Walter Collins - Tijuana slut

The guard didn't get wise. He fucked back and forth faster and faster. He hammered in and out of my box harder and harder. I began to boil again. His cock grew longer. It swelled, spurting stream after steam of his milky goo into my snatch. The need was back like it had never left.

Getting up with a grunt of satisfaction, he pulled his pants up. He kicked me roughly in the ribs and left the cell. I lay helplessly with a sickening pain in my ribs and a gnawing need in my snatch.

A guard unlocked the door and the chains. He led me to the washroom and allowed me to wash the grime from the previous evening away.

The water was ice-cold. It felt good. The soap was rough. The crusted cum and stench of sweat quickly disappeared. By the time I was washed and dried, I felt almost like a human being.

"You have to wear these," he growled.

This was it. The torture was truly over. II was leaving. I was being sold into slavery. I was going to land up in some sleazy whorehouse. I tried to read the man's expression but couldn't. I was relieved and scared at the same time.

The clothes he handed me were sadistically designed. He pushed a buzzer and two big, burly men walked in. They were going to dress me.

I stood between them. I was handed a rubber

bra. It was designed with transparent cups. There were holes cut in them so my nipples would be forced out. The side straps were of heavy rubber and so short and strong that one man had to put his knee in the center of my back to fasten it. My ribs felt like they'd break at any second. My shoulders were pulled way back. I was barely able to breathe.

The man in front adjusted the shoulder straps until my nipples were pointed towards my chin. He squeezed the heavy, leather and wire supports. The wire pinched my trapped tits cruelly and made some of my breast ooze through the nipple holes. When they were done, my nipples stuck out a good two inches, like someone had poked hotdogs in the end of my bra for decorations.

They slapped a stiffly boned, rubber corset up to my belly and began to lace it tight. My waist was usually twenty-six inches. By the time they were done it was twelve. My insides were pushed and shoved in every which direction. The panties were as vicious. With the exception of the leg bands, which had been designed not to cut off all the blood supply, they were made to fit a two-month-old baby. I hated to think of what they would have done to me if I wasn't of further use to them.

The men pulled, prodded and jerked until it was stretched enough to be laced to the bottom of the corset. The rubber molded every crease and crevice between my legs. It shaped and mashed the soft

cushions and flaps of my cunt-mound. It made it painful to move. I was sweating like a wrestler inside the rubber underwear. I began to itch like crazy. My breath came in small, shallow gulps.

One of the men rubbed my cunt with his hand and laughed. They made me get into a tight rubber jumpsuit. I was laced into black leather boots and led away. I had to go slow. It was painful and awkward to move. I was frightened. That didn't stop the weight of the world from slipping off my shoulders as I left the whimpering of the cellblock behind.

The men took me out into the rear courtyard and turned me over to Pedro. Pedro took me by the shoulder and led me towards the big barn-like garage.

"Look-you gave me two good head-jobs when you didn't have to. They were also rougher on you than the others. I figure I owe you a little something. I'm going to lock you into a box in the truck. You're just one of several so play it cool. The driver isn't one of the sadists from inside. He hasn't gotten that far yet. He's kinda like me, doesn't like it much. Anyway-he'll be driving you down near the tip where they plan on putting you aboard ship. If you're still in the box when you get to the boat, you'll go to Argentina. I've loosened the screws on the foot-end of your box. I couldn't be obvious about it. If you kick it enough, though, it should fall off. That way it won't look like either me or the driver helped you. The driver

may be okay, but I wouldn't trust him. Wait until he stops for a sandwich and slip out then. If you get caught, don't say anything about me. All right?"

"I promise," I whispered. "I wish I had time to give you another bout with my mouth."

Pedro grinned at that. We entered the garage. He led me to an old truck. It was a flatbed, loaded down with dozens of cases. Pedro pulled the end off one closest to the back and helped me slide in.

"Do all of these carry girls?" I asked.

"No-just about six or seven."

He fastened the lid above my head. It was an extremely light, coffin like fit. The box had looked much bigger from the side. It must have been one with same kind of false bottom in it. I was cramped. I couldn't move my arms at all. It was hot. I listened uncomfortably and heard a couple of muffled sobs.

As soon as we were on the way, I started pushing at the board on the far end with my feet. I worked on it until it was ready to fall off..I had no idea where we'd stop for a rest. All I knew was that I had to have water. The heat outside was stifling. The rubber suit had drained all of the sweat it could from my system. I had to fight to keep from panicking in the close, dark box..

We rattled along for what seemed like an eternity. Finally I felt the truck slow and pull off the road. I waited a couple of minutes before pushing. The truck came to a complete stop. I

heard the driver get out. A few minutes later the truck door slammed again. I held my breath.

The end-panel of the crate fell to the ground with a clunk. There wasn't any new noise from the cab of the truck. I wormed my way out feet first. Apparently the guard hadn't heard it. Fresh air flooded in.

My shoulders came free and then my head. The glare from the sun blinded me. My eyes ached and burned. I struggled to my feet.

"What do you think you're doing?" a voice growled.

I turned hopelessly to face the driver.

"Please… " I whimpered dejectedly.

"You look like you could use a drink and sandwich," he said almost kindly.

I nodded numbly, thinking how awful it was to go to my execution on an empty or full stomach. He led me limping to the cab of the truck.

"You'd have had better luck when I reached the curvy section," he smiled. "I fixed the big side mirror just before we left. Nothing escapes me on that side now."

I sat on the seat next to him and tried to decide what to do. I'd never get the jump on him. He'd be way too alert for that. My clothes made it impossible for me to move fast enough anyway. The only thing I had left was talk. I decided to try.

After I'd had a drink and part of his sandwich, he unzipped his fly. His fingers lovingly worked the boner out of his pants.

"Come on, baby-suck my rugged cock. Show me you appreciate the sandwich and water."

I thought about telling him to go to hell. Then I remembered what Pedro had said about the guy being okay. I made up my mind immediately. I'd give him the same treatment I'd given Pedro. If I played my cards right and watched for cues, I might be able to sweet-talk my way out of this mess yet.

"If you'll at least unzip this suit so I can move a little better, you'll be able to play with my nipples..

He consented to that. He even relented and let me get completely out of it. It wasn't as difficult to get off as I had figured. The cooler air felt good. The breeze hit my drenched flesh and almost froze me. It sure felt good.

He laid my boots and suit on the floor and I bent forward. This had to be the best knob-job I'd ever given.

I was going to have to really do it up right if I was to have a chance. I stuck the tip of my tongue out and barely touched it to the crimson cockhead. Starting out slowly, I drew delicately on the hot, salty flesh. I drew roses, faces, circles, crosses and stars with my licker. I made them so tiny it would have taken a magnifying glass to read them. I caressed as lightly as a fly walking on a hot plate.