C Holliday - Her animal act

She knew he was near orgasm, and the knowledge brought a mixture of revulsion and relief. More than anything she dreaded the moment when his sperm would gush into her mouth and she would have to swallow it. But then Pico would give her the steak, and she wanted it much more than she dreaded Jose's semen.

Intensifying her efforts, Ruth clung weakly to his thighs and sucked frantically on his enormous cock. It jerked, throbbed, then erupted – sending a mass of hot cum over her tongue and washing down her throat. Fighting the impulse to gag and pull away, Ruth shuddered with each new jet of his load, letting it spurt warm and slick into her mouth as she gulped and gulped until she thought he'd never stop coming.

But finally he did stop, and when she took her mouth from his limbering prick, she staggered off to the side and puked wretchedly.

Pico was naked when she turned back, standing beside the table where her steak sat waiting. She rushed to her food and picked it up with shaking hands, bringing it to her mouth and tearing at it like an animal. In her rush to get to the steak she hadn't noticed Pico's erection. And when he stepped behind her and bent her over the table, she almost didn't notice that.

He pushed her tits flat against the table. She held the steak close to her face, still eating ravenously, her chin bumping the leather covering as she chewed and swallowed. Then Pico grasped her hips and pushed his cock between her buttocks.

"Don't!" she shouted, her protest coming out garbled around her mouthful of meat. "No… no, please… not that! Aargh! Ung… ung… ung!"

Then his cock was in her asshole, thrusting rapidly, making it hard for Ruth to eat as he jostled her back and forth.

They arrived at the small airport on the outskirts of Acapulco early the next morning. The sun was just beginning to show in the eastern horizon when Paula stepped from the car and stood waiting while Pico and Jose dragged her parents out.

Ruth's hands were tied in front of her body. She wasn't gagged, because now she shut up immediately when she was told to do so, and she seemed to have little to say anyway.

Elliott's hands were bound securely behind his back. He was also gagged. Despite his weakened condition, the beating hadn't taken the fight out of him. He'd blackened Pico's eye when he and Jose entered his room that morning.

Only Paula had been left unbound and ungagged. She presented no threat to her abductors. Ever since the brief talk with her mother just before they'd left Juan's mansion, she seemed to be in a state of shock. She now knew there would never be any ransom, that she and her mother were being taken to Panama where they would remain forever as whores in Pico's sin palace. It was too horrible a fate for her young mind to accept, and she moved zombie-like as Faustina guided her toward the waiting plane.

Elliott was still struggling and mumbling through his gag when Jose stuffed him into the cargo area of the plane and climbed in behind him, shutting the door and slipping the makeshift two-by-four bolt into place to hold it shut.

"What are you going to do with the man?" Faustina asked as Pico started the engines.

"Get rid of him, I suppose," Pico answered.

Faustina and Pico were in the cabin, but the door to the cargo area was still open, letting their voices drift back over the sound of the revving engines.

"Good. You have no use for him."

"I could have use for him," Pico said. "I'd keep him if you'd come and whip him every Saturday night."

"No."

"It would make a good act for my show… something none of the other houses offer."

"I can't."

"Just on Saturdays. Who would ever know? You could wear a mask to hide your identity."

"It is tempting," Faustina said.

"You'll think about it?"

"I'd enjoy it… you know I would."

"Then you agree?"

Faustina sighed. "No. It's out of the question, Pico."

"Because of your husband?"

"Yes. He must never know. He wouldn't understand. Besides, his position… I dare not risk it."

"He still doesn't know about me?"

"He knows I have a brother. That's all. He thinks you live in Japan. No, Pico, forget it. I don't dare come to your place even once, let alone every Saturday night. Get rid of the man. He'll be trouble if you don't."

"I'll have to do it in a way that his body will not be discovered."

"How?"

"I don't know, Faustina. I don't know yet."

"I have a suggestion," she said.

"Tell me."

"Fly out over the ocean. We'll open the cargo door and push him out."

"His body might drift into shore."

"No, it won't. I'll cut him. The sharks will come to the blood. His bones will settle to the floor of the ocean and remain there."

The engines were warm enough. Pico began to taxi out to the strip for takeoff. Ruth hadn't heard anything of their conversation. She was so beat she'd fallen asleep as soon as she'd been laid on one of the sleeping bags. Paula sat huddled in a corner, her eyes open but unseeing, her ears registering the sound vibrations but her numbed brain refusing to take them in.

But Elliott, lying just inside the door, had heard them. He didn't know why they were speaking in English, but they were, and he hung on every word either of them uttered. His blood ran cold as he listened to them plan his murder. He had to do something, he realized – and soon! The plane was on the runway, picking up speed for takeoff!

"Well?" Faustina asked.

"All right," Pico said. "We'll dump him over the ocean."

Jose's attention was on Paula, Elliott saw. The big Negro was sitting cross-legged before her, his gaze glued to her emotionless face. It was now or never, Elliott knew; and if he was going to die, he preferred it come as a result of an attempt to escape. At least this way he had a slim chance!

With great effort, the sores from Faustina's whip smarting at the slightest movement, Elliott got quietly to his feet. He backed to the wall of the plane, now approaching takeoff speed, and inched carefully toward the cargo door.

The plane lifted off the runway just as Elliott pulled the two-by-four bolt from its slots. Holding the wooden bar behind his back, his squatted in front of the door. The board made a noise as he dropped it, and both Jose and Faustina jerked their heads around.

"The fool is trying to jump from the plane!" Faustina shouted in English. Then, in Spanish, she yelled at Jose, "Get him! Grab him before he gets the door open!"

But Elliott already had the door part way open by the time Jose lunged at him. Slamming his feet forcefully on the cargo deck, he used all the power he could coax from his trembling legs to throw his back against the door. It swung open. He was tumbling out – head first and backward – when Jose grabbed his foot.

The plane was about ten feet in the air and climbing rapidly. For a split second Elliott hung here, Jose holding his foot and the door biting his shin as the force of the wind pushed against it. Then his shoe came off in Jose's hand and his shin scraped nerve-shatteringly against the sharp edge of the door. His body jerked as his foot caught in the door; then he was falling through the air with the plane soaring above him. The paved runway rushed up at him. He tried to jerk his body so he would hit on his side.

But there wasn't time. He hit the runway not knowing in what position he was in, his body skidding and rolling and flopping, lights flashing in his head, pain bursting him apart, trying to scream but never making it, a great and total blackness consuming him as a mass of blood gushed from his gaping mouth.

"Circle around and land!" Faustina screeched. "Pick him up!"

Pico nodded, doing as she said, turning the plane to return and land. "The fool! He's probably dead this minute. No one could live through that."