by Paul Blades
Jack sensed the shifting of the woman’s gears and it pleased him. He plunged himself in and out of the tight, little hole. His feet were splayed, giving him better leverage for his task. The hot viscosity of the woman’s bowel made him virtually swoon with pleasure. He looked down at her pleading eyes. They were surrounded by the shiny blackness of her hood. Her rounded, slick, black head, mounted upon her pale white pulchritude made her seem other worldly, like some strange creature created for the sole purpose of receiving his spunk. But the eyes, the staring, wide open eyes, seemed incongruous to the creature’s function, unnecessary, superfluous, even distracting to his pleasure. He stopped his movements and reached out with his free hand over her upraised thighs, past her pale white feet pressed into her chin and with two abrupt, effortless motions, pulled closed the flaps over her unwelcome eyes, sealing her features now completely in black.
“That’s it! That’s it!” he exclaimed to himself. He resumed his thrusts, plying himself deeper now, as deep as he could go, harder and harder with each powerful thrust. His eyes took in the spectacle of the black shrouded head, muffled, strange sounds emerging from it. And then, like so many other times since he had made the devil’s deal that had sold her soul to the scabrous Mexican, his mind went to the vision of the girl, that girl. Damn her! Damn her! Damn her! He should have killed her when he had the chance! A fierce rage erupted within himself. Looking down at the featureless woman he imagined her to be the girl. Carol, Karen, Kathy, Kristen, no, Carly! That was her name! Carly! Carly! Carly! Carly! He was fucking her, fucking her fucking her! He pounded away at the woman’s thighs. She was moaning loudly through her gag, her head was shaking back and forth. Her hands were balled into little fists.
“Arrrrrrrrrgh!” he raged. “Arrrrrrrgh! Arrrrrrrrgh! Arrrrrrrrrgh!” his lust was untrammeled. His need was upon him. His whole body, his entire being, all that he was concentrated, focused, obsessed on the building eruption of his need. Had the room somehow caught fire, flames licking at the bed, smoke enveloping him and the object of his viral lusts, the walls and ceiling collapsing all around them, he could no more have stopped than could a meteorite streaming towards its death on the earth below.
“Arrrrrrrgh! Arrrrrrrrrgh! Arrrrrrrrrgh!” he shouted into the room as his cock began to throb and pulse. He could feel his seed pumping down his cock. His balls were tight and aching. “Arrrrrrrrgh! Arrrrrrrrgh! Arrrrrrrrrrgh!” he yelled.
Darla felt and sensed his explosion. Having been shrouded into darkness had been horrifying, one more insult to her psyche. But its effect had to make her body’s passions intensify beyond her tolerance. Her need built higher and higher, stoked by the man’s mighty thrusts and the incessant, ever present buzzing in her cunt. “Ohhhhhhhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhhhhhh! Ohhhhhhhhhhh!” she moaned through her gag. And at the instant that she sensed the man’s climax erupting, there was no way she could have missed it, his accelerated thrusts and his animal like vocalizations conveyed it unmistakably, her pussy, that vibrating, disobedient creature between her thighs, commenced to contract and pulse and convulse sending powerful blasts of pleasure all through her.
“Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugm! Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuugm! Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugm! Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugm!” she moaned as her pussy clamped tight on its invader again and again. It was as if something had been unleashed inside her, that something barbaric and feral had been shaken loose. All of her senses were consumed with delirious celebration of the rivers of pleasure that were shooting through her. “Uuuuuuuuuuuuugm! Uuuuuuuuuuuuugm! Uuuuuuuuuuuugm!” she shouted again and again.
And then the man’s thrusts began to subside. She could feel his tension loosening. His grasp on her ankles became softer. Her pussy’s convulsions faded. When he came to a halt, her pussy seemed to sigh and two final, weakened pulses of pleasure washed through her.
CHAPTER FOUR
Jack was sitting on the porch of the Rogues’ hideaway sipping a snifter of Courvoisier and smoking a fine Cuban cigar he had brought with him from Mexico. The plane was due in the next half hour. The hooded and bound Darla Chavez was kneeling beside him. A light chain led from Jack’s free hand to the ring beneath her chin. He had had a fun week with her while waiting for the plane that would take her to Mexico. The other boys had enjoyed her too. Darla never seemed to tire of being fucked. It was as if something had snapped in her that night he fucked her back at her house.
The sun had just set about an hour ago. Deep tendrils of red still were flayed across the sky in the west. The desert was quiet and glowed rust colored in the fading light. A bright star could be seen over the southern horizon, possibly Venus since it didn’t seem to be twinkling.
That was where the plane would come from. But not until it was completely dark. Jack had enjoyed his week back in the States. It was like being home again. And the experience of hearing English spoken without a Mexican accent had been comforting.
It was true that they had given him a nice hacienda in the Morales compound. They had given him a nice fat Mexican mamasita to cook and clean for him. And they rotated in and out one of the whores from the bordello whenever he wanted one for his sexual convenience.
Mrs. Malinda Ramirez had been a pleasure to have as a guest. It was actually her who did most of the cleaning. The mamasita, her name was Juanita, had taken charge of the woman right away. When she was brought over the first thing she did was string the distraught Mexican-American woman up from one of the rafters in the living room and give her a vicious beating with a razor thin switch made of leather coated steel. Malinda had wailed and cried twisted and turned. Afterwards, Juanita brought the red lined and bleeding woman over to Jack on her knees and ordered her to suck his cock. She did it in Spanish, which the Ramirez woman knew very well but which Jack was yet to learn. It was only when the sobbing black haired woman had reached to open his fly that he understood. Juanita stood there imperiously while the Ramirez woman slurped and suckled at his cock.
It was a little disconcerting, but eventually Jack just closed his eyes and enjoyed the hot, wet friction on his tool. After he came, Juanita made the woman kiss his cock and then bow to him on the floor and say in Spanish what Jack learned later was, “Thank you, master, for letting me suck your cock.” Then Juanita took hold of the Ramirez woman’s hair and dragged her back into the kitchen. Later, that night, he had fucked the woman roundly on his bed. She had been very obedient and enthusiastic, but cried through the whole thing even though he made her come three times.
The next night Jack had one of the whores from the bordello sent down for his amusement. During a respite, he sneaked out of his bedroom and tiptoed down to his housekeeper’s bedroom. Sure enough, as he suspected, he heard the sounds of Juanita’s moans and the miserably unhappy sounds of the Ramirez woman’s sobs and cries of pain. He laughed. Who was he to deny the amiable fat woman her jollies? He went out to the porch and sat there for a while, enjoying the silent, moonless, star encrusted night, smoking a nice Havana and enjoying some smooth Kentucky rye. Then, when his motor was recharged, he went back to bed and the tender, young, unhappy whore he had left bound up there.
Jack had bought a big hog of a bike, a Harley Roadster, and was often out on the roads and trails enjoying the freedom it gave him. When he came back, Juanita often had the Ramirez woman scrubbing the floor on her hands and knees, fresh new lacerations on her rear or breasts. Jack had installed a collar on the woman along with ankle and wrist bracelets. Juanita kept the woman constantly chained to one of the many rings installed in the house. And when she wasn’t working, she kept her stuffed in one or another of the little cages around the house, in the living room, the kitchen or Jack’s bedroom. Unless her mouth was being used for something, or if she was eating her meal from a large, colorful ceramic bowl on the floor, she wore a thick gag with a brass ring on the front where a chain could be attached so she could be led around the house on her hands and knees.
They had kept the Ramirez woman for 3 months, until just over two weeks ago. Up at Mr. Morales’
mansion, they had a little room all set up for video. They made some pretty outrageous tapes with her, fucking and sucking two or three scrofulous, black hooded men at a time, being whipped, slurping the cunt of one of the whores they brought over. They were sent to her husband at regular intervals. After each session, they would make the woman cry and beg before the camera to be saved.
They didn’t get the million dollars they had been asking for, but they did get $850,000. The exchange was made in a small town about 25 miles from the American border. Jack was sorry to see her go. She had been a lot of fun. The night before he had had a full bore round robin with her and had given her a real good whipping as a sendoff. But the sorrow at her loss was ameliorated by the fact that his slice of the ransom money was $225,000. The Rogues’ got a share too. Everybody was happy.
That night, at a celebratory dinner at Mr. Morales’ mansion, he had been given the assignment regarding Darla. It was a great party. The only down part had been when Lorenzo had had that girl, Carly, brought over. He had one of his boys whip her and then started to pass her around. Jack had had enough. Watching the scurrilous men use her had turned his stomach. He left as soon as he could.
It was as if Lorenzo was taunting him with her. Almost every time they met he mentioned her. The few nights he had Jack over his place, Jack almost always turned down invitations from him, but, out of deference to the father he had to accept some, he had to watch the girl service Lorenzo and the other men. They would have her dressed up in a stretchy, spotted, beige and brown dog costume with a springy tail and with holes for her breasts and pussy. They put a little plastic dog’s nose on her face and made her wear doggy ears. Her hair was cut short, grown back to blond.
They made her walk around on all fours with her ankles bound up to her thighs and paw-like gloves on her hands. She would have to go up to each of the men present and sit back on her haunches with her arms raised before her like she was begging. She would kneel there, panting, her tongue hanging out, until the man ether waved her away or had her suck him off. When she came to him, his blood would turn sour. There would be a look of fierce hatred in her eyes mingled with an expression of dour misery. Those were the nights that the Ramirez woman suffered the worst.
Jack’s money had begun to pile up. He had over $240,000 in the bank. He had split the $85,000 in cash he had retrieved from the Chavez household with Ike. Ike would be laying off the jewelry and he expected to split another 150 grand from that. The Morales’ used an offshore account in Aruba to hide most of their money and to prevent its unlikely seizure by the Mexican authorities. Jack had opened an account there too, one that could only be accessed by the code he kept locked in his brain. He had spent a little of the money. The Roadster had cost him about $25,000, ironically, the same $25,000 he had gotten for selling the girl. He was wearing a pair of soft, hand tooled, leather boots with green and red rattlesnakes etched into them. He had bought some clothes, like the jet black leather coat he was wearing now. On his right hand he had a silver ring with the Rogue’s crest on it surrounded by a ring of small rubies. That had set him back $5,000. The rest he kept banked.
Tonight, Mrs. Chavez would fly back to Mexico with Lorenzo and his boys together with the six Anglo girls the Rogues had accumulated over the last six weeks or so, the last time the plane had been in. Lorenzo was dropping off ten pretty, virtually untouched, young Mexican girls for the American market. He would also be bringing two kilos of cocaine and a kilo of Mexican brown heroin in exchange for a suitcase full of cash.
Jack would not take the plane. He wasn’t sure why other than maybe so he wouldn’t be cooped up with Lorenzo and his boys for the hour long flight. Lorenzo might not be able to resist the temptation to drop him into the desert from 5,000 feet up.
Instead, he would, like last time, be escorted through the tunnel that had been dug from a small hut about 300 yards in on the Mexican side to the basement of a bean cannery located about an equal distance from the border on the American. The tunnel was operated by the Zetas, and the Morales gang, being a kind of subsidiary organization, was permitted the use of it.
It made Jack a little nervous to be admitted to the basement of the cannery which the Zeta boys protected with large Dobermans and AK-47’s. Especially with the small satchel holding his cash. They made him strip each time to make sure he wasn’t wearing a wire or a homing device and made, to them, humorous cracks in English and Spanish about what they would like to do to the black haired ‘Yanqui’. They lifted about 5 grand from him as a sort of toll. He didn’t mind. Business was business after all.
They had a small ATV with a cargo wagon behind it. He would ride in the wagon with whoever else was taking the ride, usually someone carrying a black valise that Jack assumed was filled with cash, and they would scoot under the border to the other side. The first time he had done it, 3 months ago, there had been somebody from the Morales outfit waiting for him in a black SUV. This time he had parked his Harley there and he would take that back the 300 miles or so to the Morales compound.
Stitch, the erstwhile concierge and caretaker of the Rogue’s headquarters, was sitting next to him on the porch. He was drinking from a longnecked bottle of Lone Star. As usual, he was wearing a pair of frayed and worn blue jeans and a black t-shirt. His hair was long and stringy and he had a weather beaten face that exhibited the scars and torments of his rough life. Out of all the Rogues he had met here, he was the one for whom Jack had the most affinity. He had the same kind of wry, ironic view of the world that Jack had. Other than that, he was low key, had nothing to prove and was highly satisfied with his desert life, minding the mansion, making sure whatever young females had fallen into their grasp were tended to, training some of them to householdly duties, and getting laid or blown several times a day by pretty, miserably unhappy young girls who had not quite gotten used to the idea that their former lives were over, but who wished frantically not to give him another excuse to wield his ever ready, ferocious whip.
Stitch had one of his long, lanky legs on the floor and one upraised against the rail that surrounded the porch. He was gently rocking himself back and forth, his chair back on its hind legs.
“It’s been good to have ya around, Jack,” he said apropos of nothing. “These young guys don’t seem to have the same edge as we did back when.”
“I guess they’re all right,” Jack answered. “None of my business really.”
“No, I guess not,” Stitch relied. “Ike’s got his hands full though keeping these guys in line. It’s too bad you couldn’t stay and work the streets for us a little while. Shake things up a bit.”
“Yeah, well, those days are over for me,” Jack said. “I’ve got a handful of life stretches waiting for me if I ever get busted. And I’ve done all the time I’m ever going to do.”
“See your point. I feel the same. I’m just happy rockin’ back here and wasting my time away. Plenty of poon tang, good eats, some rowdy company once in a while.”
Jack just murmured a reply.
“Ever get to see that hot little redhead you brought by here?”
Jack stiffened. He paused before he answered. He was wondering when Stitch would get to the point. “Yeah,” he said, “I see her.”
“I guess you still got a thing for her, huh?”
“I guess so.”
“Well, it’s only been a little while. You know you gotta leave her alone, don’t ya? You got no place pinin’ away for a piece of ass. Them Mexican fellas’l tear you a new asshole if they catch you fucking around. I’ll bet that Lorenzo’s just waiting for you to fuck up. I seen his boys cut a guy up once. Did it right here in front of the house. They tied him to the porch here, cut his belly and pulled his guts out. Boy, did that guy scream. Don’t know what he did. I don’t want to say what else they did to ‘em. But they sure took their time about it. We buried what was left of the guy out in the desert. What a fuckin’ mess!”
“I get the point, Stitch,” Jack said impatiently. “I’m not going
to do anything stupid. I got a sweet setup. By this time next year I’ll have probably close to a million dollars stashed away. That’ll buy a lot of pussy. She’s just a cunt anyway.”
“That’s the spirit, Jack. Lorenzo’ll get tired of baiting you eventually. He’ll get tired of the girl too. Probably sell her south or something. Then you won’t have to see her no more. Either that or he’ll use her all up and put her in a hole somewhere. I’ve heard some stories about what he does to whores when he’s done with them that are hard to believe but are probably true from what I know about the guy. The net effect will be the same though; she’ll be out of sight and out of mind.”
“Yeah,” Jack replied.
Jack took a sip of his Courvoisier and a long toke on his Cubano. Stitch took a long drink of his brew. They fell into silence. After a while, Stitch said, “Hey, you mind if I get one last b.j. from Mrs. Chavez here before she’s gone?”
“Help yourself,” Jack answered. He handed Stitch her leash.
Mrs. Chavez gave out a little unhappy squeal. She had heard the men talking about sending her to Mexico and she dreaded it down to her very soul. What had been happening to her was bad enough, but once she fell into the hands of one of the Mexican drug gangs she had read so much about, she knew that her life would get far, far worse. She didn’t want to be a whore, but if she had to be, she wanted to be the whore of the man they called Jack, her kidnapper. What he did to her with his cock made her mind explode. And although he was cruel and callous, she sensed that at least he had some boundaries to his cruelties. They were not so much to impose pain and suffering on her, although he clearly enjoyed doing it, but to improve her performance and her obedience.
