Convict's Captive Book 4: Welcome to Mexico

by Paul Blades

  “Oh, god, please don’t!” she thought. It was one more humiliation. They were taking all her humanity away.

  Tears flowed down her face as Vincenzo scraped away all of her growth. He paused only to dip the razor in the bucket and clean it off. It was a straight razor, a slasher, and it was very sharp. He scraped very close to her skin, getting everything that rose above it. There would be no stubble.

  When he was done, her took another scoop of water and poured it over her head, washing away all the residual soap and cut hair. He took the towel and dried it. He then ran his hand over her crown. Carly could feel that it was as smooth as a bowling ball and she suppressed a sob. “Seňor Lorenzo wants your hair to grow back all blond,” he told her. “No more redhead.”

  He ordered her to her back and told her to spread and raise her knees. He scraped away what little stubble there was on her pussy and then did her legs. He made her kneel up and raise her hands and he did under her arms as well. Before he put the razor and pail away, he took a look at her face. Almost as an afterthought, he shaved off both of her eyebrows.

  When everything was put away, he told her to kneel up again. He positioned himself in front of her and held out his cock. It had already grown hard. Carly didn’t need to be told what he wanted. Last night, she had been sure she would end up on her knees in front of him sooner or later. She raised her torso so that her mouth was at the right level and subsumed his meat into her mouth.

  He let her do all the work. He rested his hands on her bald head. His meat, hard and stiff, was like a foul invader. Carly tried not to think about what she was doing, but after a little while that feeling she had had when she had serviced her kidnapper started to return. She was ashamed and disgusted with herself for her lack of resistance, her readiness to disgrace herself. And that very sense of humiliation and shame, that powerlessness, the sense of being used, made her loins begin to warm. “I am a whore! I am a whore! I am a whore!” she thought unhappily.

  All the while she suckled and bobbed her head, slowly but steadily. She washed the end of his prick with her tongue. Her hands were resting on his thighs lightly to steady herself. Her knees began to hurt from kneeling on the tiles. She could hear the echo of her slurps and moans as she serviced him. She felt like her shame and disgrace was being broadcasted to the world even though she knew that the only one who could possibly hear her was the girl outside and she, for sure, had too much on her mind to worry about this. Besides, she had probably been on her knees to the vicious butler a dozen times. They all had. Vincenzo was a man who would insist on his due. That was for certain.

  He issued a soft moan while she sucked him. Every once in a while he would hold her head still for a moment or two, as if to delay or forestall a completion of his lusts. His cock lay inside her mouth like an evil wand. Then, he would tap her cheek forcefully, and she would begin again.

  Carly, feeling miserable and sorry for herself, all too conscious of the sensation of his hands on her bald skull, remembering all too well his recent degrading, enforced enemas, felt her lusts rising higher and higher, which, in turn, translated into a more dedicated and enthusiastic caress of his cock. When he began to rock his hips, many, many minutes into her ordeal, her efforts accelerated. She could feel the bulbous head sliding over the roof of her mouth.

  The member seemed to get bigger and bigger as she suckled him although she knew that that was purely a product of her passions. She began to yearn for his explosion, anticipating the befouling of her mouth with ironic desire. She wanted his essence in her belly, to mix with her blood, to become part of her. Her eyes were jammed shut and, for a moment, she saw in her mind’s eye a vision of that man, tall, strong, rough and manly. It was him she was sucking. Jack! Blackjack! Why had he ever let her go? Why? Why? Why? “Give it to me! Give it to me! Give it to me!” she kept repeating. His thrusts became more instant. His hands gripped her naked head and took control. He held her head still while he pumped himself in and out of her mouth at a furious pace. The tip of his cock banged up against the back of her throat.

  And then he groaned and his essence began to flood her oral chamber. She could feel the throbbing of his cock against her tongue. Warmth spread against the back of her throat and she swallowed it greedily. ‘More! More! More!” she thought. She maintained a narrow pathway for his manhood, granting him as close to full pleasure as she could get.

  Finally, his thrusts slowed. He came to a stop and sighed. He let his detumescing cock lay there a while on her tongue. A feeling of utter shame filled her. She had gone off the edge again. The demon had taken hold of her. What had that man done to her? She had never been like this! It was too much to bear. A sickening chill went through her. She wanted desperately to expel Vincenzo’s now slimy, softening member, but she knew that she didn’t dare. She hadn’t the power to refuse anybody. They would all use her mouth as they pleased, and the rest of her too. How was she ever going to survive, she asked herself despondently. How?

  Finally, Vincenzo pulled back and released her head. “¡Manos y rodillas!” he barked at her. She fell to her hands and knees. He rubbed her bald head. “Very good, perrita,” he said. “You’re going to be a fine little doggy for us.” He went around to the back of her.

  “¡Abre tus muslos!” he spat out at her. For a moment she couldn’t remember what it meant. Then he slapped her brutally on her rear, once, twice, three times. She shrieked and cried out. “¡Abre tus muslos!” he shouted again, louder this time, his voice seemed to be made bigger by its echo on the tiles. The she remembered. With a sob, she spread her thighs.

  “Buena,” he said then calmly. She felt his hand slip over her quim. She was chagrined at what he would find there. She felt his fingers sliding easily along her gash and push inside her. He tickled her clit for a moment or two, making a rush of passion go through her and then he withdrew.

  “I thought so,” he announced merrily. “Yes, you’re going to be a good little fuck doggie, un buena cogida pequeño perrita.” He laughed and gave her backside a little pat.

  He dressed quickly. He picked up her set of doggy ears and his switch from the bench. Then he ordered her to follow him.

  They moved past the poor girl outside. She was moaning and looked at them with anguished, hopeful eyes. He led Carly down the hall and stopped at one of the little rooms. He ordered her in. The bed was just a rough mattress on the floor.

  Opening the top drawer of the little dresser, he pulled out a wide leather belt. It had manacles attached to it. He brought it around her waist and cinched it tight behind her back. He locked her hands in the manacles which were just forward of her hips. Then he ordered her down on the bed. He connected her ankles and then affixed them to a chain that was connected to a ring in the floor at the foot of the bed.

  He left the room for a moment. He came back with a leather shield that had some sort of metal contraption where the plug should be. He told her to sit up and he presented it to her mouth. She looked at the cylinder attached to the sheath of leather and suppressed a sob. Whatever this thing was, it did not bode well. Vincenzo’s hand lashed out and caught her across the face. She cried out and began to cry.

  “¡Abre la boca!” he told her sternly. “I’m not going to tell you again!”

  She opened her mouth unsteadily. He presented the cylinder to her lips and pushed it in. It was cool and hard and it frightened her. The sheath had a cup for her chin attached and Vincenzo pulled some straps so that it tightened. Straps from the sides divided over her nose and then reconnected, going over the top of her bald skull between her eyes. When he had affixed the gag at the back of her head, he did something that caused her jaws to close even tighter before locking it off.

  He then moved his hand at the front of the gag like he was turning a little dial. Carly’s eyes widened with shock as she felt little points coming out of the cylinder. She tried to open her mouth wider, but the straps held her jaw fast. She tried to slide her tongue out of the way, but it had nowhere to go
. She tried to move her head away from the hand that was turning the dial, but he had his hand behind her and was holding on to the back of her neck.

  “Mmmmmmmmmmmmm!” she moaned unhappily. “Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm!” The points were pricking her skin on the roof of her mouth and on her tongue. It felt horrible. One more millimeter and the pins would produce anguishing pain. Vincenzo leaned back from her.

  “I told you that I was going to do something to convince you to stop talking. Well, here we are. The next time you feel like saying anything, I want you to think of this moment.”

  He leaned back in and placed his hand at the front of the gag again. Carly shrieked, “Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm! Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!” her whole body filled with sickening cold. He turned the dial and the points, there must have been a dozen of them on each side, pierced into her skin. It was like having nails driven through her tongue and the roof of her mouth. He twisted the dial again and the pain became even more excruciating. “Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm! Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!” Carly tried to yell. Vincenzo just gave the dial another turn.

  “Each time you make a noise, I’m going to turn it some more,” he told her. “Had enough?”

  Carly nodded her head frantically. With all the effort that her mind could make, she forced herself to silence.

  “Okay then,” he said. Going back to the dresser, he removed from the drawer a black cotton bag. He placed it over her head, tightening it with a drawstring around her neck. Then he told her to lie down. He connected the back of her collar to a chain that led to the wall behind her.

  “Get some sleep,” he told her. “You’re going to have a busy afternoon.”

  She heard him leave the room and then the metal door slam shut. She heard the lock turn. Footsteps led away from the door.

  She moaned in misery. Her mouth was on fire. It just wouldn’t stop hurting. The pins had penetrated her mouth and tongue for probably only a few millimeters, but the pain was unbearable. She squirmed on the bed, shook her head back and forth. She pulled at the chain that locked her feet to the floor, closed her hands into fists and tried to break the manacles that held them so fast. Nothing helped. “Oh, god! Oh, god! Oh, god! Oh, god!” she thought madly. “Please don’t leave me like this! Please! Please! Please!”

  Then she heard the grateful sounds of the girl being released from the torture house. There was silence for a little while, then an obsequious outpouring of feminine Spanish. Then she heard the girl screaming. Then there was silence. Vincenzo had given her a taste of his switch.

  A few moments later, she heard the sobbing girl footpad her way past her door. There followed Vincenzo’s sure step. The girl entered the cell next door to hers, rummaged around for a moment. Carly figured that she was getting dressed. She heard Vincenzo tell her to hurry up. He slapped her and she squealed. Then she ran out the door. Vincenzo’s footsteps began to fade away. “Please don’t leave me like this! Pllleeeeeeeeeeeeeease! Plllleeeeeeeeeeeeease!” she yelled in her mind. She heard a key in a lock, a few more steps and then the door closed. The lock turned and then there was silence.

  “Ohhhhhhhhhh, god! Please come back! Please! Please! Please!” she called out. “Plllllleeeeeeeeeease!”

  CHAPTER SIX

  She learned her lesson all right. When Vincenzo finally came up to get her, her mouth has subsided into a steady throbbing, but she had spent a long time in agony before that.

  He had taken away her sight before he left, pulling that bag over her head. It completed her feelings of hopelessness and despair. There was just enough room on her chains to allow her to wriggle about and shift positions, but somehow that limited ability to move seemed to only emphasize her hopeless status.

  “I’m somewhere in Mexico,” she thought dismally. “I’m locked in a little room, chained to a mattress, on the third floor of a house I’ve never seen the outside of. Downstairs, men are waiting who are going to hurt me and use me. What am I going to do? What am I going to do?”

  Her mouth hurt steadily. “No talking! No talking! No talking!” she thought unhappily. “Never again! I don’t want to suffer this ever again! No talking! No talking! No talking!”

  The mattress was lumpy and thin. Every time she shifted her position, moving from her side to her back, her back to her side, tried to curl up in a little helpless, unhappy ball, she reached the limit of her chains. A couple of times, her mental and physical agonies reaching their extremes, she kicked and tugged at the chain that held her feet bound as hard as she could, just in frustration.

  That big fat man downstairs, he used one of the maids like a slave girl. He would use her. The way he looked at her, she was sure. He took hold of her breast and squeezed it. “Bueno,” he said. No one told him he could do that. He just did it like it was the most natural thing in the world. Would she become so used to it too that it would seem natural when unknown men grabbed her breasts or stroked her pussy or thrust their cocks in her mouth?

  That poor girl on the little house. They would do that to her. Sooner or later she would do something wrong and they would do it to her. Right now they were doing something heinous and cruel to her. She tried not to think about the pain in her mouth, but it was impossible. “It hurts! It hurts! It hurts!” she cried. Tears flowed out inside her little hood.

  She was a prisoner. She had followed Vincenzo around like a little doggie with her doggy-like ears. Why didn’t she just get up and run away? She wasn’t chained. He wasn’t holding her on a leash. She could have jumped up, headed for those stairs she came up last night and dashed out the door. Then she could run, run, run and they would never catch her. She would run all the way home, to her little apartment in her safe little town in plain old Wisconsin and lock all the doors, get into bed and never, ever, ever leave.

  She would never see it again. She would never see anything they didn’t want her to see. Would they ever let her have a cheeseburger or a milk shake or go for a walk by herself or sleep without being all chained up and gagged horribly and hooded? Her hands were useless. What was the use of having them? They just hung there at her waist. They should be tearing off her hood, pulling out her gag, figuring a way to get these chains off of her. Instead they just sat there doing nothing. They were useless. And last night, they hadn’t defended her. They were just something to hang her up by or to fasten behind her back so when they stuck her in the teeniest, tiniest cage you ever saw she couldn’t lean back and be comfortable.

  Her breasts and her pussy. That was what they wanted. They could have them; just let the rest of her go! And her mouth, they could have that too! She had nothing to say to anybody. How could she ever talk to anybody again after what she had been through? Who would understand? And she hadn’t even gone through the worst yet. It was just the first 24 hours. She had been whipped and fucked and had two different cocks in her mouth, the first of hundreds, maybe thousands. They had kept her in that little cage. Is that where she would spend night after night after night from now on?

  And they made her bark like a dog. How far would they take their little joke? Vincenzo said she was going to make a great fuck doggie. Couldn’t she be just a regular whore like the other girls? Why did she have to be a doggie? She didn’t want to be a doggie. She didn’t want to be a whore. She wanted to go home. Or to die. There was a chain on her neck connected to her collar. If she pulled on it hard enough could she suffocate herself?

  She moved her head and made the chain taught. Then she lifted her hooded head up and pulled, pulled, pulled. Her air started to run out. She felt like she was choking. She was choking. “Keep going! Keep going! Keep going!” she said to herself, but suddenly it got to the point where she couldn’t stand it and she started to cough and gag. It made her mouth move and the little needle points shifted and caused a river of agony to run through her mouth. “Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow! It hurts! It hurts! It hurts!” she thought, instantly, reflexively lowering her head back to the bed. “No more talking! No more talking! Please don’t hurt me! I won’t ever, ever talk again! I promise! I promise
! I promise!”

  At one point, Carly heard the door to the little enclave open. From the silence of the footsteps she discerned that it was not Vincenzo, which she had fervently hoped, but one or more of the serving girls. She heard some movement around and then some brief conversation. One of them stopped at her room and must have peered in the metal screened door. She called out to the other one. Carly had the impression that they were examining her. She was so conscious of her nudity and helplessness, the way she must appear to them, hooded and bound, she wanted to just fade away.

  The girls had a whispered conversation. She heard one of the girls say the word, ‘perrita’, and realized that they had figured out her new role here. A couple of seconds later the girls moved away. A few moments after that, she heard the showers running and the sounds of lighthearted, feminine banter.

  There would be no lighthearted banter from her. The gag in her mouth was a guarantee of that. They might be slaves too, but at least the maids had the right to move about, clean themselves and talk. Above all to talk! How was she going to live without being able to talk? There would be no one to share her feelings with, to commiserate with, to give and receive a friendly hello. She would be a class apart from the other whores, suffering the meanest and most degrading treatment of all.

  The girls passed by again and she heard them going into their little rooms. A little while later, she heard them walk down the hall to the doorway. She heard one of them say something in a loud tone, something supplicative. Right after that, there was a buzzing sound. She heard the door open and then close. “So that was how they got out,” she thought.

  About 15 minutes later, the door opened again. She heard the unmistakable sound of Vincenzo’s tread. He stopped at the gated entrance to her room. She heard the key in the lock and the door open.

  “Oh, take it out! Take it out! Please! Please! Please!” she thought. She squirmed on the bed in her anxiousness to be freed of the cruel instrument in her mouth. But Vincenzo took his time. She heard him put something down on the floor, like a bag, and then take some things out and place them on the little dresser. Only then did he remove her hood and release her collar from the wall.