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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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Copyright 2005 - All correspondence is welcome at
elguaton7@hotmail.com. The usual copyright applies,
please do not repost this story without the author’s
permission. Thank you, and enjoy.
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Santiago Sins
by El Guaton (elguaton7@hotmail.com)
***
Follow Johnny as he enters a world of organized crime,
revenge, and abundant sex. (M/F/f, ped, exh, inc, nc)
***
_Chapter 1_
Santiago is a huge city with a public transportation
problem. Getting from one side of town to the other
during any peak hour is practically impossible, the
only option to rely on huge yellow buses ironically
called "micros," all of them crammed indiscriminately
with people eager to get home, with hardly enough space
to breathe let alone move, and a lot of pushing and
meek "con permisos."
The particular micro I was on was crowded even by
normal standards. I was standing, one arm loose and the
other clinging to a handlebar as our driver maneuvered
around close corners seemingly without touching his
brakes, cursing the fortune that had brought me back to
this town, looking out the window and wondering when
we’d get near my stop, with people around me so close I
was feeling a little claustrophobic.
On my left, a middle aged man, dozing off, no matter
how impossible it would seem, and his presumed wife,
equally clutching for dear life. On my right, a young
college kid, listening to headphones, and a young suit,
staring forlornly out the window. Behind me, lucky
enough to get seats, two nondescript women. In front of
me, back to me, a youngish girl, maybe 15 or 16, but
wearing the catholic uniform indicative of high school
in Chile. Over her shoulder, more nondescript people, a
man with a shopping bag, a woman with a baby.
We went over a particularly good bump and then slammed
to a halt as our micro driver laid on the horn in a
protest against the micro that had stopped in front of
him. Whether he was actually mad or if this was just
routine for him I’ll never know; micro drivers are a
breed of their own. We all went flying a little bit,
the girl ended up sort of catching herself on my arm.
She righted herself as we got underway again and turned
over her shoulder to say thank you. Cute face. Still in
braces, but a good smile, and that uncommon combination
of mocha skin and light eyes that is quintessentially
Chilean. Black hair pulled back in a pony tail, nice
small-to-medium breasts, and a flat stomach and lean
legs that had not quite developed the curves of a
woman. All enhanced, of course, by that Chilean school
girl uniform -- black knee-high socks, plaid skirt
(delightfully short on this girl), and the jumper --
evidence enough that is must be quite lucky to be a
high school boy in this string-bean country.
In all honesty, I suppose it wasn’t half bad having her
crash into me. I don’t consider myself a pedophile, but
I’ll admit that while I’d never try to actually make it
with one, there is nonetheless something enchanting
about a girl who is no longer a kid and not quite a
woman. Suddenly instead of dwelling on the travails of
my journey, I was having very reprehensible thoughts,
wondering about this young vixen who had so clearly
entered only recently into the bloom of her womanhood.
Questions, all non sequiturs, popped off in my mind
with rapid succession like machine-gun fire. Does she
masturbate? Has she let some daring young Chileno
explore her treasures yet? What kind of panties does
she wear? I tried to flush the thoughts out, knowing it
was wrong to fantasize about a girl so young and the
picture of innocence, but not before there was a
certain swelling in my pants.
Suddenly I started to panic a little. There was
literally nowhere for me to go and almost no way for me
to hide my erection. I tried to lean my torso forward
and curve my legs back so that my pelvis was as far
away from her as possible, but I knew she had to be
feeling something. Would she notice? Would she react?
The last thing I needed was to be accused of molesting
a young girl in a public place in Chile. My business
required a low profile, not to mention how inconvenient
it would have to been to be the cause of an
international incident.
Oh my god, was she pushing back? She had curved to
follow me, so that now her back was arched and her pert
little butt was directly planted on my cock. I tried to
tell myself it was just a crowded micro, her back
wasn’t arched, she just had nowhere else to put her
body, when I started to feel a gentle rubbing sensation
and more pressure.
Was this little girl teasing me? The possibility made
my cock swell to a full erection. The pleats of her
skirt rustled ever so slightly. She was definitely
rotating her ass into me with barely perceptible little
half turns. Was it possible this was some sort of
unconscious reaction? The close quarters were probably
hiding my predicament from the people around us, but it
was impossible that she could not feel me.
She turned around and smiled. Elfish. An "I’m-getting-
away-with-something" grin. Maybe even flirtatious, or
maybe I was just telling myself that, projecting it. At
15, she might be biologically developed, but she would
not have developed socially to a point where this was
anything more than a game to her. In a woman of 25,
sure, that look might mean, "I have a need, you have a
need, let’s help each other," but 25 she definitely was
not. Deliciously was not. Quit while you’re ahead, man.
Or so I told myself. But all I did was flash a smile in
return.
She pulled forward a little bit. My animalistic part
was sad to lose contact, my rational part was hoping
the swelling in my cock might now subside and I could
get on with my life. Suddenly I felt a hand where there
had been a body just a few moments before. My eyes
bolted open and my body tingled.
The hand held there for a few seconds, but then slowly,
hesitantly (teasingly?) began to move a bit, tracing
the outline of my cock, rubbing over the tip with fore
and index finger, stopping to clutch the entire bulge
in the palm of her hand, tugging on it and then moving
down to tug on my balls, and then gliding back up to
repeat the process, almost randomly, absent-mindedly
feeling up my entire cock. But there was no way this
was an accident.
Without even thinking, I leaned in, letting out a small
growl. This girl was exciting ancient nerves in my
body, awakening a need so primal I couldn’t remember
having felt it with other women. If we had been
Neanderthals, I would have dragged her back to my cave.
I wasn’t even paying attention to the voice of reason
in my head repeating "international incident" over and
over. I had to be closer to this girl, to get a piece
of her essence. I inhaled deeply, reveling in her
scent. It was clean, fresh. No perfume, but maybe soap.
My face hovered near her ear, but I hesitated in
speaking, or in kissing her. Some part of me still
realized that we were in a very public place, and while
very few could have seen what was passing on the low
level of our waists, there were too many who could see
my face.
I briefly thought about turning around, facing the
seats and the other window, but I definitely did not
want to present my raging erection in the face of the
nondescript woman seated behind me, and what this
little minx was doing did feel so good. I stopped
trying to distance myself from her, unarched my back,
and settled into her, the whole length of our bodies
now in contact.
She giggled a little at my move, but didn’t stop. Her
grip was firm, too firm even, but her hand motions were
slow. It was a marvelous kind of painful pleasure. I
think if she had actually been masturbating me I would
have come already. She looked over her shoulder again
and caught my eye. I did my best to look completely
uninterested. She grinned, dimpling her cheeks, and in
one deft motion turned around, putting her back to the
seats and window, so that we were now facing each other
and practically molded together, like a close couple
during a slow song. Her hand still didn’t move.
I did some quick reconnaissance. Everyone still seemed
relatively distracted. The girl, too, was doing her
best to act like she had barely even noticed me and
like it was the most normal thing in the world for us
to be intertwined like this. Not that everyone else was
not also in close quarters, just not generally with
quite so full one-on-one contact. Thankfully everyone
else was so preoccupied with their own worries or at
least had their vision blocked that no one seemed too
interested in us.
My hand reached out, seemingly of its own accord, and
brushed the inside of her thigh. She breathed in
sharply. I had definitely just crossed a boundary of
deniability, to my own conscience and to an
international tribunal. But her skin was so soft and
almost burned to the touch. I let one finger linger,
playing a little, moving back and forth, but confined
to the area between the end of her stockings and the
beginning of her skirt. It’s a sensitive area,
personal, and hovering your attention there is like
letting your body acclimate for a night at a base camp
before climbing a mountain. I didn’t want to scare her.
She looked at me with an appraising glance, as if this
were a poker game and I had just raised her, but she
seemed to take this as a cue that we had upped the odds
in general and started working on my zipper. I was
surprised again but controlled my facial expression. I
had stopped thinking about consequences. There was now
only my cock and this girl in my world. As she started
to move my zipper down, I moved my hand up. Her legs
relaxed, and she spread her stance a little bit,
freeing up more room for my hand.
Oh god, the trail up her thigh was a trail to heaven.
Her skin and muscle tone were of a quality lost in
older age, almost bouncing to the touch, screaming for
more attention. Again I wondered if maybe mine were the
first hands to make this expedition. Slowly, slowly.
Suddenly I felt silk. This girl was wearing silk
underwear. Is that part of the normal Catholic uniform?
My zipper was completely undone. My fingers trembled,
hesitating at the boundary where her leg met her
panties. A few more centimeters and my fingers would
actually be touching her pussy. Simultaneously, her
hand sneaked into my pants as I came to rest at the
peak of her legs, the goal of my fingers’ arduous trek.
It was soft. And practically radiating heat. And oh so
wet. I almost fainted with excitement.
The girl’s hand paused as it got the feel of my cock
through my boxers, but almost immediately she kept
digging and held my cock in her hand. It was as if this
contact had completed some sort of circuit. Little
sparks of energy shoot between my cock and her hand.
She caressed her thumb across the head a little bit,
smearing the pre-cum. She traced one finger along the
shaft. Is this the first cock you’ve touched, little
girl?
Oh, some sick part of me longed for a private room and
all the time in the world, to teach her everything she
seemed so eager to explore, but instead here I was with
my zipper down in a very public place, our actions
clumsily concealed between our two bodies. Not that it
mattered, I suppose, I would have let everyone on that
bus see me in all my flopping glory if it meant this
girl continued to touch me.
I let one finger rub in her crease for a little bit,
pushing her panties into the sopping wetness. This girl
was definitely turned on. I pushed her panties to the
side, and let my fingers come to rest, skin to skin,
with her pussy. Absolutely no hair. Surely she wasn’t
that young? No, for some reason, this girl shaved. Was
she not as innocent as I thought? A flood of
possibilities entered my head, each more craven than
the next.
At that moment, I probably would have happily started
fucking her, right there, on a micro, in full view,
until someone forcibly pulled me off. That’s how hot
she was. She started pulling on my cock. Slow, even
strokes, but short. She was moving her wrist, not her
arm, to make it less obvious.
I started to rub her pussy. I moved my fingers up and
down, brushing against her clit, cruising between her
lips, and coming to rest just barely lodged inside her,
and then back up again to repeat the adventure, in a
rhythm which matched hers evenly. Every time I brushed
her clit, her face pinched a little. I paused a little
longer on her clit, pushing aside the hood and just
barely stroking the little nub inside. She bit her lip.
Maybe I wasn’t the only one wishing for a private room
and all the time in the world.
She sped up her pace on my cock. I don’t know how she
had room through the confines of my pants and her body
pressed to mine, but she her hand was moving up and
down the entire length of my cock, twisting slightly on
all of her upstrokes. Where had this girl learned to
give a handjob like that?
My heart raced, blood pounding in my ears. Wildly my
eyes darted around. Man was still dozing, college kid
was still listening to music, suit was still looking
out the window. I was ready to scream with animal lust
and nobody else even seemed alive. I glanced back down
at the girl. Her eyes were looking up at me glazed over
in pleasure, but her jaw was clenched in concentration.
She was going to make me cum, the determination was
evident.
I started plunging a little deeper into her pussy. Her
pussy was practically sucking on my finger it was so
tight. If she wasn’t a virgin, then some Chileno was
very lucky. My eyes roamed up and down her body.
Slender neck, perfect skin. Perky breasts, just about a
handful, and just a little bit of cleavage barely
visible from my perspective, her top few buttons
undone.
I wanted to throw my arms around her, to let loose her
pony tail and lose my hands in her mane of hair, to
feel those tits and tear off that jumper. To kiss her,
to bite her, to devour her, consume her completely. Rip
off those panties and jam my hard, pulsing cock up into
her pussy and fuck her relentlessly until a big torrent
of my cum washed over her, claimed her, in the
primordial tradition of the jungle.
I moved my index finger along inside her pussy while my
thumb massaged her clit. She gently moved back and
forth, rocking a little bit. Her pussy was almost like
sandpaper, or maybe velvet. Definitely a texture that
all of her slickness could not hide. All of a sudden,
she grabbed my arm with her free hand and clenched, and
I felt a tremor move through her body. Her pussy sealed
tighter around my finger. She was cumming. She leaned
in closer and let a little moan reach my ears, and then
a long sigh.
Her breath touched my face, vaguely scented of
strawberries, and that was it. I couldn’t take it
anymore. I started spurting cum, every blast feeling
like it was originating from my very core. My body
shook with the force of it. If I hadn’t still been in
pants and boxers, I think my cum would have shot
fifteen feet.
She continued to milk me until no more cum came out and
I started to deflate a little. And then that was that.
She moved back a little and sort of shushed my arm out
from under her skirt. She pulled her hand out of my
pants, took one quick lick to clean off some cum that
gathered on her finger, smiled one more time at me, and
then pushed the timbre requesting a stop and was off,
pushing her way through the multitudes to the door.
I turned after her, wanting a name or a word or
anything, but all I caught was one fleeting glance, a
little flair of skirt, and all I had of her was some
stickiness on my fingers.
"Welcome to Santiago," I said to myself, slowly sucking
my fingers clean. The taste was excellent. "If only," I
sighed, rehoisting my zipper. The old man seemed to
wake up a little at the sound of my English, a sound
that was interesting and out of place, but he was
completely unaware that he has already missed the most
interesting thing on the micro today. If this were any
portent for things to come, I thought to myself, my
stay in Santiago could be quite interesting indeed.
_Chapter 2_
Not only had I been dragged all the way around to the
world to a place I had sworn I would never return, but
now I was being made to wait. I was pissed. Latin
Americans aren’t known for being punctual, but an hour
was too long. Especially when it came to business.
"Caballero, how about a few pesos?" A woman’s voice,
probably Peruvian from the trill in her accent. I
turned around. Dark skin, dark eyes, dark hair, kind of
a flat face. Definitely Peruvian. I had left Chile when
I was 13, but the instant I laid my eyes on this woman
I felt the old, learned prejudices swell up. Dirty
Indian. Lazy. Coming here to steal our jobs. I shook my
head. Can’t fault people for wanting a better life.
I flipped her a 100 piece. About a quarter by US
standards, but money goes farther down here. Her eyes
glittered as the gold landed in her hand. She said
thank you, and started to move away, when something
made her stop. She looked me up and down. "You know,
I’m waiting out here to go into the Conga." This was
the club a few meters down the road. "It’s pretty cold
out here. I’m only short another 100 pesos, if maybe
you wanted to go in with me."
I looked a little closer. That’s Peruvians for you,
they will hit you up for a hand-out just to go out on
the town, but I should have known she looked a little
too well made-up to be a beggar. Tight jeans, although
they hugged an almost non-existent ass. Sweater and a
few more layers under that, but still obvious she was
pretty thin. Well, maybe she did need that hand-out
after all.
Now I was faced with a choice. Continue waiting out
here in the cold with my only company an imposing old
cathedral, or go with this girl to the club. Let her
take some money from me, maybe buy her some drinks.
Maybe even fuck her. I was still so worked up from my
encounter with the girl on the micro that I was willing
to fuck even this poor, dirty Indian girl.
I flipped her another 100 piece and smiled. "Let’s see
what we can get into." She smiled back and took my arm.
The Conga was everything that can be expected in a
dive. A live salsa band, sweaty couples dancing in
close contact on a dark floor, and a little bar section
with some tables where hassled waiters served beer and
cigarettes. The kind of place only found off the beaten
track. The tourist council of Santiago would be
appalled to know that someone with a US passport had
ended up in a place like this. "Should we get a table,
or do you want to dance?" the Peruana asked me.
"You look thirsty," I replied. She smiled and moved
over to a table, maybe wiggling a little extra just for
me, though it was hard to tell she had so little to
wiggle. I bought us some beers from the bar and sat
down. "What’s your name?"
"Flavia." She gulped her beer down, holding it
protectively, as if someone were about to steal it from
her. "Are you hungry?" The hint was obvious enough in
any language. I flagged a waiter down. All the food was
Peruvian. Either this was a Peruvian club, or the
immigrants were taking over. I ordered some aji de
gallina. It’s a spicy dish, good for sharing. Flavia’s
eyes were shining. She had already gotten more than she
had bargained for, but I was planning to really give it
to her before the night was over.
"You must be hot in all that clothing," I commented.
Another hint obvious enough in any language. She
unzipped her jacket and then pulled off a sweater to
reveal a cute little tank top. No tits, just as I had
thought, and a definite flash of rib. I preferred my
girls softer and more buxom, but if I was going to slum
it up, I had may as well slum it up. Our food came. She
did most of the devouring, while I just picked at it.
It was good. Typical conversation, typical story. She
had come to Chile hoping to find work and to escape a
dominating father. She’d found work where most Peruvian
girls do, as a nana for a middle class family. Horror
story there, too. She was restricted in what she could
eat, and when she could leave. One night the husband
came home, barged into her little room, and raped her.
He then tore up her passport and told her that if she
told anyone what had happened or tried to leave, he
would accuse of her stealing. That night she sneaked
away.
Now, almost three years later at the tender age of 21,
she found herself renting a little tiny floor space in
a room shared by 6 people, in a house that had one
bathroom for 40, finding work where she could and
trying to avoid being deported. All the more tragic of
a story for being so typical.
Flavia stared at me, almost vacantly. She had laid it
all out on the table, and now it was my turn, I
suppose. Maybe she wanted me to be her white knight or
her meal ticket, but I was there to fuck her, not to
rescue her. I leaned in over the table. "Would you like
to dance?"
Without responding, she stood up and moved to the dance
floor. I followed close behind, and soon we settled
into a nice rhythm. She was a pretty good dancer,
Peruvians usually are. Her hips, even so small, had a
nice rise and fall. And her waist was so small, with my
hands on either side my fingers could almost touch. But
she responded nicely to my leads, sometimes spinning
out, sometimes coming in close, and always on the beat.
And with a girl that small, especially during a dance,
sometimes it’s nice to feel so in control.
Half an hour later, we were both sweaty and taking a
pause on the sidelines. She was leaning in to me, her
chest rising and falling. I could see the outlines of
both her nipples and her ribs through her shirt. I
straightened up and turned to her, almost towering over
her. I looked at her very calmly, trying to muster
everything I could of my presence. "Would you like to
go somewhere a little quieter?" I asked.
She stared back at me and pursed her lips a little bit.
I don’t know what she was thinking, but she must have
reached a decision, for she decisively took my hand and
started leading me out, past the bar, through a little
dark hallway, and then into what must have been a
storeroom. She pushed the door shut behind us, shoved
me against the wall, and then was on me, like an animal
pouncing on prey. Her lips didn’t just meet mine, they
practically attacked mine. She was kissing and biting
all at once, her hands ripping at my shirt, her tongue
darting into my mouth whenever it could get past her
teeth. I cupped her ass and pulled her into me. She was
livelier than I had expected.
She had my shirt off, though she had ripped a few
buttons, and was working frantically on my belt. I had
maneuvered through the barrage of her hands to get my
own under her shirt. I pushed it up. Perfectly outlined
ribs, but with a stomach that actually had a little
pooch to it. No bra. Tiny breasts, just little bumps,
but with bright pink nipples that contrasted
beautifully with her dark Peruvian skin. I physically
pushed her off long enough so that I could pull her
shirt off. She paused, her head bent, glowering at me
as if she was unsure whether she wanted to kill me or
fuck me.
She lunged at me again, scratching and biting and at
the same time dry humping me through our jeans. She
scratched my shoulder at the same time as she bit my
ear. I grabbed her by the throat, not enough to choke
her, but enough to mean business, and pushed her back
against the opposite wall. She paused, glaring at me,
out of breath. I leaned in slowly, relaxing the
pressure in my hand, but not moving it. I kissed her
cheek. I kissed her neck. I kissed her ear. And then I
bit it.
She went off again, bucking and writhing. Both of her
hands descended to my belt again, this time managing
the buckle. I kept one hand around her neck, and with
the other I grabbed a tit, rolling the nipple around
with my palm, and then quickly pinching it, yanking it,
almost cruelly. She suddenly dropped her legs out from
under her and fell out from my grip, landing on her
knees in front of me. With both her hands, she tugged
on the waist of my pants, bringing them and my boxers
down at once.
My cock wagged in the air, staring her in the face and
begging for attention. She never even looked at me or
hesitated for a moment, she just wrapped one hand
around the base, and shoved the rest in her mouth. Her
cheeks were caved in as she sucked as hard as she
could, this delicious slurping sound every time she
pulled back a little bit and let my cockhead reach her
lips. This Peruvian bitch was hot. She rocked her
entire face back and forth, pumping with her hand at
the same time. It was less a blowjob and more an entire
face-fuck.
Almost as quickly as she had begun, she stopped. She
looked up at me, a little string of pre-cum dangling
from her lips. She smiled seductively, licked it off,
and spoke in a low tone, "This isn’t what you really
want is it?" and then laughed ever so lightly. She
stood up and looked at me, whatever was left of her
meekness gone, her wild lust now more smoldering heat
then out of control blaze. She started to walk away.
I grabbed her shoulder, whirled her around, and pulled
her into me. She laughed again. That laugh was driving
me wild. I shoved her to the ground and then followed
her down, pinning her beneath me, her legs spread and
only her jeans keeping my cock from fucking her. "Are
you not even man enough to handle one little Peruvian
whore?" she said, "Take me, you son-of-a-bitch."
I don’t know exactly why, but she had touched a nerve,
and I slapped her. Her face jerked from side to side, a
little trickle of blood started from her nose. Her eyes
looked a little more moist than they had before, but
she stared back defiantly. I sat up a little and with
one momentous tug pulled off her jeans. I grabbed her
panties and ripped.
She quivered a little beneath me, completely
defenseless, just staring into my eyes. Her chest
heaving, nipples hard atop tiny tits, her stomach now
completely concave. Legs as straight as sticks pinioned
out to either side of me, framing a glistening pussy
covered in a thick snatch of curly hair. I threw myself
back on her and mercilessly stabbed into her, shoving
my entire cock into her with one thrust. She cried out
and threw her arms around me.
I started fucking in earnest, no concern for technique
or her pleasure. This little whore was only there to
receive my cum. I pistoned in and out, and every time I
drove it in she let out a little cry again. Her hands
traced up my arms to my shoulders on to my back. A
sharp stab of pain, she had raked her nails across my
back, hard enough to break skin it felt like. I gritted
my teeth and bit my lip. "You little Peruvian whore," I
grunted, "I’m going to enjoy filling you with my cum."
I started fucking even harder and faster. There was a
loud slapping sound every time I brought it home, and
she was bouncing so hard she might have been hitting
her head. Not that I cared at that moment. "Do you like
that? Huh? Do you like being a hole for my cock? Do
you? Do you want to feel me cum inside you? Yeah, I
know how to treat bitches like you." Her eyes were
tightly closed, her breath coming in gasps. But she was
pushing back. Desperation, anger, or whatever, this
woman liked it rough.
She took my hand and guided it to her neck again. She
squeezed down on my fingers. I took the hint and
started squeezing, too. Not enough to do serious
damage, but if that’s what she wanted, that’s what she
would get. I started kissing her randomly, her stomach,
her chest, everywhere, then started using teeth, hard
enough to leave marks. I got one nipple and yanked. I
didn’t care if I pulled it off. This fuck was half sex
and half a fight, anger and violence and lust all
mingling into one. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to
kill her or marry her, punch her or make her cum.
Her pussy was wet and getting tighter. Her legs and
feet were waving in the air. Little cries were rising
from beneath me in a crescendo. And suddenly it all let
go, wave after wave of pleasure from my toes to the
crown of my head. I came and I came inside that
Peruana, stopping my thrusting and just letting my cock
rest, fully inserted inside her, her pussy milking
whatever it could from me. I collapsed on top of her,
trying to catch my breath and my sanity. She absent-
mindedly ran her fingers through my hair a little bit,
then smiling, pushed me off and stood up. She started
rummaging through her clothes
"Not interested in round two?" I said, lying on my back
and just enjoying the afterglow. Her pussy was puffy
and my cum was starting to leak a little down her leg.
I wondered if maybe she would let me cum on those
little tits. "We can take it slower." In a flash she
was in her jeans. She pocketed her torn panties, picked
up her t-shirt, and smiled at me. Without another word,
she darted out of the room.
I jumped up and ran to the door. I looked both ways,
but she was already gone. I looked down at my flaccid
cock, hanging between my legs, "What is it about us
that makes girls vanish without a trace as soon as
you’re done?" I asked it.
_Chapter 3_
"Johnny?" I had just left the storage room and
reentered the bar. I was startled to hear my name.
Suit. Sunglasses. Stocky and probably packing heat.
Somebody’s hired goon. Possibly trouble.
"May I help you?"
"El Gordo will see you now." An hour-plus late and his
hired goon managed to find me coming out of the
backroom of a random bar? It was unsettling. The goon
didn’t look like he had had a particularly exasperating
search, either. I remembered hearing El Gordo say that
nothing went on in this city without him knowing it.
Maybe there was more truth to it than I had ever given
him credit for. He was certainly connected, that’s for
sure. One of the reasons I had agreed to come at all
was the knowledge that he could have made my life
uncomfortable if I refused. And maybe I owed him a
debt. But whether it was one of gratitude or revenge, I
hadn’t decided yet.
The goon frisked me over. I expected it, though with
the way my day was going, I was almost surprised that
his attention to my crotch was kept all business. He
took the gun I wear on my ankle, didn’t notice the
knife stitched into my belt. More’s the pity for El
Gringo.
The goon took me by the arm, but instead of leading me
outside to a waiting car as I had expected, he led me
deeper into the Conga. Strange days keep getting
stranger. We ended up in a back corner, all the tables
abandoned, except for one with a lone woman. The bar
was darker back here, and she was hunched over some
papers. I couldn’t make much of her. The goon gave me a
little shove so that I narrowly avoided knocking over
the table, then he moved out of earshot, though
presumably he was still guarding us. I glowered at him,
then looked down at the woman questioningly.
The woman glanced up at me. "Hello, Juanito." Of all
the people I expected to see in this town, she was low
on the list. Of all the people I wanted to see, she was
even lower.
"Hello, sis."
"You look terrible, Juanito. Can’t afford a shirt with
buttons?"
"It’s Johnny, now." She wasn’t going to get me
groveling right off the bat. I gave her a big smile.
Eat shit, sis. "Where’s El Gordo?" I looked around, as
if maybe he were hiding behind a curtain, or about to
jump out of a cake.
"You’re looking at him." She returned my smile, just as
big and just as fake. "You haven’t seen me for almost
ten years, Juanito. You haven’t even deigned to try and
talk to me in eight. I don’t even get a ‘how are you’
or a ‘good to see you?’ Or do you wish I had died here
after you left me to rot?"
My resolve faltered. No witty remark, no asshole
reaction. A million responses surged in my head, about
how much I’d tried to distance myself from everything
that had happened, about how I’d never actually
forgotten about her, about how much I wished things had
been different. But of course nothing good enough. So I
said nothing.
She stared back at me as her smile turned more into a
sneer. Her eyes were cold. Somehow I felt I’d done
exactly what she had expected. She nodded as the moment
seemed to pass. First blood to Maria. "Why don’t you
take a seat, Juanito, we’ve got some things we need to
talk about." That was abundantly true enough. I took a
seat, but I wasn’t sure just how many of the things we
needed to talk about we were actually going to touch
upon.
"As you may or may not know, after you left us behind,
I continued to work for El Gordo. Small jobs at first.
But eventually he figured out that I had a sharp mind
and tight lips," a subtle pause here, as if she
realized her own pun, "and put me in control of more
and more. By the age of 16, I was his right hand. By
19, I was running the whole racket. Prostitution.
Gambling. Drug trafficking. Money laundering.
Everything.
El Gordo was the titular head, but I kept the books
balanced and the trains running on time. I was good at
it. And nobody ever expected that a young mestiza like
me was the brains behind it all. I think El Gordo liked
that. At any rate, three months ago, when he was killed
it just made sense for me to continue running things as
I always had."
She stopped. El Gordo was dead. I didn’t know whether
to cry or cheer. Just another chapter closed, I
suppose. A chapter better left behind, at that. "No
reaction? El Gordo was a father to us. Don’t you feel
anything?"
I kept my gaze steady and my voice firm. "El Gordo was
not our father. We have a father. He died, but he is
our father."
"And when he was killed, you know as well as I do that
it was El Gordo who saved us. Took us in off the
streets. Kept us safe from Father’s killers. Fed us.
Clothed us. Took care of us. Not all of us had the
chance to escape to the States." She spit the last part
out, a direct attack on me. "Some of us would have
perished without the protection of El Gordo."
Maria and I were only half-siblings. Maria’s mother was
some poor peasant. Mine turned out to be a made-woman
from the States, widow of an old business associate of
our father’s. We had both lived together with Father,
but after his death, I was only with El Gordo for a few
months before my mother heard word of what had happened
and went through the paperwork to have me come live
with her.
"I can’t apologize for having a different Mother than
you. You won’t believe me, but you should know that I
wished then just as much as I wish now that it had been
you and not me who had gotten the chance to get out of
here." Her face scrunched up as she prepared to launch
another barb for me. "But what I can say I’m sorry for
is El Gordo’s death. He took us in when we had nowhere
else to go." This seemed to appease her. She continued
her exposition.
"I’m sorry to have called you here under a false name,
but only a select few know that El Gordo is no longer
alive. It’s safer just to pretend he is. No vacuum, no
power struggle. Everything continues smoothly. And I do
have a job for you." She licked her lips. "And I have a
feeling you’ll take it." She was enjoying this. I had a
feeling I wouldn’t.
"Why’s that?"
"A few reasons. The first, is that I know how much you
respect it when people can make your life
uncomfortable. And let’s just say that after I help
traffic them across the border, sometimes I give jobs
to promising young Peruvians who can’t pay their debt
to me. Your new friend Flavia is being checked out
right now at a hospital. Bruises, ripped panties, and a
nice sperm sample. I’m not sure allegations would
stick, but they could certainly... make your life
uncomfortable. If it came to that."
My heart stopped in my chest. I half stood up,
sputtering, ready to speak, but she spoke over me, "But
I don’t think it will come to that. Let’s also say that
you owe me. Not just for leaving. Not just for never
trying to rescue me." A pause. If she wasn’t actually
choked up, she was an excellent actress. She picked her
words carefully. She was seething, too. "I think you
know for what. This won’t even the scales. But it will
help." So there it was. Excuses didn’t even surface
this time. She had me on that one. Sometimes there was
no way to atone for your Santiago sins.
I sat back down, completely calm. "So what’s the job?"
"A murder." That seemed straight-forward enough. Why
had I been dragged back to Santiago for a straight hit-
man job?
"Why couldn’t you hire a local boy?"
"I need to know the job is going to get done right. And
I need someone who can get close to the mark without
arousing too much suspicion."
"Who am I killing?"
"Don Balmaceda. The man who killed El Gordo."
_Chapter 4_
Standing in front of his looming house, getting out of
his huge limo, staring at his armed guards and
appreciating his lavish expenditure on art as I was
escorted down one long hallway after another, it seemed
strange that someone like Don Balmaceda would have ever
bothered to go after small fry like El Gordo.
Don Balmaceda was the Chilean mafia, compared to him,
El Gordo was just a small-time racket. But according to
Maria, Don Balmaceda had wanted to absorb El Gordo’s
little operation into his empire. And circumvent any
possible competition, of course. That’s just the way
money is, I suppose, never content, always wanting
more, and willing to step on anybody to get it.
‘What’s the plan?’ I had asked Maria. It seemed crazier
the closer and closer I got to my meeting with the Don.
‘The Don is expecting the arrival of an associate,
highly recommended through his US connections, to help
make some money disappear, evaluate the Don, and
possibly arrange an alliance’ she had told me. ‘We’ve
arranged for this associate never to make it. You will
show up in his place.’
Maria wasn’t the only one with a knack for our
business, and I thought I might be able to sound
intelligent when talking shop. But I had no idea how
long I could bluff being an envoy of a larger mafia
family. Or how I was going to kill Don Balmaceda
surrounded by guards, in the middle of his fortress,
without a gun on me. Half of me thought maybe Maria
wanted me to fail.
Show-time. "Mister Kevin Shields, very pleased to meet
you." Like most Chileans, the Don enjoyed the chance to
show off any English. I smiled, shook his hand, and
repeated the greeting.
The Don was seated in front of a small table. As with
any man of great power, he wasn’t quite up to his
image. He was short, and rather fat. His body rolled
and bulged in odd ways, as if instead of a person, he
were actually a pear with a human face. He was bald,
and wore thick glasses. All in all, he looked the kind
of man who would pick his own nose and eat what he
found, or get a thrill out of copping a feel of
brassieres in a department store.
At least the room was nice. Well-upholstered chairs,
dim lighting, artwork. The perfect den. A guard at
either door. Three vacant chairs. A bunch of strewn
papers on the desk, a calculator. "Now Mr. Shields,
please excuse me if I come off gruff, but while my
bodyguards have assured me that you have no weapons on
your person, we must still be sure that you are who you
say you are," barked the Don. His voice was gruff. He
reminded me strongly of a bulldog.
"As you surely know, my power and wealth frequently
attract unsavory characters, and attempts on my life
are not unheard of. But I have devised a little test
that I think will be satisfactory to both of us." He
clapped his hands. "Constanza!"
Two seconds later, a woman appeared at the door.
Blonde. Light skin. Big full breasts, nearly bursting
out of a black lace teddy. Long tapered legs. Panty
hose. The picture of the Chilean beauty ideal. Or at
least of the ideal stripper. She stared straight at the
ground, unmoving, unquestioning. Whoever she was, Don
Balmaceda had trained her to be obedient and seen, not
heard. A body like that, at least she was worth being
seen.
"Mr. Shields, if you will, please take a seat." He
motioned to the vacant chair directly across from him.
I sat down promptly. He waved his fingers. Suddenly
both guards closed in on me, pinning my arms to the
table.
"What is this?" I shouted, trying to stand up again,
but being forced down by the guards. Next he waved to
Constanza. She veritably scampered over, then kneeled
on the floor next to us, facing the table, her head
still bowed reverentially.
"Mr. Shields, I advise you to be cooperative. I would
hate for any necessary unpleasantness to dampen the
Latin American reputation for hospitality." A half
smile and a pause for a laugh that never came.
"Now, this may sound odd, but I’ve been informed that
among the various and valued talents of Mr. Kevin
Shields, whom you purport to be, is a highly analytical
mind and an amazing aptitude for spatial reasoning. A
man of your reputation I’m sure will have no trouble
performing a simple trick for us with this relic." Here
he produced a Rubik’s cube, the colored squares already
jumbled, and placed it in front of me.
My eyebrows widened, disbelief dawned on my face.
"You’ve got to be kidding."
"Oh no, Mr. Shields, I’m quite serious. Solve the
Rubik’s cube or we will kill you. Oh, and two other
things. To make it more interesting, you must do it
while Constanza here is demonstrating one of her varied
and valued talents which, while I’ve never sampled it
myself, I’m assured places her among one of the world’s
greatest cocksuckers. And you only have 60 seconds. You
may begin, Mr. Shields." He set down a stop-watch.
Suddenly my pants were pulled down. Constanza, obedient
to the point of silence just a few moment before, found
her voice, gasped a little bit and grabbed for my cock.
"Ooh, this is a nice one you’ve got," she cooed, "I
know just what to do with it." She started licking it,
quick little darting motions, like a dog with peanut
butter, starting with the head, then long but quick
licks up the shaft with one side of her tongue and down
with the other. Despite my terror, my cock responded.
The guards released my arms but stayed near in case I
thought about trying to interfere. Exposed, distracted,
terrified and staring at an ugly fat man and a logic
puzzle in front of me, already ten seconds down, I
couldn’t help but think that this was possibly the
worst sexual experience I had ever had.
Not that it mattered, but my mind was roaring in all
sorts of directions and everything in the room seemed
to stand out in bold. I gulped and clumsily moved for
the cube, putting my fingers in the right places and
finding the diagonals. A few seconds of planning and I
could do the rest on autopilot, I hoped.
If I could plan. Constanza started slurping and I
couldn’t see straight, let alone concentrate. Taking it
between her lips like a dog with a bone, smacking her
lips together. All the while continuing her hot little
giggles and appreciative moans. Maybe it was all an
act, but someday I hoped I could afford my own personal
slut-slave, too. If I lived. Twenty seconds down.
I blinked rapidly, shook my head. Time to start doing
some turning. One twist, two, three. I was getting
opposing colors, on the right track if I had more time.
Her mouth descended on my cock in earnest, gobbling me.
I stifled crying out and lunged forward a little bit.
Every blowjob I had ever received was amateur in
comparison. Her tongue caressed and flicked me, her
mouth was warmer and tighter than any pussy, and oh god
she took me all. Thirty seconds down.
Her hand stroked as she pulled up, and I felt myself
hitting the back of her throat as she went down. She
hummed a little still, as if she could not stop singing
the praises of my cock and her ministrations to it, and
the vibrations tingled all the way down to my toes. It
felt almost like she was nibbling, no teeth, but her
lips moved over me and kneaded me. Forty seconds down.
Oh god, had I backed myself into a corner? I couldn’t
afford to back up and try a different solution. I kept
twisting, blindly now, in desperation. I never really
thought my life would depend on such a silly toy. Maybe
I would have paid more attention to the solution.
Fifty seconds down. It was now or never. I saw my
mistake, quickly fixed it. The end was in sight. The
Don was smirking, but attentive. Constanza was bobbing
in earnest, letting out little cries every time my cock
bounced against her throat, muffled by my cock filling
her out. One hand tickled my balls, the other helped
with my cock. And all the time sucking, sucking, as if
my cock held the only disease for some terrible ailment
she had. I couldn’t risk even glancing down into my
lap.
Sixty seconds gone. I placed the Rubik’s cube gently on
the table. Each face was a solid color.
The Don let out a barking laugh and started clapping.
"Well done, Mr. Shields, well done! A very impressive
show." His tone sharpened, "Constanza, leave us."
She moved her mouth off my cock but did not stop her
hands. "Ohhh, boss, please, he’s almost finished, and I
need it," she whined. He glared at her and I saw fear
fill her eyes, and suddenly she was scampering off, my
cock almost springing from the recoil.
I could feel the blood pumping in my cock and in my
ears. I was out of breath. But I had made it. "Please,
Mr. Shields, put yourself together. I apologize in
earnest for this little show, but as I mentioned, you
can appreciate the need for security, and I think you
also appreciated the--" he paused, glancing at my cock
and licking his lips, "inventive procedure we have
around here."
He stood up, signaling an end to the little episode.
"Come, let’s get down to business." I could not help
but agree, though I had a feeling we meant separate
things.
_Chapter 5_
I stared up at the ceiling, waiting for it to get a
little later before I made my move. Already the house
was settling down, but I needed as many people asleep
and tired as possible if I wanted to get away with it
and get out.
I was under the blanket in case anyone checked on me,
but fully clothed and with the knife I had concealed in
my belt already in my hand. Not that I was in any
danger of falling asleep I was so wound up, but still.
Big jobs always make me nervous. Add to it the fact
that I planned to carry out this one in enemy territory
and through a lot of guards, and I was nearly dying.
Maybe it was just Latin hospitality, or maybe it was
just that Don Balmaceda thought he could handle
potential threats best in his own fortress-mansion and
tried to keep potential threats (like me) as close as
possible, but either way I was damn lucky he insisted I
sleep in his home before a big day of visiting his drug
shipping operations. Tonight was my best chance to get
the job done.
My door creaked open a smidge and someone peeked around
the corner. I feigned sleep, my eyes slits, ready to
come up slashing if this turned dangerous. If they had
somehow discovered that I did not match the description
of the expected associate in any number of ways, I did
not think they would give me a chance to explain myself
before I was neutralized, but I planned to go out
fighting. The door opened wider and something sneaked
in.
A white nightgown, something feminine. "Constanza?" I
relaxed a little, but not completely. Sex was often an
excellent way to destroy enemies or get information,
and I knew his slut would do whatever he asked. Maybe I
gave Don Balmaceda too much credit. But nervous men are
paranoid men. And horny men after an interrupted
blowjob are hopeful.
A little giggle and the door shut behind her. "I didn’t
think you saw me."
"What?" I sat up, confused, and hit the bedside lamp. A
little urchin, mocha skin and light eyes. Dark hair
hanging loosely. Slender legs and small tits, both
barely concealed by a too-small nightgown. Elfish
smile, still in braces. The girl from the micro?
"How did you get here?" I threw the covers off and
stood up, concealing the knife, but prepared to use it,
more confused then scared now.
"Aren’t you happy to see me?" she pouted a little bit,
suggestively, then broke into a sultry smile and
swaggered a little bit toward me, stopping to chew on
her finger as if pensive. Where had this little
fifteen-year-old learned things like that? "I’m happy
to see you." She looked at me levelly, making it clear
what she meant.
"Does Don Balmaceda know you’re in here?" All I could
think was that the Don was somehow giving her to me, as
a gift or proof that I had been watched or as I-don’t-
know-what.
"Of course not," she snickered. Her voice-tone dropped,
at once deadly serious and a little mocking, "I never
let Dad know when I fuck his business partners. Knowing
him, he might demand a cut. Or just kill them." Her
eyes glimmered, a danger-is-a-big-turn-on-I-could-get-
you-killed-if-I-wanted-to stare.
"You’re the Don’s daughter?" my voice was incredulous.
"Yeah," she sucked on a finger suggestively, "the life
of luxury, good living. I keep hoping he’ll give me
that horse for my fourteenth birthday next month, but
he might be afraid what I’ll do with it..." she trailed
off into throaty laugher. Fourteenth? Next month? What
had I done?
"Do you always sleep in that?" she smirked, ambling
closer to me. "It’s going to make difficult what we’re
going to do tonight." She stopped right in front of me;
the nightgown went right over her head. She stopped and
posed right in front of me, one hand on her hip, the
other hip splayed out a little bit. I thought thirteen
year-olds were supposed to be awkward and gangly? This
was a woman standing in front of me. Confident.
"I don’t think this is such a good idea." I was
drinking in the sight of her. Small, raised breasts,
really no more than little peaches. Perfectly taut,
smooth skin, athletic. Smooth pussy, lips slightly
open. Long legs, though still without much curve. She
was hard to resist, especially considering how intense
our encounter had been on the micro. But thirteen was
too young, even for me, even for Latin America. And
sleeping with a mob boss’s daughter is never a good
idea. Especially when you plan to kill him before the
night is through.
"Oh, come on," she started to lightly run her nails up
and down my thighs, "You seemed completely willing on
the micro a few days ago," she got closer, "and I don’t
think you want me to run to Daddy and tell him about
the big, bad scary man who raped his daughter, do you?"
She was now right on top of me, as close as we had been
in that micro, practically whispering in my ear. I
could smell her intoxicating aroma, that same youthful
clean smell, now with a hint of sex and woman
underneath.
"I don’t want to, but I will, unless you fuck me. And
fuck me good." One hand had traced it’s way from my leg
up to my chest and was undoing buttons, the other was
curling itself in my hair. She pushed me back so that I
was sitting on the bed and jumped into my lap,
straddling me. She certainly knew how to put a guy into
a tight position.
"It will be good for you, too. Do you want me to tell
you about the first time I ate out my best friend’s
little pussy when we were only 11? Or how about the
time I fucked three of my father’s servants at once,
while he was one room away?" She was half whispering in
my ear, half necking with me. She could feel my hard
cock, now stuck between us. I suppose there was never
any doubt about what I was going to do.
"I’ll tell you anything. Do you want me to suck your
cock? Or do you want to fuck me? My pussy tastes like
heaven, if that interests you. I’ll even let you put it
up my ass if you want. Tonight, I’m all yours." With
that, the last of my resistance broke. One hand flew to
her back, the other dived into her hair, and my mouth
descended onto hers, like a dying man desperate for
oxygen. Our tongues swirled in each other’s mouths, our
lips played with each other, our breaths became one.
Quickly she helped me wriggle out of my shirt, and then
we fell back onto my bed. She straddled me, leaving a
trail of kisses from my chin and down my chest, her
hands rubbing my arms, my pecs, my stomach, everywhere.
She undid my belt and pants and tugged, taking pants
and boxers off together. I kicked off my shoes, and was
as naked as she was, lying under her. Our bodies molded
together, that delicious feeling of total-body contact
overtaking us, feeling warm skin-to-skin everywhere.
I rolled over, trapping her beneath me. She was so
small, and simultaneously so innocent and so worldly. I
started returning the favor and kissing down her body.
Using my tongue to play with each nipple, moving my
hands in small, kneading circles around each breast.
One hand rubbed gently down toward her pussy, never
quite giving her what she wanted, never quite touching
anything, but getting closer and closer, diving in and
then pulling back, enjoying the feel of her youthful
skin and teasing her a little bit.
I kissed lower, stopping at her navel. I treated it
like it was a small pussy, as my hands journeyed lower
and grabbed at her thighs. I could almost grip the
entire thigh in my hand. I ran my nails down them, then
started kneading my hands back up as I continued to
lick and nibble at her belly-button. She kept bucking
her pussy toward me, moaning. Finally she almost
whined, "Oh god, touch me there, please, I need to feel
you, I’m so turned on."
I needed no further invitation. I practically dived
onto her pussy, just kissing it, then opening my mouth
a little bit to suck the entire thing into my mouth at
once. The taste was akin to honey, the smell so
intoxicating I would have murdered for that girl right
then. I kept bringing my lips together and letting her
pussy shoot out of my mouth, each whap making her cry
out a little bit. I stuck my tongue out, tracing up and
down her lips, parting them a little bit, searching for
as much of her juice as possible. I brought my fingers
back, and gently sent one exploring into her fuck
canal.
She was tight.
Her body was covered in a light layer of sweat. I could
feel her quivering beneath me. She let out a little
"oh" each time I wiggled my finger. It was time to go
for the gusto. I stopped licking her lips and dived for
her clit, attacking it like a mad-man, licking,
sucking, biting. She grabbed my hair and yanked and
clamped her thighs around me. Blood pounded in my ears,
her heartbeat and mine. She let out one long "ohhhh,"
and then relaxed, spent. She had cum.
She pulled me up so that I was completely covering her
again and started kissing, licking my face, cleaning
her juices off me. We kissed, our tongues
intermingling, me offering her a taste of herself. "Oh,
it’s never been like that," she moaned, "Oh god, I need
you now. Fuck me, please. Please fuck me. I need to
feel you inside me, I need to have the cock of the man
who made me feel like that, to be one with him for just
a little bit."
I reached down between us and aimed my cockhead at her
pussy. I moved my hips forward and slid in, just an
inch or two. She was so tight I didn’t know if I could
get more in.
She let out a long sigh, like she had been holding her
breath. "Oh, that’s exactly it, that’s what I needed.
Please, please put it all in me." I started a small
rocking and twisting motion, each time getting a little
more in her. I took it slowly, which was hard, looking
at her sprawled out underneath me, a look of pure
pleasure in her face.
I hit harder resistance and her face scrunched up in
pain, a sharp intake of breath. Was she lying about all
of her sexual exploits? How could she still be so
tight?
Her mouth was hanging open, her eyes leering at me, her
legs almost straight up in the air now. My cock still
had about halfway to go, although I was not sure how
much longer I could avoid cumming, between the pressure
around my cock and the hot sight of this little teen
underneath me. "Please," she begged, "please put it all
in me. I promise not to scream, but please, I need to
feel it, please," she trailed off, still begging, but
muttering incomprehensibly.
I put one hand on each hip and pulled at the same time
my hips pushed.
It was heaven.
Think of the hottest, tightest, wettest pussy you’ve
ever experienced, and then double it. Quadruple it.
Quadruple it again. It felt like she was fucking me
without me even moving, as I felt her pussy contracting
on my cock, begging it for cum.
Her face had moved from pain to pure pleasure. Her eyes
were closed, her mouth agape, her tongue languidly
moving over her lips. It looked almost like a drug
stupor. She kept murmuring to herself, "Cum in me, cum
in me, spray me with it, cum in me..."
I pulled out and slammed into her. She cried out when I
hit the hilt again and then returned to her gibbering.
Again. Three times. And then I started pumping cum,
like artillery fire that originated deep inside me,
picked up terminal velocity, and then erupted into her.
One burst. Two bursts. I didn’t want to pull out, it
felt so good, but I love drenching girls in cum. Third
burst on her stomach. A fourth on her tits. A fifth,
small dribble landed on her thigh. I collapsed next to
her.
She absent-mindedly moved all her limbs as if she was
just discovering them. She scooped up some of my cum
and sucked on it, vacantly started rubbing the rest in.
"That was amazing," she whispered, scooting over,
nestling under my arm and into the crook of my
shoulder.
Coming down from my orgasm, I realized the insanity of
what I had just done. Hopefully no one heard us. Even
more hopefully I could manage to get rid of her and
still kill her dad.
"I do have one question before we do it again, though."
Again? One hand was tugging on my flaccid cock, the
other playing around in her pussy. Our goo was
everywhere, but it did make for a nice feeling on my
cock. And she had promised me some treasures I had yet
to sample. She sat up.
"What’s this knife for?" She held it, not menacingly,
but securely, her eyes not accusing, but certainly
intelligent, her face in mock-composure, the "mock"
possibly only for my benefit.
I reached for the knife. "A nice girl like you should
be careful with knives, it would be a shame if
something should scar that pretty skin of yours."
Another throaty laugh, and then, "I think you know I’m
not exactly a nice girl..." She twirled it in one hand,
clearly knowing her way around a knife as much as she
knew her way around a cock. This could be trouble.
"Fuck me in the ass and you can have it back." A
devilish grin. She kept her hand away, but leaned in
close to my ear. "Eat me out again and you can have it
back without the pointy end first." I grabbed and
twisted her wrist in one motion, catching the knife,
and pivoted so that I was pinning her underneath me,
similar to how we had fucked, except her legs were
trapped beneath me and my cock wrested on her belly-
button. I held the knife to her throat.
Her eyes were squeezed shut, her breath and her pulse
were quick, but her mouth was still crooked in
pleasure, and she was writhing beneath me. "Cut me, you
bastard, rape me, take what you want," she moaned. I
traced the edge along her collar bone, holding it to
her chest. Goosebumps raised on her skin, she writhed
underneath me.
"You like this, don’t you? I could kill you right now,
and you’ve never been wetter." So much pussy juice was
leaking out there was a wet spot underneath her. I
continued to move the knife in obscure little patterns
on her chest and belly, holding her arms pinned in my
free hand. She started rocking her hips underneath me.
"Fuck me, cut me, cut me, fuck me, fuck, fuck me, cut
me, cut me, fuck me, please, please, please!" it was
like a mantra coming from her.
I never did like to disappoint a lady.
_Chapter 6_
Subduing a guard had been easier than I even would have
hoped. He got out one sharp, "Is everything ok, sir?"
then a knife to the lungs, a body in a closet, and a
gun in my hand. I stood in front of Don Balmaceda’s
personal chambers. "It’s now or never," I muttered to
myself.
I pushed slowly in, gun drawn, expecting guards, maybe
a shoot-out, and finding only a dark room. For a mob
boss, his security was not that tight. I creeped in and
shut the door behind me. This appeared to be his
bedroom, but I could only hope he was in here. And
preferably asleep.
A blow to the head, my world exploding into starbursts,
and I hit the ground. The click of a bullet sliding
into a chamber. Don Balmaceda’s voice. "Put the gun and
knife down, Juanito. Very slowly." He had been waiting
behind the door for me? How? But he had a shot on me
and I was akimbo on the ground. The situation had
definitely just gotten fucked up. I reached and placed
them both slowly on the ground, then stood up, my hands
in the air. And why did he call me Juanito?
Don Balmaceda, impressive-looking gun in hand, covered
me, a sneer on his face. "It’s almost sad that you
thought this would work," his jowls flapped, his voice
was almost a wheeze. "You have your father’s hubris,
that’s part of it. But the plan worked perfectly. Your
sister delivered you to me, just as she promised,
proving her loyalty and assuring a smooth transition of
her business into my empire. Now I’ll dispose of you,
and then, with my own hands, perhaps I’ll strangle your
sister, ending the Contreras line forever."
"What? Why? She told me you killed El Gordo, she told
me, she told me -- why would you do all this? Why would
you go to all this trouble?"
He chuckled, but there was no mirth. "I may have helped
kill El Gordo, but it was she who pulled the trigger.
And why? Well, as for your sister, she lusts after
power, and knows I can offer her more than El Gordo
ever could. And I suspect an element of revenge played
into it, as well, against both of you." His eyes
smoldered. "And maybe even love for me. It’s not a
secret that my preferences usually lie in the other
direction, but business is business. I fucked Maria
hard, Juanito. You may have been the first, but I was
the best."
He stopped to let the remark sink in, leveling his aim.
"And as for me, the feud between our families goes way
back. I suppose you were too young to really know. But
I plan to kill you just like I killed your father, you
begging for your life just like he did."
I think that was when he had planned to pull the
trigger, but what he said made me snap, and I did the
one thing I don’t think he expected. I launched myself
toward him, tackling him and knocking him into the
wall. His gun went off, but a second too late, shooting
harmlessly into the air. Nonetheless it would draw
attention, guards would be upon us in moments.
Not that I was worried about that at the moment. All I
could feel was rage, all I could see was blood. I got
him underneath me, biting his ear, ripping it off. The
pain made him stop fighting for a bit, and I got my
hands on either side of his head and started banging.
Tears streamed down my face, blocking my vision, but
soon the hard thumping sound was replaced by a wet
thumping sound. I looked down on my hands, now sticky
and hot with blood.
I heard steps thundering down the hallway. I turned to
look at him, tears mingling with sweat to obscure my
vision even more. I could barely think, but reached for
his gun. "My father was twice the man you are!" I fired
point-blank into his chest, then took off running for
the window, firing behind me as guards burst into the
room. My life was probably forfeit now. But I had an
appointment with my sister first. I was no longer the
only one who had Santiago sins to answer for.
_Chapter 7_
The girl still hadn’t stopped crying, but her tears
were only a slow trickle. The boy had a stunned look on
his face, as if he was not sure where he was, or why.
El Gordo sat on the bed next to them.
"Kids, I know you’re both very sad and probably still a
little scared. It’s always hard to lose a father,
especially when the pain is fresh." He paused, as if
gathering his words. "But it’s time to think about your
future for a little bit.
"Your father’s killers are still out there and may be
after you, too. And even if they’re not, you’re both
young, a little too young to be out on your own. The
city would be hard on you, might do terrible things to
you." He bit his lip and looked forlornly at the floor,
feigning empathy for their tight spot.
"Could we... could we stay with you, Uncle Gordo?" The
little girl’s voice was barely more than a whisper.
El Gordo pretended to consider it for a bit. "I don’t
know, my little Maria. If your father’s enemies do want
you, it would be dangerous for me to protect you. And
even if they don’t, it would still be dangerous for me.
Your father and I were sometimes rivals, and now I
would have his children close to me, members of my
household? How would I know you would not slip into my
room with a knife one night?"
The little girl’s tears increased. "You know we
wouldn’t, El Gordo. You’re all the family we have left
now."
"There’s also the expense. Times are rough all-over.
How would I care for you?"
"We could help out with whatever you needed. And we
wouldn’t eat much. We’d do whatever you wanted."
El Gordo let his face constrict a bit, as if he had
reached an important turning point. "I’ll let you stay,
on certain conditions. You will do whatever I say,
whenever I say. I’ll provide for you and let you stay
with me, and you’ll work in my business. But your
devotion will be unquestioning. What do you say?"
The little girl’s lip trembled, her resolve crumbling.
She had nowhere else to go, but El Gordo was not acting
like the sweet, playful man he had been around their
father. He seemed hard, cruel. Even at her young age
she sensed she should be wary. She turned to her
brother.
Through the entire conversation, he had seemed as if he
were in another place. But now his gaze leveled and met
El Gordo’s. "We’ll do it. We’ll be yours. We’ll do
whatever you want. Just take care of my little sister."
"Excellent, Juanito." El Gordo stood up, but instead of
heading for the door, he turned to face them. "But
words are cheap. You must prove your dedication to me.
Tonight, right now. A little something to seal the
deal, we might say."
Her voice still trembled, but with the support of her
brother her resolve had hardened. "We’ll do whatever
you want."
"Good. Take off your clothes. Both of you." His stern
tone of voice brooked no disagreement.
"What? What do you mean you sick fuck?" Juanito half-
lunged toward him, shocked, his face steaming, ready to
punch, despite the fact that El Gordo had 150 pounds on
him.
"Because you’re mine. I own you. And I intend to prove
it. Now do you do exactly what I say, or do I throw you
out on your asses?"
His question hung in the air, the moment expanding, no
one moving. The tension finally broke with little
Maria. "It’s ok, Juanito." Her head was hanging down,
but her hands had started to undo the buttons on her
blouse. "Let’s just do what he wants."
"That’s the right attitude, honey. You might even enjoy
tonight." He pursed his lips at Juanito, who took the
hint and slowly started to pull off his shirt. Her
blouse unbuttoned, Maria pulled it over her head, and
then in one quick motion pulled and stepped out of her
panties. She stood very still, staring at the ground,
her long black hair obscuring her face. Her body hadn’t
even started to really develop yet. Her pussy was
hairless, her tits just little nubs, her legs without
any curves.
Juanito moved in a trance, slipping off his pants, but
pausing in his briefs, just staring at his sister. She
was so small and so vulnerable, he knew this was not
right, and yet part of him could not stop staring at
her, entranced by the tiny slit between her legs. His
cock started to swell without his permission. He was
sickened and turned on and could not decide which
feeling was stronger.
"Maria," Gordo said, "help your brother with his
underwear. He seems to have slowed down." Without
looking up at either of them she turned to face him and
using both hands tugged on his underwear. His cock
popped out and bobbed in the air a few times, narrowly
missing hitting her in the face as she dropped to her
knees to negotiate the briefs off his legs.
"Have you ever given a blowjob, Maria? It doesn’t
really matter, I suppose. I want you to use your mouth
on your brother, get him all nice and wet to make it
easier for him to pop your cherry." El Gordo’s voice
was getting thick and raspy as he absent-mindedly
rubbed his cock through his pants.
Maria darted out her tongue swiftly, lapping like a
cat, then reached out and grabbed his cock to steady
it. She may not have given a blowjob before, but
Juanito could not tell the difference, his eyes bugged
out with the stimulation. She started to give longer,
slower licks all around his shaft, taking the advice to
get him as wet as possible to heart. Without thinking
about it, Juanito put his hands on her head to steady
his own balance, tightening into fists, grabbing clumps
of her raven-black hair, his breath stuttering.
"Pretend it’s a popsicle. Suck on the tip," El Gordo
rasped, afraid to break the moment, but also enjoying
the control. Juanito cried out as the head of his cock
disappeared into her mouth. Her cheeks caved-in ever so
slightly as she gently, tentatively began to suck on
him. Not sure what else to do, she let more of his cock
slide into her mouth, sucking as if his cock were a
straw and she were trying to get at a thick milkshake.
El Gordo could not wait. "Fuck her, Juanito," he said.
Maria finally glanced up, staring into her brother’s
eyes. Looking at his sister, naked, kneeling in front
of him with his cock in her mouth, was the single most
erotic thing he had ever seen, and the most heart-
breaking. In her glance he could read everything, how
much his sister depended on him, and would do anything
he asked, full of love and trust. "I love you, Maria,"
he said. Maria let his cock pop out of her mouth and
laid back, spreading her legs in an invitation.
"Take me, Juanito." Her pussy was not very moist, and
resisted his intrusion, but to Johnny it was the most
amazing thing he had ever felt.
Chapter 8? The final confrontation between Johnny and
his sister. Coming soon...
Please direct all comments and questions regarding
Chapter 8 to elguaton7@hotmail.com .
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The author does not condone child abuse, this story is
meant as an erotic fantasy not real life. Anyone acting
out such scenarios in "real life" can look forward to
many unproductive years getting it up the butt by a
fellow convict in their local prison.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 37