by Paul Blades
Three days ago, he hadn’t even known her and he had been all right then. He could do without her, would forget her like he had forgotten all the others. She was just a piece of ass, a cunt. Like all the rest. And it was stupid for him to feel this way about her. She didn’t give a shit about him, would betray him at the first chance she got. She deserved everything she got. They all did.
He turned the key and pushed the door open. He flicked on the light and closed it. He looked at the closet door. She was behind it, silent and blind, awaiting her fate.
He put his hand on the doorknob. Something was making him hesitate to turn it. He thought again of her flesh, its warmth, its softness, her breasts, her lips. All gone forever. “Fuck it!” he declared audibly. He turned the knob and opened the closet.
The light from the room illuminated the small space. The girl’s head was uplifted, as if seeking out whoever had opened the door. He knelt down and unlocked the cage and then swung the door open.
“All right,” he said. “Get out.”
The girl moved slowly. She was whining. He ignored her unhappy sounds and when she had cleared the cage, took her by the hair behind her head and brought her to her feet. She was unsteady and she moaned. Her breasts moved enticingly. He took hold of one and squeezed it. “Goodbye,” he thought.
Releasing her breast, he dragged her into the bathroom where he made her pee for the last time. After, he brought her back into the room and made her stand in the middle. He went to one of the bags from the car and pulled out the girl’s purse, her dress and the yellow high heels she had been wearing when he had captured her. He made her lift her feet one by one as he slipped the shoes onto her feet. She wobbled on them unsteadily. Then he turned her around and released her hands from behind her back. He took the dress, scrunched it all up and drew it over her head. The slinky, yellow thing descended over her shoulders and then draped itself over her body. He pulled it down over her hips and then stood back.
She was a sexy bit of fluff, he thought. The slinky dress emphasized her graceful hips. He made her turn around and looked at her from the front. She was still wearing her blindfold and gag. Her hands, loose for the first time all day, hung by her sides limply. Her breasts filled the bodice of the dress nicely. It was a little wrinkled from being stored up in a bag for almost four days, but it still looked nice. All that was wrong was her reddish hair.
Her high heels made her breasts and ass push out just enough for emphasis. The dress came down to about mid-thigh, what lay beneath it tantalizingly hidden away. All you had to do was slip a hand up it and you would find her treasure, he thought. The dress almost invited it, especially if you knew what he knew, how passionate and obedient she was.
He stood looking at her for a moment. She was shaking and crying silently. “Fuck you,” he said to himself. He resisted the impulse to strike her. “What good would that do?” he thought.
Reaching around her, he released her gag. Her breasts pushed up against his chest. He pulled it from her mouth tossed it on the bed. Then he drew the blindfold off of her head.
Her eyes were full of tears and her lips were trembling. She looked at him dolefully. He ignored it. He picked up her small, matching purse and handed it to her. “Take out your makeup and do your face,” he told her. “And stop crying. If you don’t, I’ll whip you till you scream. Understand?”
She nodded at him and took the purse. Without comment, without resistance, she went into the bathroom and opened her bag. She pulled out a compact with some blush inside it, a tube of lipstick and her eyeliner. He watched while she put it on, entranced. “Will this be how I’ll remember her?” he thought to himself. She looked more human than she had in days, since he took her, more like a regular girl. She was leaning over the sink, applying her eyeliner, carefully watching her efforts in the mirror. She was sniffling, but had stopped crying. He wondered how much she knew about her fate. They had talked pretty much openly about it when she was around. It was impossible for her not to know what was happening.
What was she thinking? Was she thinking that it was better to be shut of him, regardless of what fate awaited her? Was she sorry, just a little to be leaving him? This morning, when they had fucked, and last night too, he had felt something special between them. Had she felt it? He had thought she had. But maybe that was just his wishful thinking, his imagination. How could she feel anything for him after what he had done to her, taken her away from everything that she knew and loved? She would probably think nothing about stepping over his dead body. So why did her feel this way about her?
Carly had finished her eyes and cheeks and was putting on her lipstick. Her hand was shaking. She was trying ever so hard not to cry. She was so scared her body was chill. Being dressed in her clothes, wearing her heels, making up her face as she had done a thousand and one times before, was so incongruous to her surroundings, what she had gone through, that it made her belly twist into a knot.
She had spent a long time in the cage. A long, miserable time. It had been horrible to be in there and she had yearned for the man to come and set her free. At the same time, she had been praying never to hear his feet outside the door, to never hear it swing open, because she knew that those would be signs that she was soon to be delivered to her new owner. And now, it was perhaps moments away. “Oh why, why, why is this happening to me?” she thought miserably. “Please don’t let it happen! Please don’t let it happen!” she prayed.
When her lips were covered in red, she quietly put her makeup back in her purse. Then, dutifully, obediently, meekly, she turned and handed it back to the man. He just tossed it aside. She watched it land on the bed. All of what she had left of her life was in there, she thought. And now she would be leaving that behind as well.
The man was staring at her. He was no more than a foot and a half away from her. She felt compelled to look him in the face as he towered over her. What was that she saw in it? Was it cruelty? Was it harshness? Was he thinking about the $25,000 he would demand for her? And what would happen to her if he didn’t get it? Would he take her out to the desert and kill her? Or would they kill him and take her anyway?
Or was that sadness she saw in his face? What did he have to be sad about? He would be free. He would be able to do anything he wanted. He could kidnap and rape until his heart was content. She thought of his cock between her legs and his hot tongue in her mouth. She thought of the ways he had made her come, shouting out her passions. Had something happened?
She had felt, in the last 24 hours, drawn to him like she had never felt drawn to anyone before. He had pierced her inner self, shown her things about herself she had never known. If she ever got free and met him again, what would it be like? Would she surrender to him, give herself over? Would she kneel before him and place her forehead on the floor as he had made her do so many times? Would she strip herself and open herself to him, take his cock in her mouth, her pussy, her rear, willingly, wantonly?
Out of the corner of her eye, the empty bed loomed. “Fuck me!” she thought. “One more time! Please! Please! Fuck me until I die in your arms! Don’t send me away! Please! Please!” But she dared not speak. She could tell he wanted it too. “Let’s die together, here! Now!” she thought. “Please don’t send me away! Please!”
And then his face clouded over. The hardness she had seen so often came back into his eyes. It was the same hardness she had seen the day he put the gun to her head out in the woods that day. He was going to do it! Sell her! Doom her! “Oh, please don’t do it!” she begged with her eyes once more. “Please!”
“Turn around,” he growled. She hesitated, and then obeyed. She was struggling mightily not to break out into sobs. She felt him grab her wrists and put them together, linking the rings in her bracelets. Then he made her turn around again. He had the blue ball in his hand. It was her last chance to speak, to beg, to plead, to tell him how much she wanted him, that she would obey him an all things, forever and forever! All of her wanted to. She couldn’t fin
d her voice. She had been silent for so long that she couldn’t make the words emerge. The idea of speaking to him seemed like the violation of the worst and strongest taboo. She just couldn’t do it.
He didn’t tell her to open her mouth. He just shoved the blue rubber ball against her lips and forced it in. It filled her mouth, stretching her lips, silencing her. “It’s too late! It’s too late!” she thought with despair. “It’s too late!” A second later, he placed the blinder back over her eyes. She was in darkness once again. His hand took hold of the hair behind her head and he marched her towards the door.
It had taken all of Jack’s strength to finish getting the girl ready. She had a look of deep sadness and despair across her face. Her lips were trembling and her eyes had begun to fill with tears. He had wanted to speak to her, to tell her something, anything that would make it better. But he had nothing to say. What could he say? He was selling her into the most abject bondage. She would never have another free day the rest of her life. The men would use her until she was all used up and then throw her away. She would be owned by men who would have no more thought of her than if she was a horse or a dog. They would inflict brutalities upon her so dire that she would beg for death. “What am I doing?” he thought miserably. “Why can’t I stop myself?”
Then, with a surge of determination, he had pressed the blue ball into her mouth. He had covered her eyes. He marched her to the door and out. She issued a little whine but gave him no resistance. Slowly, carefully, he brought her down the stairs.
The main room was filled with cold, hard men and terrified, helpless women. A line of small statured, black haired, brown skinned women, dressed in colorful short skirts and dresses were standing in a line, front to back, along one side of the room. Their hands were all locked behind their backs and they wore leather collars with chains that led from one to the other. They were crying and whimpering, looking frantically around for some way to escape their fate.
Alongside them were four men with shaggy black hair, dressed in tight denims and dark t-shirts holding what looked like electric prods in their hands. They had pistols strapped to their waists.
The females from downstairs had been brought up and they were kneeling down next to the other two girls, Julie and Camille, their unhappy glances mirroring those of their dark skinned sisters. They were naked. Two sharply dressed men were examining them. The woman Jack had kidnapped, Mrs. Ramirez was standing and having her breasts examined by one of the men. Her gag had been removed and she was squealing and crying as the man assessed her mammaries. After a few seconds of this, the man hauled off and slapped her across the face, turning her head and yelled, “Silencio, tu pinche cabrona!” The other man laughed and said something in Spanish.
Ike and the boys were strewn about the room. Ike and Mouse were standing near the well dressed men and Rocker, Billy, Stitch, Chaz and Killer were watching the other Mexican men warily, watching them. The biker boys were all armed.
Ike turned and looked at Jack descending the stairs. “Here he is now,” he said.
The two well-dressed men, one older, mid-fiftyish, a little on the heavy side, and the other, slim, fit, maybe 30 or so, turned to look at Jack. Their hair was well trimmed. They both wore full, sculpted moustaches. Their skin was lighter than their underlings’, more of a dark tan than brown. They had an air of authority, wealth, power. The older one was dressed in a well tailored, buttoned, black suit with very faint and narrow white pinstripes. His tie had soft pastel colors reminiscent of a Monet.
The younger one’s suit was a light metallic blue, slick and shiny, almost iridescent, cut to complement his muscular chest, wide shoulders and almost girlish hips. He wore no tie and his suit and pale green silk shirt were open, revealing a thick neck and a hairless chest. While the older man’s hair was cut short, businesslike, the younger one’s was a little longer, down over his ears and modish. They both wore large golden rings on their left hands. Their shoes were black and shiny, almost certainly custom made. When they saw Jack, the older one smiled. The younger man sneered.
Jack walked the girl down to where they stood. The men eyed her salaciously. The older man stepped forward and held out his hand.
“Hola, Signor Blackjack,” he said in heavily accented English. “I am honored to make your acquaintance.”
“Jack, this is Mr. Morales,” Ike said as Jack took his hand.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Morales,” Jack greeted him.
“And this is my son, Lorenzo,” Morales stated. Jack shook his hand too.
“I was just admiring this nice piece of merchandise you have brought me,” Morales continued. “Your policia are looking high and low for her. I hear that her husband has put out a $100,000 reward.”
“That’s good news,” Jack answered.
“But, I think he will pay a lot more than that, don’t you?”
“If everything I’ve heard is true,” Jack replied.
“Oh, it’s all true,” Lorenzo interjected. His English was more cultured than his father’s, but whereas the father’s voice was smooth and velvety, Lorenzo’s was harsh and nasal. His features were sharper too, shark like. There was an aura of cruelty about him. While the father was apparently unarmed, Lorenzo had a Glock attached to his belt.
“He’s going to have to pay through the nose if he wants his little conchita back,” Lorenzo continued. “But first I think that she will have to become acquainted with a few of our customs,” he said, smiling. He took hold of the woman’s nipple and gave it a sharp twist that made her shriek. He slapped her again, harshly.
“No mames, puta!” he yelled at her.
She was crying fiercely. “Please….” she started to say. Lorenzo slapped her again and rattled off something harsh in Spanish that made the woman cringe.
“I think this one will need a good whipping when we get home, Papa,” he said.
“Now, Lorenzo,” the father replied, “I think we should give the poor woman a chance to show her obedience first. You’ve frightened her.” He turned to the woman and tapped his hand on her cheek. In English, he asked her, “You’ll be a good girl for us, won’t you Signora Ramirez? As long as you keep your legs open and your mouth shut you’ll be okay. In a few months, who knows, maybe a year or so, we’ll return you to your loving husband just a little bit worse for wear.”
“Ohhhhhhhhh!” the Ramirez woman moaned. Jack could tell that she wanted to beg and plead for her freedom, but she gave the junior Morales a frightened look and held her trembling lips tightly together. There was a spot of blood on them where Lorenzo had slapped her.
Morales nodded to Ike and Ike to Mouse. Mouse had been holding her gag and he shoved it back into the woman’s mouth forcibly. She issued a muffled cry and then he locked it up behind her head.
“Back on your knees,” he told her curtly. The woman sank down obediently, tears streaming down her face.
Morales turned his attention to the girl.
“And I understand that you have brought me something special,” he said to Jack.
A wave of anger passed through Jack, but he held his temper. He had to stay on course. This man was the key to his freedom. All depended on his good will.
“Very special,” Jack replied. “All the way from Wisconsin.” He pushed the girl towards the two men so that they could get a better look at her.
The men took their time examining her. Her dress and makeup accentuated her beauty and desirability well. Her plump, red lips were pursed around the blue rubber ball in her mouth. Her stiff nipples, atop her solid, ample breasts, could be easily discerned through the fabric of her dress. Her legs were long for her body and the high heels complemented their gracefulness. Jack knew that she would be hard to resist.
“I understand that you want $25,000 for her,” Morales said after a short while. “That’s a lot of money for a whore.”
“Don’t worry, she’s hot, Mr. Morales,” Ike said. “I tried her out personally. You won’t be disappointed.” Jack gav
e Ike a bitter glance.
“That’s too much, Papa,” Lorenzo spat out. “She’s just a cunt like all the others.”
“It is a lot of money, Signor Jack,” Morales said smoothly. “Can I see her first?”
“That’s no problem,” Jack replied. Keeping his hold on the girl’s hair with one hand, he reached down with the other and took a hold of the hem of her skirt. He pulled it up over her belly, her breasts and then over her head. He let it drape down over her bound wrists. The girl gave out a squeal of unhappiness. He shook her head and told her to shut the fuck up. He pushed her a little bit closer to the older Mexican so that he could get a good look at her, arching her back so that her bare breasts stood out to good effect.
“Muy bonita,” Morales said admiringly. He reached out and took hold of a breast. “Very nice,” he said again. He let his hand slip from her breast and over her belly.
“Nice and tight,” he commented. “And such nice hips. Tell her to spread her legs.”
Jack shook the girl’s head sharply. “Open your legs,” he told her harshly.
Carly was too scared not to obey. She had felt the Mexican man’s touch and she had recoiled, her stomach churning. These were cruel, hard men. She had heard the slaps they had given the other woman and her cries of pain. There was an older man and a younger, she could tell from their voices. The younger one, the one who had called the other man “Papa,” had a voice that sent a chill down her spine. It was cold and mean and heartless.
She spread her legs unhappily.
The man’s hand took hold of her pudenda. It was hot. His fingers tickled her there, and one of them slid along the line of her labial divide. It made her jump and her captor shook her head again harshly. “Keep still, cunt!” he told her.
