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Archive name: naked.txt (M+/F, FF, nc, drugs, mexican)
Authors name: Anonymous Author (Address withheld)
Story title : Naked and Helpless 

--------------------------------------------------------
This work is copyrighted to the author © 2003.  Please
don't remove the author information or make any changes
to this story.  You may post freely to non-commercial
"free" sites, or in the "free" area of commercial sites.
Thank you for your consideration.
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Naked and Helpless (M+/F, FF, nc, drugs, mexican)
By Anonymous Author (Address withheld)
First published by The Editor - 1999

***

An e-novel: A spoiled rich California girl gets caught 
up with drug lords and violence and intimidation south 
of the border.

***

 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 garish 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 laying 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 sketchpad.

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 
signaled 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 garish 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 marveled 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 delirious 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 too 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 un-fulfillment 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 Barbie 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 life's -- 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 
life's 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... 
YES! EAT IT! SUCK IT! FUCK ME! SUCK ME! ANYBODY!!!

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 answered, 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=8Blas 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

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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
anyway shape or form. 

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Kristen's collection - Directory 22