by Paul Blades
“Ah, what a lovely sight!” Pepe exclaimed. Diego looked over with more than an academic interest. Another cunt to fill. “Bueno,” he thought. But under the circumstances he would give Pepe first dibs.
“Take her below and fuck her, Pepe, you’ve earned it.”
The slender bandit looked up at his leader with excitement in his eyes. For three days he had watched he naked gringa with undisguised lust. This poor woman was going to receive the consequences of it. Pepe took hold of a thick skein of her long, black hair and dragged the unfortunate, unhappy woman along the deck. She screamed at the pain. Margie watched, horrified at his callousness, as he dragged her down after him while he descended to the living compartment below the forward deck. The girl cried out and sobbed as she bounced on the steps of the ladder as she followed him down. Her cries faded as they disappeared from view.
An unnatural peace settled over the deck. Diego took another pull of his bottle of scotch and then contemplated the fine, Cuban cigar that Pepe had handed him. He walked into the pilot house and rummaged around inside it for a few minutes and then emerged with a box of matches. He bit into the end of the cigar, spit out a small plug of tobacco and then lit it. The match glowed and the flame rose and fell as the bandit leader puffed on the cigar until it was burning well. His face appeared demonic in the repeatedly waxing and waning, partial light. When he was satisfied that the cigar was properly lit, he resumed his seat on the gunwale and after taking a deep drag, let a large cloud of bluish gray smoke exude into the night air.
“Ahhhhhh” Diego intoned. Life was good. The fact that he had killed four men in three days didn’t bother him a bit. That was their problem. They shouldn’t have been born weak and stupid. His fortunes kept climbing. Three days ago he was waiting to be hanged and today he was captain of his own vessel carrying a very valuable cargo and headed to where he could easily dispose of it, no questions asked. And he had the blond gringa. She had brought them luck. He was glad that he had not slit her throat back at the camp site. He and Pepe would now be arguing over the brown skinned bitch and he might have had to kill him. But since he still had the gringa puta, everything worked out fine. He would make sure, of course, to let Pepe know that he had no exclusive right to the delectable looking black haired girl. But that could wait until tomorrow.
The happy bandit took another swig from the Black Label scotch. It was smooth and aromatic as it descended his gullet. Not like that native brandy he was so used to drinking. His body felt warm and content. He looked down at the blond haired woman lying on the deck, her ankles and wrists in the air. Her face was turned towards him and she was eying him warily. The orange gag covered the lower portion of her face and so he could not see her expression, but he was sure that she was impressed with the alacrity with which he had dispatched the unlucky captain of the boat and the efficiency of his successful raid.
He wanted to see her body and her beauteous breasts and so he ordered her to get up on her knees. The woman struggled to obey, twisting and turning her body until she was kneeling before him, her arms outstretched behind her, her slender shoulders arched, her pretty breasts presented for his enjoyment. In the dim light he could just make out the little tuft of blond hair that covered her mons. His cock stirred at the view. A good cigar, a good bottle of liquor and a beautiful woman. What more could he want. And then it occurred to him that was something more that he wanted.
“Come here, cunt,” he ordered her. He had looked at her passport and her American identification papers, but for the life of him he could not remember her name. What did it matter anyway? She didn’t need a name, puta or bitch or cunt would do. The woman obediently but tediously edged her body over to him, walking on her knees. Her breasts swayed and jerked prettily as she struggled. Her eyes were doleful and wet with tears. He knew that he should slap her around for being so maudlin, but he was in a forgiving mood.
Once the girl had reached him, he put the cigar in his mouth and then leaned over and released her ankles from her wrists. She gave a sigh of relief from behind her gag. He then unfastened the orange cloth that silenced her and filled her mouth and threw it down on the deck. He unbuttoned his pants and instructed the unhappy woman, “Suck my cock, whore.”
Margie had been afraid that that was on the man’s mind. She had wondered when he would get around to it. She knew that she had no choice, but the prospect of putting the man’s tool in her mouth was distressing. She was afraid that she would be too good at it and that he would demand it again and again. Also, she knew what her reaction would be when the hard, thick hot meat was between her lips. She couldn’t help it, it turned her on.
Sadly, the blond prisoner edged herself closer to the man’s waiting cock. He was holding the still soft but hardening member in his right hand while he held his cigar and the bottle of scotch in the other. “Come on, gringa, I’m waiting,” he told her, an edge of threat in his voice.
Margie leaned over and took the soft, wide meat between her trembling lips. She felt a tear roll down her cheek as she tasted its saltiness and maleness. She could not help but think of the last cock she had serviced with her mouth, Tom’s. It had seemed so wonderful to bring him pleasure this way, something that she looked forward to doing for him for years and years to come. But now here she was, on the deck of a pirated ship, kneeling naked and bound with a murderer’s member in her mouth, pleasuring the same man who might slit her throat and toss her overboard at the slightest whim.
The distraught woman let her lips circle around the bulbous head of the killer’s cock. He gave a soft sigh as the warmth of her mouth transferred itself to his manhood. Slowly, she pressed her lips downwards, subsuming the meat inside her and over her tongue, letting the man feel the pleasure of the gentle pressure on his thickening shaft. As the rod grew harder, the combination of the male odor of his loins, the taste of his flesh and the soft textured hardness in her mouth made her lust begin to grow. “Oh, God,” she thought, “Why am I here? Why am I doing this? How will this all end?”
Determined to bring a swift conclusion to this, her most recent ordeal, Margie began to work her lips up and down the man’s shaft quickly. He placed his hard, powerful hand on her head and grabbed her hair. “Do it slowly, cunt. And don’t let me come until I tell you.”
Margie shivered at the man’s order. He might make her do this for an hour, or more! It would be hard to hide her arousal. And what if she made a mistake and his cock spouted its warm, viscous fluids before he was ready? She had already been beaten by him twice and didn’t want to experience it again.
Slowly, deliberately, Margie worked her lips up and down the man’s hardened pole. The boat rocked slightly as it drifted at anchor and she had to spread her knees wider to keep her balance. There was a slight breeze over the lake and it felt good on her naked body. The night was silent except for the occasional calling of a night bird, the faint sound of the boat swishing on the water and the occasional, muted sounds of distress from the woman below decks. Her eyes were closed, intent on her task, but she could hear the man take an occasional drink of his bottle or the sigh of his breath as he released a cloud of smoke from his cigar. He groaned from time to time as she did her best to please him. She used her tongue diligently to stroke his shaft. She circled his knob with her lips and tickled the tiny exit hole on top with the tip of her tongue, she varied her motions, giving him long, languorous strokes almost all the way down to his balls and then short, staccato ones until she heard him moan with delight and became afraid that she might make him come by accident.
The sensation of his member in her mouth was making her passions grow higher and higher. She yearned to move one of her imprisoned hands between her thighs and stroke her puss. She was beginning to become overwhelmed with the passionate act in which she was engaged. She tried to suppress it, but she was not successful, and a low, impassioned moan escaped her lips.
Diego was sitting back, looking at the stars and enjoying the working of the woman’s lips on hi
s crank. She was good for a gringa. Of course, only genuine Latina women knew how to suck a cock properly. He remembered when he was younger and just learning his trade, he and a few of his teenage friends had lifted an American college student off of the streets of Caracas. They had used her for three days before they dumped her body out in the swamps beyond the city. The crying, hysterical girl couldn’t suck a cock worth a damn. But she had wonderful tits. He felt a twinge of remorse for what they had done to the beautiful girl. But the thing of it was, no matter how many beautiful young women you used up, there were always more. They kept coming and coming and their delightful bodies and pretty faces just begged for violation.
The killer’s mind returned to the mouth which circumnavigated his dick at the present moment. He heard the girl moan and realized that sucking his cock was getting her off. He laughed at her wantonness. She should be thankful, he thought, that she got to suck the famous cock of Diego Badoya before she died. He doubted that she would live to tell anyone, but it was an experience that no woman should miss before she moved on.
Three times, Margie had to slow her head’s motions to almost a stop in order to prevent the man from coming. She kept thinking of how much pleasure the man’s appendage had brought her and how she had come and come and come while he plowed her. In spite of her unhappiness at being his prisoner and her being forced to pleasure him, she began to yearn for the taste of his spew on her tongue. She could feel the tightness in her breasts and the tingling of her loins as she caressed the fat pole again and again. She knew that she was going to come when he did, to her shame and dismay. He would see it and laugh and probably in the future tell his nefarious compadres of the time that he made a gringa whore come with her own mouth.
Diego was reveling in the woman’s efforts. At last he could take no more and his need came upon him. “Now, cunt,” he told her. “Make me come now.”
Released from caution, Margie tightened her lips’ grasp of the hot, rigid meat and accelerated her head’s motions. The man grabbed her hair at the top of her head and began pumping her head up and down at a frantic pace. Margie cursed herself as she felt her orgasm building. Suddenly, her mouth was flooded with the man’s bitter tasting juice and the cock began to throb and convulse in her mouth. Her own orgasm came and she issued muffled moans and cries as her body shook with pleasure. She took his spew down her throat, relishing its taste. The man’s grip on her head grew tighter and tighter as his cock pumped a stream of his cum inside her.
With a loud groan, Diego released the girl’s hair. “Now that was a blow job!” he thought. And she came too! He pulled her mouth from his softening piece and taunted her, “You like my prick, putita? I think you missed your vocation in life. You’ve been wasting your life as a professore. You should have become a whore long ago.” He laughed lugubriously. He took the bottle of scotch and introduced it to her lips. “Here, puta, have something to wash it down with.” Margie opened her mouth and coughed and choked as a long stream of the hot liquor descended her throat. It spilled over her chin and down on her breasts. She welcomed the dizzying effects of the booze. She felt like she could drink a gallon. Anything to suppress the thoughts of what she had become.
The bandit capped the bottle and put it down on the deck. He then pushed the bound whore over to her belly and retied her fee to her ankles. He picked up the filthy, orange gag and reinstalled it on her face. He was tired. The adrenaline of action and the exhilaration of his victory had left him and he needed sleep. He took off his bloodstained shirt and after making a little pillow of it, lay down on the deck. In a few moments he was asleep.
Chapter Six
A Visit to Porto Vaca
In the morning, Diego pulled the boat over to the shore of the lake until it was hidden by a large clump of trees that were bent over and touching the water. There was just enough room to squeeze the boat in behind it. He brought Marjorie down to the galley and had her kneel next to the small table while he raided the small, battery powered refrigerator. There were eggs and sausages. He put a pot of coffee on the small propane stove. There were two cooking rings and on the second one he began to fry the meat in a large pan.
The bed was in a compartment right off of the galley and, after a while, Margie could hear the crying and moaning of the young black haired girl from the night before as Pepe took his morning delight from her. They emerged just when her captor had taken the sausages off of the fire. He had found peppers and onions and some kind of root vegetable in the pantry and he chopped them up and tossed them in the pan with some oil. He spiced it up with some paprika, pepper and salt and, after they were crispy and blackened around the edges, he tossed in four eggs and began to scramble them.
Margie’s mouth watered at the frying food. Frying was not her thing usually, too much fat and carbon for her diet, but she wasn’t thinking about that now. All she had eaten for three days were the awful canned beans that Pepe had cooked. Her captor’s minion had taken a seat at the small fold-out table of the galley. The naked black haired girl, her arms bound behind her and wearing the gag that Pepe had installed last night, knelt next to her so close that the skin of their arms touched. Margie could see the tracks of her tears on her pretty face and her disconsolate eyes. Her heart went out to her. Last night, she had seen her husband or lover or whatever he was cruelly murdered by the men who now held her captive. She had undergone a night of savage rape at the hands of one of them. And here were the men now using her galley as if it were their own.
When the meal was ready, Diego dumped the contents of the frying pan out onto two plates, poured two cups of hot, steaming coffee and sat down opposite his compadre. The two men guzzled down the meal like there was no tomorrow. There was a little bottle of hot sauce inside a wooden shelf next to the table and the men kept sprinkling it on the eggs. They laughed and joked while they ate, especially about the females. Diego told Pepe about the gringa’s cocksucking inspired orgasm and Pepe told his boss about the tight cunt of the dark skinned girl. He complained that he couldn’t get her to open her mouth to suck his cock no matter what he did to her. Diego assured him that he had a solution for that and that they would take care of the girl later that morning.
Marjorie started to cry when all of the food had been consumed. The callous bandit ignored her. After the dishes and frying pan had been tossed into the small sink, he took two bowls from the cabinet and then led her back above decks. He had her kneel and went to the pile of boxes in the stern. He pulled out a can from one of them, placed it on its side on the deck and removed his machete from his belt. With one expert blow he lopped the top of the can right off. He poured its contents into one of the bowls and then laid it in front of the unhappy blond woman. He took the other bowl, leaned over the side of the boat and scooped out some lake water and put it next to the other.
“Breakfast for you, puta,” he said merrily as he undid her gag. “And you’d better eat all of it or you’ll get a whipping.”
Margie looked disconsolately down at the bowl of brown mush. It looked like some kind of canned stew, but something they might eat in the poorest neighborhoods of the poorest city on earth. It had a foul aroma and her stomach turned at the thought of eating it. Her stomach ached from hunger, but she would have rather suffered her hunger pangs than eat the concoction in front of her. Pepe had brought the other girl up and she was looking at Margie with disgust. “She’ll learn,” Margie thought. “It’s just a matter of time.”
Rather than suffer the whip, Margie bent her head forwards and down to the deck and began to lap up the awful, crapulous food. It was sour and bitter tasting and she cried all the while as she mouthed it down. Her long, wheat colored hair hung down on either side of her face, scraping the dirty deck. She was conscious of the swaying of her breasts as she leaned over, her knees spread so that she could get low enough to feed herself. “I’m just some kind of animal to him,” she thought miserably. “A pretty, fuckable animal.”
When she was done, the man forc
ed her to drink down the bowl full of lake water and then re-gagged her and pushed her to the deck so that her feet could be tied off once more to her ankles. The brown skinned girl lay next to her, similarly bound, while the men went through the rest of the cargo and then searched the boat. They found a small, locked steel case which, after they broke it open, contained a sizeable wad of cash. They also found a pistol in the closet of the sleeping cabin and a shotgun in a cabinet in the pilot house. “Mi Dios,” Diego thought as he weighed the .45 caliber in his hand. “If the fool of a captain had slept with this under his pillow like a real man, he would’ve been eating eggs and sausages this morning not me.” It just reminded him how stupid people could be and confirmed his judgment that the man deserved to lose everything he owned, including his woman, and die.
They spent the rest of the day anchored in the lake. They started drinking early and after a while, Diego decided to show Pepe how to convince a recalcitrant puta to give a blow job. He sat two cartons on top of each other in the middle of the deck. There was a canopy that jutted out over it and he had Pepe tie the black haired girl’s arms above her head to it while making her kneel down in front of his commander. Her ankles were tied together and fixed to a ring in the deck. Diego was smoking one of the fat Cubanos. He had assembled a bowl of soapy, hot water and the razor that belonged to the man he had killed the night before. They sat next to him on the deck.
Margie was kneeling on the side and had a full view of the tableau. The girl’s eyes peered up at the bandit leader with undisguised hatred. Her arms were held about a foot over her head and her elbows jutted out. Her long, black hair was running down her back. The bandit was playing with her small, firm, pointy breasts with one hand while her stroked his hardening cock with the other. The cigar rode on the side of his mouth below his bushy, black moustache, a waft of blue gray smoke circled around his head.
