by Paul Blades
Yesterday, the great bandit, Diego Badoya, had been teaching the puta a lesson. It was his duty as her owner and a man to put her in her place. He had applied the whip earlier with determination and alacrity, but not with his full strength. But this was different! The cunt had betrayed him, soiled herself, and she had to pay! He picked up the switch he had left on the ground and, without preliminaries swung it at the woman’s breasts with all of his might.
The sound of the whip when it met the crying and baying woman’s flesh resounded through the small glade. If yesterday’s lashes had been unbearable, this was double, no triple that. It felt like someone had dragged a knife across her breasts and Margie, too stunned and overwhelmed by the pain, could not catch her breath even to scream. The next lash crossed the front of her already red lined thighs and she emitted a low, piteous moan. When the third vicious blow crossed her ass, she was finally able to let loose and her scream punctuated the air even through her gag.
Margie was unable to assemble a single thought as the excruciating pain ran through her. Twice more, once across her back and another across the back of her legs, the lash bit cruelly into her flesh. And then it stopped.
Diego was satisfied that his honor had been avenged. It was cruel, he knew that. And perhaps even unfair, for the whore was tied up and certainly unable to resist Manuelo’s approaches. But it was the principle of the thing. No one touched his woman, no one, and if her succulent flesh was responsible for luring his compadre into his fatal mistake, then the flesh must suffer. What would Pepe think if he did nothing to the girl? He would think that the old bastard was slipping. And if word got out, then everything would be just that much harder. Policemen would lose their fear of him, victims of his escapades might be more prone to resist. Pepe himself might think why he needs this old guy anyway. No. The beating was necessary. But as he looked at the bleeding, moaning, sagging female, he decided that five blows were enough.
Diego left the unfortunate woman hanging by her wrists for the rest of the morning. He had been up all night and needed his rest. After they dragged Manuelo’s lifeless body to the river and watched the current pull it away, Diego gave the man’s head a long toss. It entered the water with a loud ‘plop’ and the men laughed. “Adios Manuelo,” Diego called out. “You should have kept your pinga tongue in your mouth!” He and Pepe then crawled into their tents and fell asleep.
Margie stood helplessly bound at the edge of the clearing for the rest of the morning, until a little after noon. It was hot and her wounds burned. Flies kept gathering where the blood oozed out of the thin, long lacerations of her flesh. Her throat was raw from screaming and she was thirsty and tired. Although she feared what new torments her captor might devise for her, she was glad when he finally emerged from his tent, stretching and yawning.
Apparently all was forgiven. They ate some more beans for breakfast and went back to the tent for more fucking. Margie was happy, but surprised, that the man hadn’t made her suck his cock yet and also that he had not yet decided to deflower her ass. His handling of her was just a little more rough, a little more callous when they fucked, but that was all right. She came repeatedly nonetheless.
That night, Pepe and Diego went out again on the river. Since there was no one to stay behind and watch the puta, Diego had taken the rope from the box on the raft and, discarding finally the soft, cotton cloth that he had used to bind her so far, affixed the rope to her limbs and left her in a hog tie in the tent. She suffered through the long night from loneliness and fear. Her shoulders soon came to ache from the strain of her legs attached to them. Eventually, lying on her belly, her hands and feet in the air above her, she finally nodded off, only to be awoken from time to time by some evil sounding shriek in the jungle or rustling in the nearby bushes.
The men came back empty handed again. Diego slept after letting the female pee and rebinding her in her hog tie. Later, in the afternoon, he gave her a comforting wash in the lagoon. She was grateful for the soothing water flowing over her body, the chance to wash the blood and dried semen from her flesh and the chance to wash and brush her long, red tinted, blond hair.
That night, as dark approached, the men reached a momentous decision. They were almost out of gas for the boat and other supplies as well. The brandy and cigarettes were long gone. They could not go on like this. Margie watched as they re-stored the tents and the pots and other equipment in the footlocker along with some of the flares from the police raft. When they had reburied it, they came back and erased what traces of their habitation that they could.
When they were ready to go, the bandit led Margie into the small craft, retied her ankles to her bound wrists and tightened the dirty, orange cloth around her face. She had no way of knowing, of course, but the bandit had experienced a period of indecision about what to do with her. Taking her on night patrol on the river had its risks. She might make some noise to ward off their prey, or make trouble in some other way. Besides he didn’t like getting too attached to a crica. They had had their fun. But something about the woman made him want to keep her. He hadn’t fucked her ass yet, nor her mouth, and he didn’t want to terminate their relationship until he had had the chance to do both. He had just been too excited by her wonderful, hot pussy to deviate from that orifice to date. And there was the thought of how jealous everyone would be when he walked along with her in tow in the streets of Porto Vaca up on the Brazil border, if they ever got that far. Not everyone could claim possession of a beautiful, blond gringa, and it would make his stock go high among the habitués of that lawless town. Besides, if there was trouble, he could just dump her over the side.
Margie wondered if she was ever to be allowed to have clothes again. She was relieved when she saw that her hermano, her man, as she had begun to think of him, dumped her skirt and the white cloth that he had bound her with into the box that contained the police supplies on the boat. Diego sat in the front and Pepe sat in the back by the engine and they scooted off into the stream.
It was a last ditch effort to gain some loot and transportation up river for the men. The river ran the wrong way and without gas or paddles, they would be helpless. They would have to either float their way back to Cotabaya and probable capture or tread through the jungle without food or water for days, probably die. They needed a score that night or else.
Pepe kept the engine at a low rev as they scooted upstream in the dark. They kept to the middle of the river so that they could watch both sides. They were looking for an encampment or possibly another boat at anchor. Diego was optimistic. For some reason the gods had kept him lucky and alive after all he had been through and he didn’t believe that they would let him die like a dog in the jungle after all that.
They had been trudging slowly upstream for about two hours when Diego made a low noise and pointed to the southern shore. There was a small boat, still much bigger than their raft, anchored about 30’ from the shore. It had a small pilothouse on the front and a long stern in which boxes of something could be seen piled high and covered with a tarp. Most of the supplies that sustained the border outpost of Porto Vaca came up the river and the boat was probably run by one of the vendors who plied it. It was too dangerous to run the boat at night with all the twists and turns in the river, especially the farther you got south. That and the fact that there was probably only one operator of the commercial craft made it advisable to anchor for the night.
Diego signaled for Pepe to keep going. As they passed the boat a man’s head peered at them from just outside the pilothouse. There was a small light on inside it and a radio was playing some soppy, Venezuelan love song. Margie heard a young woman’s voice and a man’s deeper response without being able to make out the words. When they had passed, the man went back inside the small structure at the front of the boat and the light went out.
Pepe waited until they had rounded the bend in the river to pull over to the shore. The men agreed that they would wait before making their approach to the boat. Any fear that the oc
cupants had that their craft had contained river pirates would have dissipated by then. They sat there in the raft, its bow tied off to a branch that overhung the river for a full hour before they moved again. Diego amused himself by playing with Margie’s breasts and pussy, driving her into an unwanted, unsatisfied excitement. Pepe hummed the tune that they had heard over the radio from the boat, occasionally softly breaking out in a few of its words.
Diego signaled when it was time to go. He leaned over to Marjorie and whispered to her, “If you make a single sound, conchita, I’ll hack you up into little pieces, comprende?” The fearful, unhappy woman nodded dismally.
The river was deadly quiet as they let the small raft float noiselessly downstream. Diego and Pepe had picked up long poles from the shore and used them as primitive steering tools to keep the vessel on course. When they turned the bend, Margie could see the darkened boat bobbing innocently at its anchor. She feared for the people in it. She knew that the jefe had murder in his heart and that the people would not be likely to survive the evening. Should she do something? The man would certainly kill her and painfully at that. She believed his promise. She thought of the torment that he could inflict on her and her body trembled. Tears came to her eyes as she struggled with her ethical dilemma. But because she was gagged, even if she made a sound, the people might not hear her. She could end up suffering for nothing. And she wanted to live. As much as despair had ruled her for the last 72 hours or so, in spite of her feelings of shame for how she had responded to the man’s callous assaults, she wanted to live, believed that maybe fate would intervene and save her from death at this murderer’s hands. Despondent at her fear of acting, she remained silent.
When the raft was a few feet from the boat, Diego let his pole slip away into the river and placed his widespread palms out in front of them. Pepe used his pole to slow down their speed and when the raft had come alongside of the larger craft, Diego was able to bring them to a stop silently and without causing the boat to sway at its anchor. He tied off the bow of the raft to a davit on the gunwale of the boat and then let the raft swing around until it was parallel to the boat’s starboard side. They were between the boat and the shore and anyone looking out might not see their figures as they merged with the dark background of the jungle behind them. Diego looked at Margie. He was holding the knife that he had used on her the first day and he made a drawing motion across his throat. Margie caught his meaning right away and she had the urge to draw her bound hands to her naked, defenseless throat to protect it.
The muscular bandit gave Pepe a nod and they quietly climbed up over the gunwale of the boat. Diego had the knife between his teeth and his machete on his belt. Pepe had a machete too. It was too dangerous to use the automatic rifle at night and in such close quarters so they left it behind in the raft. In a trice, the men had disappeared.
There was nothing but the sound of the water running alongside the bobbing boat as Margie waited in the dark for the resolution of the bandits’ attack. Maybe the people in the boat had a gun or something and would kill the killers. Would they save her? Why not? She had done nothing. Hope sprung up in her breast for the first time since she had been stolen from the streets of Cotabaya.
Out of the darkness came a woman’s scream. Then a man’s deep, throated yell. Then there was chaos as voices shouted and screamed, their sounds all melding together. She heard a woman’s voice call out desperately, “No! No!” and then scream again even as a man’s voice gave a loud, painful sounding groan. There was the sound of a woman’s crying and a dull thud like the sound of a body hitting the deck and then, familiar, celebratory laughter. Margie’s heart sank. She knew who had won.
A few moments later, she heard the sound of something being dragged along the deck and a large object then flew by her into the water. She turned to watch it splash in the river. A second later, it returned to the surface. It was a man. He groaned in pain and made some dulsatory efforts to begin to swim. The river carried him away quickly and the last thing that Margie saw of him was his head sinking below the murky water.
Diego’s happy face appeared over the side of the boat. “Aya, gringa!” he said loudly and merrily. “I’m back! Did you miss me?” He gave a hearty, throaty laugh. “Come on board.”
He deftly climbed over the side of the boat and released Margie’s ankles from her wrists and stood her up. He lifted her body until she was half over the gunwale and then, placing his hands on her soft, rear globes, pushed her the rest of the way over. Margie groaned with pain as her body hit the deck with a loud ‘thud’. She quickly crawled to her knees and took a look around. Pepe emerged from a passageway down below with a frantically sobbing, young, black haired woman in tow. Her hair was long and straight, down to her waist, and she had thick dark eyebrows and a wide, but not protuberant nose. She looked to Margie to about 25. She was slender, with wide hips and soft, round shoulders. Her skin was dark brown and she had small, round, graceful breasts that were exposed by her torn nightdress. Her arms had been bound behind her and she struggled with the lean but strong man as he brought her up on deck and then threw her down on the hard, wooden surface. There was a long length of rope descending from her bound arms and he quickly and deftly captured each of her wildly swinging feet and tied them off to her wrists. Pepe had a long, bloody scratch on the left side of his face and he gave the young woman a vicious kick in the ribs. She screeched in pain and then continued to hurl a string of heated invectives at the man while sobbing and crying. Her captor’s henchman tore a long piece of fabric from the bottom of her nightgown and after rolling it up, knelt down and forced it into her mouth. He then took a length of rope and ran it between her outstretched lips and tied it off at the back of her head. The young woman’s tearful protestations were reduced to a mere murmur.
In the meantime, Diego had jumped back on board. He was carrying the rifle and the box from the raft that carried their meager supplies. He put them down on the deck and then, taking his machete from his belt, leaned over the side of the boat and gave their raft a few quick strokes. Margie could hear the air hissing out of it as he untied its bow and let it float away downstream. As soon as enough air had escaped from it, the weight of the engine would carry it to the bottom. The craft had served its purpose.
Margie expected a period of celebration by the men for their victory but they were all business. Smiling at her, her captor pushed her to her belly and reconnected her ankles to her wrists. Pepe got busy pulling up the anchor while his leader went into the pilot house and started the engines. A deep roar erupted from the belly of the boat and soon it was underway.
The men peered carefully ahead of the boat as they sped it away from the scene of their crime. While it was unlikely, it was possible that another river trader knew the location of the boat they had just pirated and would come looking for it. Or someone who knew the now deceased captain might happen by and seeing it, would stop to visit or share mutual protection through the night. It was better that they get upstream and find some lagoon or other hideaway for the time being.
Riding up the middle of the river, the men let the boat steam along for a good 40 minutes or so. Diego knew the river well and he pointed out to Pepe the mouth of a broad stream pouring into the Cioro on the right bank. He slowed the boat and maneuvered it to the entrance. Ten minutes later, they entered a small lake. When they had reached its approximate middle, Diego cut the engines and Pepe dropped the anchor.
Once the boat had come to rest, the two men broke into joyful laughter and hugged each other, clapping each other on the back. They had won a marvelous prize. In the space of a minute, they had gone from destitute bandits to river faring pirates loaded with booty. Ignoring for now the two women hogtied on the deck, they tore open the tarp in the stern and started going through the cartons. It was about 3 a.m. and the moon was low on the horizon but still shed a little light on the slightly bobbing craft. Margie, whose head was turned the other way, could not see, but heard the sound of boxes bein
g torn open and cast aside. Shortly there was an exclamation of delight from Diego. “Johnny Walker Black!” he shouted. “Four cases!”
Pepe gave a little whoop and called out, “Cigars! Cubanos!” The men laughed and ceased their search for the time being. They would resume it tomorrow when it was light. But for now, there was something to celebrate with.
Diego came forwards and sat down on the rail of the boat. Margie watched him as he broke the seal, unscrewed the top to the premium scotch and took a long chug. He smiled and smacked his lips as the smooth, dark amber liquor went down. Pepe came over and, after taking the bottle, leaned his head back and chugged several ounces. When he had swallowed, the men laughed and clapped each other on the shoulders again. Pepe handed her captor a cigar.
“Let’s see the negra,” Diego spat out as he twirled the cigar in his hand. Pepe nodded and handed him back the bottle of scotch. He then stepped over to the still crying woman and flipped her to her back. She moaned with pain as she landed on her bound feet and hands. She tried to struggle away, but Pepe gave her two mighty slaps of his hand across her face.
“Be still, puta!” he ordered her churlishly. The frightened woman, tears streaming down her face complied. The marauder leaned over and, grabbing the torn bodice of her nightgown, ripped it down the middle until it was rent in half. Her smooth, flat belly was exposed, but she kept her knees held tightly together, guarding her precious place from his pirate’s eyes. He punched her viciously in her thigh and ordered her to open her legs. Groaning at the effects of his blow, she reluctantly spread her knees revealing a wiry, thick, black bush at the apex of her bound legs.
