Got MILF?

Got MILF?

by Jack Watcher

I walked into the Twin Peaks and saw that my partner had kept a stool vacant beside her in the busy bar. On the corner of Market and Castro, Twin Peaks was all windows. A place to be seen. I sat down and the bartender narrowed his eyes at me, his radar detecting that I was straight. He decided to serve me thinking it would be fun to watch the dumb shit try to pick up the lesbian.

I smiled and put down a hundred dollar bill. His attitude changed, but only slightly. “Bombay Sapphire martini up. Two olives.” Leslie was idly pushing her half-empty glass around with a forefinger. “Buy you a drink?” I asked. The bartender smiled. Here it comes!

“Chevis rocks.” His jaw dropped and the smile faded.

He brought the drinks and reached for Ben Franklin but I put my finger on the hundred, holding it. “Run a tab.” Dominance rules in this neighborhood.

It was the cocktail hour and the upscale gay bar was noisy with lots of talk and no listening. Drinks and egos. A safe place to discuss business.

“So?” Leslie sipped the excellent amber liquid. At least we agreed on something...good scotch.

“I thought you would like to hear about the assignment I refused.”

“Refused?”

“A very rich old man wanted us to grab a college girl for him.”

“What a waste! Tell me.”

“She was out drinking with some girlfriends and he sent her a drink. College kids are mostly poor so she accepted, raising her glass to him in thanks. He motioned her over to his table but she shook her head and turned back to her friends. The next thing she knows there’s a man in a dark suit standing beside her saying, ‘You’ve offended my employer. He would like you to bring your drink and follow me to his table.’ Well, she was slightly bombed and told him to fuck off. The suit grabbed her upper arm hard and led her to the table, indicating an empty chair. This is where it gets good. She steps up onto the chair and swings one leg up over the table, pulling her panties aside and pissing in the old guy’s glass. ‘Here’s your fucking drink back!’ The crowd went wild, as they say.”

“Jesus, bravo for her! You’re right. She’s not a victim, she’s a victor!”

We sipped for a while.

“That all you got?”

“Yeah.”

“My friend and I are buying a house, up on Saturn street overlooking the Castro. We call it the ‘Swish Alps’. I could use some cash.”

“Maybe I should put up a web site to attract business. WeHurtBabes dot com.”

“Funny. Have another drink, cowboy. We don’t leave here together. I have a reputation to protect.” She lifted her pert little behind off the stool and walked toward the door. I swivelled around to watch then turned back to the bar, tapping the edge of my empty martini glass once. The bartender saw the gesture and headed over, God San Francisco has great bartenders!

Nodding toward the door I told him, “Nice ass, huh? Not very friendly, though.” I thought he’d have a heart attack.

Hal and I had our after dinner drinks at Tosca, one of San Francisco’s oldest bars. The house special is cappuccino made with chocolate and brandy. He was down from Alaska for a bit of time off.

“So, how’s it going up north,” I asked. Hal used to be my partner in San Francisco but now he ran a line of hookers in Anchorage.

“Incredible! When our governor went south to become a public spectacle I hired three girls with long dark hair, got ‘em black-framed glasses, and taught ‘em to say ‘You betcha!’. They were an instant sensation! I charge double for them and they are never idle. I set a friend up with Sarah One and he spent four hours with her in his hotel room. Then he called me and wanted to buy me a drink in the hotel bar. He shook my hand and said I had allowed him to do to a Republican what they had been doing to the country for the last eight years!”

We laughed and I ordered another round.

“So, how are you and the gash working out as partners?”

“Great! More money than Bill Gates and all the pussy I can kidnap.”

Leslie was sitting behind the counter in the doctor’s office, wearing white, of course. The office, just off campus, was empty for a week while the doctor took his skiing vacation in Aspen and we were able to rent it “Because we needed a conference room.” Right.

A call to Carol, a 22-year-old student, had warned her of a campus medical problem and told her she needed a special consultation. She was there on time, looking young and bright and very pretty. She wasn’t our primary target, just, oh, let’s call her a disposal payment to the Russian mafia for handling our real grab later in the week.

The real target was a screaming bitch who was taking the client to court to get sole custody of their son, so she could live on the hefty child support payments. Two months’ worth of those intended payments made up our fee. Good deal for everyone, except the MILF        

With nurse-like efficiency Leslie had Carol disrobe and sit naked on the edge of the examination table. After enough boredom time Les came back in and asked her to “saddle up.”

With her legs in the metal stirrups and her back on the padded table Carol waited for the doctor. I walked in and closed the examining room door. It’s amazing how much authority a white coat gives a man. I picked up the speculum and raised it to her opened crotch.

“I...I...this isn’t supposed to be that kind of an exam.” She was confused now.

“There’s a new and very virulent strain of herpes going around campus and we’re checking everyone for it, as a precaution,” I said as I eased the cold metal instrument into her vagina. She gasped.

“Look at that!” Les said bending down for a closer look inside the girl. “No hymen! Carol! You’ve been fucking college boys!” That made up the patient’s mind. She swung her legs out of the stirrups and tried to sit up. I was beside her now and pushed down hard on her right shoulder, pinning her to the table. With the other hand I slid the needle into her upper arm. She wilted almost immediately and her legs dropped back to the table.

Les pulled her short white dress off over her head. She never wore a bra and her fine young tits were beautiful to see. She wore white panties and I could see her dark bush through the thin material. Reaching into a Macy’s shopping bag she took out jeans and pulled them on, tugging them tight over her ass. Then she slipped into a T-shirt that had a drawing of the front end of a classic 1958 Buick . The shirt had a design feature Detroit hadn’t created: the headlights had nipples.

Stuffing Carol’s clothes in the bag we dressed the unconscious girl in pale green scrubs. We had invested in a collapsible wheel chair and I shook it into shape, picking up the limp girl and dumping her into it. We gathered up everything, wiped down the place and left. Les rode in the back seat of the rental car with the still unconscious Carol strapped upright beside her. I pulled up behind the first floor apartment we had rented in the outer Mission. When Carol came around she was on her back on the kitchen table, her knees bent, lower legs hanging down. Her arms and legs were tied to the table legs.

The green scrubs were still on the girl. I found it much more effective to come at a clothed woman with wicked-looking surgical scissors and slowly snip away until she was naked. Her eyes told me I was right. A broad piece of duct tape across her mouth kept her quiet while I worked. What did kidnappers do before duct tape was invented?

I started at the leg bottoms and cut upward toward more interesting territory as Carol’s eyes grew wider. I did both legs before I slid the scissors into the pants crotch. I could feel her mound with the sharp jaws. By now she was shaking her head back and forth rapidly and mumbling into the gag. I smiled, nodded “yes” and cut, laying her crotch bare. A slice up her flat tummy and the pants were history.

Next I split the short sleeves of the scrubs’ top, then cut up from the bottom toward her breasts. She was breathing heavily now, scared as hell. I peeled the pieces of her top away and there they were! God they were beautiful breasts; young and full and tight enough so they stood up. I reached out with the closed end of the scissors and flicked one of her nipples. She tried to pull away, to sink into the table, to protect her tender bud. Impossible.

The next thing to do is lay out the tools. I’ve seen women piss themselves when they saw that happen. Some of them were just for show, terror-makers. The hacksaw and the bolt cutter, for instance. Then Les handed me two small, flat pieces of wood that had a couple dozen nails driven into them with the points sticking out about an eighth of an inch on the other side. They were for real. I put them down next to Carol’s hips and, reaching under her slim little pelvis, lifted her up enough for Les to slide the wood under the girl’s butt cheeks. I slowly lowered her back down and the nail tips bit in. She tried to scream. You can scream through your nose and it makes some noise, but in a neighborhood drowning in loud salsa music, rumbling low rider cars, and barking dogs it was nothing that would bring the SWAT team breaking down the door.

I leaned over her and pressed down on her hips. There is something so sexual about a woman’s hip bones. Carol quickly discovered that wiggling her ass around on the table was not a good escape idea.

Leslie started rubbing the girl’s breasts, tweaking the nipples. There is only so much you can do to nipples. Clamps with needle teeth -- boring. This time we used a pair of Japanese butterfly clips. Delightfully wicked. They clipped tightly around the base of the nipple and a small string hung down. When pulled it tightened the clip very painfully but when you stopped pulling, the clip didn’t release the nipple. It stayed tight and continued to hurt like hell.

Stepping up to the table I picked up the next toy. I untied her arms and, after a couple of hard slaps to adjust her attitude,  made her push a string of golf ball sized beads slowly into her vagina. Her eyes took on a glazed look as the large beads stretched her inside. When they were all in place I tugged at the small golden chain that hung out and down between her lips. I gave several small tentative pulls then slowly drew the balls out. “Uhnn, uhn, un,” she moaned as each ball rubbed along her tube and again stretched her vaginal mouth on its way out.

Leslie always got to fuck our victims first. “I’m not climbing on top of any babe who has you leaking out of her,” was her often-stated reason, frequently followed by, “Asshole!” Picking up Carol’s hips we saw that the boards clung to her ass cheeks and Les wiggled them free. Musta hurt.

We freed her legs and Les ordered her to pull her knees up to her chest while I pushed them outward. By now Les was bottomless and she nimbly pushed herself up onto the table and between the girl’s spread legs. She lowered herself on Carol and spread their lower lips with one hand, bringing those sensitive girl parts into contact. Then Les began to rock.

“How can a woman fuck another woman?” I’ve heard dumb shit guys ask in bars. “They don’t have no penis!” Watching, it was immediately obvious. They moved their lips back and forth, dragging slowly across clits, adding thrusting pelvic contact. It wasn’t long before nature conquered hurt and fear and Carol was bucking her hips up to meet Leslie’s thrusts. Les reached down and, using her teeth, pulled the Japanese clips tighter. Carol moaned and kept on bucking, a little faster and harder now. Les made sure Carol came first, then followed her. Les had no gag and her scream of pleasure rattled briefly around the room.

Climbing down off the table, and the girl, Leslie said, “Mount up!” I had my pants off and my black bikini shorts seemed to have grown way too small in front. I dropped them and my cock stood out in front of me as I mounted the table, and then the girl. She was soft and warm and so fine as I slid into her.

When we hacked her college medical records to set up Carol’s fake doctor appointment I saw she was on the pill. DNA evidence in a vagina is temporary. DNA in a baby is forever. She felt so fine that I wanted to stay inside her as long as possible so I moved in slow, long strokes. At first she squirmed, wanting me out of her. Now she lay still but her breathing picked up a bit. Then I felt her first upward movement. She began fucking me back. I reached down between us and circled my finger around my cock where it went inside her, rubbing her vagina mouth gently. Then I moved up and began rubbing her clitoris. The first time I touched it she jumped and that felt great. Pretty soon we were fucking like high school kids. I had released the butterfly clips from her nipples and now I was rubbing her breasts and teasing her nipples.

“Tear off the tape,” I told Les. “I want to hear her scream!”

God she was noisy! I was still hard inside of her and I kept the pressure on her pubic mound as she rocked me with her pleasure. “Tell me to come, baby! Tell me to come in you!”

“Oh, yes, yes, come...”

That was all it took to start the slow flow from deep in my crotch, picking up speed as it hit my cock and shooting hard and deep inside her.

“Good show, cowboy!” Leslie seldom complimented me on my sexual skills. “Let’s let her rest for a while.” We put the duct tape back on her mouth in case she changed her mind about liking us so much.

Playtime was over, now we had to get her trained so she wouldn’t give the Russian gangsters too much trouble. That could be bad for her health. They were nasty motherfuckers.

There are dildos you can get that have bumps all over them, like small nipples. Les says they feel fantastic inside a girl. We had one that wasn’t soft and pliable. It was made of hard plastic and the protrusions were sharp points. I picked it up and showed it to Carol. I could tell what she was saying even through the tape on her mouth. It was “No,” about a hundred times. I touched the evil big instrument’s smooth tip to her leaking vagina entrance. Her eyes were pleading now. Slowly I moved the dildo inside her vagina, turning it as I went. She bucked and gasped and sobbed and started choking on her tears. More. Now she was gasping very fast in short breaths. I pushed the fat tube deeper into her and she screamed. “Shhhh, baby. Only a little bit more. You can take it. Just a little bit more.” Taking it out wasn’t painful at all. She had passed out.

I let Leslie take over. After showing a revived Carol the stun gun she told her she was going to untie her from the table. She ordered the naked girl around the room, making her squat on command, open her lower lips for display, and finger herself. Predictably, Carol made a dash for the door. How she thought running naked into the street in the Mission would be safer than being with us is anybody’s guess. Les jumped sideways and put an arm around Carol’s neck, pushing the two small metal prongs into her breast. Carol twitched violently and dropped like a rock.

“Now you’ve fucked up, girl.” Les shocked her again as soon as her eyes uncrossed. The afternoon went on pretty much that way. “Bend over and spread your ass cheeks!” Zap! A few blasts near but not on her genitals. Zapzap. Time wore on and Carol wore down. Now if we told her to eat her own shit, she would. She was ready.

Three a.m. and the noisy bars had been shut down for an hour. The streets were empty. A very obedient girl walked out to the car, dressed in the long thrift store skirt and loose blouse. She did everything we told her to do, getting out of the car and walking between us to the big house on Nob Hill. The man who opened the door was expecting us and came as close as a Russian comes to smiling. He looked at the girl standing there, took her arm, and pulled her inside.

“Come in, I’ll get your money.” It wasn’t as much as we usually get, but the deal would sweeten greatly in a few days when we delivered the second woman to him. The MILF. By the weekend they would both be on a private jet bound for Mother Russia, where they would be put to work learning the language...on their backs.

Our MILF liked to drink in an elegant little hole in the wall on Geary. All white inside with little white lights strung on white tree branches, the cocktail hour hors d’oeurve was a big dish of caviar and crisp little crackers. The liquor was Russian vodka. How weirdly appropriate, I thought as I pushed the padded door shut.

She was at a table near the back, a half empty glass in front of her. I sat down across from her and started the conversation. “I’m new here. What are you drinking?” She smiled and emptied her glass, holding it out to me.

“The best they have.” Bitch.

I got two from the white-jacketed bartender, with a water back, and carried them back to the table. She excused herself to go to the “little girl’s room.” I sat with my back to the door and the bartender. Reaching into my sport coat pocket I took a fingernail pinch of salt, pepper, and cigarette ash and sprinkled it on her drink. Then I broke the capsule of Rohypnol and dumped the panty peeler in her water.

Back from the “girls” she took a sip of vodka and spit it on the white tablecloth. “You fucking bastard! What did you do to my drink?” Loud but not loud enough to attract attention in the busy bar. Then she grabbed the water and gulped down half of it.

Bingo.

I got her a fresh drink but by that time the date rape drug was flooding her system and she was gunny sack. Tried to talk but her words were staggering. The bartender called a cab and I helped her outside. I gave the cabby an address in Pacific Heights. We got there and I started toward an upscale apartment building, trying to hold the woman up. The cab drove off and Leslie pulled up in the rental car. I dumped the MILF in the back seat and slid into the passenger spot.

“She out?”

“Very.”

I took her in a fireman’s carry up the wooden stairs and into the Mission district apartment while Les stashed the car. This one would wake up naked, stretched in an X in the bedroom doorway, tied to the eye bolts I had screwed solidly into the door frame. Les opened the victim’s mouth with some kind of Vulcan jaw pinch and slipped in a small white cross, a hit of speed to bring her out of the Rohypnol fog. Then she produced a syringe with a big barrel full of something milky white and, putting it at the top of the MILF’s slit, pushed the plunger, discharging a familiar white substance that leaked from her crotch. The end of the device was a four inch plastic tube instead of a needle.

In about a half hour she started to come around.

“What’s your name, bitch?” Les slapped the hanging woman’s face. It went on until she got an answer.

“Rita.”

“Okay, Rita. It looks to me like you’ve been fucked by about a half dozen guys.” Les glanced meaningfully at the hanging woman’s leaking crotch. “We need to clean you out.” A second syringe, this one full of what looked like olive oil. I’ve had castor oil only once and it sure as hell does clean you out. You shit until your asshole gets the dry heaves, and then you keep on trying. the Vulcan jaw pinch again and the slim little tube went into Rita’s mouth.

It took a few minutes to run through her system and then she lost control. Water and feces shot out, running down the backs of her legs and puddling in a mess on the floor under her. Ah, the agony of humiliation! We left her soiled body hanging there for a while.

Les held the original syringe in front of Rita’s face, gave her a third jaw pinch, and flooded her mouth with the milky white stuff. “In case you’re a little thirsty, here’s something to drink. It’s gay male semen. HIV positive.” Rita tried to spit it out, and did get rid of some. “Too late, REEEEtah! You’ve got it now!”

Les and I retired to the ratty sofa in the front room and I brought along a couple of bottles of good Mexican beer. We left Rita hanging, thinking about what her life had become, little knowing she would soon think of this as the good old days.

“I’m not doing anything sexual with this skag,” Les told me between cold swigs, “but you have to fuck her. It’ll be terrible for her.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I think you should screw her in the ass.”

“Wonderful.”

The white stuff had just a bit of Rohypnol in it and by the time we took Rita down she was a motor muscle mess again. We gave her a handful of wet paper towels and told her to clean herself up. Then I bent her face down over the kitchen table, tying her arms to the table legs and her legs, bare feet on the floor, to the other two table legs.

I was bottomless by this point and I took a condom out of my shirt pocket, ripping the foil wrapper open. Leslie watched me closely as I rolled it onto my cock. “Ever see one of these before?

“What a cock or a rubber? No, we don’t use either one.”

It had taken some stroking for me to get it up but the male organ has no sense, just responses. I stood behind the bent woman, her asshole still greasy from the castor oil, and pushed. She screamed and Leslie shoved a pair of rather soiled panties in her mouth. Rita cried and cried as I rammed in and out of what I was sure had been her only virgin orifice.

We had another beer and then dressed our package for delivery. Condom flushed, place cleaned up...we were gone. The MILF was delivered to the same Knob Hill house where we were earlier in the week. The same unsmiling man handed us a thin envelope and we left. The thicker envelope would come from the real client, Rita’s ex, the next day. We were done. And I had a feeling we were really and truly done with this line of work.

I took Les to one of my favorite haunts, the Mission Rock Resort. There was no resort, just a big deck full of wooden tables and benches overlooking a San Francisco Bay backwater where people moored their small boats. And inside a bar and kitchen that produced foaming cold mugs of beer and great burgers. We sat sipping, waiting for food, watching the night lights around the bay.

“I’m done.” Les said simply.

“I know.”

“Been good, but luck runs out.” I just nodded.

After we ate I dropped her off in the Castro before parking the rental where it would be towed away during three a.m. street cleaning. I sat at the curb for a moment watching her tight little ass move away down the street.

Jim Morrison said it in that great Doors song. “Don’tcha love her as she’s walkin’ out the door.” Most people think that song’s about breaking up. It’s not. It’s about a girl’s ass.

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