Heather

by Charles Arnold

  Heather turned to Abila, “I-I...don’t...I mean I’ve never...”

  Abila grinned up at her, “Move your ass, move your cunt, strip slow, hold out your tits, hump the pole, squat at the front of the stage, spread your legs. They’ll be yellin’ to tell you what to do. Do it. We had a bitch who didn’t and she got gang raped right there on the stage. Took three days for her to recover.”

  Before Heather could protest, the dwarf pushed her through an opening in the backstage curtain. Immediately there was an uproar from the men drinking at the tables.

  “Goddamn! A fuckin’ white girl!

  “And a young one. She looks to be about eighteen!”

  “I think that’s the bitch what married the fuckin’ ape up at the doc’s place!”

  “Is that right bitch? You married to an ape?” Heather started to move tentatively to the beat pretending she hadn’t heard the question.

  Another drunk close to the stage repeated it, “How about that? You been fuckin’ a goddamn ape? We asked you a fuckin’ question!”

  Heather paused bowing her head, “Yes,” she said softly.

  The men laughed. From the back of the room someone shouted, “After fuckin’ and suckin’ ape cock you gonna love fuckin’ and suckin’ real man cock...ain’t that right, bitch?” Tears welled up as she remembered making love with Namba, his beautiful cock, his gentle ways.

  The man closest to the stage slammed his hand down on it, “Goddamn it, bitch, answer and speak up!”

  She stopped moving and held on to the pole, “I-I-I’ll like doing it...I mean sucking and...and fucking.”

  Several of the men cheered. She began to move again taking a few steps from the pole then back to it. “Hey bitch! This ain’t no ballet school. Shake it up. Show us what you got.”

  The tempo of the music increased. She shut them out of her mind and concentrated on the beat, moving more suggestively, lifting one leg up along the pole and sliding against it. “That’s the way, hump it baby!” someone shouted. She held the pole between her legs and slid down it to a squatting position before sliding back up. “Yeah, bitch, fuck the pole. Now let’s see that bare cunt and sweet white ass.” She felt the color rise to her cheeks as she undid the belt at her waist. The men yelled louder. She pushed the gown from her shoulders. It fell at her feet. She stood for a moment naked except for the collar and spike heels. The men hooted and hollered. A slow jazz samba came on. She felt the music. Much as she tried to deny it to herself, dancing naked before these shouting men began to excite her. Her nipples stiffened and her pussy moistened. The men noticed and shouted all the louder.

  “Turn around and spread your ass cheeks!”

  “Yeah let’s see your hole!” She turned her back to them and bent over. Still moving slowly to the music, she reached back and parted her cheeks.

  “We gonna fuck that little rosy hole, right, bitch?” She nodded.

  “Can’t fuckin’ hear you!”

  “Yeah, bitch, speak up!”

  She stood up but kept her back to them, “Yes,” she said.

  “Yes what?”

  “Yes, you can have me there...fuck my ass.” Saying the words sent a wave of heat to her crotch.

  “Turn around and show us your cunt.”

  “Yeah,” the guy leaning over the stage said, “squat here right in front of my face and spread.” She hesitated, looking down at him. He was tall and thin as a skeleton.

  His face was pockmarked and covered with a dark stubble of beard. His nose was long and thin, his mouth wide and his lips also thin. His piercing eyes deep in their sockets stared unblinking at her. He leaned into the stage his bony hands on top of it. The thought crossed her mind that she could step hard on his hands and drive the thin spikes of her heels through them. Blushing furiously, she squatted in front of him and slowly parted her legs. She knew the men could see how wet she’d become. Her pink nipples stood out straight. The ugly drug runner looked up at her grinning, “You got a sweet pussy there. He leaned closer and sniffed loudly. The men laughed.

  “Give it a lick, Diego!” one of the men yelled.

  “Smells like a juicy cunt,” Diego shouted. He put a hand on her foot, “Is your cunt nice and juicy? Is you a bitch in heat? Tell the boys.” She looked out at the laughing men but said nothing. He squeezed her foot hard, “Speak up, bitch, is you or ain’t you wet and hot?”

  “I-I...am,” she said.

  “You am what?”

  “I’m like you said...I’m wet and hot.”

  Diego turned to face the men, “She says she’s in heat. Her cunt is just about drippin’. One of us lucky bastards gonna have this sexy little white bitch all night long.” The men clapped and hollered. Diego turned back to her and took his hand from her foot. So that the other men could hear he raised his voice, “Is that right? You gonna sleep with the lucky bastard that got the winning ticket?”

  Heather backed away and stood up, “Yes,” she said.

  “You gonna fuck him all night long?”

  The music had stopped. “Yes.”

  “You sure ain’t much for talkin’. I hope you’re better at fuckin’ and suckin’ than you is at talkin’. Is you?” Heather nodded. “Jesus, bitch, answer the goddamn question and don’t give us a one word answer.” The men shouted in agreement.

  Frightened, Heater backed up against the pole, “Yes...yes, I will...I mean I’m better at those things than talking.”

  “What things?” Someone yelled.

  “Better at...at...sucking and...and...fucking.”

  The music started again. The tall black girl, Shankra, brushed through the curtain at the back of the stage. She paused next to Heather and whispered harshly, “Be ready to come back out here after me and Nina dance and don’t fuckin’ be late. Remember after we done, you gonna eat my pussy.”

  Diego heard her and yelled, “We fuckin’ want to watch that.” He turned to the men, “Who wants to watch the white bitch eat the nigger bitch’s black cunt?” All the men shouted.

  Holding Heather by the arm, Shankra stepped forward, “After dancin’ for all you motherfuckers my pussy gonna be hot and sweaty, but Bitch Seven’s gonna get on her knees right here and lick it till I cum.” The men hooted and hollered. Shankra turned back to Heather, “Ain’t that right, Bitch? You gonna do me here so the boys can watch?”

  Heather nodded, then said, “Yes...I’ll do it.”

  The music started. Shankra released her hold on Heather’s arm and moved to the pole. Heather slipped through the back curtain and hurried to the dressing room. Nina, a young Mexican girl, was putting on her makeup. “How’d it go?” she asked.

  Heather sat down and, putting her hands over her face, began to cry. “I hate it, “she sobbed, “I hate them, all of them.”

  Nina finished glossing her lips and patted Heather’s shoulder, “We all hated it at first, but after awhile you get used to it and pretty soon it ain’t so bad.” She waited until Heather had cried herself out. “When you’re dancin’, just listen to the music. Don’t pay them assholes no mind. When one of them wins you for the night just hope he ain’t a mean one.” She paused then continued, “They ain’t allowed to hurt us bad. Just slap us around a little. The worst part is bein’ on the line. You gotta kneel there for four goddamn hours and most of that time there’s a prick in your pussy or your ass or your mouth, sometimes two at the same time.” She saw that Heather was about to start crying again. She smiled,” “The good part about bein’ on the line is the dwarf comes around and gives you a line...you know, a line of coke. It kind of makes the rest of the shit go away.”

  “I won’t do that. I won’t take drugs,” Heather said.

  “Yeah, most new girls say that. After a couple hours on the line they’re lookin’ for Abila to come by and lay a rail for them to snort.” Nina turned back to the mirror and began applying mascara. They could hear the music and occasionally the shouting men. As Shankra’s set was about to end Nina stood up and faced Heather, “That black g
irl’s mean. She’s the boss of all us bitches.” She’s a special bitch for Colonel Ruiz. If she gets pissed off at you and goes to him, he probably make you spend a night in the dog house. You don’t want no more of that, right?

  Heather’s eyes widened and she felt as if she might burst into tears again, “Oh God, no. I was all cramped up and those...those...rats!”

  “Yeah, I know. They feel like big rats but they’s only little ones.”

  “I think I’d die if I had to spend another night in that horrible box.”

  “Well, you better do what Shankra says. Don’t give her no shit.” She stood and smiled at Heather, “You be ok. Just takes awhile to get use to the routine.” She started toward the rec room as Shankra entered.

  The black girl sat next to Heather, “Them douchbags is all jacked up tonight. Probably cause they all wishin’ to win you in the raffle.” She shoved a jar of cream in front of Heather. “My fuckin’ feet hurt.” She pointed to the floor and swung away from the mirror crossing her bare legs and dangling one foot. “Take off my shoes and rub my feet.” Heather waited a moment, then got to her knees and removed Shankra’s stilettos. The black girl’s feet were long and narrow and sweaty. Her toenails were painted dark red. Heather dipped her fingers in the cream and began to coat the foot Shankra extended toward her. “Rub it in, bitch,” the black girl ordered. “A massage, know what I mean? And do each toe and between them.” She leaned back watching Heather closely. A slight smile crossed her face. “I think I got me a personal little white bitch,” she said. Heather didn’t look up. She continued to knead the bottom of the foot she held and work each toe. Shankra kept her massaging her feet until it was almost time for Heather to go back on stage. “Put my shoes back on,” Shankra ordered, “then get yourself ready for the boys.”

  Quickly Heather slid the open toed heels on Shankra’s feet and was about to get up. “Not yet,” Shankra said. Heather still on her knees looked up. “Kiss them,” Shankra grinned down at her.

  Heather frowned, “I-I...don’t...” she began.

  “Do it,” Shankra demanded. Heather bent her head to press her lips to the black girl’s left foot. Shankra nodded, “Other one, too,” she said. Heather lowered her head to the toes of Shankra’s left foot. “That’s right. You learnin’. You gonna be my personal bitch?” It was a question.

  “Yes.”

  “Yes what?”

  “Yes, I’ll be your personal bitch.”

  Shankra patted the bench next to her, “Fix your makeup and get your ass out on the stage,” she said.

  Chapter Nine

  When Heather went back on the stage it was strangely quiet except for the throbbing music. The men seemed subdued. She quickly became aware of a young Mexican in a white suit. He wore a white Panama hat. Even his shoes were white. As he moved toward the stage the men stepped back making a pathway for him. Heather stood still watching him approach. She didn’t know whether to begin to dance or not. He stood at the edge of the stage looking up at her. His lean face was deeply tanned, his eyes blue. “You are Heather, the American?” His voice was soft, gentle.

  She felt herself blushing, “Yes, yes I am.”

  “Your crazy uncle marry you to some creature he created, half man half ape, that right?”

  “Yes, but it’s not what you think.”

  “Don’t matter. You’re as pretty as they said. You don’t belong in this place. I come to take you to my uncle, Jorge Cruiz, General Jorge Cruiz. He owns this place and six more just like it. He heard about you and the monkey man spouse and that you are young and pretty and American. He wants to see for himself.”

  She was permitted to pack the few clothes she had. A half hour later they stepped out of a van and onto the tarmac of the landing strip at her uncle’s compound. She looked at the boarded up windows of his clinic and quarters. She thought about poor Namba and wondered what had happened to his paintings. She would have cried but she was so happy to be free of Ruiz and the drug dealers she quickly boarded the plane. The handsome Mexican had introduced himself as Martin Cruiz. Except for the pilot and the two of them, the plane was empty. When they were seated and in the air, she turned to him,” “Thank you,” she said. “I...I...think I would have died there.”

  He smiled slightly, “Yes, that’s probably true. Those men are little more than savages.” He paused nodding, “But that’s what makes them useful.”

  Heather frowned, “But the drugs and the killing...”

  “There would be no drugs and no senseless killing if the people in your country did not buy drugs. If they don’t get them from us, they get them from someone else. The killing is another matter. It’s because our own people, our dealers are greedy. They make war on each other. You should know that my Uncle Jorge deals only in marijuana. He has practically cornered the world market in it. He has nothing to do with the other drugs the dealers sell; heroin, cocaine, and the rest. He strongly believes that pot is less dangerous than alcohol and also that it has life saving medical properties.” He paused and smiled at her, “Don’ let that mislead you. He’s a strong man and can be cruel.”

  Heather nodded, “But why...”

  “But why did I come for you?” he interrupted. “As I said, Uncle Jorge is the owner of seven cartels like the one you were in. Although almost everyone in Mexico knows this, no one speaks of it. Uncle Jorge also has power in the government. It is never a good idea to cross Uncle Jorge. Each of the cartels is much the same: drug runners who are paid well and treated well. The girls are part of treating them well. Most stay willingly but some wish to be free.”

  “I can’t imagine wanting to stay.”

  He smiled at her, “It would be harder for you to imagine the places from which they come.” Two hours later the small jet landed at another private airstrip. Two big well armed Mexican guards met the plane. “You will go with them,” Martin said.

  “But I thought you...” she began

  “No, I was sent to deliver you, that’s all.” He turned her to him, “A word of advice. Do not anger Uncle Jorge. He will send you back to Ruiz or to someone even worse.” The guards led her to a black Mercedes. One drove, the other sat in silence beside her in the back.

  They arrived at a huge white stucco mansion with several smaller houses nearby. She was taken to one of these and greeted by a muscular Mexican woman who introduced herself as Madam Celia. “You don’t call me Celia,” she said. “You speak to me only when I ask you something. You bow your head and say Madam. You got that?”

  Heather bowed her head and said, “Yes, Madam.”

  A younger woman appeared. Madam Celia took her by the arm, “This Anita, she get you ready for Master Jorge,” she said. Anita led the way down a long hall and into a small room that had only one barred window. There was a twin bed against one wall, a closet that looked to be full of clothes and shoes, a partitioned bathroom with a stall shower, toilet, and sink. Against the far wall was a mirrored make up table and bench.

  Heather permitted herself a slight smile. The room looked familiar, twenty-first century female slave quarters. Well, they were a lot better than those Ruiz provided.

  “This your room,” Anita said. “You take shower then take nap. I come back in three hours to help you get ready to meet the General.”

  “How old are you, Anita?”

  The girl blushed, “Fifteen,” she said and quickly hurried out, locking the door behind her. Heather saw that the bathroom was clean. A big white towel was draped over a towel bar and a white terrycloth robe hung from a hook. Heather showered, dried, brushed her teeth, wrapped herself in the robe and soon was fast asleep. The old dreams resurfaced. She was back with Willy and Sam. She was offering her ass to one then the other. A big naked black man entered her dream. His skin was coated with a sheen of oil. His huge cock jutted out in front of him. She quickly got to her knees and gently placed her hands in prayer fashion on it. She heard herself say, “Please let me worship your splendid cock with my mouth.” The black giant
nodded.

  She was awakened by Anita who gently shook her shoulder. “You need to make yourself look beautiful for Master Jorge,” she said. In the shower Heather felt her swollen clitoris. She rubbed it and immediately orgasmed. She was sure she could taste the black man’s cum in her throat. She dried herself quickly. Her clitoris was still engorged. The younger girl offered suggestions as Heather sat at the make up table. “Bright red lipstick and shiny gloss,” she said. “Dark mascara, fingernail and toenail polish to match lipstick.” She sprayed Heather with an expensive perfume. “I see you shaved down there,” she pointed to Heather’s pubis.

  “It’s permanent,” Heather said. She hoped the girl didn’t notice that she was wet.

  “Good, men like,” Anita replied while brushing Heather’s hair. After looking at her charge and nodding approval Anita went to the closet and took out a floor length black shear robe and a pair of patent leather stilettos. She laid them out on the bed.

  “No panties, no bra?” Heather asked. The girl shook her head. Heather held up the robe. “It’s completely transparent,” she said. “I might as well go to Uncle Jorge naked.”

  “Yes,” Anita said.

  Madam Celia bustled into the room. She made Heather stand in the center while she inspected her. “They were right. You are a stunningly beautiful woman,” she said.

  Heather bowed her head, “Thank you, Madam.”

  She motioned for both girls to follow her. Anita gave Heather final instructions, “Must bow head in presence of Master Jorge. Must call him Master. Must not speak except to answer question.” Heather found herself hoping the handsome young nephew, Martin, would be there. They came to a pair of ornately carved huge oak double doors .

  Madam Celia tapped once then swung them open. She and Anita stepped back, indicating that Heather should go in. The doors closed behind her. At the end of a long lavishly furnished room Master Jorge sat behind a massive mahogany desk. In front of it was a single plain wooden chair. He watched her carefully as she approached. She could feel his cold piercing eyes burn into her. His face was bearded, the gray beard trimmed to a point under his chin. His nose was thin as were his lips. He, too, was thin and appeared to be tall. His demeanor was regal. He wore a white military uniform decorated with medals and gold braid.