C Holliday - Her animal act

A mass of cum oozed from her stretched pussy and trickled warmly down the crack of her quivering ass. Ruth shut her eyes, feeling disgust rise within her now that the heat of her insane lust was past. She felt soiled, totally unworthy of her decent husband and her position in life. A sick feeling swept over her as she realized nothing would ever be the same again. Poor Elliott, she thought. He must never know. How could I have responded to that animal? How can I live with the knowledge of my sin? Dear God… help me… help me bear the heavy burden of this wicked night!

A hand was on her shoulder, shaking her, a voice calling as if from a distance. "Wake up, rubia."

Ruth opened her eyes. Pico's smug face loomed above her. "What are you doing still here? How long have I slept?"

"About fifteen minutes is all. You know, you're not a bad fuck… for a gringa, that is."

"Drop dead! Go away. You got what you wanted… now go away and leave me alone!"

"I am going away. It's time for me to return to Panama."

"Good. Have a rotten trip!"

"Don't wish me any bad luck. You're going with me."

"You're out of your mind. I wouldn't go to a dog fight with you."

"I'm not asking you to go. I'm taking you."

"What?"

"You are going to be one of my women… and a special one, at that."

"Wha… wha-what are you talking about?"

"You're a whore now, rubia. My whore. You liked my cock so well that I've decided to take you to Panama and put you in my whorehouse. You'll get lots of cock there… miles and miles of it."

"You're insane," Ruth gasped, sitting up and cringing away, seeing the others for the first time. "Oh my God!"

Faustina and the Negro were sitting on the couch beside Elliott, who was still unconscious. Both of them were smiling at her. Carlos stood just inside the door, looking quite pale and nervous, his sheepish eyes refusing to meet her gaze. Ruth tried to cover her breasts and cunt with her hands.

"Here. Put this on," Pico said, tossing a faded old dressing gown at her.

She slipped it on, buttoning what buttons where left intact with shaking fingers. "I'm not going anywhere with you! Get out of here! All of you!"

Pico grabbed her hair and dragged her across the bed. He slapped her hard, backhanded her, kept it up until she was crying and sniveling and docile.

"You'll do as I say, puta! I am your master now. The sooner you accept that fact the better off you'll be!"

"I'd rather die," Ruth sobbed. "Oh, God… I'd rather die!"

"That can be arranged," Pico said coldly, reaching into his pocket, coming out with a wicked-looking switchblade and snapping it open. He pressed the knife blade threateningly against Ruth's throat. "Decide!"

"Oh, dear God!"

Carlos gasped. His mouth dropped open. He started toward the bed, then stopped and turned his back.

"Well?" Pico demanded. "Which is it, rubia? You may live and be my whore, or I'll slit your throat… if that's what you really want. Decide!"

"I don't want to die," she begged, her large eyes pleading up at him. "Don't hurt me… please don't cut me!"

"Then you choose to be my whore?"

The sharp edge of the knife blade pressed at her skin. There was no time for indecision. Any life, even that of a whore, was better than no life. Ruth gulped, nodding her head carefully, shutting her eyes, feeling the scalding-hot tears of humiliation stream down her cheeks.

"Say it. Tell me!"

"Your whore," she gasped. "I'll be your whore."

Instantly the knife left her throat. "A wise choice," Pico said calmly, shutting the knife and putting it back into his pocket.

"There was no choice," she moaned. "And you know it."

He laughed, extending his hand and helping her from the bed. "Come, meet my sister and Jose. Faustina… Jose… this is rubia our new puta."

Jose and Faustina nodded, both of them looking her up and down but saying nothing. Ruth cringed at the gleam in Faustina's dark-brown eyes. They shone with interest, glinted with cruelty. Jose was very black and big, a giant Negro with an Afro haircut which made his head appear twice as big as it really was. He was all muscle, his turtleneck shirt clinging to his tapering torso like a second skin.

"Jose is a mute. He understands only Spanish but can't speak or write. He is my personal body guard. Strong as a bull, that one is… with a cock like a mule!"

"You're very beautiful," Faustina said.

Ruth shivered. "Thank you."

"As beautiful as this delicate morsel," Faustina went on, holding up a snapshot. "In a more mature sort of way, of course."

Ruth felt the room do a double flip-flop. "That's my daughter," she blurted. "Where did you get that picture?"

The evil smile swept back over Faustina's face, and Ruth knew she'd made a terrible mistake. She saw Elliott's wallet on the cushion beside Faustina. "Paula's at home," she said quickly. "In Tulsa."

"You lie, puta," Faustina taunted.

"No. No, I didn't. Paula's at home… going to summer school. She couldn't come with us because she had to make up a subject."

"I'll take the wheep to you if you're lying to Faustina," she said happily.

"Enough," Pico barked. "We must go."

"My car is waiting at the back," Carlos said, his voice breaking. "I got rid of their taxi driver… like you said."

"Bueno. This will extend your time to six months, Carlos," Pico said. Then he turned to Jose. "Carry the man out to the car. Carlos will drive up to the airport."

Jose picked Elliott up as easily as if he were a child, carrying him in his arms and following Carlos into the hall.

"Come, rubia," Faustina ordered, dangling the key to their motel room before Ruth's face. "We will stop for your clothing… and see if you were lying to me."

The car sat in a darkened corner of the motel parking lot. Elliott slumped in the back seat, breathing rhythmically as he slept.

Ruth was in the front seat, flanked by Carlos and Faustina. Carlos squirmed and smoked constantly, lighting one cigarette from the butt of each previous one. Faustina held a gun in her right hand, hiding it with a sweater, keeping the muzzle poked threateningly into Ruth's side.

Her eyes shut, her hands clasped together, Ruth prayed silently that Pico and Jose would not discover Paula in the room adjoining hers and Elliott's. She couldn't remember whether Elliott had shut the door after they'd gone in to tell Paula good night, but she hoped he had – she hoped to God he had!

Please, Lord, let the door be shut… let it be locked on Paula's side – please, please, please! Those awful men are up there now. Don't let them get my baby in their evil clutches too!

Pico slipped the key into the lock, turned it, then opened the door slowly and moved quietly into the darkened motel room. Jose followed him inside, moving even more quietly than Pico despite his large size. After determining there was only one bed, and that it was empty, Pico switched on a lamp and motioned for Jose to close the door.

The rooms were all adjoining, like some American motels, but both doors were closed. Pico found the suitcases and put them on the bed, opened, motioning for Jose to fill them with Ruth and Elliott's clothing from the drawers and closet. Then, as Jose began packing, he moved to one of the doors and checked it. It was locked. He crossed the room to the other door and grasped the knob, finding it locked too.

"It looks like rubia was telling the truth," he said, more to himself than to Jose, for he'd spoken in English.

Then he spoke in Spanish, louder, telling Jose to hurry up and be sure to get all the clothing. He wanted no traces left behind, nothing which would arouse suspicion. Ruth and Elliott would simply disappear and never be heard from again. Carlos had agreed to see that their car was conveniently "stolen", and that it, too, should disappear. Carlos would profit handsomely from that, Pico knew; for once the car was repainted and the identifying markings removed, it could be taken to Mexico City and sold with no questions asked. Carlos had promised to give Pico the money from the illegal sale, as partial payment on what he owed. But Pico wasn't concerned about Carlos paying up. He knew he would manage to get the money together in time. He was too scared to refuse.