It should go without saying: "Don't try this at home."
MEXICAN HOLIDAY
by
C. Lakewood
Prof. Louise Greenstreet and her daughter, Cindy, were on
the last days of a trip into Mexico that was half holiday and
half expedition. Louise was engaged in some research on the
major Olmec sites and had thought this trip might be a good
opportunity for her and Cindy to become close again. It
seemed to have been only partially successful, however. The
18-year-old girl alternated between smiles and enthusiasm on
one hand, and pouts and complaints on the other.
The two were now driving back north, however. As usual,
Cindy wore a t-shirt, denim shorts, and flip-flops -- whereas
Louise was just as comfortably -- and rather more stylishly
-- dressed in tan culottes, white knit sleeveless top, peds,
and sneakers. Unlike her daughter, she also wore a bra.
Louise had always been what is generally known as a "good
girl" -- not quite a certified Goody-Two-Shoes prude, but near
enough...vanilla upbringing, A-student, teacher's pet, academic
scholarship, Phi Beta Kappa, graduate assistantship, no drugs, no
pre-marital sex, no extra-marital sex, a bland and conventional
marriage ending in a bland, no-fault divorce, and, meanwhile, an
unblemished tenure-track career at a distinguished (but distinctly
toffee-nosed) private university.
Louise always took some care with her appearance, aware that
she had a certain position to maintain. To Cindy, she looked
good, but also rather "uptight." Indeed, her feelings toward
her 42-year-old mother in general were similarly ambivalent --
which was common enough at her age. She admired her for what
she was: a sophisticated and well-respected academic...and yet
despised her for the same reasons: her tendency to over-analyze
and over-intellectualize, to live an ivory tower life quite apart
from "real" people. Cindy did have a well-enough developed sense
of irony to realize that, after three weeks in Mexico, she herself
was a little tired of having to mingle with so many "real" people
so often.
They were passing through yet another village of sun-dried
brick and feeble sanitation when they came upon a battered white
Packard blocking their way.
Cindy, happy to get a break, slid out of the car and looked
around disdainfully at the parched adobe village and its
scattering of backward people. "Latino red-necks," she thought.
She had what she'd come for and was tired of Mexico.
Louise, who didn't like the look of things, stayed in the
car, but gazed about, hoping for assistance -- or at least
some explanation of the improvised roadblock -- relaxed a bit
to see a man in a tailored uniform exit a nearby building and
strut in her direction. He was followed by a lanky, Mexican
version of Cletus Spuckler in ill-fitting fatigues.
The leader halted a few feet from the car and beckoned to
Louise. He was smiling, but not very sincerely, it seemed to
her. Nevertheless, she hurriedly obeyed. After the car's A/C
(as primitive as that was), the unpaved, sun-baked street was
inhospitable. Moreover, standing in front of the official, she
realized with some dismay that they were almost exactly the same
height -- 5'6".
He clicked his heels, bowed very slightly, and saluted.
"Teniente Tito Carajo at your service...." He glanced at her
left hand and added, "Señora. Welcome to Lago Perdido. I am
the police commandant here and mus' ask you for your papers."
"Is there a problem?" Louise asked, as she handed over
their passports.
"A mere formality, Señora. We mus' be vigilant. Drug
esmuggling, you know," he said, casually, as he leafed through
the two documents. "Driving license, por favor." At the same
time, he gestured to his gangly underling and nodded toward
the car. "My cabo -- corporal -- will search your auto, con
permiso."
Louise knew that this last phrase was strictly pro forma,
like the "por favor." The lieutenant was suave and dapper,
and that might have been reassuring in a taller man. But she
was aware that, in a short one (particularly a short official),
these characteristics were often the mark of a would-be Caesar....
Meanwhile, Cindy was drifting in their direction, and her
bored expression changed abruptly when she caught sight of the
corporal at work. Louise didn't notice...but the lieutenant
did. And then, moments later, the corporal let out a satisfied
noise and trotted back to Lt. Carajo with two rather large
plastic bottles and a foil-wrapped package.
"Hmmm...." The lieutenant raised an eyebrow at the labels.
"Drugs. I reco'nize the names from official papers, but I do
no' remember wha' the effects migh' be...."
"Regardless, it's nothing to do with us. The car's a
rental...," Louise began, but was interrupted by the corporal
reporting in rapid fire Spanish and being answered by the
lieutenant.
Carajo grimaced and looked hard at Louise. "Be careful,
Señora. Hector, my corporal, discovered these bottles in a
suitcase bearing the name of your daughter. Better to say
nothing than to lie."
"Lie! But I assure y...." Louise could see that the
lieutenant had stopped listening.
He turned on his heel and said, over his shoulder, "Come
along to la cárcel -- the...estation -- and I will esplain
the situation...."
Accordingly, they all followed him -- bewildered Louise,
apprehensive Cindy, and smug Hector.
******************************
The "station" was not air conditioned, but cooler than the
street, thanks to its thick adobe walls. It reeked, however,
of garlic, tobacco, cheap red wine, and B.O. Carajo's office
was tidy, but only superficially better than the rest of the
primitive establishment.
"Please to stand there, on the line," Carajo said, gesturing at
the floor where a crudely-painted yellow stripe crossed the room
from side to side. Simply assuming he'd be obeyed, he immediately
turned to his corporal and began volubly issuing what was obviously
a set of commands. Louise (who could speak text book Spanish,
more or less) couldn't understand much of what was being said in
what she imagined was local dialect. She was glad that Carajo
spoke such good English.
Cindy cleared her throat. "Surely we aren't under ar...."
She was silenced by the lieutenant's throat-slitting gesture.
A moment later, Hector saluted (after a fashion) and hurried
from the room, leaving the drugs on the lieutenant's desk.
"I have sen' for el boticario -- the village apothecary --
Señor Áspero, who can tell me more abou' this...contraband." He
leaned back comfortably in his worn desk chair, lit a cigarillo,
and contemplated the two nervous Americanas.
******************************
The three spent a while sunk in their own thoughts, until at
last Hector returned with a 50-ish man in tow -- tall and gaunt,
in pince-nez glasses and a cliché scruffy white suit. The
village apothecary, Louise surmised.
The newcomer examined the contraband and commented (at some
length and with considerable animation), while Carajo took notes.
Hector's attention, meanwhile, turned to Louise and Cindy, at whom
he gazed appraisingly, through heavy-lidded eyes.
Eventually, the apothecary subsided, frowned at Louise and
Cindy, and retired to a chair against the back wall. Carajo
sighed and returned his pencil to its improvised caddy, a
chipped commemorative mug from the 1968 Olympics.
"As I feared." He picked up one of the bottles. "This is
Tri-Chloro...something, something...." He consulted his notes,
scowled, and shrugged. "Better known as 'Trike.' A female
aphrodisiac." He tapped the other bottle. "This is called
'Equis' (in English, 'Ex')." He looked at his notes again.
Which 'increases emotional responsiveness, lowers inhibitions and
discretion, and induces euphoria....'" He prodded the package.
"'Dixie' inhalers. Another aphrodisiac, which also...'increases
the power of the orgasm in women.' All of these drugs can be
legally bought here -- by adults -- for personal use, but no'
for re-sale, an' are completely illegal in the United States."
He grimaced. "An' this amount is what your police call
'sale-weight.' I am afraid I mus' inform the Federales."
"But...but...I've had no connection with any of it," Louise
protested. "Please! My reputation...my career...."
"I regret, Señora. Even if your daughter bought the drugs (as
is likely), you are a...an accessory. You both will be considered
drug dealers...and dealt with...harshly." He reached for a 1930s
candlestick telephone.
Louise stiffened, her mind racing. "Wait!" she exclaimed.
"Wait.... It's the beginning of July. We could stay here
another two months, and-and if we -- Cindy and I -- consumed
all of it.... Well, wouldn't that prove it was only for
'personal use'? Wouldn't it?"
Carajo sat back. After a pause, he went into conference with
the apothecary. A few minutes later, he looked up. "Perhaps.
Both of you would have to be in custody so tha' we could be sure
there was no cheating. If you plead guilty to something minor --
say 'disorderly conduct' -- that would suffice, and we could then
proceed. Yes?"
"Yes! I plead guilty to...disorderly conduct!"
"And you, chica?" Carajo asked Cindy.
"I suppose so," she muttered.
"No. That is not sufficient, either in words or tone. Try
again."
"Yes, okay, whatever." Wilting under Carajo's unblinking
stare, Cindy hung her head. "Yes, I plead guilty. I'm sorry."
"Satisfactory," Carajo said. "I sentence you both to two
months in our jail for this offense. Now we must...process you."
He said something to Hector, who sat down behind an ancient
upright Smith-Corona, inserted a blank form, cracked his
knuckles, and nodded.
The preliminary processing took some time, since Carajo had
to ask all the standard questions, translate the women's replies
into a version of Spanish, then wait while Hector laboriously
typed in the information.
After a while, Carajo leaned back and stretched. "This is
mos'...tedious. I hope you two are grateful for the efforts we
are making on your behalf." He said something to Hector, who got
up stiffly and slouched over to the women. "Now we mus' search
you. Please to take off your clothes...all of them."
"But...," Louise began.
"No!" Carajo banged his fist on the desk. "I will tolerate no
arguments or refusals...or even hesitations. Cooperate, and you
will be...inconvenienced; do no' cooperate, and I will give you to
the Federales. And I will not warn you again. Now...take off your
clothes. Hand them, piece by piece, to Hector, who will inspect
them."
"We have rights!" Cindy sputtered.
"Shut up, Cindy, and do as he says," Louise hissed.
Cindy sulked, but obeyed. Kicking off her flip-flops, she
began to pull down her shorts, very slowly. Meanwhile, balancing
awkwardly first on one foot and then the other, Louise removed
her shoes and socks and passed them to Hector (who sniffed them
noisily, much to Louise's embarrassment and dismay.
"Maduro," Hector grinned. Louise understood that word:
"ripe," and she wondered uneasily whether it was a compliment
or a criticism.
She pulled off her top, handed it to Hector, and dropped her
culottes. When she bent to pick them up, her daughter's shorts
had descended no farther than knee-level.
"A small momen', Señora. The girl does no' seem to have
understood. ¡Ayuda la chica, Hector!"
Obediently, Hector stepped behind Cindy and, with one motion,
"helped" her by yanking her shorts down to her ankles. Her panties
followed a heart-beat later. Reflexively, Cindy squealed, clamped
her thighs together, and covered her crotch with her hands.
"Estand oop estraight, gurrl!" Carajo commanded, his annoyance
momentarily corrupting his command of English. Recovering himself
somewhat, he added, "Arms up in the air an' legs apart. Keep still
while Hector attends to you." He glanced at Louise, who had frozen
in place. "Carry on, Señora." His attention, however, was focused
on Cindy, who was standing as ordered when Hector peeled her
t-shirt up and off, leaving her totally naked. Carajo admired her
bikini tan-lines, in particular -- the top set emphasizing her
well-formed tits and the bottom framing her hairless crotch.
Carajo licked his lips, but he imagined himself tasting something
else.
Louise took advantage of the distraction to quickly remove her
bra and panties and stood, slightly hunched over, waiting to pass
them to Hector. She wondered if he would smell her panties, too,
which were damp from the long drive. (Merely sweat, she hoped.)
There was a large lump in Hector's pants that was growing larger
as she watched it. She was embarrassed to find herself squirming
and breathing more rapidly.
And she wondered about the size of Carajo's lump.
As if on cue, he turned his attention to her. "Your daughter
has the right idea abou' pubic hair, and you should -- you WILL
-- follow her example and ge' rid of yours; it is both unsightly
AND unsanitary, a collector of filth an' a breeding ground for
disease...." He paused. "Moreover, its color is so very
different from that of the hair on your head."
He nodded, staring at Louise.
She felt he was reading her mind, and she shivered.
He gave a further order to Hector, who promptly gathered up
the women's clothes and left the room.
"Come closer, ladies; I wan' to get a better look a' you.
Bueno. Now run in place. Faster! Ah...you both bounce verr'
nicely...." He emptied out their purses onto his desk and
picked up a pack of birth control pills. "These, I think,
belong to you," he said to Cindy.
"Yes...sir...," the girl gasped.
"And you, Señora?"
"No, sir," Louise answered. "I'm not...well...I'm no longer
f-fertile...."
Just then, Hector returned with a pitcher of water and two
glasses. Carajo shook two tablets out onto the desk. "Time
for your medicine, ladies," he said.
Hector presented a pill and a glass of water to mother and
daughter. Louise, breathing heavily, eyed her glass dubiously.
Carajo laughed. "Do not worry, Señora. That water is the best
you'll find in all of Mexico. The village's name may be 'Lago
Perdido,' bu' the lake is not truly 'lost.' It retreated deep
under ground many years ago and supplies us with any amount of
pure, cold water. Drink up!"
Once again, Louise had the weird feeling that he could read
her thoughts -- and so could see into her secret fantasies. She
cowered and swallowed the pill...and the water. Cindy morosely
followed suit. Then Carajo served up pills from the other bottle.
He flicked the package of inhalers with a manicured nail. "We will
save these...for especial occasions." He smiled in anticipation.
"Hands on head, ladies, both of you," Carajo ordered. Two more
men, dressed in fatigues, had meanwhile come in, rolled and lit
cigarettes, and leaned casually against the wall. One was a plump
and pimply teenager, and the other was smaller, 40-something, and
rat-like. (They were in fact the rest of the local police force.)
Louise knew that they would soon be removing her pubic hair.
The idea excited her. When she was growing up, only a slut shaved
her crotch. She could smell Hector's manly odor, and that excited
her, too. She wondered what that lump in his pants looked like
out in the open. Uncircumcised, probably....
She licked her lips.
Carajo shifted in his chair and said something else to Hector,
who grinned and hastened to lay out some shaving things.
There was no exam table per se. But, at a word from Carajo,
a library table was dragged into the center of the room, and
Louise was ordered to lie down on it. The two junior policemen
grasped her ankles, doubled her up so her knees were by her ears,
and held her firmly, feet up and legs spread.
Hector fetched some hot water and poured a little into an
old-fashioned porcelain shaving mug. He added a jigger of pale
green liquid and a dollop of soap and slowly worked up a thick
lather. He snipped the hair close with scissors and then brushed
on the lather...which he proceeded to rub well in with his thumbs.
He and his two assistants were grinning broadly as Louise
whimpered, "It-it t-tingles.... Oh, god! Oh...oh...."
Hector, taking his time, lovingly spread the soap up into her
butt-crack.... Louise found it unbelievably thrilling when his
thick peasant thumb invaded her virgin asshole...in and out...in
and out...with everyone WATCHING....
Then he flourished his straight razor and whisked all the hair
from her crotch.
After wiping off the last traces of lather, they had to help
her to her feet and back to her place in front of the lieutenant's
desk. She was trembling.
Carajo gestured to Hector. "Las impresiones digitales, por
favor." The fingerprinting went smoothly enough and, afterward,
the photographing and the measuring and weighing-in -- though
Louise was chagrined when she was recorded as 5'6" and 142 lbs
and 35B-26½-36, compared to Cindy at 5'5" and 122 and 35C-24-35.
Initially, standing next her naked daughter, she felt depressingly
middle-aged and pudgy. She sneaked a peek at Cindy, who looked
quite spacey, eyes shut and mouth open, fitfully rubbing her
thighs together. Louise failed to repress a smirk.
Carajo got up from his chair, and Louise's eyes involuntarily
focused on his groin. (His lump was smaller than Hector's.)
"Now is time for the SEARCH," he announced, in melodramatic
fashion. He smoothly dismissed the apothecary and the two junior
policemen. The former left with a shrug, the latter more
reluctantly.
Carajo moved over to Cindy, leaving Hector to search Louise.
The corporal began by massaging Louise's breasts and tugging on
her nipples in a way that left her weak and moaning. He drifted
his right hand down over her belly and, with an insolent
expression, inserted two fingers into her inflamed and already
dripping cunt. "Tu coño," he said.
"Mi coño," she murmured. "Mi coño...es su coño."
He touched her asshole with his left forefinger. "Tu culito."
"Mi culito es suyo también...."
"¿Y tu boca?"
("My mouth, too?" she thought. "Well, I've already given him
ownership of my...my coño and my culito. Oh, god! Why did I do
that?) "Sí. Mi boca también...para siempre." ("Forever? Geez!
Why can't I hold my tongue? I used to be so discreet.")
Hector looked thoughtful for a moment. "¿Y quién soy?"
("Who is he? I must answer...and answer truthfully.") "Usted
es mi patrón...mi dueño...." (Yes, I guess he IS my Master....")
He pushed down on her shoulders. "Dame tu boca," he commanded.
She sank to her knees and reached for his fly. Her eyes slid
over to the left, and she was disappointed to see that Carajo had
Cindy bent over his desk and was fucking her furiously. Neither
was paying the slightest attention to her. So she pulled out
Hector's large cock and began licking and sucking and slobbering,
accompanied by frenzied moans and loving whimpers. At the same
time, she started finger-fucking herself with abandon.
She did succeed in attracting attention, but not exactly what
what she'd hoped for. Carajo glanced over, scowled, and snarled,
"¡La masturbación está prohibida!"
Even Cindy understood THAT. She looked at her mother,
wide-eyed, in time to see Hector reach down and smoothly
cuff Louise's hands behind her back, then stuff his cock
into her mouth again and order her to get back to work.
Louise regretted not being able to finger herself, but Cindy's
witnessing her humiliation made up for it (temporarily, at least).
She concentrated on servicing Hector's cock and particularly
savored its strong flavor and aroma -- so different from her
ex-husband's (which, besides being smallish and pallid, was
clean and practically tasteless). A few minutes later, she was
also to discover that Hector shot a much bigger load of cum
(which she dutifully swallowed -- something she'd never done
before).
Without being told, she licked his cock clean, then she sat
back on her heels and began to imagine what it might be like to
feel his bloated cock fucking her virgin asshole...her culito.
"Lame mis cojones...con amor."
She'd been lost in a fantasy, but Hector's order to lick his
balls (with love) brought her back to a reality, she realized,
that was every bit as exciting as her darkest day-dreams. She
did her duty with gusto.
******************************
At noon, lunch was served. The policemen were given chicken
fricassee, biscuits, strawberries, and beer; the prisoners got
beans, coarse cornbread, prunes, and chicory "coffee."
Carajo belched softly and stretched. He passed out the second
doses of "medicine," and Louise's cunt gave a lurch when she
thought about what those pills were likely to do. Carajo said
something to Hector, who nodded and left. The lieutenant then
turned his attention to the prisoners. "Ladies, now the siesta.
But before you can enter one of our nice cells, we mus' clean
you up. Come." He led them through the station and out the
back into a little flagstoned courtyard, whose low walls were
lined with villagers (males and females, teens and adults).
In the center of the courtyard was an old-fashioned
hand-cranked water pump, to which Hector was attaching a
length of ordinary garden hose. Near the pump a large
grate was set in the ground -- a drain, Louise surmised.
Carajo called over a couple of the teen-aged girls and had
a word with them, after which they ran off, giggling. Moments
later they were back, bearing whippy switches (each about as
thick as a pinky). Neither of the prisoners was very happy to
see that...though the villagers applauded. Louise noticed that
the two junior policemen (whom she'd nicknamed "Gordo" and
"Grasoso" -- "Fat" and "Greasy") had joined the crowd, and she
wondered how long it would be before they had her, too.
Duties were quickly assigned: Cindy was given a bar of coarse
soap and designated the first to shower; Hector was to handle the
hose; Louise was the initial pumper; the two girls with switches
were to "encourage" the pumper; and Carajo was the stage manager.
Ankle shackles anchored Cindy in place on the drain, with the
soap in her hand and an apprehensive expression on her face.
Louise began working the pump handle vigorously...and the two
girls started flicking Louise's pale ass with their switches.
Hector waited until the water pressure had built up sufficiently,
then twisted the hose nozzle, sending a stream of icy water at
Cindy, from point blank range.
Cindy let out a strangled shriek and stood transfixed, as the
frigid spray played over her body. As she partially acclimated
to the temperature, she fitfully rubbed herself with the soap,
though any lather it produced was instantly sluiced away.
Eventually Carajo called for the two prisoners to trade places,
and Hector closed the nozzle on the hose. By this time, Cindy was
pale and shivering, and Louise's butt was quite pink.
Louise actually found the cold shower sexually stimulating --
or perhaps that was because she had to endure it in front of an
audience of Mexican peasants. When it was over, she had to prance
around the perimeter of the courtyard so that the sun could dry her
off.
She enjoyed performing for the townspeople, but was very much
looking forward to her siesta, playing with herself in the steamy
darkness of her cell. (The second dose of "medicine" was kicking
in and ratcheting up her arousal to an almost unbearable degree,
so she was giddy at the prospect of finger-fucking her throbbing
cunt for a couple of hours.)
She was therefore stunned when they laid Cindy on her back on
the cell's lower bunk...and cuffed her wrists and ankles to the
corners of the bed frame. She could only whimper when they
secured her the same way in the upper bunk and left, chuckling.
She and Cindy mainly spent the next two hours humping the air
in a vain attempt to cum.
(During the few quieter moments, however, Louise was able to
question her daughter and discover that she had been, indeed,
intending to sell the drugs to friends from school.)
******************************
When the prisoners were brought back to the office after their
sleepless siesta, they both had a hollow-eyed, haggard look.
Louise was trembling, Cindy actually twitching. Louise knelt in
front of the lieutenant. "Please, Señor Tenente, por favor. We
need some...some relief.... Oh, god! We need to CUM! I beg you
not to chain us down like that again tonight."
"You may no' masturbate in your cell. Tha' is a sin."
"Th-there's an alternative, Señor. Cindy and I could...we
could...um...."
"Sssixty-nine," Cindy hissed.
"Yes," Louise continued. "Sesenta y nueve...."
There was a pause, and a gleam appeared in Carajo's eye.
"Demonstrate," he said.
Cindy lay down on her back, and, after only the briefest
hesitation, Louise got on top of her, mouth to cunt, and they
both began "demonstrating" with manic enthusiasm. As the room
filled with passionate moans and loud slurping noises, Carajo
and Hector lit a slim cigarillo and a fat black cigar
respectively, uncapped a couple of beers, leaned back
comfortably, and enjoyed the show.
Cindy's hips began thrusting upward, slowly at first, then
faster as her orgasm neared. She gave a muffled scream into
Louise's cunt, whereupon Louise grabbed her daughter's ass with
both hands and pulled her close, so that she could bury her
tongue deep in Cindy's juicy teenaged cunt. Louise orgasmed,
too, an instant later.
After a momentary rest, they both began again, with as much
gusto as before, and were soon nearing the next of a long-delayed
string of orgasms.
All in all, the four of them spent a very satisfying two hours
-- climaxed (as it were) by lieutenant and corporal fucking mother
and daughter dog-style.
******************************
It was late afternoon. Cindy was stretched out on the office
floor, asleep with a contented smile on her face. Louise was
delicately lapping at Hector's depleted balls, hoping to coax
his heavy cock into life one more time.
Carajo discarded his last empty beer bottle, stubbed out his
fifth cigarillo, straightened, to a degree, his disheveled uniform,
and cleared his throat officiously.
"Please to wake your daughter, Señora. Now is time for your
medicine again...then we have some business to discuss...then
your dinner...and then back to your cell for the night." After
he dispensed the pills, he put on a serious expression. "This
is a poor village," he shrugged. "And we canno' afford to feed
criminals. So you two will be required to pay your own way.
Unfortunately, mos' of the cash you had wen' for your fine.
Therefore, you must get jobs to pay for your...up-keep...."
"But I have traveler's checks...credit cards," Louise countered.
"As I said, Señora, we are a poor village -- even a backward
one. We barely have the basics -- church, school, jail, and
cantina. We have an open-air market. I am police chief,
magistrate, and post master. Señor Áspero is doctor, dentist,
and veterinarian, as well as apothecary. We have no bank, no
telegraph. Our telephone system is primitive. There is simply
no way you can get more money other than by earning it...by doing
jobs tha' suit the local economy. I do no' think you would do
well as a beast of burden or as a field hand. In fact, the only
thing you two seem qualified for is to be putas -- whores.
Louise's professorial mind was outraged, but her dripping cunt
was screaming, "Yes!" She bowed her head. "As you wish, Señor,"
she murmured.
"Bueno! Hector will serve as your chulo -- your...pimp -- bu'
you mus' of course be officially registered." He inserted a pink
rectangle about the size of a credit card into the venerable
typewriter and entered some information. He did the same to a
second card...and hesitated. "'Cindy Greenstreet,'" he muttered.
"That name is somehow familiar...."
Cindy directed a dirty look at her mother. "Don't blame me,"
Louise said. "It was your father's idea."
Carajo laid the two cards out on his desk, attached a mug shot
to each -- one that showed full face, shoulders, and bare tits --
signed them, stamped them with the official seal, and laminated
them. Then he presented each prisoner with her own genuine
"boleta de registro." They were now certified whores...with the
credentials to prove it. "Congratulations, ladies. You now have
a real profession," he said, merrily. "You are fortunate tha' we
are such a backwater here and have few visitors. As a result, the
village is quite free of...sexually transmitted diseases. And now
that our business is concluded -- I will add the registration
fee to your bill -- we mus' celebrate."
He gave an order to Hector. The corporal fetched a small
canvas bag from a corner cupboard and took it and the two
prisoners out to the courtyard. There he wasted no time or
motion in greasing up their assholes, positioning them over
a big bucket, and giving them each three cold water enemas.
When they were cleaned out, he brought them back inside,
where Carajo was waiting.
"Your daughter told me that her culito was no longer virgin,
Señora, but I imagine yours is," Carajo said. Louise nodded.
"Then I will take you first. Your daughter should be able to
accommodate Hector's horse cock better than you. You two will
please to bend over opposite sides of my desk. Hold hands and
look each other in the face. Verbalize your feelings...and no
false modesty."
As his greasy, probing fingers worked their way into
Louise's asshole -- first one, then two, then three fingers
-- Louise whimpered her readiness. Indeed, she began by
asking to be "sodomized," but soon transitioned into begging
to be "butt-fucked."
In addition to reflecting her own acute arousal, Cindy's
face showed considerable shock at how sluttish her mother was
becoming.
Carajo laughed and backed off, slapping her ass sharply.
"Pardon me, Señora, while I wash my hands. We may be Third
World, bu' we do have some idea of hygiene. I will return
in a little momen' to satisfy your culito.... Aha! It is
winking at me. You will make an excellent puta."
He was true to his word. Within a few minutes, Louise had
enthusiastically lost her last virginity. She orgasmed --
loudly -- when the lieutenant's cock entered her...and again
as he was pounding her...and yet again when she felt his cum
spurting into her bowels. She babbled how much she LOVED it.
******************************
Supper for the prisoners was beans, cornbread, and "coffee"
again, plus some chunks of "mystery meat" and a large, fresh
orange.
After being allowed to visit the bucket in the courtyard again,
they were put to bed. This time, however, they were both secured
in the same bunk, mouth to cunt...as so spent a far more pleasant
time than they had during the siesta. Still, they also fantasized
about what it was going to be like to be whores.... And Louise
also dreamed of finally feeling Hector's meat up her ass.
******************************
The following morning, they had fried eggs, sausage, orange
juice, and "coffee" -- in addition to their "medicine." After
they were butt-fucked again (and Louise realized her dream),
they were given sandals and short, burlap smocks, and escorted
to the cantina by Hector, who introduced them there as the new
house whores. Of course, the owner, Señor Oloroso, had to
"audition" them and sampled Louise right away (reserving Cindy
for siesta-time). Both impressed him favorably.
That evening, Carajo informed them that he had returned the
rental car and had shipped Louise's research notes and film, along
with other "personal valuables" back to her university address
"for safe-keeping." Their clothes and mundane possessions had
been sold or given away. Louise had an idea that there were
questions she should be asking or issues she should be raising,
but the last of the day's meds having kicked in, she was more
interested in getting as much of Hector's cock as possible before
lights-out. Tomorrow, after all, would be another day....
In fact, "tomorrow" would be weeks in coming.
******************************
Their libidos being fueled by the pills, which enslaved their
bodies and liberated their minds, they became compulsive whores.
They never lacked for customers, though Hector limited their
activities until they acclimated to their new profession, gradually
increasing their daily ration of tricks, which he eventually capped
at twelve each -- not including the policemen, Gordo and Grasoso
(each of whom got one freebie a day), Señor Oloroso (who claimed
one occasionally), and, of course, Carajo and Hector himself (who
got several). Their pay was a meager 25 pesos a trick -- about
$1.80, at the then-current rate of exchange.
Their work was surprisingly pleasant. Their clientele, though
unlettered, was not uncivilized. Their demanding cunts were kept
satisfied...almost. And, with their blood seething with
aphrodisiacs, they were free to root around in their darkest
fantasies (which they happily shared with each other) and actually
to live them -- all without guilt.
As it was, eight weeks passed easily enough, and one morning
the lieutenant announced that they had proved to his satisfaction
that the drugs had indeed been "only for personal use." He
presented them with cups of real coffee, their "papers" (passports
and boletas de registro), their smocks and sandals, and a thousand
pesos each (their earnings after deducting their upkeep) -- which,
he pointed out, should more than pay for bus tickets home.
After a good-bye fucking, they were told they were free to
go and that Hector would drive them to the nearest bus station.
There was a passionate leave-taking with Hector while parked
in an isolated arroyo, followed by an uncomfortable but uneventful
trip home (during which they slept days and masturbated each other
at night).
So ended their unexpectedly prolonged Mexican holiday.
******************************
Some nine months later:
"Lulu!" Cindy called. "The taxi's just pulled up. Let's go."
She stuffed the last of their things into a small canvas tote as
her mother shuffled downstairs.
"Could you nurse me...please?" Louise asked.
"No. If the bus is on time, we should barely make it. You'll
just have to bear it until later."
Louise picked up the tote and grimaced as her milk-heavy
breasts jiggled, rasping her nipples across the coarse fabric
of her garment. Cindy artfully tugged on her mother's smock,
causing more torment for the leaking nipples. "I wish that
lactogen therapy had worked on me, too," she said.
Louise shook her head. "No. You're mainly jealous because
now my boobies are bigger than yours. But it isn't all peaches
and cream...as it were. In fact, it can be a damn pain. As you
well know, if I don't get milked enough...."
Cindy smirked. "So I'll still have the whip hand -- as it
were -- for a while longer...." She giggled. "But Hector'll
be pleased."
"Yes, there is that." Louise smiled weakly.
The taxi honked again.
"Well, off on another extended holiday," Cindy said, airily, as
they left the house, both cunts already dripping at the prospect.
The door clicked behind them.