl's mouth, bucking Jill
up and down as Garcia fucked hard into her asshole and El Capitan
fucked hard into her mouth. This was the final act of her servile
subjugation, and there were cheers of encouragement from the drug-
crazed participants in the debauching orgy. "Viva la Arte. Viva
La Artista Americana!" someone shouted. She was famous!
The drug-deluded young girl sucked hungrily on the officer's
cock, wanting to taste the ammonia-flavored sperm, wanting to feel
it running down her throat and out the corners of her mouth. And
she soon got her wish, her wanton sucking bringing the Mexican
officer to a sperm-spewing climax. She swallowed in rapid gulps
to prevent the ejaculating fluid from choking her as she ground
her asscheeks hard into Garcia's loins, skewering herself on his
impaling cock. The Colombian stiffened, every muscle in his body
taut and gleaming with sweat, and cried out, "Arribo!" as the
sperm from his balls scalded Jill's rectum ...
* * *
Outside, a battery of armed soldiers and policemen was
waiting for the signal to storm the palatial residence. Members
of Julio's organization had confiscated the lithographs from the
gallery. Key dealers had been apprehended. Garcia's guard squad
had been infiltrated by members of FICC, who were easily able to
overpower the gallery owner's well-paid flunkies -- those
mercenaries, members of El Capitan's corrupt force, had already
been hauled off to a retaining cell in a dismal, Mexico City jail.
Julio had packed all of Jill's things and transferred them to
a private car where Roy Harris, the undercover CIA agent who
worked at the U.S. Embassy, was waiting with an armed driver.
The piercing sound of a whistle came. The militia rushed
forward, bursting into the house and through the doors of the
mirrored orgy room. There were cries and shouts and a mad
scramble for clothes. The awful thud of a fist against a human
face jolted Jill's awareness as El Capitan's body fell backwards,
pulling his spent cock out of her mouth with a smacking
"Shluuckpphh." Something hard and metallic scraped her skin. Don
Ernesto was being handcuffed and pulled off her body, his cock
dripping semen. What was happening?
The music was still blaring; drums, wooden flutes, bells.
The lights casts lurid shadows on the bodies, both naked and
clothed, that roiled and skirmished on the platform. She was
being lifted up, off of Dawson's body, into the air, jostled and
buffeted. A heavy heel came down on her bare toes and she cried
out in pain. Then someone was throwing a robe around her,
wrapping her in cloth, covering her sweat-soaked, cum covered
body. Nooooo!
It was Julio! He pressed through the crowd, past the bodies,
taking her away from the platform, through the room and out the
door.
He took a small, glass-encased syringe from his pocket, bit
the end of it off and jabbed it in her arm. "You're going to be
all right now, Jill. You're going to be fine now," he said to
her, taking a handkerchief to wipe the cum from her face. In her
ravished state, she was unearthly beautiful. She seemed to have
matured into a young woman instead of an appealing young girl.
She looked up at him dazedly. "What's happening? I don't
know why ... I'm ... it's so confusing?"
"Shhhhh. Don't try to think now. I will explain everything
later." He was taking her out of the house, past the police cars
and the vans, down the drive and into the waiting car.
The cool night air felt bracing against her fevered cheeks.
She looked up into the star-dotted sky. The antidote was
beginning to take effect.
She was introduced to Roy Harris as the car zoomed into the
night. "Miss Conklin, you have done us a tremendous service. We
have been after Ernesto Garcia for a long time. The CIA, the
FICC, and the governments of the United States and Mexico are in
your debt. I'm certain you shall receive a special commendation
for this, as well as a substantial monetary reward. I'm only
sorry that it was necessary to use you the way we did ..."
Use you ... the way we did. The words struck her with the
force of a fist in the midsection. It hadn't occurred to the
naive American artist that she was being used by them!
"Julio ...?" She looked up at her bearded lover, tears
welling in her big, hazel eyes. She remembered what he had said
to her in the study: What a dirty business it is, avenging crime.
In order to bring criminals to justice, we must become criminals
ourselves at times ...
His blue eyes were full of pain. "Forgive me, Jill. I had
no other choice." She looked at him for another moment, then her
hand came down hard on his face. WHAAPPP! He only winced. She
sat back then, between the two men, her head high, hands folded in
her lap, big, salty tears rolling down her lovely cheeks.
There was an awkward silence. Then Harris spoke again.
"We've contacted your parents. They'll be waiting for you at the
airport. You'll have a good rest tonight, then a debriefing
session in the morning followed by a meeting with some very
important government officials, who want to thank you personally
for your contribution."
"Will they want a free fuck, too?" she asked dispassionately.
Harris went on, ignoring her sarcasm. "You'll be flying home
tomorrow afternoon."
"Home?" she echoed softly. A small, derisive laugh began in
the back of her throat.
"Yes. You'll be back in Kansas City tomorrow evening, and I
know that an awful lot of people will be glad to see you."
She was thinking, Haven't you ever read Thomas Wolfe, you
stupid bastard? You can't go home again. Not after San Francisco
and Mexico. Not after Don Ernesto and Julio and everything that's
happened. But they knew that ...
"Can't you just picture it?" she said ruefully, "the band,
the flashbulbs, the cheering throngs with little American flags in
their hands? And the banner: WELCOME HOME, JILL CONKLIN, THE
FAMOUS AMERICAN ARTIST."
The End