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Subject: Cantina (bd, nc, slavery)
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Cantina (M+/f, nc, Slavery) 
 ******************************************************************** 

I'm trying different writing styles. Whaddya think? Email me please.
My address is thoedore@spoonbender.demon.co.uk.  
 This story is copyright (c) 1996 by Spoonbender. It contains scenes
of sex and bondage so if you ain't old enough then don't read it. It
may be copied and distributed freely and non commercially, as long as
there are no changes made to it. If you want to do something
commercial with it then please email me. 
 This is pure fantasy, if you think anyone in it resembles you then
you're wrong! Positive criticism is encouraged, so feel free to email. 
 ********************************************************************* 
 Cantina 1 - The taking of Catherine. 
 The mining town is in the Amazonian jungle. A wild, lawless sort of
place where the knife or the machete settled most disputes. Men came
from all over South America to mine for gold, wresting precious crumbs
from a pitiless environment. There were Police, but they were at once
both frightened and corrupt. So the town was ruled by the local
gangsters. There were various tumbledown shacks masquerading as bars,
usually with a compliment of hard working whores mainly taken from
amongst the itinerant street children of Brazil's major cities. Girls
as young as 12 were regularly snatched and were made to serve the
hard, angry men of the town.  
 It was a hellhole and I loved it. 
 I'm not what you'd call a nice man, you wouldn't expect me to sit
drinking tea with your maiden aunt.   No, you  probably think that I'm
more likely to have my hand up her skirt. Hell I don't care, I've long
given up worrying about what people think of me. I'd come here as a
geologist in the days when the government held out hopes of running
this place on commercial lines. Yeah the gold was there alright it was
just that you had the slight obstacle of 1,000 miles of stinking
jungle to get through before you could get to it, so heavy machines
were out. You couldn't even chopper the stuff in as the place was in a
narrow gorge which could hardly be seen from the air never mind flown
into. I'd met a few crazies, mainly ex vietnam yankees who could drop
small choppers in, but the big commercial guys wouldn't touch it. The
other problem was getting the stuff out. You had to cross a war zone
of feuding gangsters, cocaine barons and really pissed off Indians
before you could get back to anything remotely like civilisation. The
army tried it a couple of times but they lost so many men, plus the
shipments, that even they gave up. So it was abandoned to the peons.
The government having long sussed out that it was easier to get them
to do the hard work and then just tax the shit out of them if they
made it back with their hoard intact. 
 I was brought here under a government contract. A crazy gringo who
had just finished his doctorate in Geology and who was wishing he'd
studied micropaleantology so he could be working in a nice sane place
like Iran or Libya. I love politicians, especially South American
ones. These guys make Hitler look like a more benevolent form of
mother Teresa. I'd been promised the earth, backup, support,
laboratory, good pay and a team of dedicated workers. So I ended up
with Pedro and Juan, a stud hand of pack mules and a pickaxe. Pedro
was a villianous rogue if ever you've seen one. He had a face that
looked like a relief map of the Rockies, all jagged scars and cuts
from various bar brawls. He had one eye that was milky from a cataract
and he was short, thin and wiry, streetwise and amazingly strong. He
had only tooth, a large yellow tombstone that made him look like the
devils version of bugs bunny. Juan on the other hand was like a road
digger, big, powerful, slow and yellow. I swear to god the man is
yellow, not brown like most of the folk from around these parts but a
good old honest to goodness buttercup yellow. You didn't like to
mention it to him though, he was a trifle touchy about it.   I've seen
one man who tried, he had trouble getting around afterwards due to his
foot having been twisted around to face the wrong way. So there we
were, the mad doc, a crazy toon and a demented Simpson, the total
government investment in a multi-million dollar gold mining complex.  
 The IMF had stumped up the money. Hey those guys are so far out of
it. They think that all projects in the developing world are managed
like AT&T. Some crackpot politician comes up with a new scam, promises
a million jobs and vows, hand on heart, to help out with the cocaine
problem and bingo the good old IMF, goaded on by Uncle Sam, is
shovelling money around like it has gone out of fashion.   The IMF
dudes don't actually get their feet dirty by actually seeing the
project, hell no! Rio is as close as they want to get. So a little
money is top sliced, by each sticky hand it passes through, as it
works its tortuous way through the political system until what is left
is enough to buy me and my two stooges. That money didn't last long
either, they stopped the field money virtually as soon as they'd
called the departure of the IMF guy's flight home. So, after one month
of hiking around a sweaty, disease ridden jungle we found ourselves
unceremoniously dumped and told to find our own way back. In short we
were unemployed. 
 I was now cast in the role of a caring employer with a loyal staff
who wouldn't think twice about slitting my face open if I didn't come
up with a scheme, or a scam, to make us a few Reals. I was in the same
prediciment as millions of my fellow small businessmen the world over.
We needed a new product and we needed it fast. It had to be the right
sort of product too as my workforce were not exactly adept at
reproduction antique furniture or basket weaving and there weren't
much call for that sort of stuff around here anyway. So I had to find
something that suited my men's perculiar talents.   Another slight
worry was that I had the main mobster on my back, for a little bit of
'special work'. It was around about this time that my thoughts turned
to christianity. 
 Chapter 2 
 I love christians. Hell some of my best friends at College were holy
joes, all beards, roll necked sweaters and bright shining eyes. I love
the girls too, wholesome and fresh, midcalf skirts and ankle socks.  
 I especially love the girls. 
 They have some wonderful ideas too. Like sending earnest young men
and women thousands of miles from home to civilise the savages. We had
one such compound about 40 kilometres away. It was built like fort
apache with a wooden stockade and all mod cons. It was about as
civilised as you get down this end of the world. I wonder if the hard
tithing congregations back home in Nothingsville Iowa would make of
the luxury that these people have down here. Air conditioning,
refrigeration, luxurious bungalows and their own private airfield.
They had a plan too! They just set down and waited for the savages to
come to them to have their pagan ways thrown off. Savage they may be,
but stupid theyre not. So they turned up to see what was on offer,
stayed awhile and then just slunk off when the hymns for supper became
too much for them. I say teach them practical christianity like how to
grow food, or how to organise themselves so they don't get ripped off
by the government or rapacious landowners, stuff like that. Not bible
bashing. Shit these guys had enough of that, 4 centuries of armed
priests, conquistedores and smallpox had given them a somewhat
jaundiced view of the benefits of christianity. 
 Anyway back to the plot. I'd hatched a plan. It wasn't exactly a
brilliant plan, in fact truth be told it wasn't exactly my idea. It
was sort of explained to me by Mario the local mobster. Mario was a
cutie, he'd obviously been watching too many badly dubbed Edward G
Robinson movies. He thought he was a south american Al Capone. All
false bonhomie, my friend and all that stuff. God! the hairs stood up
on the back of your neck if he patted you on the back 'cause you knew
he was just figgering out where to shove the knife. Now Mario owned a
couple of cantinas where you could get something resembling moonshine,
if you could cope with blindness, but where at least the poontang was
real enough, if somewhat overused if you know what I mean. Mario was a
bit different to the other bosses around here, you see Mario had
ambition. He liked the idea of a multi-national corporation. Well
multi- national workers at least. Blond ones with blue eyes. 
 Now when it came to women I was more a spectator, occaisionally a
consumer, but hardly a supplier.   So I was a little coy when he
explained what he wanted me to do. It wasn't exactly my line of work,
where do I get the merchandise from? problems with capital etc. You
know the sort of thing. I'll say this for Mario, man that guy is
straight. He told me straight away that either I'd do it or he'd rip
my head off and then piss down my throat. As a worker incentive it had
a wonderfully rejuvinating effect on me and suddenly all the petty
little business problems seemed to fade away. Especially when he
offered me 2,000 Reals and an active interest in the merchandise. Now
I was really beginning to warm to the idea. Pedro loved it, I could
tell that this was his kind of work as he explained it patiently to
Juan. Rape and Plunder all in one package, it was like a dream to him.
He was born in the wrong time and the wrong place, he would have made
a great viking. 
 It took us nearly a week to get to the Christian compound. A week of
hacking our way through an uncharted, primeval jungle. I was glad that
Pedro was with us, he had the homing instincts of a racing pigeon when
it came to cunt and he could smell those fresh christian cherries from
a 100 klicks away.   I had a little bit of a discipline problem when
we arrived. My workforce were all in favour of rushing in and grabbing
the first girl they saw. My authority was at risk so I used some of
those tried and tested management techniques that they teach you on
your MBA at Harvard and which are practised so devastatingly
effectively on Wall Street.  So, while Pedro nursed his newly won
knife scar and Juan tended to his aching testicles,  I vocalised my
thoughts. As a piece of management strategy it was excellent, even
though I say so myself. I patiently explained my ideas, winning them
over with my bold initiatives, my daring plans and my colt 45, with
which I promised to blow their heads off with if they fucked me about. 
 The result was Catherine. Slim, blond, pretty and excrutiatingly pure
and wholesome. I've got a name for this type of girl, a nut tightener,
you know what I mean? You see her and your balls sort of tighten up.
The girl next door. 21 years old from some place in Idaho, a soft
spoken, smiling, nice tits sort of girl. She wasn't smiling now
though, when your wrists are tied together and roped to the pommel of
a packmule you probably get the feeling that something ain't quite
right. 
 I'd spent a couple of days spying up the camp through my
fieldglasses. I didn't want to be seen hanging around, a gringo would
attract too much attention, but I wanted to select a target. My boys
were like kids in a candystore as the smogasbord of beautiful white
flesh was arrayed before our eyes.   They jabbered and pointed to
various females, choose that one, no that one, what about taking 2? If
there was one thing I've learnt about business it is that you always
supply the customer with exactly what they wanted. That was the way to
get repeat business and I was starting to warm to this new profession
of mine. My customer had insisted on a blond and that was just what he
was going to get.   I'd seen her briefly on the first day and I
thought she was worthy of a second look. I saw a lot more of her on
the second day. She was working in a kind of field clinic and an
endless supply of the halt and the lame found their way to her door.
Now all I had to do was to convince her to make housecalls. 
 I sent Pedro in to say that his daughter was ill and she was on a
litter just outside the compound and could she please take a look. It
was nearly dusk and the clinic was finished for the day and Pedro must
have been at his dramatic best because she came, complete with a
medicine bag. She even brought her own pennecilin, now that was handy.
Two hours later she was tied to a tree over two kilometres away as we
settled down for the night. 
 To say Mario was pleased would have been an understatement. He even
got a real bottle of scotch out as she nervously surveyed the roach
ridden cantina and the collection of hard eyed whores coldly regarding
her from the shadows. After a round of toasts to our new venture he
asked me to come with him to see his newly constructed premises. It
was a fine example of period architecture, 14th century penal
architecture that is. It was just a long corridor which had steel
doors at regular intervals along each side, around 20 in all. Each
door led to a room, in which there was a mattress, a table and two
rickety chairs. At the rear of the room there was a concrete shower
cubicle in which the occupant both washed and relieved herself. It was
a marvel of functionality. I entered one of the rooms and was
immeadiately struck by the shackles and chains set at convenient
intervals around the bed and the table. So this is where Catherine was
going to work I thought. Suddenly I had another thought, all of
Mario's other girls had rooms above the Cantina, reached by a set of
stairs on the outside of the building. So why was there a need for so
many rooms? Then it hit me, Mario wasn't just thinking about just one
white girl, as I said he had plans. 
 It was time to introduce Catherine to her new line of work, bringing
comfort and relief to the natives of this blighted land. On second
thoughts maybe it was the same type of work, just a different
methodology. Her hands were still tied together so it was easy to pull
her along the corridor and selecting a room at random I pulled her in
and locked the door. Alone at last. I untied her and invited her to
stand in the middle of the room. She stood looking at me nervously
licking her lips as I surveyed her. She was wearing a khaki bush shirt
and khaki shorts with knee length socks and jungle boots. A modern day
Dr Livingstone. In the glare of the naked bulb she looked more
beautiful than ever. Her hair was straight and long, to her shoulders,
and her face was sort of oval. She had bright blue eyes, a snub nose
and a rosebud mouth. Her body was slim and athletic, 5' 6" I reckoned
and, even though they were scratched from the journey, her legs looked
sturdy  and beautifully curved.   Now I'm not one for art but I knows
what I like as the old saying goes and this one is ART! I can hardly
wait to get started but first I wanted to savour my moment. After a
long minute I told her to get undressed. Her eyes flew open like
blinds and she mewled and protested. I told her again and again she
did nothing, except weep. So I struck. 
 The room was small and all it took was one bound before I reached
her. I grabbed one wrist and before she could even register a protest
I'd pulled her over the table and snapped her wrist into a
conveniently placed shackle. She flailed away with the other arm, but
I soon grabbed it and it too joined its twin. Her khaki covered ass
was bent invitingly towards me and I paused for a second to admire it
before I got to work. 
 My she was a screamer! I thrashed that girl's defenceless ass like a
madman with the cane I had picked up from the corner of the room
(Mario had thought of everything). Her feet at first kicked out then
started the dance of a well caned woman as the pain centres in her
rear started to meld together.   All the time she screamed and
pleaded. After about 15 strokes I stopped and picked her head up by
her hair and asked her whether she was ready to cooperate. "Yes, Yes
oh God Yes. No more please no more I'll do what you want but no more
please". I could go on but I think you get the drift. 
 I let her up and her hands flew to her rear as she danced prettily in
front of me as she rubbed her burning rump. Again I told her to
undress, she hesitated for a second but as I moved towards her she
screeched no and started to undo the buttons on her shirt. She pulled
her shirt off to reveal an industrial strength bra that looked like it
would need a mechanical engineering workshop to get it off.   Her
boots and socks were next closely followed by her shorts. She stood in
her bra and panties (sensible white cotton with little pink roses for
crying out loud) looking at me. I asked her if I'd told her to stop
and she shook her head. 

Well carry on then. I said swishing my cane against my boot for
emphasis. 

Her tits were a marvel once she'd struggled the bra off. They were the
most breathtaking pair of mammaries I'd ever seen. Perfectly round
with a cheeky little tilt to her nipples, 36D I'd guess but without an
millimetre of sag. They were milk white and I guessed they never got
to go out much. She blushed furiously and tried to cover them. I
explained that it was a bit pointless me getting her to take her bra
off if she was going to immeadiately cover her tits up again. I'm a
reasonable sort of guy and she saw the sense in what I was saying
especially when I jerked the cane, so she dropped her hands to her
sides. I pointed out that her hands might as well have something to do
so they might as well busy themselves removing her panties. You could
see the inner struggle as she stood there biting her lower lip then
suddenly, in one smooth action, she pulled them down. I held my hand
out and, humiliated, she handed them to me. I sniffed them, she'd been
wearing them for a week and they were a bit strong but they helped to
make me as horny as hell. Meanwhile my vision of loveliness stood
before me. I could see her hands creeping across to hide her crotch so
I ordered her to put her hands behind her head. 
 I walked around her, as she stood there shaking visibly. I saw the
results of my handiwork on her ass which looked angry and painful. I
reached down and cupped a buttock, she started but a sharp intake of
breath from me and she pushed her bottom back into my hand. I could
feel the heat and her delicious tremours as I carressed her cheek. I
let my finger stray down the crack of her ass and then invaded between
her legs. She moaned and closed her eyes as my fingertip brushed her
sex, but she didn't move. I smacked her left buttock and told her to
lie on the bed.  
 It was party time. 
 Chapter 3 
 I've got this fantasy, well I've got quite a few actually but we'll
leave the picture of Mario with a bullethole in his forehead out of it
for the moment. Anyway, my fantasy. I'm a control freak. Not too bad
eh? Better than a snuff freak or hanging weights from your dick or
sniffing little girl's bicycle saddles sort of freak, don't you think?
Well in my view it was more sort of family channel than a lot of
things that go on out there. I have this sort of recurrent daydream
about a beautiful girl all helpless and unwilling who gives in to my
crude advances. Ok so true romance it ain't, but I like it. 
 So as you can guess I'm pretty fired up by this time. Now I'm sorry
to disapoint you but I'm not going to say that my dick is 12" long and
twice that around. No I've got a doctorate and I've got an academic
sort of dick. They say that the mind is the biggest erogenous zone
well I've got more than my share of mind so I don't mind not being
hung like a donkey. Oh fuck it! I do mind, but I can't do diddly about
it so why worry. Catherine certainly won't. I had tied her spread
eagled to the mattress. You know I've always wanted to do this, but
the cantina girls won't let me, they don't trust the mad gringo I
guess.   Anyway I can never afford a long time poke as a rule so I
would have just got my last granny knot tightened and I'd get the
house pimp banging on the door to say my time was up. Now I had a bit
of time so I thought I'd play a few head games. Us academics like head
games. 
 I stripped slowly, letting her savour the moment. She didn't look
particularly thrilled she just lay there whispering, "no, no" to
herself as I shed my togs. I'm not going to dwell on what I look like,
you didn't tune in to read about me so I'll skip the strip scene,
suffice to say Catherine wasn't overjoyed.   Even if, as I suspected,
she'd never had sex before it didn't take a degree in biology to suss
out what I had planned for her. I lay longside her and nuzzled my nose
into her hair. She smelled wonderful. In true courtroom style here is
a transcript of that conversation. 
 "You know whats going to happen to you don't you?" that's your hero
speaking.   "Uh huh" she replied "You know you are going to get fucked
don't you?" "Please don't" "Not just by me either, there are fifty
guys out there wanting a chance at this pussy". By this time I'd moved
my hand down and was tracing the lips of her vagina gently with my
finger. She moaned and then the enormity of what I'd just said began
to sink in. 
 "Fifty! no please you can't. Not fifty! it will kill me, I can't,
I've never...please no" Gabble, Gabble, god, women just gabble on if
you let them. I touched my finger to her lips then asked. 
 "Have you ever laid with a man?". It was so corny I could hardly
believe I'd said it. It was like some 1950s bodice ripper movie. She
nodded! 
 I leaned up on one elbow, surprised. "You have?" I asked. 
 Again she nodded. Well this was a turn up for the books. A good
christian girl with no cherry. I was sorta disappointed, you know what
I mean? You trust your instincts, work out your play then the fucking
subject of your plans goes and pitches you a curve. I decided to try a
different gameplan. I toned my voice down, all kinda social worker
like and said. 
 "Look, you seem like a nice girl" (I'll be asking her if she comes
here often next - goddamn this was corny), "so I'll tell you what I'll
do. If you can keep me entertained for a couple of hours then I'll
stop the guys outside doing anything to you" 
 Hope shines eternal I guess. There she was stark naked, thrashed,
tied spread eagled to a filthy mattress and she was looking at me like
I'd told her she'd just been put on the shortlist for the Billy Graham
prize for advanced Piety. It didn't take her long to get to the nub of
the matter though. 
 "Keep you entertained? How?" pause "You mean you want to.." 
 I wish I could screw solidly for two hours, but even a honeypot like
this couldn't make my dick stand up to that sort of use. Anyway if I
wanted that she was hardly in position to stop me is she? 
 "No, no. Just tell me about yourself. You know your fantasies stuff
like that" 
 So she did. I must hand it to her she told a good story even if she
seemed to be a little distracted at times. Well, I had to have
something to do except just listen. So I played with her tits a
little. Nice and gentle, rubbing softly, gently tweaking the nipples
that kind of thing. Then I kissed her throat gently, gently. And all
the time she talked. 
 Her name was Catherine, well you knew that much already. She came
from a place with a peculiar name in Idaho, hell all the places in
Idaho have got weird names. Anyway she had lost her cherry a couple of
years ago when she was at college. She'd gotten drunk and it just
sorta happened. From what I could gather it wasn't much of a fuck, two
minutes, game over, you know the kinda thing.   When she came to the
next day she was all sorta devastated, she'd not only lost her cherry
but it wasn't even her boyfriend. So she sorta moped around the campus
for a couple of days then she sees this sign for a christian meeting
and she'd gone to it. She got the bug I guess, so she signed on to
come here when the notice calling for volunteers appeared on the
Christian Union notice board. She'd been here about two months. Oh
yeah, since that day she ain't been touched, so she was nearly a
virgin. I mean you can't really count two minutes as a real fuck can
you? 
 She was a bit flushed when she got to the last bit and her narrative
was disrupted by the Aaahs and the little moans. I'd moved on from the
tits and after a blazing a trail down her stomach I skirted her pubic
bush and ran my fingers gently up and down the inside of her thighs. I
then retraced my steps and my fingers brushed her sex. I didn't
believe it at first so I went in a bit harder. Yes! this girl was
actually wet. 
 We never ever got to the fantasies. I slowly pushed my finger in and
she sorta lost interest in her story. She just wriggled her hips a
little and moaned. I pushed it knuckle deep and then withdrew and she
closed her eyes and let the air out of her lungs in a short gasp. I
diddled her clit for a bit and was rewarded with a series of moans.
This girl was hot, I was beginning to think I'd saved her from
herself. 
 As I climbed on top she opened her eyes, which were all kind of
dreamy and melted, and said. 
 "Please be gentle with me." 
 "Yeah, ok, if you give me a good time" 
 So I was and she did. It was easily the best fuck I've ever had. Not
exactly consensual but definately more erotic than one of Mario's bar
girls. 
 After I'd finished (she'd had two orgasms - amazing!). She said. 
 "That was beautiful. Thank you" 
 I'd heard of getting off with your captor, you know the Stockholm
syndrome and all that, but this was ridiculous. 
 I unlocked the door only to find Pedro and Juan waiting their turn.
Plus a corridor full of other guys.   The word had gotten around it
seemed. She saw them too. 
 "Please, please you promised, it was only going to be you..". She
screamed. 
 "I lied" I said.  
 ********************************************************************* 

Comments etc? Do you think its worth pursuing this style of story?
I've got some more ideas for further adventures of our academic hero
if you think it is worth while carrying on. Email at
theodore@spoonbender.demon.co.uk 
 


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