Walter Collins - Tijuana slut

The drug had worked well. I was too far gone to panic or fight back.

"She ready?" John asked.

"I think so. Pinch her tit."

I felt the pressure of John's fingers on my boob. It felt like he was pinching a balloon. It didn't hurt.

"All right-you want to see what you're buying?" John asked, standing up.

"What's the slut's name?" the Mexican asked.

"Melody Hart," John said.

I was in a dazed fog as they pulled me off the couch and flopped me onto the long, heavy coffee table. My blouse was pushed up until it bunched under my arms. The bra was stretched and pulled until my boobs fell out and spread across my ribs. The band snapped back. I felt the round jugs jerk.

They rose in steep cones from the pressure.

One of them tweaked my tiny, pink nipples. Hands probed the fatty part of my tits.

My skirt was pushed up and spread over my tummy. I was too weak and sleepy to stop them. I felt my panties and hose being turned inside out. My red-haired snatch was bared. I was aware of my underthings being worked past my knees. I Pied to keep my legs locked together. They wouldn't respond.

Rough fingers spread, the cheeks of my ass as I was rolled onto my belly. I felt a tug on my slip and knew he was wiping his finger clean on it.

I was rolled back over. The two men callously gave me a pelvic exam. The coolness of the room chilled my cunt as they spread my pussy-lips wide. They forced the skin covering my clit back. I felt them pinch the poor little joy-button. They jerked my cunt-flaps apart and examined my pee-hole.

I had been so happy with John's eight-inch cock. It meant that he had an extra two inches of fire to burn my cunt on the way back and forth. I'd thought it was a good sign. In fact, I had been so infatuated with his cock I'd agreed to go across the border to Tijuana for the weekend without asking any questions.

We hadn't known each other for more than a singe night. John had picked me up at a football rally Thursday night. He introduced himself by commenting on how pretty my name was. The next thing I knew, he had his hand under my coat

and was squeezing my knockers.

There was no way you could call me a virgin. As a nineteen-year-old co-ed, I'd bounced on my share of hard-ons. I had even had my ass pounded into the sand at one of the beaches and done a sixty-nine in a bedroll.

The chemistry was right between John and me from the start. We left the rally early. I went to his apartment with him. He unlocked the door and ushered me in. I had no will of my own. It was like my mom and dad, in Beverly Hills, hadn't taught me anything. College didn't matter any more. In less than a day I started to change my mind about being a writer. I started thinking about dropping out of school. I knew it was wrong, but he had that effect on me. I trusted him. Without knowing a thing about the man, I trusted him.

John shut the door behind us. He pulled me into his arms and ran his hands under the jacket. I shivered as his fingers traced my spine. His hands drew along my sides. I shivered again. They rode over the sides of my tits. I could feel my nipples stiffen and try to burn through the cups of my bra. John's hands didn't linger. They continued up. They caressed the balls of my shoulders. The coat fell from my arms.

It landed on the floor behind me. It was expensive and I should have cared, but I didn't. His mouth mashed against mine. His firm lips forced mine open. His aftershave lotion blended nicely with my perfume. His mouth tasted clean and fresh

as I explored it with my tongue. His licker flicked across my teeth, examining and tasting each in turn.

My boobs were mashed against his chest and I could feel the bulge in his pants against my tummy. His hands weren't idle. They stroked my long, red hair. He spent a short time getting used to the gentle firmness of my back and then wandered to my bottom.

I thrilled as his big paws massaged my ass. He was very forward in his approach. The nylon of my pantyhose rustled crisply against the lace of my half-slip as my skirt slid under his hands.

The dark-blue, knit fabric bunched easily under his fingers. I felt the breezy caress as it rode higher and higher, exposing my rounded butt. I found myself regretting that I'd bothered with hose at all. He held the skirt and slip up with one hand. His other explored the lush curves.

I shivered and felt my pussy growing moist. He traced the wavy seam of the cinnamon garment. He was a pro. I was ready to pee myself and I hadn't been alone with him for more than five minutes.

His hands left my ass. My skirt fell back in place. His tongue shot clear to the back of my mouth. I was breathing like I had just run the mile. His hot breath was smooth and even. The hard bulge pressing against my belly was the only sign that he wasn't in complete control.

His fingers started on the buttons at the back of my blouse. They came open smoothly. My top

loosened as he pinched each one from its hole. Within seconds he had the last one undone. I dropped my arms and pulled back far enough he could get it down. Like the coat, it ended up on the floor. My mother would have died. My clothes were nice. At that moment, I could have cared less.

The lights were on. My freckles showed plainly against the paleness of my shoulders. My pink nipples blushed through the transparent lace of the halter. He didn't pay any attention. He drew me back to him. His lips locked over mine again and his hands slid over my back. His fingers hooked the elastic band at the center.

John wasn't any novice. He pinched the single hook loose with one hand. My boobs stayed in the cups because they were mashed against his chest. He flicked the straps off my shoulders with a careless twitch of his fingers.

Without breaking our kiss, he eased back. He pried my arms from their hug and my bra fell to the floor. I felt my ripe tits strain from the weight of their new-found freedom. My nipples were already rock-hard. The tension of their need was drawing the soft flesh around them taut.

One hand cupped a lush tit. His other drew my tummy against his crotch. I meowed. His tongue never missed a lick as his fingers started to knead my boob. I didn't understand or question how he could be so cool and calm. At the moment I was too hot to think. I was too naive to even consider the possibility that he was a procurer for a

white-slave ring.

The lava in my belly was bubbling. My tits were throbbing. The crotch of my panties was wet with juice. The cheeks of my ass were locked tightly together and my knees were wobbly. My back was breaking out in goosebumps wherever his fingers brushed. I was his.

I was lightheaded long before he broke off our kiss. He led me to the couch and pulled me down beside him.

"You have the smallest, palest nipples I've ever seen," he smiled. "God, but they're beautiful."

I blushed in pride.

"Baby, I'm gonna eat your red-headed cunt. I'm gonna fuck your little hole till all you can think of is my eight inches of meat. You're gonna get your cookies off so many times that you won't think of anything else."

I wiggled expectantly. He lowered his mouth to my swollen jug. My hard-lipped nipple shot between his teeth as he sucked. Bolts of lightning flashed through me. He rolled the pink pap between his lips. He nibbled on it. He flailed it with his tongue.

His hands slid under my skirt. They pushed the silky material of my slip back as they ran along the inside of my thigh. I couldn't stop a shaky whimper as they brushed my hidden vee and caressed my tummy. I wanted to get a hand on his hard-on but it was put of reach.

He was a strange man-so cool, so professional.

He was an artist. He was in complete command. I couldn't impose my will on him. I was his" to do with as he saw fit. I'd never been so completely dominated by a man. I'd never seen a man that could be so calm while working on my body. It was like he could will his response.