by Don Winslow
In keeping with his imperial delusions, the short robe, that barely covered the would-be king’s fleshy hips, was a shiny royal purple. He sat with thighs widespread, bare feet planted firmly on the thick pile of the rug before him. Mallory couldn’t help sneaking a glance between those hairy thighs where, partially shadowed, a thick, somnolent penis hung limp and languid. Her eyes flickered up to find the man grinning at her. It had not escaped his notice that the woman’s curious gaze had fallen to the place between his opened legs. And when he caught her taking in his manhood, he positively preened, easing back in his chair, letting his thighs fall lazily open just a few inches wider, grandly inviting the gringa’s inspection.
“So…Senorita Federale,” the General purred, looking straight at Mallory, “come closer. It is time we got better acquainted, no?”
An off-handed gesture energized the leering Major who drew the girls up by their necks, to stand within inches of the platform, and with an air of propriety, arranged his charges in a row, side by side. A further nod to the always-attentive aide had the leashes unhitched from their collars; gathered up in one gloved hand. Now Guzman bowed curtly, stepped back behind the prisoners, careful not to block El Commandante’s view. They could feel him standing just behind them: the leashes bunched up in his left hand, while his right hand held a sturdy riding crop that he lightly tapped against his booted calve.
“You know, Guzman, these Yankees, they have some strange ideas, no? My good friend, Capitan Thompson, he swears that these two are Yankee Federales! Federales! Can you believe that? We, of course, don’t understand how that can be! But then, we are only ignorant soldiers, far away from that great-enlightened country. How can such a poor son of a peasant understand the great Yankees at all: how such weak and miserable men can allow their women to get out of control. These gringos are pathetic, no? And their women! What kind of women are they, these ‘Federales’”?, he spat the last word contemptuously. “I have never met one before. Are they like other women, I wonder, Guzman,” the general went on in a speculative tone, lazily, luxuriously scratching his crotch. “Are they even made like other women? Do they get wet between the legs? Or do they have the cajones; the balls they’ve taken from their men?”
Mallory stood with eyes on the thickly carpeted floor, clenching her fists at her sides, hating this preening bastard, this male pig — and all he stood for! She could barely control the helpless rage seething up in her.
“Come, Guzman, let us see if these Federales have the testiculo that their men have lost.”
Mallory sensed the slight movement behind her, felt the hot breath on the back of her neck. “Get undressed,” the whispered command was meant only for the captives’ ears.
Chapter Thirteen
There was no choice. On the Mountain of Love, one simply obeyed. And so, reluctantly, the female prisoners began to strip, working open the buttons down the front of the simple frocks they wore, while their captor watched the three women undress before him — an insolent sneer plastered on his lips. Meghan’s own lips, brightly painted, rich and full, held the trace of a seductive smile as though just for him. She had quickly taken the measure of the man called El Commandante. That smile stayed carefully in place as she freed herself from the dress, letting it fall down her shoulders in such a way that her magnificent breasts seemed to bounce free, spilling over the sliding bodice and then wobbling liquidly as she bent to shove the loosened dress down her hips, and let it drop straight down her black-stockinged legs to ring her ankles in a crumpled heap.
Young Kip kept her head down, staring at adept fingers that made their way down her modest front, exposing more of her perky, small-sized breasts with each button they undid. She brushed the loose dress back off her shoulders, and worked it down her hips with a girlish shimmy, to reveal her slight, hipless form, that tight-knit, wiry body — excitingly nude, but for shoes and stockings.
Mallory’s movements were slow and deliberate. She undressed with the casual indifference of a woman disrobing in the privacy of her bedroom, paying not the slightest bit of attention to the grinning lout who watched her every move. She twisted each rounded shoulder free and peeled the dress down to uncover her bare chest, the taut, slightly-raised disks that formed her understated breasts; those fleshy pink nipples that men found so succulent. A brief tug sent the displaced dress sliding down sleek, naked haunches; she raised each high-heeled pump, in turn, to gracefully free herself of the collapsed prison uniform.
“Hands behind your heads!” The hissed command came from behind them.
The naked women obliged, doing as they were told, standing erect with heels together, fingers interlinked behind their necks; it was a pose they had been taught to assume on command, one that forced each prisoner to arch her back as though presenting her chest for approval. The grinning General motioned them closer to him. A few steps took them to the edge of the platform, close enough so that he might reach out for them. But he did not reach for them. Instead he leaned forward, to do no more than examine their nude bodies from his improved vantage point. He took his time, scrutinizing each woman in turn, silently letting his eyes inspect their undressed bodies, leisurely inspecting the bare breasts they displayed for him, before turning to admire the three pairs of nylon-clad legs: Mallory’s tall, slender, tapering lengths, straight and splendid; Meghan’s curvaceous, fully-fleshed thighs, magnificent; Kip's straight, coltish limbs, hard-muscled, like those of a spry, girl gymnast. Mallory saw the man lick his lips; she shuddered in distaste.
The warlord’s big head finally nodded his silent approval.
“Bueno, Major. We can see they look like women, no? But we must be careful. We are dealing here with some very dangerous Federales. We must be sure they hide no secrets. I think it is best that they show themselves,” he said as if deciding after having given the matter considerable thought. “Si, Major, have the prisoners show us that they hold no secrets.”
The General’s aide moved up behind the three tense women: “Get down…squat”. The voice of command was dry, a hushed voice, barely audible, yet effective. Like the other two, Mallory lowered herself while managing to keep her back straight, until she settled into a frog-squat, with knees spread and most of her weight resting on the balls of her feet. This was another familiar position, one the prisoners were often required to assume.
But the next command had them doing something they had never done before. “The General wishes to see your pudenda. Open your legs. Show yourself to him!”
By this time, Mallory had been forced to endure repeated humiliation at the hands of her captors, and she thought that nothing could embarrass her further. She had even been pissed on in public while she lay helpless under the yellow rain! But this lewd command, left her thoroughly mortified, flushed with embarrassment at having to reach down and press open her labia to show the glistening inner pink of her womanhood to her smug, seated captor.
“Look at me,” he spat to the three women who squatted naked before him, their eyes downcast. And he made them look at him while they held their sex lewdly open, as he had commanded. He kept them squatting before him, though mercifully not for two long; just until the strain of the squat began to show in their trembling calve muscles. His greedy eyes flitted from Meghan’s lush, thick petals, to Mallory’s dusky rose, its pliant lips splayed open and held back, to the small delicate flower Kip showed him as she spread her tawny, young thighs.
“Bueno!” He at last pronounced himself satisfied. “That’s enough. You may kneel now. The prisoners gratefully gave up the lascivious pose and got to their knees, in yet another familiar pose - kneeling erect before their master.
“I told you to look at me,” he reminded them.
Three pair of eyes rose up to meet his in mute obedience.
First, he studied Meghan; saw the ready welcome in those big blue eyes. El Commandante knew her kind of woman. He would take her, enjoy her body, lavishly maul those bounteous tits, suck on those big ripe nipples, fuck her cu
nt, and of course, that large, shapely behind. He would offer his upright cock to those soft full, seductive lips and have her suck him until his cock exploded to decorate her gringa’s face with his cum. She would make a willing pleasure toy, a charming bauble to take when he wanted her, and offer to his friends when he became bored with her. He dismissed the big blonde from his thoughts and turned his attention to Mallory, standing next in the row of pretty maidens. He saw the hard glitter in those cold steel blue eyes, and knew this was the woman he had to have! His Latin blood stirred; his prick hardened. This was a magnificent women, strong and willful; this was one El Commandante would have to conquer! These thoughts went through his head, while the slightly amused smile on his face never wavered. His eyes flitted over to study Kip. Under that mop of dusky hair, the little girl look he found in those large dark eyes moved something deep inside him.
His gaze went back to Mallory; he paused to consider what he saw there
“Ocho! Diez! Come to me.”
The girls started to get to their feet.
“No, not like that! Crawl… here!” he pointed to places at either aide of his ornate chair. Meghan and Kip, both veteran visitors to the Casa, knew what El Commandante wanted. On all fours, they obediently crawled up the two carpeted steps to arrange themselves flanking their seated lord, kneeling up, then settling back on folded legs. The pose brought them close enough to be played with, and El Commandante took advantage of their new proximity by dropping a hand to idly finger Mehgan’s plump, left nipple while he kept his contemplative gaze on the superb, dark-haired gringa kneeling so prettily below him.
“Diez, Champagne!” he ordered.
Kip, having performed the duties of the serving girl the last time she had visited the Casa, went scurrying off on her assignment, while Mallory and the General kept their eyes locked on one another.
“Prostituta Nueve, get down on hands and knees. Crawl to the door… over there”, he gestured towards the door at the far end of the room.
Mallory went rigid; cold defiance reinforced her steely blue eyes; her arms stiffened at her side. Otherwise she did not move.
“Do it, mujer! NOW!”
The General nodded to his aide who brought back the riding crop he had been fingering and, with a snap of his wrist, whapped the girl straight across her bare, solid butt.
THWACK!
Mallory bit off a whimper and jerked upright
THWACK!
The second cut of the whippy rod, delivered gleefully across her vulnerable behind, sent the girl tumbling forward; her arms shot out to brace herself.
“Now, crawl, gringa!” the voice from behind commanded.
And Special Agent Mallory Channing reduced to nothing but a pair of sexy, thigh-high stockings and black gleaming heels, crawled forward on all fours, traveling the few agonizing yards over the carpeted floor to the door with head down, her mane of soft raven hair hanging forward to partially shield a face that was burning with humiliation.
The General settled back. These were among his most pleasurable moments: to have a mature, beautiful woman such as this exquisite long-limbed, brunette crawl all around the room on hands and knees at his personal command. He studied that lithe back, long and smooth with its shallow dip; the way the angular shoulder blades moved so liquidly; the supple naked flanks and elegant thighs, that swaying, pleasingly plump ass, crossed now with two angry pink welts, and he could do no more than sigh.
“El pantero” he muttered under his breath in honest admiration of the sleek panther-like haunches, and the way she moved with all the natural grace of a big jungle cat.
When she got to her destination, the crawling woman was ordered to make the return trip. Still on all fours, she scuttled around, and crawled her way back to her captor, who eyed her lowered head with its fall of thick black hair, her slender shoulders and chest, looking straight between her extended arms to see just how her tight elastic breasts would hang under her bent torso.
As she got closer, he gestured her to him, and Mallory dutifully climbed the two board stairs like an animal, to come to rest at the feet of the outlaw king. For a moment, no one moved. Then slowly, the General extended a foot towards his newest prize. The others watched as Mallory submissively lowered her head, craning forward to kiss the bare foot that was held just beyond her lips.
“Bueno, you are learning, gringa.” He flicked his fingers, and Mallory correctly discerned that she was to sit upright and slide back on her heels, a pose frequently mandated at the compound when attending to an officer.
“You will make a nice pet, uno gato bonito, for El Commandante, eh? And if you are a good pussy, he might even fuck you. You’d like that, eh? You want El Commandante to fuck you, don’t you Senorita Federale Suprema?”
Mallory knelt in silence looking up at the dangerous man with carefully noncommittal eyes. Meanwhile her captor was busy admiring her thick hair, that magnificent jet-black mane framing her delicate angular features.
By now, Kip had returned with a tray loaded with bottles and glasses. After serving the two men, the General decreed that the women would also be allowed to partake. Mallory greedily accepted the glass of bubbly wine, and downed it in two quick gulps. The General gestured that her glass should be refilled. Through this ritual he kept his eyes on her, studying his newest prize over the rim of his champagne glass. His cunning eyes fell to her taut breasts, and he nodded knowingly.
“El Commandante knows. He sees you looking at his prick; he sees the desire in your eyes.” With that the man brushed back his robe, to let his massive, full-blown erection spring into view.
Mallory swallowed; said nothing. Summoning up her courage, she challenged his animated eyes with her steady blue gaze. Forced to face her tormentor, she was yet unwilling to play his game.
“Look at it!” he insisted. You want it, no? Of course you do! It is nothing to be ashamed of. All the grand ladies, they secretly wish that El Commandante could fuck them! Or maybe you wish to take his big cock up that pretty Yankee ass of yours? Tell me, do you want a man, a real man?”
“So, Guzman, Federale Suprema, she doesn’t answer?” The aide moved forward menacingly, whip at the ready, but his boss restrained him.
“No, no, Major. Maybe this Federale Suprema, she is not like other women? Maybe she is hard; a frigid woman no? Maybe she gets so disgusted with the pathetic men of her own country, that she turns to the arms of some little chica, eh. A wicked gleam lit up his shrewd, narrowed eyes. “Maybe she’s a lezzie and wants to make kissy-kissy with her little compadre here?” he smirked, planting a beefy hand on top of Kip’s tousled hair. He lightly held the girl, gripping her by her small head, as she knelt half-sitting on folded legs, leaning against the left side of his chair.
“That is what you want, no, Senorita Suprema? To play sticky-finger with your lezzie girlfriend.” He turned Kip’s head so she directly faced the kneeling senior agent. “We understand. You will find we are a very tolerant people.”
Now, his fat fingers idly dipped into the fine strands of Kip’s short hair. Suddenly, he clutched a fistful of that soft brown hair, and yanked the girl upright. “You want the chica diez? Take her! Go on,” he flung Kip towards Mallory. “Go to your friend! Pronto!” he pointed to place on the rug just in front of the platform.
Without being told, Guzman sprang into action, grabbing the two prisoners, dragging their half-resisting bodies down to where their General pointed. Mallory, instinctively twisting to free herself from his gasp, earned a painful whack on the haunches for her efforts. Kip simply went limp, letting herself be dragged off the platform; she was not about to resist!
Guzman, who knew his chief’s desires very well, having performed this service many times before, now arranged the two women before his seated General. The prisoners were placed on their knees, facing each other, brought together until only a few inches separated the clearly anxious women. Mallory’s light blue eyes scanned her partner’s youthful face, watching her fine lashes fl
utter down, as Kip lowered her eyes, unable to meet Mallory’s in her profound embarrassment. Kip’s small white teeth bit down, softly indenting a tightly curled lower lip. A feeling of disbelief seized the senior agent. This could not be happening!
Guzman looming over her, squatted down, dug his fingers into her hair, pulled back her head, and brought his lips next to Mallory’s ear. “Go on, Suprema. Make love to your little compadre here. You think we don’t know what goes on in the barracks when the lights are out with you little lezzies, eh? El Commandante, he wants to see how you do it.” Dragging Mallory by the hair, he shoved her up against Kip’s reedy torso.
Forced so abruptly together, the two women had no choice but to reach to hold on to each other in order to keep from tumbling over. Mallory loosely wrapped her swaying partner’s slim body in her arms, while Kip reached up around her to hesitantly place her hands on the senior agent’s naked shoulders. For a brief moment they held each other, Kip burying her face in the crook of Mallory’s neck. Mallory held the trembling girl pressed to her; felt those small, hard breasts burning into her chest.
“It’s okay,” Mallory whispered, hoping to soothe the girl, while not believing her own reassurances for even a minute.
“Go on, gringa show us how much you love your little chica. Pronto! Give her a nice kiss, or it’s that gringa’s ass of yours that will be kissed …with my whip!”
A desperate protest rose up in Mallory: “No. We won’t do it! You can’t make…”
THWACK!
The riding crop whistled through the air, and came whapping down across Mallory’s rear end; enforcing the lewd order with a stinging slap, giving the girl a taste of things to come if she didn’t comply fast enough to suit her overseer.
