by Paul Blades
CONVICT’S
CAPTIVE
BOOK FOUR
WELCOME TO MEXICO
By
PAUL BLADES
Copyright©2013 Paul Blades
Dark Visions Publications
[email protected]
All characters and events portrayed in this work are fictitious
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All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even
distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are
pure invention.
CHAPTER ONE
All the while the plane was in the air Carly kept saying to herself, “This isn’t happening! This isn’t happening! This isn’t happening!” hoping that by repeating this forlorn mantra she could make it true. Her departure from the mansion that served as the hideout for the motorcycle gang of which her captor was an apparent senior member was permeated with such an aura of unreality that she had seized on the delusional thought that maybe she was actually somewhere completely safe and all of this was just some horrendous nightmare.
She had been gagged and hooded when she was dragged from the mansion, her arms tightly bound behind her in a cruel tie. She could hear the squeaks and cries of the other girls as they were led out onto the porch and down the wooden stairs, accentuated by the rough remonstrances and jeering sounding comments en Espańol from the men who were serving as their escorts.
At the bottom of the steps she was separated from the group. A firm hand took hold of her arm and led her away fifteen or so feet where she was pushed-shoved-lifted into the back seat of some kind of vehicle. A moment later men got in and sat down on either side of her, squashing her between them. She knew who they were. It was the man who had bought her, or, rather, who she had been bought for, and the older man, his father.
The younger man maintained a steady barrage of innuendo laden commentary in English and in Spanish as they drove the short distance from the house to where the plane had landed. His hand played with her breasts, squeezing and pinching them all the while as he whispered things in her ear about what he was going to do to her once they got to his hacienda in Mexico, how she was nothing but a puta estupida, how he was going to make her suffer. She tried desperately to block out the fearful words, initiating a kind of cognitive dissonance, trying desperately to believe that she had not fallen into the power of a cruel, savage man, that the things that he was saying would never, could never become true, that as soon as she awakened, the rough, brutal hand that was tormenting her teats would disappear.
The truck or jeep or 4x4 or whatever they were in bounced and rocked as they covered the distance to the airplane, making Carly’s stomach, already queasy with fear and despair, feel like it had come loose within her and was bouncing around like a renegade medicine ball. At one point the man’s hand descended her belly and forced itself between her jammed together thighs. It took a grip on her pussy’s hairless lips and gave them an anguish producing twist that made her howl. A thick finger pushed inside her roughly making her pussy walls burn.
The vehicle stopped. The men on either side of her got out. Rude hands pulled at her until she was lifted free of the back seat and set once more on the rough, sandy ground. There was a loud whirring noise, the sound of props in motion and the roaring growl of high performance engines. She could feel the push back of the propeller and the stinging sensation on her naked skin of sand being blown around her wildly. A cruel hand pulled at her arm. She was shuffled towards the noise, her ankles confined by the short length of chain. As she sensed the plane right in front of her, someone got behind her and lifted her by the hips as easily as if she had been made of feathers. Hands from inside the plane grabbed her arms and pulled her in. She was shuffled another short distance. She could feel the vibration of the plane’s motors through her feet.
“Get down, whore,” a rough voice commanded. At the same time, forceful, calloused hands pressed on her shoulders. She fell to her knees, bruising them on the steel deck. She could hear the muted sounds of the other women’s dismay and she wondered frantically what they were going to do to her, what they had done to the other women. A hand pressed down hard on her neck, forcing her into a bow and then her entire body was shoved forward. She fell into something. Her legs were grabbed and pushed in after her, making her pivot on her back and causing her to squeal. Then a door was slammed shut, a steel door, like a door to a cage. Squares of cold steel pressed against her body.
She was caged! She was in a cage! She was squashed so small that she had to struggle to turn her body so that she was on her knees. She couldn’t raise her bowed head. The cage touched her on all sides. The bottom was a sheet of hard steel. She heard the sound of a woman keening and crying, making piteous, mournful sounds. It took a few moments to realize that it was her and that her voice had joined the cacophony of dismal noise emitted by her fellow captives.
It was then that she began her mantra. “This is not happening! This is not happening! This is not happening!” She curled herself into as small a ball as she could and cried.
A minute or so later she heard the engines being revved high. They made a whining, high pitched sound that hurt her ears. The plane burst into motion. It ran bumpity bump over the rough terrain like a car with a flat tire. She felt her body forced backwards, towards the rear of the plane, pressing her flesh harder against the bars. And then, an instant later, they were in the air.
“No! No! No! No!” she screamed inside. Of all the things she had thought might happen to her, even in her worst dreams, being sold into whorish slavery in Mexico had never entered her mind. It was such an absurd thought that her mind couldn’t accept it. “Please, no! Please, no! Please, no! Please, no! Please, no! Please, no!” she thought rapidly, her mind going a million miles an hour. How long would it take to get to where they were going? An hour, two, three? She figured that the plane probably flew at about 150 miles an hour. So in an hour she could be 150 miles or so into Mexico! How would she ever get back? What would she do even if she could escape? She didn’t know any Spanish much beyond “¡Hola!” and “¡Por favor!” She was sure that the evil men would teach it to her though, probably words for phrases like, “suck my cock!” or, “spread your legs!”
Oh, it was horrible, horrible, horrible! It couldn’t be happening! It couldn’t! It couldn’t!
Her cage was right up against one of the other girls’, on her left. She could hear her whimpering and sobbing. She wondered which one it was. She had heard them say that one of the women being sold off was an FBI agent. How could they do that? Were they so brazen and powerful that they could sweep an FBI agent off of the streets without fear of retribution? She decided that she would make friends with her if she got the chance. She would know how to esc
ape, how to go for help if she ever got away. They were trained for stuff like this, weren’t they?
The drone of the engines was loud, almost drowning out thought. The plane shifted and bucked and shuddered as it hit various pockets of air. How long had they been in the air? Ten minutes? Fifteen? How far had they gone? Where were they taking her? Was that man really going to do all those cruel things to her?
“Oh, God, please! Please! Please! Don’t let it be real! Please! Please! Please!” she prayed. And she prayed that somehow God would make the plane fall from the sky. Wouldn’t it be better to be dead than to endure what she was going to suffer?
There was darkness all round her. Her mouth was filled with the thick leather prong the men had jammed in there. It was like they were in there, the men, and she knew that they soon would be in truth. They would use her like some kind of animal. The man who now owned her had said so. “You’re going to be my fuck bitch!” he had told her, whispering harshly in her ear. “My little fuck doggie! ¡Mi perrita para singar! And all mi amigos too! They’ll stick their cocks in your pretty little mouth and make you drink their cum! We’re going to have lots of fun!”
“This can’t be happening! This can’t be happening! This can’t be happening!” she thought again madly as she recalled his words. Those, and others too. She pulled frantically at the ties that held her arms helpless. She screamed as loud as she could, hearing only the sound of her muffled voice. She was caged, in an airplane, going to some place horrible, some place like Hell. And there was nothing she could do about it. “If only I could make my body explode!” she thought madly. “I’d do it in an instant! Please! Please! Please! Let me explode! Let me die now, here, before it’s too late! Please! Please! Please!”
She heard the sound of a metal door slamming closed. Of course, the men were sitting in the passenger compartment! There were probably drinking and laughing, anticipating what fun they were going to have with the new girls! Especially her owner! It wasn’t right! It wasn’t fair! They had no right to do this to her! Please! Please! Please! Don’t let them! Please!”
She heard some rough, garbled words in Spanish through the drone of the engines. And then a cruel laugh. A second later, she heard the crack of one of those batons the men carried followed instantaneously by an anguished, muffled scream. The laugh came again, another ‘crack!’ and the scream came again.
Someone, one of the men was out there torturing someone. Carly shook with fear. “Not me! Not me! Not me!” she thought frantically. The voice seemed to come closer, just to her left. The cracking noise sounded again and the woman in the cage next to her released a bloodcurdling, muted scream.
“Oh, god! Oh, god! Oh, god!” she thought. “Please don’t let him hurt me! Please! Please! Please!”
She sensed the man right outside her cage. “Please don’t! Please! Please! Please!” she prayed. The man said something to her. She heard the baton scrape against the bars and a second later it was jammed up against her ribs. “Please don’t! Please! Please!” she tried to scream. The baton nudged her ribs hard. The voice said something that sounded like a taunt. “Please don’t!” she screamed.
She had nowhere to go. She tried to scrunch herself up even tighter than she was. Her whole body tensed for the fierce shock she knew the batons threw off. She had suffered it already, back at the hacienda, twice. The baton nudged her hard a few more times. She bit down hard on her gag. Then the man said something and the baton withdrew. She released a whine of gratitude and let her body relax.
A second later, the baton was back and, ‘crack!’ it spat out a fierce torrent of electricity. It shot through her whole body. It was like she had been stabbed with a poisonous, burning sword.
“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” she screamed. “Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”
The baton spat again, ‘crack!’ She screamed again, long and loud, “Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” as her body cramped fiercely.
She heard the man laughing. He said something cruel sounding. And then he was gone. She heard the metal door slammed closed. She burst into tears.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
In the passenger cabin Lorenzo and the boys were comfortable and having a wonderful time. Someone had brought a large thermos filled with ice cold margaritas and several rounds had been poured out. The boys were in high spirits. The new girls would run the gauntlet tonight. Even Mr. Morales had picked out one of the new whores for himself. He intended to see what tricks he could get the comely Mrs. Ramirez to perform for him. He had promised to turn her over to Jack, but Jack wouldn’t be in Mexico for a couple of days yet. They would hold the poor woman until her price had reached its maximum, a few months or so down the line. They would send Mr. Ramirez some audio tapes of her begging for redemption and then, later, as time dragged on, videos of her degradation and torment, each one worse than the last. A cool million was not an unreasonable estimate for what they could get for her. They just had to draw the string out long enough and sooner or later, Mr. Ramirez would cough it up.
There was a sad little black haired girl making the rounds. There wasn’t really enough room in the cabin to give her a proper fucking, so she was squeezing in between the seats where there was just enough room for the petit slattern to get on her knees and give each of them a little suckle. They called her Pepita, but her real name was Andrea. She was from a little town just outside of San Francisco. She had come over in the last batch of Anglo girls from the Rogues about a month ago. All the boys loved to watch her cry and wail as she was being used. She still hadn’t gotten over being turned into a whore. Lorenzo had said that he was getting a little sick of it though and plans were in the works to sell her to a special whorehouse down south where they would really give her something to cry about.
She was working Lorenzo’s cock now, her little black haired head bobbing up and down. Lorenzo’s fist was locked into her hair and he was controlling her movements, making sure that she gave him the back of her throat on each downward thrust. She was sobbing, as usual, but she had learned well enough that her discomfiture at being used as an abject slut should not interfere with her obligations. She dutifully swirled her rather talented tongue over and around Lorenzo’s rigid pole as he traversed her oral cavity and she kept her lips pursed tightly against his shaft as she gave his crank a soft, steady suck.
Just then Lorenzo released a mighty moan and he began bobbing the girl’s head with abandon. Her sobbing got louder, but she stayed attuned to her task. Her hands were tied up behind her back, connected by a short chain to the back of her collar and her hands were tightened into cute little fists.
Lorenzo grunted loudly, two, three, four, five times. Pepita coughed and choked as he filled her mouth with his spunk. He jammed her head down hard and held it there for a long time, enjoying the confines of her narrow throat, until his cock’s slowly reducing throbs were just a luscious memory. When he released her head, she came up for air, inhaling deeply and coughing and crying. Lorenzo, not a tolerant man by any means, gave her a fierce slap and told her to stop her wailing. This, of course, had the opposite effect. Manuel, Lorenzo’s right hand man and companion since childhood, a dark skinned cutthroat with long, black, stringy hair, was sitting where he should be, of course, to Lorenzo’s right. He was next.
“There, there, Pepita, don’t cry,” he told the doll like girl. He took hold of her hair and forced her to rise from her knees. “You still have work to do.”
He guided the unhappy, naked, small breasted girl over Lorenzo’s thigh and pushed her down between his legs. His cock was already out. Pepita, nee Andrea, looked up piteously at the ferociously miened man with her big brown, tear filled eyes. He took his already blood filled cock in his hand and presented it to her. “Come on, Pepita,” he told her roughly, “get to work or you’ll get another slap.”
With a sob, the unhappy girl leaned over and subsumed his cock between her dainty lips.
; Lorenzo leaned back and closed his eyes, reveling in the warm hum from his temporarily satisfied loins. His thoughts turned to the red headed slut his father had bought for him. He would give her a good initiation into her new life when they got to his hacienda and just the thought of it made his loins stir again. The men sometimes called him el Satiro, the Satyr, because of his virtually insatiable appetite. It wasn’t true, of course, at least not literally. Sometimes even his equipment needed a little rest and his balls got tired and sore. But it took a lot, and la puta pelirroja, the red headed whore, would find out tonight how much.
But there was a grit of sand in his otherwise pleasant projections into the future. That chupapinga pelo negro, the black haired cocksucker who had sold the girl to his father, was someone to be concerned with. It was unlikely that the bold hearted man would easily provide the quantum of obsequiousness he required of his men. He had the heart of a true hombre, that was for sure. He was cold hearted and brave, sure of himself and disdainful of others. His other men would have to be careful around him. He was a man not to be trifled with.
But, on the other hand, if he failed to pay the proper deference to him, Lorenzo, it would be bad for his relations with his other men. It was bad enough that some of them, and he knew it was true, they would deny it, of course, but he knew it was true, they thought that he was weak and not the same man his father was. His father had fought his way up from the barrio, was known as a man who would tear your eyes out if you failed to give him respect, no matter who you were. But Lorenzo had yet to prove his true mettle.
