This story is a historical fantasy for adults; despite its plentiful depiction of rape and torture the author in no way condones non-consensual sexual activity. Any resemblance to actual persons or events is entirely coincidental. Despite the insulting language used by some of the characters, no disrespect toward persons of any gender, ethnicity or religion is intended or should be inferred. Copyright 2003, Pursuant to the Berne Convention All Rights Reserved
The Lash of the Desperados
Chapter I The Dancing Girl
The shifty-eyed American sipped at his drink nervously as he stole
another glance at the dark beauty who moved gracefully among the tables in the
cantina. He'd been in Mexico for some weeks, riding slowly westward just south
of the border, trying to put some distance between himself and west Texas, where
he was in a little trouble with the law. The cantina was in Piedras Negras, a
dusty little crossroads southeast of Nogales, the border town of the Arizona
Territory. An old abandoned mission across the street was the only other
building in sight. Piedras Negras had definitely seen better days.
But, the stranger thought, the whole of the Arizona Territory had few
women who could compare with the seductive dark-haired creature who served
drinks at this cantina. He was in luck this late October night, the stranger
mused, as he adjusted his trail-worn cowboy hat. He'd been winning steadily at
poker all evening, the tequila was strong and smooth, and Teresa Maria Elena
Martinez was the nicest looking scenery he'd seen in Mexico by a long shot.
The American's furtive eyes darted continuously around the room taking
in the dozen or so Mexicans in the cafe, most of them in twos and threes at
small tables. A couple of loners were nursing their drinks at the bar. One old
fellow in a huge sombrero plucked idly at a guitar as he sat in an old but
well-cushioned armchair in one corner of the room. The customers were all male,
and while the pungent smells of frijoles and chili and carne asada that came
wafting from the kitchen were inviting, and the local tequila wasn't too bad,
it was young Teresa Martinez that drew the local farmers and miners to this
little joint.
The diminutive American looked at his cards, found a pair of tens and
told the dealer "Tres" as he discarded the three worthless cards. Teresa was
carrying a trayful of drinks to the next table. She was one of the most
striking women the American had ever seen -- the product of her complex
ancestry. She had the deep brown eyes of an Aztec princess -- so dark they were
nearly black; her long eyelashes, slender waist and full breasts bespoke a young
Castilian noblewoman; her masses of lustrous black hair piled high on her head
and her prominent cheekbones hinted at her Yaqui grandfather. And her ripe
lips, nicely curved backside, and a certain panther-like grace as she moved
across the room suggested an African ancestor a few generations back. She was a
goddess in the middle of nowhere. And she knew it, thought the American.
"Are you in, or ain't you?" the Texan asked the opponent on his left, a
brooding rancher who was down plenty of pesos. The rancher, understanding not a
word, but offended by the rudeness in the American's voice scowled back, and
threw some coins into the pot.
Teresa wore two or three strands of shiny silver chain around her neck
that magnetically drew every male eye to where they nestled in the dark valley
between her shapely breasts. When she bent forward to set the tray on the
table, the three customers there got a good look at her delicious breasts,
half-revealed by the low-cut white peasant blouse she wore. Teresa held that
position, her gold earrings flashing, letting each of the men stare deeply into
the inviting cleft between her mouth-watering melons, as she took her time
distributing the drinks to the three men at the table. A night of drinking at
Teresa's cost a few pesos more than at any other cantina in northern Sonora, but
there weren't too many men between fifteen and eighty who weren't willing to pay
the difference gladly, when they could afford it.
Teresa hated this backwater town, and these backwater customers; she
well knew that her beauty and her dancing, were her only ticket out of Sonora.
She had heard of far-off San Francisco, a city that gold and railroads had made
an El Dorado. She was determined to get there one day, confident that her youth
and her feminine charms could beguile some rich banker or railroader, who would
lavish gifts upon her in return for the occasional use of her delectable body.
Teresa snapped out of her reverie as she felt a male hand, callused by
manual labor, slide under her skirt. She forced herself to smile, as she
brushed the rough hand away, "Senor Montoya", she spoke to the oldest of the
three, "Your son takes after you."
The man whom she addressed, a heavy-set man in his late forties with a
bristling mustache, laughed and winked at his son. Montoya paid for the round
of drinks, tipped her well, and then said in Spanish, "Teresa, you haven't
danced for us tonight. Hector!" he called to the guitarist, "El Viejo! Play
something nice for Teresa."
Teresa gave him a pretty pout, still leaning over him. "Pero, Senor
Montoya, it is late and Teresa is tired." She wiggled her upper body back and
forth teasingly, and playfully stuck her tongue out at him. Letting every man at
the table guess at how that moist pink tongue, those full lips might taste,
might feel.
The American looked at an ancient clock that stood against the wall
facing the doorway that led from the kitchen. It was past 11:00; the evening
had gone by quickly.
Montoya picked up a bill from the table. "Teresa, " he began as he
slowly tucked the bill between the two tasty-looking mounds of copper-colored
flesh in front of him, "you are not yet eighteen, mi bonita. How tired can you
be?"
Montoya pressed the bill further down between her splendid breasts than
was necessary, and he let his big hand linger for a moment, enjoying the
pressure of her warm breasts against his fingers. Montoya never failed to take
such liberties; but he was the wealthiest rancher around, and every tip brought
her a little closer to San Francisco.
Montoya repeated his request -- "Dance for us, mija." Montoya used the
affectionate endearment 'mija', but there was nothing fatherly about the way his
dark eyes lingered on the generous curves of Teresa's voluptuous young body.
"Dance for us, querida. Por favor. It's been three weeks since I have seen you
dance."
"Bien," said the raven-haired temptress coyly, "if you insist. Hector!"
El Viejo, the old one, roused himself at this, sat forward in the
armchair, and began to play, strumming the opening chords of a ballad, as Teresa
kicked off her sandals and began to dance.
The American sat up alertly, licking his dry lips -- he had a feeling
that Teresa was going to put on quite a show. For once his eyes ceased their
incessant darting around the room; within moments his eyes, which seemed never
to blink, were riveted to the body of the Mexican beauty, wondering how such a
marvel of feminine architecture was to be found in this hick town a few days'
ride west of El Paso.
Teresa was still standing near Montoya's table, swaying gracefully to
the music. Her eyes were closed, and her feet were stationary, but her hips,
clad in a low-slung black skirt, had begun to undulate to Hector's slow, pulsing
rhythm.
Her short off-the-shoulder peasant blouse displayed her lovely rounded
shoulders, and also a few inches of cafe-au-lait midriff. Unlike so many
Mexican women, Teresa was very slim-waisted; she had the flat, well-toned belly
of a dancer. She undulated sinuously, sensuously, her hips swaying to the beat.
Teresa lifted her arms above her, removed a few pins, and let a glorious
cascade of jet black hair fall down across the tawny skin of her bare shoulders.
All of the men in the place had turned to watch, now. The card game was
put on hold as those with their backs to Teresa shifted their chairs to face in
the other direction. Even the sleepy-looking drunk at the corner of the bar sat
up to watch.
Teresa backed away from the men at the tables until she stood in the
doorway that led to the kitchen. Facing them, she reached up to touch either
side of the doorway, as she stretched languorously, her hips and belly moving in
time with the sensual melody emanating from old Hector's guitar. Then she
turned her back to the dining room, reached down for the hem of her skirt and
slowly, teasingly, lifted it, inch by lovely inch, to reveal her beautiful legs.
The black skirt rose until the men could see the thin wisp of whiteness beneath
that covered, but could not conceal, the ripe curves of her bottom.
The Latin temptress could sense the eyes of her audience burning into
her flesh. She made a quarter turn, so that her back was against one side of
the archway, and then slowly descended into a crouch, her buttocks describing a
series of arcs against the wall as she slid, first to her haunches and then to
her knees. Her body never stopped undulating as she knelt, knees apart, and
lazily reached once again for the dark skirt, and lifted it, baring plenty of
tantalizing thigh-flesh.
The room felt ten degrees warmer than it had less than a minute ago; the
American's cock stiffened in his dingy trousers. He glanced at Montoya at the
adjoining table -- the big Mexican's fat fingers were opening and closing
slowly, as he watched Teresa's performance.
The tall, raven-haired, ebony-eyed beauty began to glide around the room
now with a feline grace; she could feel the lustful eyes of the men upon her as
she danced. And she welcomed the stares. They were proof, not that she needed
any, of her splendid beauty. Proof too, of her power over them.
The dancing girl smiled sensually at her admirers. She ran her graceful
fingers up and down her ripe thighs through the thin fabric of the skirt, as she
floated from one man to the other. She recognized most of the men as locals but
there was one man, a scrawny little gringo with a crooked grin, that she did not
recognize. But there were stacks of bills and gold and silver coins in front of
the stranger -- and that was all the introduction Teresa needed.
Undulating sensuously, she moved in front of him, smiling, her tongue
moistening her full lips, her hands stroking her bare arms, her flanks, and then
coming together in a V at her golden belly, and slowly inching downward,
lingering for just a moment at the juncture of her legs.
The American could feel his prick pressing even harder against his grimy
pants. Teresa seemed to be dancing only for him, he thought, as she pirouetted
before him, as the music quickened, her dark skirt swirling high around her
long, luscious legs. Flashes of her white silk undergarment contrasted nicely
with the creamy dark caramel of her thigh-flesh.
Teresa studied the gringo as he held up an American bill; a big spender,
she thought. Like most norteamericanos he talked too much; his card-playing
opponents had been visibly irritated at the way he jabbered unceasingly. Unlike
his foes, Teresa understood, and spoke, some English. But she didn't like
Americans -- an American cannon had blown Hector's leg off at Vera Cruz in the
Mexican War. And in her own childhood in Texas she had experienced the cruelty
of the Anglo children to one who was darker than they, who spoke a different
language.
This American was homelier than most -- short, slight, ferret-faced,
with strands of long, greasy brown hair protruding from under his cowboy hat.
"El Raton" Teresa thought. The stranger had the sneaky look of a rat. He
sported a nasty scar on one temple that seemed to be of rather recent vintage.
But Teresa was sensible enough to realize that she didn't have to like a man, or
his looks, to take his money. All men weren't good-looking. The gringo had a
large pile of bills and coins, poker-winnings, in front of him. He had money,
and that looked plenty good to her.
She decided to give him something special, something to encourage him to
part company with some of his winnings. As she swayed in front of him, she
gestured for him to back his chair away from the table, so that she could stand
in between him and the table, with her back to the rest of the room.
The scrawny American complied eagerly. He grabbed the bills from the
table and started to back his chair up until it bumped into the large navy
knapsack that he'd set behind him when he came into the joint. Moving the
knapsack to the side, he edged his chair backward a couple of feet until it hit
the wall behind him. Teresa moved directly before him now, her tongue licking
lasciviously at her full lips. Her dark eyes seemed to smolder with lust as her
pretty hands slid sensually up her body, and cupped her voluptuous breasts
through the white fabric.
From up close the Texan was sure, now, that she wore nothing beneath the
blouse; her dark nipples were clearly discernible beneath their white covering.
Now that she was only inches away, the Texan was able to inhale the tantalizing
scent that seemed to linger lovingly around her. What was it? Coconut! Yes,
rich sweet coconut. For a moment he envisioned himself tasting and licking and
sucking that sweetness from her gorgeous body. Especially those delicous
breasts! The eager little man leaned forward, his crooked, tobacco-stained
yellow teeth clenched in a rictus of lust.
The men at the American's table shifted their chairs trying to get a
better look, as Teresa's thumbnails stroked slowly back and forth across the
white fabric that covered her breast tips. Out of the corner of his eye, the
American could see the player on his left furtively rubbing his crotch. But he
tried to focus on the dancer, watching greedily as those dark points slowly
swelled, becoming more and more apparent, until they made bold indentations in
the thin fabric. Teresa's dancing had caused her to perspire freely even on
this cool October night, and the American watched as one large bead of
perspiration leaked down into the rich golden valley between her delectable
breasts.
"You like Teresa, Senor?" she teased, as she played with his collar, her
tawny breasts only a few inches from his face.
"Yeah, honey, I like." The American took a dollar bill, as he had seen
Montoya do, and inserted it deep it into Teresa's mouth-watering cleavage. Her
breasts were at once damp and firm and warm to the touch.
"How about a private dance for me later?", the American whispered, as he
riffled meaningfully through the thick wad of bills. He liked a good show as
much as the next man; but the little man was in need of more than a show. A lot
more. It had been a couple of months since he'd had a woman. And this Mexican
cutie was hot as a firecracker.
"Si," she whispered softly, "in one hour."
He wondered, as he watched one of her hands slide up underneath the
blouse to caress herself, whether she liked to play rough. Course it didn't
much matter, he thought to himself. One he got this Latin lovely alone he'd get
his money's worth. One way or another.
Teresa's eyes were on the American stranger's, but her brain was
counting his money. It was going to be a profitable evening, she thought to
herself, as she removed her hand from her breast and lifted it to her mouth,
drawing her index finger all the way in, sucking on it, and then rolling her
tongue around it lovingly. But there was something unsettling about this little
man and the way he looked at her. His gray-green eyes seemed to burn holes
through her clothes, so intent was his stare; but there was more than lust in
his eyes -- she was used to lust. There was something else. Something deeper.
Something darker. Something dangerous?
During the minute or two that she had been dancing in front of the
stranger, Teresa was cognizant of the fact that she was ignoring the other men
to some extent. She had kept her hips moving, though, giving them all a good
look at her churning buttocks as she moved to the music. Now, having made her
assignation with the stranger, she moved away again, gliding from table to
table, spinning, twirling, baring long stretches of satiny legs, as she danced
with more and more abandon. She did a deep dip in front of Montoya; who almost
choked on his drink as he devoured the deep valley between her breasts with his
eyes. He was sure that he'd caught a glimpse of the dark crests of her breasts
this time.
There was one table in the corner of the cantina, near Hector the
guitarist, for whom Teresa did not dance. The American stranger pondered that
briefly. There were two men at that table, unshaven, poorly dressed, and each
had a surly expression. The younger of the two, by a few years, was perhaps 25,
and wore a patch over one eye, which gave him a somewhat menacing quality. The
other one sported a ring that could be seen from clear across the room -- a big
heavy setting and a worthless stone, the American figured -- just like a stupid
Mexican. The two clapped along with the others as Teresa completed her dance
with a seductive shimmy to Hector's closing crescendo.
Teresa, breathing heavily from her exertions, stopped and whispered to
Eye-patch for a moment. Moments later, Eyepatch, apparently rebuked, spoke to
his compadre, "Vamos", and the two men rose and left, exchanging adioses with
the men at Montoya's table.
When Hector stood and waved to acknowledge the applause, the stranger
noticed that the old one had only one leg; the other ended in a stump above his
knee. Hector packed up his guitar, gave Teresa a friendly smile and, with the
aid of a sturdy looking cane, slowly made his way out the door.
In a few minutes Montoya and his companions got up to leave; the
stranger watched the big mustachioed Mexican make a grab for Teresa's butt, but
she evaded his groping, and told him to go on home to his wife.
That left only the four poker players at his own table. The stranger
was up about fifty bucks, he reckoned, which was a lot of money in the year of
our Lord 1885. His opponents appeared to be prosperous farmers from the area;
the harvest was nearly all in, now, and they must have had a good year. But
they were lousy poker players, the American thought gleefully to himself.
Better yet, they weren't very vigilant.
Several times, when it had been his deal, he had stalled for time until
Teresa was moving around the room; when her luscious young body was in motion he
could have dealt from his left boot, and his opponents wouldn't have noticed.
As it was, dealing a few well-timed seconds and bottoms could make all the
difference in a poker game. Most of his winnings had come on three big pots that
he had dealt -- an hour or so apart, so as not to attract suspicion -- and his
sleight-of-hand with a deck of cards, which would never have fooled a pro, was
plenty good enough to work on these dumb Mexicans.
Speaking of that luscious young body, the stranger was anxious to end
the game now. He watched Teresa as she leaned over the bar to wipe up a spill,
most of her generous tits offered to his view. Christ! he couldn't wait to get
his hands on them! And his mouth.
The stranger folded the next three hands in quick succession, and his
opponents, seeing that they had little chance of winning their money back that
night, rather disgustedly began to put their money away. And then, wishing
Teresa a good night, they slowly filed out into the darkness.
Within a few minutes the little Texan's palms were itching as he watched
the Mexican beauty finish sweeping the floor before closing up; he was as randy
as a rooster.
Finally she was done, the bar cleaned up, the shutters closed, the doors
locked. She turned toward him, her dark eyes bold, inviting. "Would senor like
his private dance, now?"
'Senor' choked out, "Yeah, sweetie, that would suit me just fine." And
the American held up a handful of bills. He'd cashed in most of the coins with
her earlier, so he'd have less to carry.
"Then come with me; I have a room in the back, where we can be more -
how do you say it - comfortable." And with a flounce, Teresa turned away, and
walked through the doorway into the kitchen. When he hesitated, she turned to
face him, long-nailed fingers undoing one of the last two buttons of her bodice,
displaying even more of her delicious breast flesh. "What is wrong, senor?" she
pouted, "Don't you want Teresa to dance for you?"
"I'm right behind you, baby." The little Texan was on his feet now, his
cock as hard as wrought iron. The rat-faced man grabbed his knapsack and
followed Teresa into the kitchen, still aromatic from the pungent aroma of carne
asada and frijoles.
His eyes never left Teresa's hot little butt as he followed her. Her
oh-so-spankable ass seemed to have a twitching, teasing life of its own. He
couldn't wait to get his hands on it.
He was only dimly aware, as he passed through the kitchen, of the great
wood-burning stove, the barrels of flour and corn meal in one corner, the large
burlap sack filled with onions, and the one with a finer mesh that held pinto
beans, all propped up against a series of cupboards where pots, pans, and other
utensils were stored. Small baskets on a rickety old table near the stove held
tomatoes, cloves of garlic and an assortment of chiles.
But the American wasn't hungry just now; at least not for food.
Teresa carefully opened a door that led into a dark room beyond. In the
dimness, her guest could see that it was clearly Teresa's room, furnished in red
and gold; the fresh scent of aloe hung in the air. A sturdy looking bed with
massive iron framework butted out from the wall on his left. There were two
large windows open on the far wall, which was somewhat surprising given the
coolness of the night.
But the Texan gave that circumstance little thought as he stood in the
doorway, mesmerized as Teresa began to hum the tune old Hector had played.
Standing at the end of the bed she began to sway slowly, sensuously. Only one
last nipple-high button held her breast-filled blouse together.
"Would you like to help me with this, senor?" she said teasingly, as she
danced. "I'm having trouble with it."
"You bet I'll help, honey..." the American moved toward her hungrily.
As he did so he sensed something or someone standing in the corner
behind the door. But only for a moment, as his head exploded in pain. Stunned,
he fell to one knee, only half-conscious. His vision hopelessly blurred, he
thought he saw a man with two eye-patches on the same side of his face behind
him, while on his left lurked a sullen two-headed man wearing a big ring on both
of his right hands.
"Carlos," Teresa was speaking to Eyepatch, "Can you believe that this
Yankee pig thought I would let his filthy hands touch me?" Teresa sneered. "You
look like a rat, bastardo, and you steenk like one, too!" Dazed, the Texan
tried to push her away as she grabbed for the wad of bills in his hand. At a
signal from Teresa, the empty tequila bottle descended again across the side of
his face and the American fell face forward, losing consciousness, blood pouring
from his scalp, as he felt Teresa's hands tear the knapsack from his shoulder.
"Bueno, Pepe, Bueno!" she said gleefully, as she rifled the knapsack,
retrieving his money. And then, turning to Carlos, "Take el hijo de puta out
the back window, where you came in, so no one will see; you know where to take
his body." She rummaged through the knapsack quickly, but its only other
contents were clothes badly in need of washing. "Basura!" She handed the
'trash' to Pepe to discard.
"Si, Teresa; we know. To the arroyo seco -- como los otros. Vamos,
Pepe!" And Carlos and his companion from the table earlier in the evening lugged
the American's body to the window. Outside, a burro and a cart were waiting.
'Si, like the others," Teresa mumbled to herself. "Vaya al diablo,
norteamericano!' the dark-haired beauty muttered as her brothers pulled the
gringo's skinny body through the window. "Well done, my brothers," Teresa
whispered to herself, as she counted the proceeds. One less gringo in the world,
she thought to herself, and a few dollars more for her journey to California --
it had been a rewarding evening.
Chapter II The Man in Black One week to the day after Carlos and Pepe had disposed of the body, Teresa was again holding court on a Saturday night at the cantina. She had been in a good mood at the beginning of the evening, but it was well past 10:00 now and for some reason she was feeling a little edgy. The air outside had been heavy all day, the sky dark and threatening. Hector had been complaining all evening that his missing leg was giving him mucho dolor -- a sure sign that a storm was brewing. A sprinkling of regulars were scattered around the little tavern, mostly discussing how this autumn storm might affect what remained of the harvest. Oddly, thought Teresa, there was another stranger in the cantina tonight. Another American. But where the one last weekend had been a grinning little twerp of a man, no taller than Teresa's 5' 6", tonight it was an unsmiling giant who sat at the corner of the bar. He had to be at least 6' 4", Teresa thought to herself, and he looked as threatening as the sky outside. Just to keep busy, she picked up a decrepit broom and began to sweep the dusty cantina floor. The big man took a swig from the bottle of tequila that he had told Teresa to leave, his eyes returning her stare for a moment and then descending to her alluring young figure. Which he studied as frankly as if it belonged to him. Teresa was wearing a sexy black satin bolero top with six shiny metal buttons -- the top three of which were unfastened, leaving her generous breasts half-revealed. Several inches of golden-bronze midriff, indented with a kissable little navel, separated the bolero from the white skirt which hugged her hips. He watched with interest as the gentle motion of her sweeping caused her full breasts to bobble appetizingly beneath the black satin. The stranger looked to be in his mid-thirties and was dressed in black from his big, coal-colored stetson down to his long black boots. His dark shirt and denims were dusty from the trail; his black attire was interrupted only by a large silver 'J' on the buckle of his shiny, two-inch-wide black belt. It struck Teresa that the belt looked newer, and better cared for, than the rest of his garb. The stranger's worn stetson was pulled down shadowing a pair of fierce-looking beetle brows and sinister dark eyes. Acrid smoke curled up from a foul cigar that smoldered in the ash tray. Teresa could almost feel the heat from his eyes on her breasts -- his eyes had rarely left her body in the hour since he had come in and ordered the bottle. Teresa was used to being admired; usually she enjoyed it. But, somehow this man reminded her of a giant bird of prey, eyeing his quarry from a distance. Hairy wrists and hands protruded from his dark cuffs. Although his facial features were not unattractive, he seemed all arms and legs -- like a hairy black spider. He sported a bristly angry-looking mustache, and his cheeks and chin were covered with a three-day old growth of beard. There was something about his small unblinking black eyes that reminded her of a ... what? Un reptil, that was it! A snake. The man in black had the cold dead eyes of a snake. Somehow the weather and the stranger had cast a pall over the room; the customers were listless, and the tips had hardly been worth counting. She had danced one sensuous habanera for the customers, but her heart hadn't been in it. Maybe because the big American had stared at her shapely figure as if he were a huge black spider and she were a tasty young fly trapped in his web. Hector, sensing her lack of involvement, had bade her good night and limped out into the darkness half an hour ago. It was going on 11:00 now, and the locals were beginning to file out, looking up and gesturing at the dark sky as they stood in the doorway before heading out into the night. But the tall stranger made no move to leave, even though Teresa had told him a quarter of an hour earlier that the cantina would be closing soon. Teresa wondered if she should ask Montoya or one of the others to stick around, but then decided it was just nerves. And besides -- Carlos and Pepe would be coming soon. They invariably stopped by before 11:00 to make sure everything was locked up securely. "Closing now, Senor," she called to El Reptil nervously. She couldn't believe that he had drunk nearly half a bottle of her strongest tequila in little more than an hour. "I ain't finished yet," the sinister figure in black snarled. "I ordered this bottle and I'm gonna drink it!" Outside a long, slow rumble of thunder began, growing, as the seconds passed, into a tremendous thunder-clap, punctuated in its closing split-second by a dazzling lightning bolt that illumined the sky. Teresa had moved toward the window when the thunder began; she jumped back slightly when the thunder peaked and the lightning flashed illuminating the deserted mission across the street, and the somehow sinister headstones in the adjoining cemetery. She didn't like storms. And she didn't like being alone with this forbidding stranger. "What's the matter? You scared of a little thunderstorm?" the man in black asked mockingly. "Let me tell you, chiquita, there's lots a worse things in the world than a thunderstorm. A thunderstorm ain't gonna hurt you -- 'ceptin' by accident." The tall stranger took another long pull at the tequila, as she turned back toward him, and he gave her another long slow visual once-over, his black eyes lingering on the deep cleft between her succulent breasts, before meeting hers. "Senor, I must close up now." Teresa's voice was quavery. "You will have to go." "I told you," the man in black hissed through clenched teeth, "I ain't leavin' 'til I've finished my bottle. Tell you what, honey, why don't you come sit beside me -- it'll help pass the time." The big man gave her a toothy smile that, Teresa felt, betokened lust more than amiability. Another deafening thunderclap rumbled through the heavens. Sheets of rain had begun to fall outside, partially obscuring the intermittent flashes of lightning. Teresa couldn't remember such a frightening storm -- especially at this time of year. The clock read 11:10 now. Where WERE her brothers? And then she heard someone pulling at the door. "Carlos! Pepe! Is that you?" cried Teresa, as she ran across to the door, exclaiming as she opened it, "Thank God, you're here." But when she opened the door wide there was no one there. Through the driving rain she could barely make out the dark silhouette of the deserted mission and the eerie upright headstones on the other side of the now muddy street. But she could see little else in the darkness save for the cascades of rain pouring down from the heavens. Nearby, a river of rainwater was running off the roof, and pouring down the gutter and collecting in a large metal tub a few feet to her right. A gust of wind blew some of the rain toward her; she felt a cool fine mist on the front of her body for a moment. Just then a great crackle of lightning lit up the sky, and in that brief flash of light she thought she saw a ghostly figure in the darkness. Shaking her head at her foolish fancies, Teresa turned to go back inside. But as she did so something cold and clammy touched her hand as she tried to pull the door shut. Teresa jumped in terror and turned to confront whatever had touched her. And what she saw made her blanche with fear. For standing in the doorway, rivulets of rain pouring off of his filthy hat, was the ghastly, gruesome visage of a small, rat-faced man, carrying a familiar navy knapsack. "Howdy, darlin'," the stranger from the prior Saturday night whispered softly, a malicious grin on his face. "I'm back from the dead. Trick or Treat?"
Chapter III Back from the Dead
Teresa nearly fainted. The stranger had been no prize to begin with;
but now the left side of his face was horribly caved in where Carlos had struck
him with the bottle. His bloodshot left eye was almost entirely closed -- it
was deeply sunken into the swollen and discolored flesh of his face and temple;
but he seemed otherwise OK.
"But... how?" she stammered, backing away.
Teresa stepped back into the room, and as the drenched little man
followed her across the threshold, she backed away from him. The gruesome figure
licked his lips as his good eye devoured her body. Teresa's momentary exposure
to the downpour had left her face, shoulders, and golden belly slightly wet; the
damp satin top clung tightly to her spectacular breasts. The chill of the night
air caused her nipples to spike noticeably against the thin cloth.
Despite her earlier apprehension, Teresa retreated behind the seated
figure of the man drinking at the bar, seeking protection. She reasoned that
the tall man in black was surely less dangerous than the little man that she had
sent to his death.
"Make him go away," she implored the figure in black; I do not like this
man!"
The newcomer threw the heavy knapsack on top of the nearest table, and
smiled a crooked smile revealing uneven yellowing teeth.
"Now don't be that way, Teresa. You stood me up the other night. I just
come back to git what I was fixin' to git that night. It's Halloween night
where I come from. And I've come back from the dead just to celebrate it with
you."
El Reptil's long arm snaked around Teresa's trembling shoulders
protectively, noticing the dampness of the bolero. He inhaled the sweet scent
of coconut that wafted upwards from the hollow between shapely breasts. "Don't
you worry yerself none, Ma'am." Then he turned toward the dripping figure in
the doorway. "I don't think the lady wants you here, pardner. Maybe you'd
better move along."
The girl shot the tall man in black a warm glance, and a whispered
"Gracias"; perhaps she had misjudged him. Thank God he was here now.
"I don't really give a fuck what the lady wants, you big ugly prick!"
the little man responded fiercely, pulling a gun and pointing it at the big
man's chest.
The big man calmly took another long swig from the bottle, wiped his
mouth, turned to face the dripping man with the gun and said, "Who you callin' a
ugly prick, you sawed-off little weasel! And put that fuckin' gun, down, Ernie,
before you shoot somebody! Probably yer own damn self!"
When the big man called the little man by name, Teresa gave him a
puzzled look. "Tell him to go away!" she whispered nervously.
A jagged flash of lightning outside followed by a deafening crackle of
atmospheric electricity heightened Teresa's anxiety, as her gaze moved from one
man to the other.
The tension in the cantina was palpable. It would not have comforted
Teresa to know the history of the two men who had come to share Halloween night
with her. The smaller of the two was Ernie Gibbs, a sawed-off runt of a man
who had the reputation of being the meanest little prick in Texas. Perhaps
because of his small size, he carried a chip on his shoulder the size of the
Alamo; Ernie didn't take shit from anyone, particularly from women he felt had
done him wrong. Ernie's rage was never far from the surface, and tonight,
despite his maniacal grin, it was of volcanic proportions. And, Teresa knew,
she was the object of that rage.
The tall man, the one with the reptilian eyes, was Black Jack Slocum.
He was a mean son-of-a-bitch, too, but while Ernie was sneaky and under-handed,
big Jack was about as subtle as a stampede. Ernie was a conniving little
bastard; Jack was the kind of hombre who saw what he wanted, reached out and
took it. And he was looking at Teresa Martinez the way a hungry vaquero looks
at a golden-brown pollo roasting on a spit.
"Oh, he'll go away, little lady." The man in black gave her a toothy
smile as his long arm tightened its grip around her shoulders. "Eventually.
But not until he's got what he's come for. Ain't that right, Ernie?"
"Right, Jack," Ernie smiled as he reholstered his weapon. "Did I have ya
goin' there for a minute, when I got the drop on ya?" he giggled. Ernie
squinted out of his damaged left eye. "I'd a been here sooner, if my goddam
horse hadn't gone half-loco in all that thunder and lightning.
Ernie's one good eye met the Latina's. "Me and our little dancin' girl
here got some unfinished business to attend to, don't we Teresa? We was just
fixin' to get better acquainted when those two goons jumped me. Lucky you
happened to see them ridin' off with me in that cart that night, Jack. Or I'd a
died in that fuckin' canyon they dumped me in. I owe you for that one, Jack."
Teresa was now certain that her two late-night callers were on friendly
terms, and she opened her mouth to scream, but the man in black clapped a huge
hand over her mouth. "Sorry, honey, we can't have you callin' none of yer
greaser amigos. Not that anyone's likely to hear you during this cloudburst.
Figure we should gag her, Ern?"
"She's wearing her gag, Big Jack. Between her legs. Ain't you,
Teresita?"
The terrified girl shook her head no, but the one called Ernie looked
quickly outside again to make sure no one was around, and came back inside.
Teresa could hear the terrible finality of the click of the lock as he latched
the door shut.
"Take 'em off, mija," the little man said sternly. "Yer panties, I mean.
If you're wearin' any, that is." Teresa struggled in Jack's powerful grasp, but
to no avail. She tried again to scream, but Black Jack Slocum stifled her by
placing a huge hairy hand over her mouth.
"You stood me up the other night, Teresa. I had to re-schedule our date
for tonight. Me and my buddy, Jack, here is gonna make it a double date.
Ain't we, Jack? We're gonna have us a little Halloween party -- just the three
of us. You're going to be the treat, Teresa. And in here," he patted the blue
knapsack, "I've brought a little bag of tricks. Ya see, me and Jack like
playin' tricks -- especially on pretty young girls like you."
"Right, Ern. You should be honored, little lady, to have two gentleman
callers on the same night."
"That's right, Big Jack. You're gonna find us real attentive, Teresa.
REAL attentive. Me and Jack, here, we go way back. We've .. uh... entertained a
lot of girls, ain't we Jack? But I should tell you something -- Jack don't much
like Mexicans. Ya see, it was a Mexican girl in Texas that got Jack's ass sent
to prison. For life. Until I helped him bust out."
"Yeah, and while I was in that stinkin' hellhole, the head guard was a
bean-eater named Morales. Paco Morales. And Morales, when he found out that
I'd raped a Mexican girl, took it upon his ugly self to put me in a compound
with five wetbacks. Those five jumped my ass the first night I was there, and
stomped me so bad that I peed blood for a week. And that's pretty much the way
it went for four fuckin' years."
"So ya see, Teresa," the desperado in black growled, as he held the
struggling girl tightly, "I ain't too kindly disposed toward fuckin' Mexicans.
But I'm fixin' to even up the score a little tonight."
"Yeah, Jack -- like we evened the score with that sweet young blonde
back in Texas!"
{Author's note -- Honey Wilson was the pretty blonde adolescent who had
been an accidental witness to the Mexican girl's rape. She had testified
against Black Jack Slocum, ensuring his conviction and imprisonment. He had
vowed revenge the day the jury returned the verdict against him.
Four years later, Ernie Gibbs had helped Jack escape from that hellhole of
a prison and he and Slocum had met up at the remote Wilson ranch in west Texas,
where Ernie had tracked Honey Wilson. Jack and Ernie had surprised the
nineteen-year-old blonde, who by now grown into a teasing, voluptuous beauty,
alone on her daddy's ranch, and for two days the desperados had exacted a cruel
revenge on her shapely young body. And then the two criminals had fled the law
by crossing into Mexico, and they had been riding westward since. The full
story of Honey Wilson's ordeal is told in "The Outlaw's Revenge" }
Now let's see about that gag." Ernie approached the young Latina, who
was struggling helplessly in Jack's grasp. "Put her over that barstool, Jack."
And effortlessly the big man forced the struggling beauty down, face
forward, over a sturdy three-legged barstool. Ernie approached her, lifted her
white skirt high above her waist, and paused to admire the view. "Nice legs,
eh, Jack? Didn't I tell you?"
Black Jack Slocum was indeed admiring the thrashing brown legs of their
prey; her dancing had stood her in good stead. Her legs were long and curved
and had excellent muscle tone. While he held her down with one powerful arm,
his left hand stroked the firm flesh of her thighs. Those long legs would look
even better, Jack mused, when he had painted them with a few stripes with Black
Betsy, the dark and sinister leather strap that he wore through his belt loops.
"Hold still, bitch!" Ernie was trying to get at her panties, but while
Jack had her upper body pinned to the stool, her legs were kicking wildly,
trying to escape his groping touch. When she wouldn't stop squirming, Ernie gave
Jack an evil grin. "She got spirit, don't she?" And then, no longer smiling,
he whispered to Teresa through clenched yellowing teeth, "OK, if that's the way
you want to play!"
Ernie retreated to the knapsack, opened it and pulled out a short whip,
a nasty-looking weapon comprised of a black handle and four strips of tough
rawhide.
Then, he walked back over, knelt down in front of her and showed her the
whip. "Guess I'm going to have to learn you how to behave. You got her skirt,
Jack? That's it. Just keep it pulled up."
And Ernie, walked around behind her and brought the rawhide down with a
sharp CRAACCK! across Teresa's legs just above her knees.
"Aiiie!" she yelped and kicked again.
"Shut the fuck up, bitch!" and Ernie CRAACKED! her again, midway up her
legs, the tough leather biting deeply into her brown flesh. "Hold still!"
But the athletic legs kept thrashing, so Ernie whipped her soft thighs
again, higher up this time. And then he slashed her again, right across the
fresh mark he had just left.
"Aggghh!!" Teresa hollered in earnest this time and redoubled her
efforts to get away. But Snake-eyes held her fast, while El Raton continued to
slash at the backs of her beautifully squirming thighs.
Ernie Gibbs had to give her three more scathing lashes across her pretty
young legs before she finally stopped kicking. When she did, he asked, "Are you
going to hold still, now?" She nodded yes.
And Ernie reached for her panties, and slowly rolled them down over the
ripe curves of her buttcheeks.
"Look at that sweet ass, Jack!" Ernie exulted, as he gave her buttocks
a good squeeze. "We're gonna have us some fun with this one, ain't we?" Ernie
smacked her golden buttocks sharply with his bare hand, still cold and wet from
the rain. "Nice firm cheeks, Jack!" He spanked her again, harder this time,
just above the wadded up panties that hugged the base of her bottom. "Nice and
round and firm! They oughta be able to take a lot of punishment."
Ernie smacked her left buttock again, pleased with the warmth, contour
and resilience of Teresa's assflesh. "You know, Jack, I'll bet our little
senorita's part nigger!"
Teresa was surprised that the ugly little man had guessed that; her
great-grand-mother had been an Afro-Cuban. Teresa had always surmised that some
of her own dancing talent, as well as a certain exotic quality to her lovely
features, had come from Mama Nita.
"Bad luck for you, girlie -- Jack don't like niggers any more'n he does
Mexicans." Ernie's cold, damp hand found its way between Teresa's naked legs
and groped her for a moment, as she wriggled in revulsion. His greedy fingers
explored her pink slit, as he inserted one, then two, then three fingers into
her as she writhed in shame. "She's wet, Jack, just like the cock-teasing whore
she is," Ernie chortled.
Ernie pulled her undergarment off then, down her long shapely legs,
leaving her naked from the waist down. He handed the thin wad of fabric to Jack
who stuffed it in her mouth. "You spit that out, and you'll wish you hadn't!"
Jack warned her.
Ernie debated whether to tie their prisoner up; but for what he had in
mind leaving her untied, at least for the time being, might be more fun.
"Stand her up, Jack!"
Chapter 4 The Doorway of Hell
Slocum pulled Teresa back to her feet and turned her toward Ernie, her
skirt still up around her waist. The man with the disfigured face licked his
lips as he admired the dark thatch between her legs, and the delicious soft
folds of labial flesh
"OK, honey let's get that damn thing out of the way." And Ernie tore the
hiked-up skirt away, leaving her loins and legs naked. And then Black Jack
swung her around so that she was facing him, and he ripped down the middle of
the bolero as if it were tissue paper, sending its three buttons careening
across the cantina floor, and revealing for an instant the swelling mounds of
her bosom, until Teresa pulled the two gaping flaps of cloth together so that
they partially covered her heaving breasts.
Ernie was amused by her modesty; as if he and Jack weren't intending to
strip her of all of her pretensions as well as her clothes when they were good
and ready! But he was in a playful mood, too.
"Since it's our first date, Teresa, how 'bout we play us a little parlor
game? How does that sound?"
Teresa looked from one man to the other, hoping for a little sympathy,
mumbled, "Bueno."
"Hey, Jack. How about we play us a little three-way game of "Reach for the
Sky"?
The towering Slocum leered down at the cowering Teresa. He and Ernie had
introduced an attractive but stuck-up young widow from back east to this 'game'
back in San Antone, some five years ago, not long before he had gone into the
slammer. The auburn-haired heiress had pissed Jack off on a coach ride they had
shared, by looking at him and talking to him as if he were no better than a
buffalo turd.
It didn't pay to piss off Black Jack Slocum. A few nights later he and
Ernie had abducted the refined Judith Prescott Warburton
- of the Philadelphia Prescotts - and, after blindfolding the twenty-six year
old beauty, took her out to an abandoned shack about ten miles outside of town.
Once there they had stripped her fine young body naked and forced to 'reach' for
three hours, punishing her savagely for each misstep. By the time they were
done with her, the snotty red-headed bitch was groveling before them, offering
to do anything - anything - to stop the torment.
Jack and Ernie had taken her up on her gracious offer. Jack could still
remember the tantalizing sensation of those once-haughty lips slavishly kissing
and licking him all around his asscrack. It had taken only a few more strokes
from Ernie's black-tailed bullwhip across Judy's bleeding buttocks to induce
their trim-figured captive to bury her pretty pink rich girl tongue hilt-deep in
Jack's asshole.
After that pleasant diversion, Jack had forced her to lick his hairy balls
for about an hour before offering her his prodigious cock to worship. Judith
Prescott had sucked him and Ernie dry on that hot Texas night. The only bad
thing about that little fiesta was that they had to keep her blindfolded, so
Judith Prescott never knew that it was her snotty treatment of her
fellow-passenger that had led to her degradation.
But there was no need for blindfolds tonight -- he and Ernie were gonna
have some fun with this comely dark-eyed senorita and then high-tail it for the
safety of the Arizona border.
Jack's salacious smile widened as he ogled Teresa's delicious nakedness
and fantasized about the night to come. But unlike those endless nights in
prison, this was no fantasy -- it was just him and Ernie and the gorgeous young
Latina. Coming back to reality he grunted, "Fine, Ern. Sounds like a winner."
"OK, honey," Ernie turned to Teresa, "We're gonna play 'Reach for the
Sky'. Get yer ass over here." When she hesitated Jack shoved her roughly from
behind. She gamely tried to hold her top together in front to cover her jutting
breasts. Ernie preceded her through the dark doorway in to the kitchen. But
when she tried to follow him through the doorway, he stopped her.
"We ain't really got a parlor, here, so this doorway's gonna have to do.
You stand right there. Under the doorway. Now reach up and touch the top of the
molding, while I light me one of these oil lamps. I want to get a good look at
you, senorita."
Behind her, Jack Slocum slowly began unbuckling Black Betsy, his
evil-looking black leather belt; he had played this game before. "You heard the
man, sweetheart. Get those arms up in the air, pronto," he growled.
Teresa hesitated, knowing that by reaching upward she would disturb the
thin satin that barely covered her breasts. But her pause was greeted with a
scalding flash of lightning across the backs of her legs.
"Do what yer told!" she heard Jack growl angrily. "Get yer arms up there!"
"Unnhh!" she groaned as Jack ripped into the sweet caramel thigh-flesh once
again with the big belt. The thunderous CRACCKK! of the blow seemed to mimic
the tumult in the heavens outside. This time the force of the blow knocked the
panties clean out of her mouth.
"My partner told you to keep those in yer fuckin' mouth!" Ernie snarled
angrily as he set the newly-lit oil lamp down on a nearby counter, and picked
the garment up off of the none-too-clean floor and crammed it back into her
mouth. "Jack, I don't think Senorita Martinez, here, is showin' you the proper
respect."
Jack, as usual, said nothing, but slammed the tough black leather into the
backs of Teresa's thighs again, letting its fierce end curl around her pretty
legs.
Choking back her pain, and desperate to obey now, Teresa stood on her
tiptoes and stretched to her fullest. But even though she was almost 5' 7",
her well-kept nails barely reached the top of the molding around the seven-foot
high door.
Teresa had had the presence of mind to reach up with both hands straight
above her; this motion helped to hold her bolero somewhat together in the front.
She blushed as she watched Ernie ogle the inner curves of her jutting breasts
and the mossy patch between her legs. Meanwhile, Jack had stepped closer; she
could feel him running the edge of his doubled-up belt through the cleft in her
butt cheeks.
"See, that wasn't so bad, was it? Now all you have to do is stay in that
position and you'll be fine." Ernie winked at Jack. "See? I'm givin' you a lot
of chances. You and them two goons of yours didn't give me none. But, I'm
gonna warn you, sweetie. If you let go of the top of that molding, Jack's gonna
be upset because you ain't followin' the rules of the game. Ain't that right,
Jack?"
"Seems only fair to me, Ern. How ya doing, Teresa?" Jack, standing behind
their naked young captive, admired the way the muscles in her calves, thighs,
and buttocks strained to allow her to retain her grip on the molding. Teresa
was in excellent physical shape for sure. That was good, thought Jack, for two
reasons: A) He didn't like flabby women; and B) she figured to be able to take a
lot of punishment. Cause a lot of punishment was what this raven-haired
Mexican beauty was going to get. And he was just the man to dish it out!
Poor Teresa could tell, inside of two minutes, that she could not sustain
her extended posture for long. And then Ernie made it worse. Squinting at the
marvelous play of light and shadow on her half-naked breasts and dark-thatched
belly, he said, "You're doin' fine, Honey. But yer hands are too close
together; I want 'em apart!"
When, again, Teresa hesitated briefly, Jack's black belt exploded across
the backs of her taut, naked thighs again, causing her to groan pitiably into
the gag. "When you goin' to learn to do as you're told?" It was everything
Teresa could do to keep her hands in contact with the top of the doorway. And
slowly she moved them a few inches apart, as Ernie had ordered.
Meanwhile Ernie's good eye was glued to her tits, as the black satin top
parted a bit more when she spread her hands. "Yeah, that's it, " Ernie leered
as more of her breasts were exposed. "A little more, now, sweetie," Ernie
instructed, grinning lewdly. He could of course have pulled the bolero back or
even off any time he wanted to. But Ernie liked to play games. Especially
games with big-breasted beauties like Teresa Martinez.
Teresa slid her hands another inch or two apart, revealing a little more
breastflesh.
"Christ, Jack" Ernie called to his partner, "She's got some tasty jugs!" He
could see the inner edges of her dark aureoles now; if she were to move a little
more her slinky top would surely fall away from those perky, pouting knockers
she had teased him with just a few nights ago. "Wider," Ernie whispered, his
voice hoarse with lust.
Flushing, the dark-eyed beauty moved her hands another couple of inches
apart, causing the shredded fabric to fall away from her splendid
pleasure-globes altogether. Ernie the Weasel's tongue licked his thin lips
with delight. Teresa's nipples had been well worth the wait. They were chips
of sweet dark chocolate centered on two delicious-looking scoops of
mocha-colored tit-flesh.
"Bueno," Ernie murmured almost inaudibly. "Mu-y fucking bueno!" He moved
toward her as if to cup her breasts and Teresa unthinkingly reacted by lowered
her arms to fend him off. In less than a second she felt the fiery kiss of
Jack's belt on her buttocks. Followed momentarily by a vicious slap from the
ferret-faced man that stung the inner curve of her firm right breast.
"Keep yer fuckin' hands up!" Ernie roared. Teresa hastily complied,
stretching toward the ceiling again.
Teresa's dark eyes, smoldering with a mixture of hatred and fear, glared
fiercely at Ernie; his hands were still damp from the rain. She shrank from
his noxious touch, but condemned to hold on to the molding as she was, her
pathetic attempts at evasion were unavailing. "Carlos," she pleaded silently,
"Please come! Where were her brothers?" she wondered.
Ernie's face darkened when she tried to turn away. "I don't think she
likes me, Jack. I think we're gonna have to teach this lady a little lesson."
Ernie said, as he cupped her gorgeous melons in his gnarly fingers. Her breasts
were warm in his cool, wet hands. As he had on the night of their first
encounter, he savored the rich sweet smell of coconut that clung to her body.
She must have used the oil liberally on her golden globes, he thought. Her skin
was baby-soft. But her breasts were firm in his greedy hands. Just the way he
liked 'em.
The little man's good eye was wrathful as he was forced to look up to meet
her dark eyes; her vertical stretch reminded him again, as he had been reminded
all his life, of his small stature. Ernie's face was inches from hers now, his
breath foul. "I'm gonna cut you down to size, girlie," he whispered in a voice
charged with suppressed rage, his voice so low that Jack, standing only half a
dozen feet away could not hear. Teresa felt his rough hands tighten menacingly
on her tender breasts.
And then, in a louder voice, "When she lowers her hands, give it to her
good, Jack. Right across that sweet ass! I wanna feel her tits jump!"
Teresa's arms were already bone-weary. She felt Ernie's paws mauling her
breasts as she desperately tried to hold on to the molding overhead.
The battle, Ernie knew, could only have one end. "How long," he sneered,
"Do you reckon you can keep yer arms up there, you thieving Mexican whore?"
Chapter V Black Betsy
Teresa glared at the horrible little man with the misshapen face and the
swollen eye, and took a deep breath, determined to hold on to the molding for
dear life. For his part, Ernie grinned sadistically and continued to fondle her
mouthwatering breasts, every now and then dropping one of his tobacco-stained
hands to the juncture of her thighs, where he pried open the soft lips of her
womanhood and worked his fingers inside.
Jack, meanwhile stood patiently behind her, black belt in hand, waiting for
her to falter, as falter she eventually must. And he thought back on how he had
come to own the punishing belt, whose frightful kiss no woman who'd felt it
would ever forget.
Jack had gotten "Black Betsy" from an ancient Indian who had told him that
he'd discovered a mysterious leather-tanning process that produced the toughest,
meanest, most devastating leather in the world. Jack had been eager but
skeptical. But after trying the strap out on the soft skin of Black Crow's
nubile grand-daughter he had been convinced. Her frenzied writhings and
anguished cries as he'd ripped into her shapely buttocks with the strap Black
Crow had offered him had borne ample witness to the bitterness of Betsy's bite.
Strangely, whether because of some mystical Indian mumbo-jumbo or some
cryptic chemistry, the Indian's leather, he had been assured, left marks that,
however deep, however lurid, faded within hours or at most a few days. Jack had
come back, at the old man's invite, a few days later, and sure enough the nasty
marks he had left on the young girl's heart-shaped bottom had almost completely
faded away. And Black Jack liked that -- he liked marking young girls up with
his belt -- liked it a lot. But it was nice to have a fresh canvas to paint on,
too.
Betsy's strange properties had been proven once again, Jack remembered, at
the Wilson ranch. Honey Wilson's beautifully sun-bronzed skin had indeed
recovered very quickly from the savage flogging he had given her on the first
night at the Wilson Ranch.
But tonight it was lovely Teresa's turn to feel the sharp kiss of Black
Betsy. Jack, standing slightly at an angle behind the stretching girl, studied
the graceful lines of Teresa's body. The bolero covered, but could not conceal,
her well-toned rounded shoulders partly covered by cascades of lustrous black
hair, and her graceful back The black top ended a few inches below her breast
line, displaying an expanse of golden skin and the inviting hollow just above
the base of her elegant spine. Her back tapered to a tiny waist whose diameter
he could have almost spanned with one of his huge hands. Below her trim waist,
her hips swelled nicely. Teresa's taut arms quivered with fatigue while Jack
studied her ripely rounded buttocks, aquiver with apprehension.
Jack's lips parted in a wolfish grin as he patiently watch the helpless
nude beauty struggle to keep her arms aloft. But time, time at its most
relentless and inexorable, eventually took its toll, and gradually the strength
ebbed from her shoulders, and a deep, dull ache began to growl louder and louder
from every muscle, until at last she could take no more, and her weary arms gave
out and fell limply to her sides.
With a quick motion Jack took the big black belt back and whipped it down
hard until it exploded like a gunshot -- CRAACKK!! on the base of Teresa's
nicely-curved bottom. "Unnggh" she grunted through the gag. Her heart-shaped
culo was on fire!
Ernie had seen her weakening and his hands had returned to breasts. When
the blow fell, he felt her jugs jiggle deliciously in his hands. This was gonna
be a night to remember, he thought to himself. "Get 'em back up there, bitch!"
he warned.
Teresa tried but there was little strength left in her arms, and less than
a minute later her strength gave out again.
CRAACCKK!! Jack smoked her again, this time punishing the ripest curves of
her ass, drawing another plaintive "Unngghh" in response. Meanwhile Ernie's
ragged nails had honed in on her tender nipples.
""Get 'em up!" the little man threatened. "And think of somethin'
sexy,darlin'" he said as he clawed at her cocoa-colored nipples. I want these
babies hard!"
Teresa frantically lifted her burning arms once again. While he waited,
Jack eyed her golden bottom rounds, and the inviting shadowy cleft between them.
Two dark streaks now marred their plump perfection. Just then his mind thought
back to Morales, the sadistic Mexican prison guard; his complexion had been much
the same as Teresa's. When her strength faded and her arms fell again, the
thought of Morales gave added force to Jack's next blow which blistered her
cafe-au-lait buttcheeks again. Three reddish-brown streaks now. "She'd have a
lot more before the night was through," Jack thought with a grin. He was just
getting warmed up!
"Get 'em back up, you lazy whore" Ernie's mocking voice rang out, even as
he worked on Teresa's stiffening nipples, tweaking and twisting them, while Jack
gave her another bolt of black leather lightning across her buttcurves. Teresa
lifted her lifeless arms slowly once again. Suddenly Ernie backed away,
grimaced, and held a hand to his left temple, obviously in great pain.
"What's wrong, pard?" Jack asked, pausing in mid-stroke.
"I'm havin' me another of one them spells; ever since they slugged me with
that fuckin' bottle, I been gettin' 'em off and on. Feels like I got a fuckin'
railroad spike in my eye."
"Well, sit down and rest a spell; pour yerself a drink. I think I got
things purty well under control here. Don't I, Teresa?"
The Latin beauty's hands trembled as she tried to retain her contact with
the molding. She fought the pain for long torturous seconds, but gravity
eventually won out, and she dropped her arms. And as soon as she did she felt
the terrible leather leave a sizzling stripe across the small of her back. "When
you goin' to learn to keep them arms up, honey?" Jack taunted her. "And get
back up on yer fuckin' toes!"
Ernie grabbed a bottle from behind the bar and took a seat at the nearest
table. He took a long pull from the bottle, hoping the strong liquor would ease
the pain. And then he watched as the raven-haired goddess extended her arms
upward again. But there was almost no strength left in her shoulders, and when
she soon faltered, she was rewarded with a vicious downward slash across her
sleek, straining calves. Then, when she was still unable to respond, Black
Jack Slocum unleashed a powerful blow across her hitherto unscathed shoulders,
ripping a hole in the satin bolero.
Jack watched as his tortured prisoner fought the pain and once again
reached heavenward. A long, low rumble of thunder rolled through the summer
night, tailing away, and then swelling once again before exploding into a
violent thunderclap.
The disturbance in the cosmos seemed an evil omen to Teresa; and so it
proved to be. Somehow the Spanish word for storm - la tormenta - seemed eerily
appropriate.
It was only a moment later that she heard the two words that she had been
dreading to hear since the beginning of the 'game'.
"Turn around." Jack's voice was soft, but dripping with malignant intent.
Chapter 6 Teresa Faces the Music
Teresa could feel the fear climbing sickeningly in her throat. She could
take an ass-whipping, she thought. She'd had a boyfriend a year earlier who had
used a razor strop on her bare bottom one night when he thought she had gotten a
little too friendly with the customers. It had hurt, but the sex afterwards
with Jorge had never been better. But that strap had been a toy compared to
Black Betsy. The idea of that horrible belt striking the front of her body...
Quaking with trepidation, she slowly turned to face the towering figure in
black, being careful to keep her arms in contact with the top of the doorway. As
she crossed her hands over to turn, she deftly managed to bring her hands a
little closer together again, preserving, at least for a moment, the last
vestiges of her modesty. Her dark hair was wild about her shoulders, and her
eyes were bright with fear; her nervous tongue moistened her sultry lips.
She watched as the sinister figure in black studied her tempting body, her
bare legs and belly, the unruly thatch of silky pubic hair at the juncture of
her thighs, the generous curves of her shapely breasts as they peeked through
the tattered remnants of her thin top.
"Nice," Jack mumbled under his breath as he stared hungrily at his alluring
captive, "Very fucking nice." Teresa's eyes were fiery, her nostrils flaring
as her breasts rose and fell heavily with each breath. The muscles in her arms
screamed with pain as she fought desperately to keep the dark stranger from
using the belt he fondled so lovingly.
Jack's reptilian eyes never left her as he took his time unbuttoning his
own shirt, enjoying the mixture of fear and defiance in her eyes. When he threw
the black flannel shirt aside, Teresa could not help being both impressed and
frightened by his tanned and chiseled physique; his chest was broad, and his
powerful arms and shoulders were well-muscled, the result of years on the prison
rock-pile. Jack's chest muscles rippled through a dense thicket of wiry hair;
Teresa hated body hair on men, and Big Jack was the hairiest man she had ever
seen.
Ernie the Weasel watched enviously from his table; he had seen Teresa's
momentary admiration for Jack's sculpted body. His body tensed in suppressed
anger; he'd make her pay soon enough for preferring the bigger man!
Jack, stripped to the waist, was ready for action. It wasn't long before
Teresa's strength flagged again. As soon as her fingers lost contact with the
molding, his muscular right arm drew back, and with a swift motion, CRACCKK! his
belt scalded the tops of Teresa's long, coppery legs, causing her to grimace in
pain.
She instinctively lowered her hands to protect herself. Jack's voice was
menacing, "Get yer hands up! And if you try that again, I'll hang you from the
ceiling and whip you all night long! Don't think I won't!" And with a resounding
CRACCKK!! the big man laid a burning streak of fire across her pubic mound.
Teresa's dark-nippled tits bobbled temptingly under the shreds of her top.
"That's it, Jack! Whip the bitch!" Ernie piped up from his nearby table.
"She and her 'hermanos' bushwhacked me. About damn time that she got HER bush
whacked! Ha!" Ernie chuckled at his joke.
Jack said nothing but he must have been listening, because the next two
CRACCKK's of the belt were a withering forehand, followed by a wicked backhand
across the sensual curve of Teresa's mons.
Then Jack raised his aim a few inches and gave her a stinging CRACCKK!!
across her golden belly, letting the triangular tip of his belt bite into her
deep-set navel.
CRACCKK!! Again across the midriff, in the inviting hollow beneath her
lower ribs. With each ferocious blow, Teresa gasped into her pantie-gag in
pain. A thin strand of saliva escaped the corner of her mouth and hung suspended
in space, just above her breast. Jack liked to hear women scream, sometimes,
but he liked gagging 'em and making 'em drool, too. But still Teresa glared at
Jack defiantly, as if daring him to do more.
Jack had been saving the best for last. Impatient, now, to see her breasts
in all of their youthful naked splendor, Jack approached her and snarled, "Let's
get rid of this goddamn thing!" and tore the remaining shreds of her top away,
leaving her utterly naked and vulnerable.
Jack Slocum was a breast man, there was no two ways about that! He'd
slapped and whipped and bound and otherwise abused the tits of more women than
he could remember. But rarely had he had a pair like this to work on, he
rejoiced, as Teresa's succulent breasts were at last revealed to his salacious
gaze.
They were proud hemispheres of tawny flesh, full and high and without a
hint of sag. Capped by smallish, slightly darker aureoles, and perfect
uptilting brown nipples. Jack's merciless black eyes zeroed in on a dark vein in
Teresa's left breast that seemed to pulse nervously as Teresa held her seductive
pose -- as if the vein somehow had a premonition of what was in store.
Jack paused. "OK, honey, you can lower yer hands." Teresa relaxed,
grateful for the respite; her shoulders ached from keeping her arms over her
head for these long minutes.
But her reprieve was of brief duration. Jack's gravelly voice growled,
"Rub them nips up for me, Teresa. So's they're nice and stiff. I want 'em
stickin' out real purty! Andale! Hurry up!"
Another explosive burst of thunder shook the cantina and Teresa, frightened
and trembling, began to stroke the soft skin of her breasts with gentle
caresses, her long nails teasing her nipples skillfully. She had aroused
herself this way many times before, of course, but never before such an
impatient audience.
Jack's reptilian gaze was were riveted to the beautiful Latina's
mouth-watering breasts. He could feel his balls tighten and his big cock thicken
with lust as he contemplated the delicious prospect of dealing with those two
sweat-sheened pleasure-mounds.
Jack, his eyes as hard and black as coal, leered at Teresa's tawny love
globes. "Me gustan las tetas grandes, mija," he smirked in pidgin Spanish, as
he slapped his doubled-up belt meaningfully against the palm of his left hand.
"I like big tits a lot. Muy mucho!"
And then he gave his partner a sidewise glance. "Ern," Jack began in
measured tones, as he stepped closer to his breathless captive and slid the
doubled-up belt under Teresa's succulent brown-tipped left breast. He bounced
the firm flesh gently on the stiff-edged belt for a moment as he watched
Teresa's graceful hands frantically striving to tease her quivering nipples into
erection.
"Ern, I'm gonna do her just like I done Honey Wilson. I'm aimin' to find
out just how much punishment these fine young tits can take." Jack's leer was
positively crocodilian. "And after I do," the sinister figure in black paused
for effect, still grinning his saurian smile, "I'm gonna work on 'em some
more!"
Teresa shuddered visibly in reaction to Jack's horrifying threat. Please,
Dios, she prayed, let her brothers come soon.
"That's tellin' her, Jack!" Ernie exclaimed as held a hand to his throbbing
left eye and temple. He took another long pull at the bottle of tequila he had
grabbed. The ferret-faced little man watched intently as Teresa's hands moved
over her luscious breasts, plucking at the tasty-looking tips. Her eyes were
closed, as she tried to please her captors, in hopes that by pleasing them she
might somehow escape, or at least minimize, her punishment.
But pity did not rank highly among Black Jack Slocum's virtues. He took a
long step backward before roaring, "You're taking too fucking long. Hurry the
fuck up!" and gave her another caustic stripe across her silky thighflesh.
The hulking figure in black watched, spellbound with lust, his massive cock
throbbing almost painfully, as Teresa's dainty hands stroked her responsive
brown nuggets, coaxing them little by little into the desired state of
excitement. In less than a minute her nipples were two spikes as rich in color
as mahogany -- and just about as hard. As far as Black Jack Slocum was
concerned, they were just clamoring for attention.
And Big Jack was just the man to see that they got it!
"Very nice. Now lift yer arms back up! Higher!" Teresa fearfully obeyed,
the rest having given her aching shoulders a bit of new life. But she was
conscious of how that movement seemed to lift her proud breasts up as if in
supplication to the atrocious belt. Teresa closed her eyes, dreading the
coming, inescapable pain.
"Did I tell you you could close yer eyes, gypsy gal? I don't want you to
miss any of this! And if you lower yer hands again, or move away from that
doorway...." CRAASHH! Jack shattered an empty beer bottle on the bar. Then he
lifted the jagged remnant in his big hand and held it an inch from her lovely
face, the dregs of the cerveza dripping down on to her heaving breasts. "I'm
going to have to cut you up a little. Understand?"
The terrified girl extended her arms high above her head again. Anything to
avoid being disfigured like the grotesque little monster who sat at the nearby
table.
Despite her terror, though, Jack was superstitious about one thing -- every
damn time he'd ever messed up a girl's face or done any permanent physical
damage to a woman, he'd had bad luck. He'd blackened the eyes of a smart-mouthed
blonde in Houston once; the next time he was with her, she slipped him a Mickey
Finn, and he'd woken up in an alley two days later with no money and no horse.
Another time he'd cut up the tits of a pretty quadroon whore in New
Orleans. He'd used a straight razor to carve a small 'J' in her left breast and
an 'S' in her right. Just for fun. No white man could get in trouble for that,
he figured; not in Louisiana. But three days later he'd gotten arrested and
thrown in jail for six months for something he didn't even do!
And then there was the Mexican girl he'd been convicted of raping. To this
day, Jack Slocum was sure that the only reason he'd been caught was cause he'd
slapped her around pretty good.
So, Jack figured he was jinxed if he did a woman any permanent injury. But
pain -- visceral, agonizing pain -- that was another story. So, when Jack
threatened to cut her with the broken beer bottle, he was bluffing. But Teresa
had no way of knowing that.
Jack bent down and tasted the trickle of warm beer on Teresa's left
breast, enjoying the look of disgust on her face. And then his long, purplish
tongue licked at the film of beer and perspiration that covered her other naked
globe, his tongue lingering on and prodding each of her tasty rigid nipples.
They were nice and stiff, now -- just right for abuse!
Another deep rumbling roar of clouds crashing thundered through the
heavens, followed moments later by an ear-splittingly electric crackle of
lightning.
The man with the belt looked outside to see the bright flashes in the sky,
brilliant but ominous harbingers of the thunderbolts Black Jack Slocum was
preparing to unleash on Teresa's heavenly orbs.
"On yer toes!" Jack intoned menacingly. And, trembling, Teresa once again
took up the proper position.
"Ern, I remember readin' in a story one time about some cutie with 'pouting
breasts'. Well, I'm gonna give Teresa's somethin' to pout about!"
"Yeah, me too, Jackson," Ernie the Weasel seconded, even though he would
have had a hard time reading the words on his own daddy's tombstone.
Black Jack Slocum heard his partner snicker as he doubled up the belt in
his giant paw and took a sinister step backward, so that Betsy would have plenty
of time to pick up speed. The stiff, shiny leather felt good in his hand as he
met Teresa's horror-stricken glance for a couple of seconds, relishing the fear
in her beautiful dark eyes. He flexed the muscles in his right arm, to give
Teresa an idea of the power he was about to unleash on her splendid breasts.
Then, his tongue protruding intently from the corner of his mouth, the rangy
gunslinger drew the awful belt back behind him and gave the full-breasted Latina
a high hard one that landed with a resounding CRACCKK!! on the upper curves of
her proud breasts, less than an inch above Teresa's distended nipple-buds.
The pain was shattering. Teresa choked into her gag in soundless anguish,
and tried desperately to keep her arms raised, as she had been warned to do.
Jack let her focus on the fierce pain in her tender tits for about thirty
seconds, and then shot the the fiendish black leather CRACCKKKing into the lower
third of her succulent love-globes.
"Mmmmmgggg!!" Teresa groaned, unable to swallow the pain silently again.
God, what a great pair of tits she had, Jack thought, as he watched the two
bands on her boobs darken. With her arms overhead Teresa looked for all the
world like an exotic Aztec princess -- the position lifted her breasts up as if
they were sweat-sheened sacrificial offerings to Jack's sacred belt.
"Geesus, Jack," Ernie chuckled sadistically. "There's only one thing
prettier 'n a pair 'a big, juicy tits."
Puzzled, Jack gave his partner a quizzical look. "What's that?"
"A pair 'a tits that's been marked up by some leather! Am I right or
wrong?"
"Haw! You got that right, Ern," Jack grinned. "I told you to stay on yer
toes! Stretch, Teresa! Higher!"
His exotic dark-haired captive was wildly shaking her head "No" from side
to side now, hoping desperately that her abject pleas for mercy might be
granted.
"Sorry, honey. I ain't stoppin' now. I'm just getting warmed up!" And
Jack, with a cruel leer, the muscles of his shoulders rippling, drew a bead on
the taut brown nipples of his naked prey. His muscular arm drew the heavy belt
back again, and then with a savage motion sent it rocketing through the air
toward his twin targets.
CRACCCKKKK!!! Bullseye!!!
Jack's gleaming belt exploded across the exact centers of the Latina's
majestic breasts, bathing them in a molten wave of pain. Teresa had never felt
such agony -- her dark-nippled treasures were on fire! "Unnnnnnggghhhh!!" she
groaned into her makeshift gag. She shook her head back and forth, letting her
dark hair fly wildly around her shoulders as she tried to fight off the
agonizing pain.
"That's it, Jackson! Let 'er have it!" Ernie enthused.
Jack gave her a minute or so to recover -- letting Teresa savor each blow
to the fullest. And then, grinning like a Cheshire cat, he gave her another
skin-scalder, high on her glorious thighs, no more than two inches below her
velvety Venus mound.
Teresa, forbidden even the tiny palliative of doubling up in pain, bit her
lip, trying to swallow the hurt.
The look on Black Jack Slocum's stubble-bearded face was grim,
determined, and intense. He whistled the belt around his head twice and then
brought it down to waist level before raking it across, Teresa's tender loins,
flattening her mossy fringe of pubic hair.
But then his steely-eyed gaze returned to her heaving bosom again. He wiped
his mouth and stepped forward to cup her whip-warmed right breast in his huge
hand, letting his long fingers play over one of the dark marks he had just
inflicted. He pressed the silky-soft flesh harder, causing her to gasp with
pain. "Does that hurt?" he asked softly.
Teresa, sensing the possibility of sympathy, gave him a tearful look and
nodded yes.
Jack's dark eyes seemed to give her an understanding look for a moment or
two, but then he squeezed even harder and said, in a venomous voice, "Bueno!
I'm glad I haven't lost my touch!" and gave Ernie another of his wolfish grins.
Ernie slapped his knee in delight at Jack's feeble attempt at irony.
Meanwhile Jack was attending to some of the raven tresses that had fallen
forward over Teresa's breasts during her agitated writhing. He gently brushed
the stray hair back over her pretty shoulders. "We don't want anything standing
between you and Black Betsy, do we, mija?" he smirked.
The pain was causing Teresa to drool heavily now. A thin trail of liquid
oozed from one corner of her pantie-gagged lips and trickled down on to the top
of her right breast. Moments later another joined it, making her breast
deliciously damp-looking.
Jack took a step or two backward, and doubled the belt up in his hand,
gripping and re-gripping it until it felt just right. He drew a bead on her
drool-spattered boob, and he lashed it violently, the black leather spraying
saliva as it bit into Teresa's shuddering right breast, crushing her stiff brown
nipple.
"Uuunnnnnggghhhh!!"Teresa screamed almost silently into her choking
pantie-gag again for a few seconds, but she somehow managed to keep her arms
aloft.
Jack strolled back and forth in front of her for a minute or so, until she
had partially regained her composure. He crossed in front of her, just as
another ominous roll of thunder shook the cantina. Then, as if he had been
taking instructions from an angry deity, he suddenly stopped and unleashed a
powerful backhand blow that slammed into her left breast with terrible force.
The poor girl shook her head sideways, begging her tormentor not to
continue. As she did so, the pantie-gag fell out of her mouth. "Merced," she
begged, in Spanish.
"Yeah, we'll give you mercy, bitch, like you and yer greaser brothers gave
me mercy!" Ernie was up and moving toward her, now. Whip in hand. No way he was
going to let big Jack have all the fun...
Chapter VII The Weasel with the Whip
"The old eye's feelin' a little better now, Jack -- Give me a shot at this
slut!"
Jack Slocum stepped back. On the best day of his ugly life Ernie had never
looked too good. But between his horribly swollen face and the malevolent sneer
on his lip, right now he looked like the personification of evil.
Ernie squinted intently at the woman who was responsible for his agonizing
headaches. She was rather tall, an inch or two taller taller than his 5' 5";
Ernie didn't like tall bitches -- never had. He didn't like the way they looked
down on him. And nothing pleased him more than to cut a tall girl down to size,
to reduce her to a kneeling, groveling slut who would promise him anything if
only he'd stop the pain.
"Tell you what, Teresita. I'm gonna leave the gag out, for a while, OK?"
Teresa nodded gratefully. She hated the choking panty-gag, not least
because it caused her to slobber like a child. She had felt utterly humiliated
when Jack had ogled her drool-covered breasts with such obscene and obvious
pleasure.
Ernie interrupted her train of thought by snarling, "But you start makin' a
lot of noise, and the gag goes back in."
Ernie began by flicking the four strands of the whip against Teresa's right
thigh. The pain of the whip was different from the pain of the belt -- the belt
left a generalized pain over a wide patch of flesh; the slender-thonged whip
produced a more intense pain, albeit one concentrated in smaller areas.
Ernie backhanded her briskly across the other thigh, enjoying her spasmodic
jerks of pain, taking satisfaction from the sensations of suffering that welled
up in Teresa's beautiful dark eyes. Then, his own hideous face distorted with
pain, he drew the whip further back and swept its fiery tails across the outside
of one lovely thigh, and then he backhanded her across the other.
"Aaaaaah!" Teresa gasped in pain.
"Yer gonna wish you'd sucker-punched some other guy, you fucking bitch!
Spread your feet further apart, dammit - and stand tall on those toes! How
many times do we have to tell you!" When Teresa's golden-brown body was fully
extended, and her sleek quadriceps muscles were strained to an eye-catching
tautness, the ugly little man slashed at her beautiful legs again -- Left !
Right! -- the whip cracked loudly in the stillness of the Mexican night, each
report drawing a muted moan of suffering from the striking young beauty.
A hideous half-grin crossed the good side of Ernie's face as he swept the
leather thongs back and forth Teresa's soft thigh-flesh two-four-six more times
in lightning-like succession. As each crisp blow landed, Teresa gasped softly
in pain, only just managing to keep her arms extended high over her head.
Unlike his taller, more deliberate partner, Ernie the Weasel paused between
lashes only long enough to savor her soft cries of suffering and to examine
briefly the freshest streak in what had become a garish pattern of lurid
lash-marks.
"No mas," Teresa gasped faintly. Please..."
Ernie, paused, sweating profusely. He noticed, not for the first time,
that Teresa, in between grimaces of pain, was looking yearningly toward the
ancient grandfather clock that stood against the far wall. "Hey, Jack. Our
little Mexican cutie here keeps lookin' at the clock - like maybe she's
expectin' someone."
At these words, Teresa, not thinking, spat at the ugly little man in front
of her, spraying saliva over his face. "Cobardes! My brothers weel keel you
both, Yankee dogs! You will see!"
In less than two heartbeats Teresa felt the vicious tongues of Ernie's whip
bite into each of her swollen breasts. "Is that so?" Ernie smirked, before
snapping the tails of the whip across the gentle curve of her mons. "Them
greaser hermanos 'a yers ain't gonna keel nobody!" he snorted as he slashed at
each of Teresa's glorious coppery tits again, aiming for, and finding, her dark,
puffy nipples. "So don't think yer goin' home from the dance, just yet, mija!"
"Aiiiiaa! Aaaghhhh!!" Teresa moaned as the whip scalded her succulent
breasts. Even Ernie's dire warning to be still could not stifle her cries of
pain.
Ernie was interrupted briefly by another long, rolling thunderburst
which began far off in the west and then seemed to roll toward them until it
seemed to settle above the dusty crossroads of Piedras Negras, where it exploded
with a deafening rumble.
"Hoooo-eeeey," that was a good one!" Ernie mumbled before calmly
removing a dingy, wadded-up red neckerchief from a pocket. "See this, Teresa?
Look familiar?"
When the Weasel had finished unrolling the bandanna unrolled it, Teresa got
a good look at the big ring Ernie had concealed within it. Pepe's ring. Her
brother's cheap, showy ring that he was so fond of. That he would never have
parted with willingly.
Ernie calmly used the dirty kerchief to wipe the spit from his face.
"So you think your brothers are gonna 'keel' us, do you?" he repeated
sarcastically, as he stuffed the foul piece of cloth roughly into her mouth.
"Now why would they want to "keel" us? We're just a couple of friendly
cowpokes. Ain't we, Jack?"
"That's right, Ern," his sinister partner answered, as he stepped
closer, fondling his doubled-up belt menacingly. "Hold 'em high, honey!" he
barked at Teresa, and then he drilled the lower curves of Teresa's cafe-au-lait
breasts with a venomous uppercut.
"Ngggmmpfphhhh!!" Teresa whimpered pathetically into her gag
Jack's cock pressed angrily against his denims, as hard as the monoliths in
Monument Valley. But he was in no hurry. He enjoyed his own peculiar style of
foreplay as much as the sex act itself. He'd given Honey Wilson a thorough
working-over before raping her among the haybales in her daddy's barn. And when
he'd finally taken her, while Ernie used a burning cigarillo on her quivering
peaches-and-cream breasts, it had been with a soul-shattering climax. He was
fixin' to give Teresa Martinez the full treatment, just like he'd done Honey
Wilson.
"That's right, Ern," Jack agreed with a dark scowl. "We're jus a coupla
good ol' boys from east Texas. Wouldn't hurt a fly, would we?"
"Not us," smirked the little man with the evil grin as he took careful
aim and swung the biting strips of rawhide viciously into Teresa's rounded
breasts.
"Nnnggggghmppffhh ..." Teresa's agony was stifled by the neckerchief.
"You shouldn't 'a spit on me, mija. No broad spits on Ernie Gibbs,
especially no Mexican or half-breed or whatever the hell you are!" Ernie eased
Pepe's big-stoned ring onto the ring finger of his right hand.
The little man with the hideously distorted face brandished the ring
just a few inches from her eyes. "I'm sure Pepe would have wanted you to have
this, Teresa," Ernie smiled evilly. "Hold her for me, Jack, so that I can give
it to her nice and proper-like."
There was stark terror in Teresa's dark brown eyes now, as her hopes
sank with the realization that her brothers would not be coming. She tried to
dart away through the doorway that led into the kitchen, but the man in black
was too quick and too strong. He caught up to her and slammed her painfully
against a flimsy table, overturning small baskets of garlic and chilis, and
spilling their contents. He quickly seized a wrist and twisted it behind her
in a painful hammerlock, while he held the other firmly at her side.
Ernie approached them, a demonic look in his one good eye. "Did you
really think you was gonna spit on me and get away with it?" he snarled.
Jack spun Teresa around so that her shapely buttocks were pressed
against the edge of the table. Ernie clenched his right fist, turning the ring
into a sharp, protruding weapon, and with his other hand grabbed a handful of
the Latina's lustrous black hair for leverage. "We're gonna have to have us a
little ring ceremony, Jack" Ernie grunted, as he lifted his fist chest-high,
letting the light from a kerosene lamp play for a moment on the glittering,
uneven crystals of the faux gemstone. Then, his rheumy eyes grim, Ernie the
Weasel pressed the rough imitation stone against the firm but yielding flesh of
Teresa's perfect left breast. And then he forced it inward, grinding the
ring-stone deep into the tender tissue of her young breast.
"UNNGGGGGHHHH!!" Teresa screamed through the neckerchief, dislodging
it. The pain was excruciating. Teresa struggled desperately to escape from
Slocum's grip, but Jack's hands were bands of steel on her arms. The veins in
Ernie's forearms stood out as he worked the terrible ring deeper into Teresa's
tender tit-flesh. "That's it, Ern," the big man growled as he held her fast.
"That'll teach her to spit on a Texan!
His clenched yellow teeth witness to the intensity of his wrath, Ernie
pulled the ring away after a few seconds, pleased with the deep indentation it
had left in her breast. And then the malicious little man pressed the sharp
stone up against the soft inner curve of Teresa's naked right breast. "Ready,
honey? We wouldn't want those fine titties not to match, now, would we?" Ernie
giggled. The little man's good eye was bright with sadistic glee as he twisted
his fist remorselessly, pressing the sharp relief of the stone violently into
the coppery flesh of Teresa's other love-gourd.
"Aiiigghhh!" Try though she might, Teresa was unable to suppress an
agonized scream of pain. "Merced! Por favor, merced," she whimpered piteously.
But Ernie wasn't listening -- he continued to drive his ring-fist viciously into
her breast.
After a few more seconds, Ernie pulled his hand back to study the nasty
mark the ring had left. "There's a little remembrance from yer asshole brother,
bitch! Don't worry; we didn't kill those two ugly bastards; we just put 'em out
of commission for a while. So don't count on them comin' to 'keel' us anytime
soon."
Ernie turned, grinning, to his partner, "Enjoyin' our little Halloween
party, Jack?"
"Yeah, Ern. Geesus, who'd 'a ever thought we'd find a looker like
this'n out here in the middle of Nowherelajara, May-hee-co. Baby, we're gonna
have some fun with you tonight!"
"Know what you mean, pard. But let's tie her up some; I don't want her
scratchin' my other eye out with those pretty fingernails of hers. Bring her
back out in the bar. I got so much rope in that bag we could tie her to the
fuckin' Alamo if we wanted to," Ernie chuckled.
"Good deal!" replied the man in black. While Ernie went to the bag, and
grabbed a couple of lengths of light-weight white rope, Jack muscled their naked
prisoner face down over one of the tables in the bar. "Hold her down, Ern, 'til
I can rope this little filly right."
Jack Slocum had spent a couple of years in rodeo and he was a master of
ropework. In a few minutes, Teresa's arms were bound painfully high behind her
back, her right hand touching her left elbow, and vice versa. Then Jack spun
her around so that she faced them. Jack, tit-man that he was, was pleased by
the way that positure forced her juicy caramel-colored melons into even greater
prominence. The stripes from Black Betsy and the angry marks left by Pepe's ring
only enhanced the appeal of the Latina's ripe-nippled globes as far as Black
Jack Slocum was concerned.
Slocum took a second length of rope and looped it around Teresa's chest,
just above her boobs, pulled it tight across her back, and then wrapped it back
around her chest just under her breasts, before anchoring the ends of the rope
to her pinioned forearms.
"Nice work, Jack!" Ernie said admiringly. The white rope above and below
Teresa's brown-tipped jugs framed them most attractively. Then Jack took
another length of hemp, this one coarser and heavier, and slipped it around
Teresa's slim waist. "Suck your stomach in, bitch!" he snarled. And after
Teresa took a breath that reduced the already slender circumference of her waist
by an inch or so, Jack swiftly cinched the stratchy rope so tightly about her
middle that she felt as if she'd never take a full breath again.
"Nice, Jack. She's one pretty picture now, ain't she?"
And so she was. Jack's constricting ropes emphasized and accentuated
every lovely curve of Teresa's body.
"Hey! I almost forgot. I brought our party-girl some flowers, Jack, as
a token of our affection. And a necklace. Let me get it."
Ernie rummaged through his big bag for a second. "Ah! Found it." And
then the evil little man pulled out a peculiar necklace. The chain of the
"necklace" was a strand of rawhide; but hanging from the rawhide were "the
flowers" -- two small cylindrical cacti, each of which was four or five inches
long and an inch or more in diameter, and bristling with razor sharp spines.
Ernie had hammered a nail hole through the end of each cactus, and pulled the
rawhide through the hole. Each cactus sported a single brilliant pink blossom.
"Now, ain't that pretty, Teresa? Here let me put it on you." And Ernie
looped the necklace around her pretty neck, tying it behind her. The two spiny
cacti nestled in the alluring valley between her naked breasts. As long as she
remained perfectly still, the dozens of spines were only a mild irritant, but
Teresa could see that the least movement would allow the sharp little spines to
prick her chest and the inner curves of her thrusting globes.
Chapter VIII Teresa's Dance of Pain
"You know what, Jack?" the ferret-faced little man asked as he slapped
his forehead in dismay. "I plumb forgot. You never got to see Teresa dance, did
you?"
"Nope, but with a body like that, I reckon she dances real nice."
"Sheee-it! Nice ain't the word for it, Jack. I'll tell you what. Sit
yer ass down on one 'a them chairs, partner. Teresa's gonna give you a free
show." Ernie reached for his four-tailed whip again. "Ain't you, Teresa?"
Teresa cast her soft brown eyes on each of her hard masters in turn,
looking for a trace of empathy. She found none. The tall one, El Reptil,
selected the same chair that Ernie the Weasel had sat in a few nights earlier.
He drew it back from the circular table before plopping down and tilting
backward so that the top of the chair tipped back against the wall behind him.
The gunslinger gave Teresa a malevolent glare as he stretched a long, black-clad
leg out and kicked the table a little further away.
Out of the corner of her eye, Teresa could see that El Raton had slipped
behind her, where he stood, gently shaking the short whip, his arm almost
twitching with eagerness.
"Dance for him, mija; get him as worked up as you got me that night."
"But I can't... not like...."
Ernie snarled and slashed her heart-shaped buttocks, leaving a livid
mark on both plump bottom-ovals.
"Aaaiiiii!!"
"I said dance, goddamit; I ain't gonna tell ya again."
Teresa, her arms bound behind her, began to move her feet to an unheard
rhythm, swaying back and forth in front of Jack. She twisted, turned, and spun
awkwardly around, trying to be careful to keep the fearful cacti from bouncing
around too much. But her movements allowed Jack to study her lush nudity from
every conceivable angle.
"That's it sweetie, Jack sneered licentiously. "Now bend down and give
that table yonder a little smooch."
Blushing furiously, the dark-haired beauty turned her back on Black
Jack. He had kicked the table about a yard away when he sat down.
Teresa gave Ernie a pained expression. Bending forward from the waist
as Jack had ordered would lift her bottom shamelessly high in the air.
But there was nothing to be done. Trying to keep her legs together as
best she could, Teresa lowered her lips to the edge of the oaken table,
shamefully conscious of how that seemingly innocent movement caused the curves
of her backside to tighten with an almost obscene wantonness.
CRACCKKK!! "Aaagghhh!! The hateful thongs raked four trails of fire
across her sumptuous buttocks.
"Did I tell you to stop dancing? Keep that ass movin' til I tell you to
stop girl."
Sniffing back tears, Teresa continued to move her hips in slow sensuous
circles.
"Geesus, Jackson, get a load of that ass!" Ernie gloated gleefully as he
wiped at his damp mouth with a filthy sleeve. He slid to one side so that his
one good eye could dart furtively back and forth between Teresa's lush,
cocoa-tipped breasts and the ebony thatch between her shapely thighs. "Ohhh,
yeah! ...That's it! Churn those hips, honey ... Yeah... Keep yer kisser right
against that tabletop. There you go! Now let's see you spread those pretty
legs for Uncle Jack and Uncle Ernie."
Trembling with shame and fear, Teresa slowly eased her legs apart.
"Nice, huh, Jack? C'mon, sweetie, spread 'em some more! And keep them
hips workin'!"
Black Jack's dark and evil eyes devoured the shadowy groove that split
Teresa's belt-streaked demi-ovals and the plump, inviting lips of her sex.
Meanwhile Ernie used the handle of his whip to separate Teresa's sun-bronzed
legs, slapping the whipstock sharply back and forth against the insides of her
silky-soft thighs until Teresa's legs were almost a yard apart.
Jack shifted his weight, causing the tilted front legs of his chair to
crash down hard onto the cantina floor. He reached out and let his hairy hands
explore the delicious curves of Teresa's out-thrust bottom as she continued her
dance of degradation. Tears of humiliation streamed down her face now as Jack's
masculine fingers fondled her pussy-petals for a few moments before sliding into
her velvety soft inner sanctum.
"She's a beauty, ain't she, Jackson? All right, mija, why don't you turn
around and give Jack a nice up-close look at those tits!"
Teresa straightened and slowly turned to face the sinister gunslinger,
who had tipped his chair back against the wall again.
"That's it, girlie. Geesus, they're somethin', ain't they, Jack!"
Teresa felt Jack's gaze crawling like a repulsive caterpillar over the
curves of her belt-ravaged breasts.
"Nice, baby. Now give us a little shimmy." Ernie had swung around so that
he stood off to her left. His crooked grin showed his tobacco-stained teeth as
he drew the tails of the short whip lovingly through his left hand.
Teresa, not knowing the word, looked at Ernie in puzzlement. Ernie made
her pay a price for her ignorance, flicking the thongs of his whip across the
smooth flesh of her midsection, catching her tummy about an inch above the
waist-cinching rope.
"'Shimmy,'" I said, "dammit! Get right up close to him, stick those
juicy big chi-chis in his face and wiggle 'em good! Just like you did for me
the other night!"
Nervously, Teresa stepped in between Jack's widespread legs until she
was only about two feet away.
"That's better. Now get those shoulders movin'. Make those babies
wobble."
When Teresa, terrified by the spines of the bristling cacti that were
suspended between her rounded breasts, wriggled half-heartedly, Ernie cursed and
spat on the floor.
"Look at me!" Ernie barked in his high-pitched voice.
Teresa turned slightly to her left to face the horrible little man.
"WHEN I..."
Cracckk!! The thongs fell heavily against the outer curve of Teresa's
left breast.
"Ooooowwhhhh!!. No... ple..."
"TELL YOU...
Craccckk!! "Aaaaaahhhhh!" The one-eyed gnome had swept the four
punishing tails between the white chest-ropes again, blistering her right
breast. Teresa tried to turn away, but Jack had thrown a black-booted left leg
over the table behind her, cutting off her retreat.
"TO SHAKE..."
Craacckk!!! the whip seared her sweat-sheened love-globes again.
"YOUR TITS..."
Cracckk!!! -- Ernie nailed her knockers again, punishing her taut
brown nipples.
"YOU SHAKE 'EM!!
"I will.... I will.... "Aaaauuugghhhh!"
CRACCKK !! another nipple-scorcher! "Ouwwww!'
"GET ME?"
"Si... Si... please, ... please... no mas.... I will do it."
And a moment later Teresa was standing only inches from Big Jack Slocum,
moving her body as sensually as she knew how. She gyrated slowly from side to
side, trying to ignore the way his tongue slid lasciviously across his lips even
as she tried to ignore the prick of the cactus needles against the inner slopes
of her whip-tender breasts.
"Not bad, mija, but now let's see a little grind action." Ernie had
slid around behind her once again.
Again, Teresa was at a loss to his meaning.
Ernie stung her rounded butt-cheeks with a blistering backhand. "Grind,
damn it. Up and down."
When Teresa's first attempt struck him as half-hearted, Ernie flogged
her golden buttocks again. "All the way, down, mija. Wriggle that pretty ass
all the way down to the floor; and keep those tits moving, too!"
"What'd I tell ya, Jack?" Ernie asked, as Teresa's voluptuous body
gyrated in simulated abandon. Each stanza of her erotic performance began with
her voluptuous breasts moving in seductive arcs a few inches from Jack's hungry
eyes, the ever-so-slightly protruding bones of her ribcage pressing gently
against the flesh of her marvelous midriff as her hips described slow sensuous
circles.
A beautiful sheen of perspiration settled over Teresa's body as she danced
for her cruel captors. Tiny pearls of moisture formed on her dark nipples and
then slowly blossomed into delicious droplets which clung amorously to her
bobbling breast tips until the inexorable pull of gravity plucked them from
their lovely perch. A miniature pool of moisture formed in her deep-notched
navel and a glistening dew clung to the inviting tangle of pubic hair between
her legs.
Each time she sank downward, slowly, languorously, into the deep knee bends
that Ernie had mandated, the pink lips of her girl-gash winked at Black Jack
invitingly, even as her sleek, strong legs endured the muscular burn caused by
each lusty descent. After five agonizing, thigh-straining seconds at the
deepest point in her crouch, Ernie signaled her to rise again until her
quivering coppery breasts were once more back to his eye-level.
Ernie the Weasel forced Teresa to continue this wanton performance for
several more minutes, striping the taut-muscled backs of her thighs and the
sweet slopes of her buttocks each time he felt that she was giving less than her
best effort.
Finally, though, Jack gave him a meaningful glance as if to say -- dancing
was a nice appetizer, but let's get to the main course!
Ernie, as always, reacted quickly to Jack's look.
"Now, Teresita, which of yer two gentleman callers would you like to
entertain first?"
Teresa, exhausted, sweat pouring down her naked body, her breasts
red-pricked from the demonic cacti, her thighs aching from dozens of knee-bends,
could only stare at him blankly.
"It's hard to choose, I know. I guess we'll have to find a way of
deciding, Jackson. Hey, I got an idea. Been wantin' to try this out."
Ernie dug into his seemingly bottomless bag of tricks. This time he
removed a six-foot-long braided leather whip. "How about a little target
practice, Jack? First one to get her belly button with this baby gets first
crack at her -- what do you say? First crack! Haw!"
"Suits me, Ern." Jack had confidence in his skill with a whip, even one
that he had rarely used before.
"Call it to see who goes first."
Jack called "Heads" as Ernie spun a coin into the air. The little man
caught it, flipped it over on to the back of his hand. "Sorry, pard, it's a
tail. I'll try first. But don't worry, I wouldn't be surprised if you get
yerself some head and I get a whole lotta tail before the night's out!" Ernie
guffawed again at his own joke.
"Back 'er up against the bar, Jack." Jack kicked a couple of stools out
of the way and then pushed Teresa roughly so that her pinioned arms pressed
against the solid bar behind her. She could feel the cactus needles prick the
edges of her soft breasts as she moved. "If'n I was you, I'd hold real still,
gal," Ernie warned, as he uncoiled the long whip. The two thin strands of
cowhide had been braided together meticulously. Swung full force, this baby
would hurt like hell. "And serve the fucking bitch right!" Ernie thought, as
another random jolt of pain flashed behind his left eye.
Ernie backed up several few feet, drew the quirt back and tried to use
his good eye to concentrate on his target, Teresa's tempting little navel. It
wasn't easy though, with those two juicy Mexican melons pointing at him from
between the white coils of rope. Not to mention the dark triangle of pubic hair
that guarded the paradise between her legs.
"Por favor...no more ... Aaaaiiiiiii!!"
Ernie had cracked the braided whip sharply across Teresa's abdomen,
missing his target by a few inches, but leaving a garish weal on Teresa's
ribcage as she winced with pain.
"Gimme that thing, Ernie. Let me show you how to swing that
sonofabitch!" And using a three-quarter arm delivery, Jack CRACKKed the tip of
the quirt viciously across Teresa's tummy, but he too missed, if only by an
inch, leaving a red mark just to the left of her deep-cut navel.
Teresa could only stand steadfastly still and take it; bound as she was
she had no real hope of escape, and any evasive movement would only cause the
cactus needles to nick the tender inner slopes of her breasts.
Ernie drew the whip back, and then shot it forward, blistering her
mid-section again with a resounding CRACCKK!!, as Teresa tried to fight off the
pain. "Well, that was closer, at least," he muttered as he handed the whip back
to Jack.
"CRACCKK!! This time Jack's aim was true; the devilish end of the
braided whip touched the very center of her sensitive belly button with its
fiery kiss. "All right!!" the big man exulted, having won first crack at their
prisoner. "Me first."
The giant grabbed his captive by the hair. "Didn't you say there was a
bedroom around her somewhere, Ern? We might as well get comfortable."
"Yeah, back here, off the kitchen." Ernie grabbed the broken-off beer
bottle from the table where Jack had set it, and held the jagged edge a
millimeter from Teresa's left breast. "You're gonna keep it down, ain't you
Teresa? So I don't have to gag you again?" And then just barely touching the
brown shard of the bottle to the underside of her breast, "And so I won't have
to cut you?"
Teresa inhaled in order to evade the touch of Ernie's improvised weapon,
and nodded, yes, she would keep still. Anything to avoid losing her beauty, her
only possession in this world.
"Good girl! Make sure you remember that! Now whyn't you lead us back to
yer bood-warr - so's the three of us can get better acquainted."
Teresa Martinez shivered as she turned toward the door that led toward
the kitchen and her bedroom beyond.
She shivered again when she looked over her shoulder and saw Ernie Gibbs
going back to the table to retrieve the horrible four-thonged whip....
Chapter IX The Spines of the Cactus
Slapping the stock of his whip impatiently against his scrawny thigh,
Ernie led the way through the kitchen, past the familiar wood-stove which held a
simmering cauldron of savory chile. He stepped past the sturdy-looking barrels
of flour and corn meal, and the large sacks of beans and onions and sugar, that
he remembered from his first visit. The table near the stove was laden, as
before, with fresh tortillas, ripe tomatoes, peppers, garlic and wafer-thin
sheets of meat that were destined to be carne asada.
But Ernie wasn't hungry just then, at least not for food. He passed
through the kitchen and into the darkness of the bedroom beyond. Jack grabbed
the knapsack, and slung it over his shoulder and followed, admiring the marks
Betsy had left on Teresa's spankable buttocks as he pushed their captive from
behind. Once they had crossed the threshhold into the bedroom, Jack noticed
that Teresa's good-sized bed had a heavy wrought iron headboard, and iron posts
at each corner. The solid-looking bed dominated the left side of the room.
Black Jack Slocum's lips broadened into a vulturesque smile -- they would need
a sturdy bed for the kind of games he wanted to play with their hot-blooded
prisoner.
"Right there's where they cold-cocked me, Jack," Ernie said, gesturing,
"See, you can even see the blood on the floor. Right there, in the doorway."
Slocum nodded grimly in the darkness, but he really didn't give a shit
about his partner's past misfortunes. He pulled Teresa's naked body back
against his own until she could feel the lanky gunslinger's rapacious erection
pressing against the hollow in the small of her back. One huge, hairy hand
scouted the alluring place between her legs while the other slid up over the
velvety flesh of her stomach to fondle her belt-warmed breasts. "Cold-cocked
you, did they? Well, it's high time we hot-cocked this Mexican cutie!"
"You got that right! But first, what do you say we throw a little light
on our subject, eh, big fella?" Ernie asked. Jack continue to fondle Teresa as
his ferret-faced partner tucked the whip into his belt and proceeded to light
four large candles, each an inch or more in diameter. And then Ernie the Weasel
made a tour of the little bedroom, placing each of the candles in a
candle-holder -- two on the twin night tables on either side of the bed, and one
each on a tiny desk and a dresser in the other two corners of the room.
With a forceful shove, Jack sent their shapely young prisoner sprawling
backwards onto the bed. Ernie got a brief look between her legs, then, in the
candlelight. The delicate folds of pink flesh, the delicious little clitoris.
The ferret-faced man licked his lips as he raped Teresa with his eyes, while
Jack pulled off his pants.
Teresa, with her arms bound helplessly behind her, could do little
more than close her pretty legs and look up at Jack Slocum in dread as she
discerned the huge shape pressing ardently against his long-johns. He spun
around awkwardly, as he pulled at his pants; he was facing away from her when he
shucked off his drawers.
And then he turned toward her. Teresa swallowed hard. Befitting his
gigantic stature, Jack's cock was a huge, semi-erect, purple-headed pole
emerging from a dense forest of inky pubic hair. Below his gigantic organ hung
a pair of plum-sized testicles. Teresa could not take her eyes off of his
prodigious equipment -- Jack's swollen cojones seemed to fill their scrotal sac
to bursting.
Seeing where her dark eyes were fixed, Jack grinned salaciously as he
kicked her sprawling legs apart. "How dya like the size of these 'huevos',
Teresita?" Jack asked as he cupped his heavy scrotum. "These fuckin' balls are
loaded with Texas man-juice, darlin'. Just for you." Jack continued to fondle
himself while he admired Teresa's gorgeous nudity, his reptilian eyes riveted on
her dark-fringed pussy lips.
To Teresa's horror, Jack's knobby blue-veined monster-cock continued to
swell and lengthen even more as his big hairy hand returned to his angry-looking
organ. "Yeah, baby, we grow 'em big over on our side of the Rio Grande. And
it's all yers, chiquita! Every fuckin' inch of it!"
Although Ernie and Jack had doubled up on women before, the
little man never ceased to be amazed at Black Jack's humongous prick -- it had
to be nine or ten inches long.
Jack Slocum grabbed the bronze-skinned beauty roughly and pulled her up
until she was sitting on her haunches on the bed. Then he threw himself down on
the bed beside her, lying full length across the bed, face up, his horse-cock a
vertical pillar of rock-hard flesh. And then, almost effortlessly, he grabbed
her around the waist and lifted her up, so that she was straddling his thighs
facing away from him. The sudden movement caused the sharp spines of the cactus
necklace to dig into her breasts.
And then with a guttural, "Sit on it, bitch!" Jack grabbed her rounded
hips and pulled her down onto his impaling organ.
Teresita couldn't believe the size of his gargantuan-cock, as she slowly
tried to take Jack's knobby penis into her girlish vagina . It was almost half
again as large as Jorge's -- the former boyfriend who had had the biggest organ
she had seen in her young life.
But Jack was in no mood for slow. It had been weeks since he'd raped
the shit out of Honey Wilson, and he was in the mood for some serious fucking.
With his hands on her hips, he pressed Teresa's body more forcefully down on his
thrusting organ.
"Ah, fuck, but she's tight, Ern. Hot and tight!" Jack's face was a mask
of lust. So far the girl's vagina had only accepted a few inches of his massive
cock-staff. "OK, baby, start pumpin' sweet ass for me. Work it, honey! Up and
down!"
Ernie watched, amused, as Teresa tried to oblige, but she was impaled so
firmly that it was hard for her to move. Only the four flickering candles in
each corner of the room disturbed the darkness enough to allow him to see
Jack's long body stretched across the bed, his legs dangling over the side.
Teresa faced the side of the bed on which Ernie stood, and with her arms bound
still behind her, the front of her delicious body was temptingly available to
him. The scrawy gunman's good eye examined her body as thoroughly as if he'd
been the head judge at a livestock show. "You'd best do like my pard says,
girl," Ernie drawled as he eased the short-handled whip out of his belt.
"C'mon, mija, bounce on my big Texas cock!" Jack snarled again.
This time, when Teresa was still slow to obey, Ernie positioned himself
about three feet away and slightly to her right and, using a brutally compact
stroke, lashed the four strips of tough leather across her jutting lust-globes.
"You heard the man! Move yer ass, slut! Now!"
Teresa groaned in pain as the leather tails wrapped themselves around
her sensitive breasts. She tried to use the springiness of the bed to help her
slide up and down on Jack's giant prong. "Faster, bitch," he snarled.
But every time she tried to move faster, she felt the sharp cactus needles
digging into the inner curves of her close-set mounds. The first time she
slowed down -- and it was only for a second, in a vain hope to relieve that
agony -- Ernie slashed her left breast viciously, searing the outer edge of an
aureole just where it began to blend into the cafe-au-lait breast flesh.
"Aaaaaaghh," Teresa groaned in pain.
All the while, of course, she felt herself being forced further and
further down onto Jack's mighty prick, fearful that it might split her in two
at any moment. "Faster! Harder" he growled. "Take it all, you Mexican whore!
You know you love it!"
Big Jack had one hand on the strand of rope that strangled Teresa's
narrow waist. With his immense strength he was able to lift her up and then
slam her back down on to his eager cock. Each time he did this Teresa squealed
like a stuck pig, despite her promise to be quiet. And each time she squealed,
Ernie attacked her proud breast-globes, the breasts so beautifully framed in
the flickering candlelight by the tight white ropes, with the biting thongs of
his whip.
"Yeaaaahhh, senorita, ride my big fucking mustang!" Jack growled. "Up
and down, mija, up and down!" Slocum had his Texas truncheon deep in her moist
cunt now. He was fucking her like a man possessed, his hips lifting her 110 lbs
effortlessly. Teresa's pussy was a hot, wet velvety canyon that squeezed and
sucked at his cock despite the pain that coursed through her.
Jack's forceful lunges had the cacti bouncing and swinging against her
flesh now. "Ohhhhhh, move yer ass!" the big man moaned. "Milk it, baby! That's
real good. Keep doin' it, just like that!"
Teresa was a beatiful sight, as she rode Jack's cock, bucking like a woman
possessed, as Jack's giant pole plundered her pussy, and the razor-sharp cactus
needles perforating her chest. Her tawny thighs rippling, her young breasts
bouncing. And yet -- the effect, thought Ernie, while impressive, was not quite
what it might have been. Something was lacking. And then he realized what it
was.
"Honey, you shoulda kept them nipples hard. Now I'm gonna have'ta harden
'em up a bit! Not that I mind," he leered sadistically.
The evil gnome in the wet stetson reached for Teresa's full breasts, being
careful to avoid the sharp-spined cacti that bounced between them. He trapped
her dark nipples between his tobacco-stained fingers and flicked and twirled
them, gently at first and then more firmly, as Jack continued to lift her with
each titanic lunge.
Teresa was ashamed when her tasty nuggets betrayed her and gradually
responded to Ernie's manhandling. As he worked her nipples between his fingers,
they continued to stiffen and grow, until they were once again boldly pointing
up at him.
"Yeah, baby. That's how I like 'em. Brown and hard and long enough to
bite!" He bent down and took one stiff crest into his mouth, teasing it with
his lips and tongue. "And sweet. So goddam sweet!" he mumbled through clenched
teeth, as he nursed voraciously at her teasingly turgid breast tips, moving his
mouth back and forth between the two chewy morsels.
Ernie was pleased with the results of his labors. When he was done,
Teresa's nipples were firm, and puckering, sitting up on her saliva-damp
breasts like fleshy spikes, demanding attention.
Just then another agonizing wave of pain shot through Ernie's
gruesome-looking left eye, causing him to grimace in agony. And renewing his
determination to wreak vengeance on the cause of his suffering. As she rocked
back and forth on Jack Slocum's plundering cock, Teresa sensed Ernie's
intention -- his rheumy gray-green eye glowed with a fiendish intensity. She
shook her head, "No, no!" but Ernie was not about to be dissuaded from his cruel
purpose.
He reached his relentless talons toward Teresa's mouthwatering breasts
again. But this time it was not to stimulate the caramel-colored mounds of
flesh but to hurt them. El Raton seized a nipple in each hand, trapping the
teasing brown buds between thumb and forefinger. When another flash of pain
coursed through his bashed-in skull, he tightened his tenacious grip on her
swollen buds, pressing his jagged, ill-kept thumbnails deep into the sensitive
flesh where the perky crests of her breasts rose from her slightly paler
aureoles. Teresa renewed her struggles to free herself from the fiendishly
tight ropes that framed her thrusting breasts so stunningly, even as the
grinning gargoyle increased his pressure on the tender tips of her breasts until
tears streamed from her brown eyes.
"O, Dios, ayuda-me," Teresa prayed, as Ernie released her nipples only to
cry out in pain when he gave her left breast a resounding slap, driving the
tender mound into the cruel embrace of the cactus.
"Who's a Yankee pig, now, you Mexican whore?" Ernie re-gripped her
nipple-nuggets, and then slowly, inexorably, began twisting them outward. "How
you doin', Jackson? C'mon, mija. Move it, bitch! Bounce on that cock! Faster,
dammit!"
Teresa shuddered in agony as Ernie crushed and mauled her breast tips; each
shudder caused her to unwillingly tighten her vaginal grasp on Black Jack's huge
phallus. Somehow he had wedged the entire length of his massive fuck-pole into
her now.
When Ernie was satisfied that her delectable nipples were as long and as
hard they were going to get -- half-inch long brown rivets -- he told his
hard-fucking partner, "Jack, you gotta see these tits -- I worked 'em up good!"
In answer, Jack paused his deep thrusts for a moment. "Turn her around,
then! Let me at those titties!"
And between the two of them they made quick work in lifting their sexy
bound victim, turning her so that she was now facing Jack, and forcing her down
once again onto his immense impaling organ.
"Ya done good, Ern!" Jack exclaimed, as he admired the desirable
brown-studded hemispheres of golden flesh that were now well within reach of his
ape-like arms. "Up and down, bitch!" Jack grunted as he groaned with pleasure.
" Faster! Faster, Goddamit!! I wanna see those fuckin' tits bouncin' like
tumbleweed in a cyclone!"
But despite Teresa's best efforts, the stabbing pain of the twin cacti that
hung from her bizarre necklace, kept her from increasing the speed of her
movements. "Madre de Dios!" she lamented, as the spines dug into her breast
flesh, "It hurts."
But Black Jack Slocum was not too fucking interested in excuses.
"You don't listen so good, do ya, Teresa?" And with a vicious snarl the
hairy giant's huge hands moved to the outer curves of Teresa's pain-wracked
Mexican love-gourds. And then, smiling sadistically, he began to press inward.
Pushing her breasts together. Forcing them into the dangling cacti.
At first his pressure was not too intense. But his relentless grip slowly
tightened, until the punishing needles of the cacti punctured the inner slopes
of her succulent breasts.
"Aaaiiiiieeeeeaahhh!!" Teresa cried out, as her suffering continued to
mount.
In the glimmering light Ernie could see dots of scarlet begin to bead up
on her mouthwatering jugs.
Jack had Teresa's boobs in a death-grip now, and with his great strength he
began to lift her torso up, using her full young breasts as punishing
hand-holds, only to pull her back down onto his surging stallion staff. Ernie
could only look on with envy at the incredible stamina required to lift the girl
that way over and over again. No wonder the Chicana whores back in San Antone
had called big Jack 'Cojones de Fierro' -- Balls of Iron.
And each rise and fall seemed to drive more and more of the fierce cactus
spines deeper and deeper into Teresa's tender breast-flesh.
"That's it, sweetie. Oh, gees, that's good ...Shake them big chi-chis for
Uncle Jack. Geesus, Ern, I'm gonna fuckin' explode!" Jack growled. "Yeah!
Ride that big fucking bronco, you Mexican cock-rider! Yeah!!" he grunted, as
he pulled Teresa down harder and harder onto his punishing cock. The sight of
the Latina beauty's ebony-fringed sex swallowing the entire length of his
throbbing fence-post over and over had loaded every chamber in his gun.
From behind Ernie watched Teresa's sweetly rounded buttocks pumping up
and down faster than a miner's well-handle at the end of a long drought, eyeing
the deep, dark groove between them longingly, while Jack continued his ferocious
assault.
Finally, Jack exploded, his veiny manhood shooting the hot jets of sperm
that had swollen his bulging ball-sac deep into Teresa's gaping pussy. And he
fell back, delightedly spent, on the bed.
And Teresa, grateful that her breasts had been spared, at least for the
moment, the agonizing embrace of the cacti, rolled off of him, onto her side,
utterly exhausted, her arms still tightly bound behind her.
But her reprieve was to prove short-lived....
Chapter 10 The Dancer Degraded
Another violent thunderclap exploded in the heavens; the long rolling
rumble of thunder seemed to last a half a minute. Then two jagged flashes of
lightning illumined the fearful night -- the pair of crackling thunderbolts
seemed a fearful omen to Teresa.
"Hey! The party ain't over just yet, senorita!" Ernie snarled as he reached
for the lustrous black mane of the nude beauty. "In fact it's just beginnin'.
It's time you showed uncle Ernie a little fuckin' affection, too, mija.
Especially since I come back from the dead just to come a courtin'." Ernie got
a good grip on the inky tresses of her tousled hair, and dragged her over to
the edge of the bed, on her stomach, until she lay across the bed, with her head
hanging over the edge.
. The red speckles which the prickly plant which had left on the inner
curves of Teresa's breasts had become damp, scarlet smears by the time Ernie
dragged her head first to the edge of the bed. Ernie reached out and pressed a
fingertip against one of the deeper pin pricks and when it came away red, he
painted the pebbly aureole of her left breast crimson with his fingertip,
enjoying the contrast between the deep ruby color of Teresa's blood and the dark
chocolate of her nipple. Being careful not to brush against the cactus, he bent
down and used the tip of his tongue to sponge the blood away, even as his lips
closed around the sweetness of her firm brown nugget. He tugged it gently,
testing its elasticity, and then reached around behind her to undo the terrible
necklace, and put it aside on the little corner table. Amazingly, despite all
of the rough treatment she had undergone, the white ropes that Jack had wound
around Teresa's chest were still tight as a drum; they encircled her torso just
above and just below her breasts squeezing her dark-nippled melons forward
provocatively.
"Ya know, mija" Ernie began, "after them big tips I laid on you last
Saturday night, I was expecting some mighty good lovin'." Ernie chuckled, as he
unbuttoned his fly. "You kept me waitin' a week longer'n I expected, honey. But
now it's time you gave me what I got comin'!"
Ernie lifted Teresa's head by the hair again, so she could get a good look,
or as good a look as the shimmering candlelight would permit, at Ernie's crotch
-- which was about as appetizing as his gruesome left eye.
As Ernie dropped his pants, Teresa wrinkled her pretty nose in revulsion.
Ernie wasn't the most fastidious hombre in the world about bathing under the
best of circumstances, and tonight he was smelling particularly ripe. His
unwashed cock and balls dangled inches from her face. If her situation hadn't
been so dire, Teresa might have laughed at his "chilito", his half-erect
undersized dick; it reminded her of Ernie himself -- it was skinny, ugly, and
it, too, seemed to squint at her angrily out of one eye.
Ernie released her head and fisted his scrawny but eager prick a few times
with his left hand; out of the corner of her eye, Teresa could see that he was
once again clutching the four-thonged whip in his right.
"OK, mija, you know what to do," Ernie sneered. "Get busy! Andale!!"
Even after being freed of Ernie's grasp, Teresa had difficulty pulling
herself up on to her knees. She knelt there on the bed, her arms still bound
behind her back, until Jack reached out and gave her a push between the shoulder
blades that caused her face to tip forward into the mattress, leaving her body
arched in a feline curve and her spirit nearly shattered on the rocks of fear
and disgust. The dark hair around her beautiful face was as tempest-tossed as
if she had been caught in the gale raging outside.
"What the fuck you waitin' fer, Teresita?" Ernie yelled, as he cracked her
sharply across the smooth skin of her back with his four-thonged whip.
"Aaaaahh!! Que? What ... what do you want?" Teresa whimpered. "No
comprende."
Ernie went for her sweet bronze buns this time, aiming for the lovely arc
formed by her butt-cleft, punishing her bottom with a ferocious overhand cut
with the whip, as Teresa's body tensed deliciously in response to the stinging
stroke.
"Whaddya mean, 'No comprende'? You 'comprende' just fine, you Mexican
slut!" The whip scored her bottom again, as Ernie slashed at her angrily. "Don't
play dumb with me, chiquita! It's time for you to wrap those sweet lips of yers
around some American cock, 'nstead of them greaser dicks yer used to suckin'!"
"No," Teresa shook her head wildly. "Nunca... nunca," she lied. But
indeed, she had almost always been able to cajole her other lovers into
foregoing that most intimate of pleasures. She had been forced into relenting
only once, on that occasion when Jorge, in a jealous rage, had made her kneel
on the bed with her heart-shaped bottom high in the air, and given her a dozen
or more stinging cuts with a tough leather strap. The proud beauty had taken no
pleasure in pleasing her lover in that way; the idea of taking this disgusting
gringo into her mouth was unthinkable.
"Never, my ass!" Ernie sneered in disbelief. Impatiently, the ferret-faced
villain turned toward his partner. Jack lay sprawled naked on the bed behind
Teresa, his dark, reptilian eyes admiring the delicious curvature of her behind
with predatory delight. "Looks like our gypsy gal needs a little east-Texas
encouragement, Jackson! Just like that teasing slut, Honey Wilson. Hold her up
for me, pard. I'm gonna learn our little senorita not to fuck with Ernie
Gibbs!"
The hairy outlaw nodded and sat up on the bed, and then reached over, and
lifted Teresa by her hair. With her arms still bound behind her, her body was
as helpless as a rag doll in the hands of a giant. Jack yanked her up so that
she was kneeling not far from the edge of the bed facing a very pissed-off Ernie
Gibbs. .
Ernie didn't waste much time. Squinting evilly out of his good eye, he
slashed the whip across Teresa's tawny abdomen, and then rifled two quick shots
to her silky thighs, before cracking her sharply along the upper ridge of her
dark, swirling pubic hair.
"Aah!! Aghhh!! Arghhh!! Aieaahhh!!!" Teresa moaned in pain as each blow
landed, while her beautiful brown eyes filled with fresh tears. Teresa looked
up at Ernie fearfully. Behind him the flickering candles cast an eerie shadow on
the wall; the macabre silhouette of the little man dwarfed the man himself.
Ernie grinned his familiar crooked-toothed grin, laid the fearful whip on
the bed, and held his dick up for her. "I reckon it's time for you to start
suckin', mija!" Lashing Teresa's beautiful body had aroused him again -- his
skinny prick was as hard as a rail on the Southern Pacific.
Jack had been holding her upper body up by the hair, but now he pushed her
forward and down so that her face was only an inch or two from Ernie's erect
cock in all of its blue-veined ugliness. But once again the very notion repulsed
her; she gave him a look of blistering contempt and hissed, "Chingate tu madre,
cabron!" And regretted her rash outburst instantly.
Jack ripped her body backwards again. "That ain't no way to talk about a
fella's mammy, honeychile."
"What'd she say, Jack? What'd the slut say?" Ernie spluttered. His rheumy
eyes were sparkling with rage.
"I reckon she told you to fuck your own mama, Ern."
"She did, did she? That ain't no way to talk to a fella who's come back
from the dead to see ya, sweetheart. Hold her up straight, Jack; looks like I'm
gonna have'ta work on those pretty chichis some more. Teach this cunt some
fuckin' manners."
Slocum obliged him by pulling Teresa into an upright kneeling position
again, her back arched painfully back, her nude breasts thrust provocatively
forward.
"Yeah, that's it, pal.! Hold her just like that! Yer gonna git it now,
sister! Steady, now, Big Jack."
Ernie reached for the stock of the four-tailed whip again. It felt good in
his hand, as if it were an emblem of power. Ernie jerked at his throbbing cock
a couple more times with his left hand as the fingers of his right opened and
closed on the whip handle. He wasn't sure whether it was his stiff erection or
the solidity of the whip-stock that made him feel more like a man.
Despite the ghastly shadow, the flesh-and-blood Ernie Gibbs looked more
than a little ridiculous, with his pants around his ankles. But there was
nothing funny about the way in which he drew the short whip up and back and then
gave Teresa a stinging lash across the upper curve of her left breast; "Yeah!"
he exulted. Then the cocky little man lifted the whip up over his shoulder
before snapping it down brutally onto the luscious fullness of Teresa's other
breast.
"Ooouuuuwwwwww!!"
"How'd ya like that one?" Ernie smirked. "I'll teach you to call Ernie
Fucking Gibbs a fucking motherfucker!!" Ernie swung the whip with a savagery
remarkable even for him. CRAACKK!!! -- the tails of the terrible whip curled
around the outer curve of Teresa's left breast, bathing the shapely globe in a
sea of pain.
"Aaaaiiieeaaaahhhh!"
"Yeah, yell all you want, whore!" CRACCKKK!!, "AAAIIEEE!!!" he backhanded
her this time, letting the four sharp tails of the whip etch a fiery kiss deep
into the flesh of both of her plump breasts. "Ain't nobody gonna hear you in a
downpour like this!"
Teresa's loud cry of agony caused Jack to let go of her hair. She fell
face down on the bed again, panting and sobbing. "Por favor ... please ..."
"Lift her up again, Jackson. I ain't through with those big tits yet - not
by a long shot!" A savage grin lit up Ernie's features. He loved the way the
leather thongs bit deep into Teresa's soft breasts, and then seemed to cling to
the swollen mounds for a magical instant before sliding slowly downward over her
luscious curves leaving them blotched and red and quivering in the candlelight.
For a moment or two Ernie's thoughts turned to the punishment he and Black
Jack Slocum had meted out to Honey Wilson's creamy, pink-nippled breasts out in
the sun-baked corral on that last morning at the Wilson ranch. Yep, they had
worked those beauties over Texas-style, that was for damn sure. Him and Jack
had taught Honey what happens to big-titted blonde snitches in a way she'd never
forget. And now Professor Gibbs was going to teach this mutinous Mexican cutie
a different but equally painful lesson.
Slocum gave his diminutive partner a wink and once again pulled Teresa
Martinez up to face his whip-wielding partner.
Ernie eye-balled the dark stripes on Teresa's jutting breasts with a smirk
of sadistic satisfaction as he wiped at the sweat that was streaming down his
disfigured face. Then he took a quick step to his left, stroked his flint-hard
dick a few more times, took the whip back over his shoulder, and flung it
forward with a vengeance. The vicious side-armer landed squarely on the
centers of Teresa's generous mounds, sending waves of searing pain through her
sensitive brown nipples.
"Aaaaughhhrrghh!! Madre de Dios... please ..."
"How's that for a Bullseye, slut!"
"Please... God ... I can't take any mo..."
CRAACCCKK!! An overhander came sweeping down from above to rake the top of
her pleasure-globes, leaving fresh striata of pain on the upper contours of the
lovely Latina's throbbing breasts.
"Oh, you'll take it, baby! You'll take it, 'til either my arm gets tired or
my dick can't wait no more!"
CRAACCCKKK!! Ernie drilled her man-pleasing nipple-nuggets again, crushing
her tender breast-tips under the punishing thongs.
Ernie strutted back and forth for a few seconds, his pants around his
ankles, his cock hard with desire. He would have been a ludicrous sight had he
not been brandishing the dreadful whip. And then he unloaded on her tits again,
punishing Teresa's swollen lust-melons with yet another swift, sure, horizontal
stroke.
"Aauuuggghh!" Teresa groaned in anguish. She would have doubled over in
pain, had not Jack, still holding a handful of her long black hair, quickly
jerked her upright again, just in time for Ernie to give her yet another
ferocious breast-splitter across her naked knockers, leaving a mark on their
soft lower curves.
"Aaaaaaaaagghhh! Madre de Dios," the pathetic brown-skinned beauty moaned
again, but she had hardly closed her lips when the terrible thonged whip visited
the ever-so-tender area at the juncture of her thighs, eliciting another
high-pitched scream. This scream, though, like all of the others, was drowned
in the thunderous downpour that was bombarding the roof of the cantina.
The ghastly shadow on the wall moved twice more as Ernie slashed her lovely
naked thighs once and then again. And then the fearful shadow paused as the
evil little man stroked his pulsing cock to an even fuller erection. God, he was
hot! His balls were heavy with lust as he turned slightly away from his
beautiful victim only to lash out with a vicious backhand that crashed into
Teresa's delectable breasts with teeth-rattling force.
"Aaaaaauuhh!" Teresa cried out in agony, her body a sea of pain. And that
one broke her, at least for the moment. "No mas... For the love of God, no
mas."
Jack's powerful hand moved to the back of her neck and pressed her down,
down until her torso was face-down flat on the bed once again. And then he
lifted her head up, so that her mouth was about two inches from Ernie's aroused
penis.
"OK, baby, use that pretty tongue, and clean me off. Oooh, that's right!
Right down to the base! Lick it! Lick it like it was a big ol' lollipop. And
act like you like it, or you're gonna get a few more across those juicy
knockers!"
Teresa, inexperienced in the art of providing oral pleasure, but desperate
for a reprieve from the seemingly unending pain, swallowed her dignity and
complied with his instructions, running her pretty pink tongue up and down the
length of her tormentor's manhood.
"Oooohhh, yeahhh! Now' yer talkin'! C'mon baby, polish that cock! Get
it nice and wet. Worship it, mija. Yeah!!!" Ernie's scrawny body was shaking
with lust. "Hey, Jack. I bet her ass is lookin' pretty good, too about now,
ain't it? Ernie winked. "Geeeeeeessssusss! Lick it, baby. Make it nice and
slippery."
When his prick was dripping with Teresa's saliva, Ernie lifted her head up
and jabbed his erection into Teresa's left breast. "Yeah, that feels good
baby," he muttered as he slid his slimy cockstaff around her breast twice and
then pressed its tip firmly against the most livid of the marks on her breast,
as Teresa shuddered in pain.
"I reckon I warmed 'em up good, didn't I, mija?" Ernie grunted as he
fondled Teresa's breasts with his penis. "Oh, shit, Jackson, she's got some
tits, don't she!"
" Yeaahhh... that was nice, baby," Ernie growled as he pulled away
slightly. "Time to get busy on those hairy fuckin' balls, baby. Niiiiice.
Take those cojones in yer mouth and suck the shit out of 'em! Yeah..."
"What did I tell you, Jack? She's a natural. A born cock-sucker -- they
all are."
Jack Slocum, meanwhile, had been running his big hairy hands all over
Theresa's bottom as he appraised it with an expert eye, like a cowboy checking
out a horse he would need for a long, hard ride, occasionally giving her ass a
jolting smack with the palm of his hand. "Teach her right, Ernesto, teach her
right!"
"Oh, fuck, that's good! Kiss it again, now, baby. Up and down - that's
it ... All over. Use those pretty lips. Now the tip. Good... a little more
tongue. Nice... Take it in yer mouth now. Tease it, baby. Use those lips.....
Oohhhh shit, that's good... Move your hand up and down on it real slow, while
you suck...Mmmm.... Go down on it now. That's it... more, mija... Swallow that
dick... Yeahh... All the way down, dammit! ... That's better... Now suck
it... Nice and slow."
But despite his admonitions, it was only a few more seconds before the
intensely pleasurable sensation of Teresa's mouth on his hyper-sensitive cock
caused Ernie to come. He soon spasmed violently, emitting an animal-like growl
as he shot spurt after spurt of semen into the warm cavern of Teresa's
unwilling mouth.
Chapter XI Liquid Fire
"Damn it! I told you to take it slow," Ernie told Teresa, who was doing
her best not to retch after swallowing Ernie's weasel-seed. Ernie Gibbs'
sexual stamina, which was only a tiny fraction of Jack's, was always a sore
point. With his typical grace, Ernie could always be replied on to blame the
woman in question for his shortcomings. "You heard me, Jack, I told the slut to
slow down."
Jack, who'd heard it all before, had been poking around the room while he
waited for Ernie to finish. He picked up a small card from the nightstand,
noticing that it was addressed to Teresa and bore the graceful handwriting of a
young girl. The final words were "Feliz cumpleanos!" and signed 'Maria'.
Jack had lived in Texas most of his life -- long enough to know what those
Spanish words meant. "Hey, Ern! Guess what? Our little Teresa, here, is a
birthday girl. Ain't you?"
When Teresa was slow in answering, Ernie, again armed with his whip, lashed
her across her rounded buttocks. "The man's talkin' to you, Teresa! When's yer
goddam birthday?"
"Tomorrow... Domingo."
"Sunday? Hell, it's past midnight already. Well Happy Fucking Birthday,
Teresa. How old are you anyway?"
"Solamente diez y ocho... only eighteen," Teresa told him, in a voice that
was half sob, half whisper. "Please... can you just go, now. Por favor... I
will tell no one."
"Eighteen? Is that all? Shit, Jack, we wuz whippin' us some jailbait ass
until about an hour ago." He brought the thongs down on Teresa's rounded
bottom-cheeks again. "Some fine jailbait ass!" Just then another bolt of pain
shot through the left side of Ernie's face, causing him to grimace in agony.
"Sorry, honey, we wouldn't want you to have to celebrate yer birthday alone,
would we Jack?"
"That's right, Ern -- tell you what." The brooding, vulturesque giant eyed
Teresa's nude body while he thought for a moment. "Whaddya say we tie our
hot-blooded dancin' girl up in a nice little birthday package. Go out in the
bar and bring me one of them stools, Ern. I got me an idea. Oh, and bring me
another bottle of that tequila too -- the one that's 160 proof."
Ernie nodded and walked out of the room, naked as a jaybird. He stopped to
sample the chili that was still on top of the big black stove. It was hot and
spicy -- just like he liked it. He tried another spoonful, nodded approvingly
and continued on into the bar. He watched the rain continue to come down in
sheets outside for a moment. 'That'll keep the greasers home in there beds," he
mused to himself. "And give me and Black Jack that much more time with our sweet
senorita.' Then, anxious to see what Slocum was up to, he grabbed a tequila
bottle with one hand and a wooden bar stool in the other, and headed back toward
the bedroom.
"Well, whaddya think?" Jack asked. Jack had used his few minutes alone
with Teresa productively. In the glimmering candlelight Ernie could see that
she was now lying face down, lengthwise, in the middle of the bed, her arms
still bound behind her. But now each of her pretty ankles was securely lashed
to the sturdy posts at the foot of the bed. Ernie walked around to stand
directly behind her, admiring Jack's ropework. Teresa's legs were spread-eagled
as far apart as they would go, her legs forming a tempting inverted V, her
pussy-lips, still wet with Jack's cum, naked and vulnerable. The muscles of
her coppery legs were taut with the tension of the painful bondage, and her
whippable buttock-globes were tight with fearful anticipation.
Ernie, standing in the doorway looking for all the world like an ugly
one-eyed monkey who'd lost a fur fight, whistled in admiration. "Yep, that sure
is one purty birthday package, Jack," and proffered the bottle of tequila.
Jack took it, twisted off the cap and took a sip, making a face. "Damn,
that shit burns goin' down," he grumbled. "But it'll make a good disinfectant.
When I flipped her over, I saw that them cactuses had cut up her knockers pretty
good. We wouldn't want those big fuckin' chi-chis to get all infected now,
would we?" Jack asked with an evil grin.
Jack pointed to the far side of the bed. "Ern, you stand over there. When
I lift her up, rub some of this rot-gut into her tits. There's enough alcohol
in this shit to kill the biggest fucking germ in Me-ji-co. OK, you ready? Here
goes!"
Jack got a good grip on Teresa's black mane, and jerked her head up hard.
With her ankles lashed to the bedposts, and her legs and hips flat on the bed,
Jack lifted her head and shoulders back cruelly. Teresa groaned in misery,
fearful that if Jack pulled any harder, her spine might snap like a late-summer
twig. Meanwhile Ernie splashed some of the clear liquor into one hand and
rubbed the strong tequila into Teresa's cactus-gouged right breast. Teresa's
ripe, pendulous breasts were still beautifully framed by the two bands of white
rope that circled her chest just above and below them.
"Aiiiiiieee!!" Teresa yelped, as soon as the alcohol touched her body. The
tequila seemed to seek and find every pore, every crack in her tawny
breast-flesh. Teresa wriggled in misery as the liquid fire burned into the
surface of breasts that had been ravaged by leather and lash, that had been
pierced by razor-sharp cacti, and that had been gouged by the stone on Pepe's
ring.
"No? no more ? please," Teresa moaned as she tossed her dark mane from side
to side like a dog coming in out of the rain.
"From the way she's wriggling, looks like they oughta call that stuff "Old
Titburner, Jack," Ernie smirked as he offered the bottle to his partner. Jack
hoisted the bottle to his lips once again and took a slug. Even Jack Slocum,
who'd drunk enough whiskey in his life to irrigate a cotton field, contorted his
face as the fiery alcohol went down.
"Geesus, Ern. That stuff's stronger than white lightnin'," Jack grimaced
as he handled the slender-necked bottle back to his sidekick.
Ernie gleefully poured another handful of tequila into his cupped right
hand, spilling a fair amount on the bed as he did so, and then tilted his hand
so that the alcohol trickled down onto the upper curve of Teresa's breast,
bathing the succulent melon in a second fiery torrent. Though bound hand and
foot, Teresa' upper body vibrated with a series of agonized shudders as Ernie
massaged the tequila into the writhing beauty's tortured breast. Then he tilted
the bottle again and let a couple of drops fall directly onto Teresa's sensitive
nipple. It took a second or two for the liquor to do its evil work, but when it
did, Teresa's upper body reacted as if Ernie had held a still-warm match-tip to
her breast.
When his ferret-faced partner had finished with Teresa's right breast,
Jack let go of her hair, allowing the beleaguered Latina beauty to fall
face-first into the soft mattress. The two men then switched positions, with
Ernie going to the other side of the bed. Once again Jack lifted Teresa's head
and shoulders while Ernie attended to her other breast, liberally sloshing the
tequila onto the tender flesh and then working it deeper and deeper into her
golden-brown skin. As the alcohol seeped into her tenderized flesh, Teresa felt
as if her beautiful young breasts were being bathed in acid.
When both of Teresa's young breasts were slick with strong tequila, Jack
let go of her hair, letting her face crash into the mattress once again.
"Damn, that tequila burns MY hands and they ain't hardly cut at all," Ernie
groused. "Let me go rinse 'em off in that basin out there." Ernie looked down
to see Teresa's upper body twitching in agony as she tried to rub her boobs into
the mattress seeking relief from her torment. But Ernie had intentionally not
mopped up the puddles of the liquor he had spilled, and Teresa's agitated
movements only served to immerse her sensitive breasts in those fresh pools of
liquified fire, to Jack and Ernie's intense amusement.
Chapter XII A Birthday Spanking
After rinsing his hands, Ernie returned to the bedroom, where Jack was
patiently waiting, enjoying Teresa's frantic, face-down writhing on the bed.
"What's with the bar stool, Jack," Ernie asked.
"Well, partner, I thought we'd give our birthday girl, here, a friendly
birthday spanking. But the way I figger it -- if you're gonna give a pretty
girl a spanking, she oughta have her ass high in the air. Like this."
Black Jack grabbed Teresa by the hair again. But this time he also put a
hand under her midsection, and lifted her upward to a kneeling position on the
bed. Jack's thick middle finger found its way between her legs and dug into her
for a moment, while Teresa squirmed helplessly. When at length he removed his
questing finger, he said, "Now lay that bar stool crosswise on the bed. Right
in front of her, up against them pretty legs. That's right."
"I'm gonna untie yer arms, now Teresita." The kneeling dark-haired beauty
breathed a deep sigh of relief; her arms and shoulders ached from their long
captivity. "But only for about thirty seconds," Jack chortled, as Ernie slapped
his knee at the cruel jest.
In a minute or so Jack had undone the heavy bonds that imprisoned her arms,
and unwound the revolutions the ropes had made on her chest. The coarse ropes
had left deep impressions just above her wrists, around her upper arms, and
across the tawny skin of her back and chest.
Teresa had about ten seconds of relative freedom before the hard-eyed
gunman pushed her body forward over the stool that lay sideways on the bed.
Then Jack took a length of rope and wrapped it around Teresa's right wrist
several times, before lashing it securely to the front bedpost, down at mattress
level. Jack paused once or twice to jerk all the slack out of the rope, making
sure that Teresa was trussed up tighter than a calf at a west Texas rodeo.
When he finally did secure the rope to the bedpost, the well-toned muscles of
her right arm and shoulder were stretched to their limits.
It took the snake-eyed outlaw only another minute or two to imprison her
left arm in similar fashion. When he was done, Teresa's wrists and ankles were
securely lashed to the four bedposts. The tremulous light from the candles in
the four corners of the room highlighted the fact that every muscle in her arms
and legs was stretched bowstring-taut. Her thighs and midsection were angled up
over the over-turned stool, thrusting her delightfully curved derriere high into
the air. Teresa's dark-tufted pubic mound rubbed painfully against the edge of
the stool, and her opulent, dark-tipped love-globes hung from her chest, proud
and full and defenseless. Worst of all, Teresa thought, Ernie had lifted his
dreadful bag of tricks up onto the bed, and he was rummaging through it yet
again.
"Well, Jack, I just don't think an ord'nary spanking is good enough for our
Teresa. Especially since it's her eighteenth birthday. Seems to me that calls
for somethin' special. How about we welcome her to 'adultery' -- get it, Jack
-- adultery! Haw!! -- with these. Made 'em myself."
And Ernie withdrew two gleaming lengths of polished wood -- perhaps thirty
inches long, each tapering slightly to the diameter of his own pinky finger.
Leather grips covered the lower six inches or so of one end of each home-made
cane.
"Here, Jack, try it. You'll never find a purtier target."
Jack was partial to "Black Betsy", but as he swished the cane through the
air once or twice, he was impressed. While Ernie fondled the yielding flesh of
Teresa's shamefully upthrust bottom-globes with one hand and pinched an
alcohol-damp nipple with the other, Slocum slapped the cane down fiercely on to
the mattress a few inches from Teresa's left ear. The cane made a satisfying
pop! when it made impact with the mattress.
Teresa's heart sank -- the whoosh of the cane as it whistled past her ear,
and the resounding pop it had made when it hit the mattress, were ample evidence
of the speed with which it cut through the air. "Por favor," she moaned
miserably, as she squirmed in her bondage. "Please ? go ? I will say nothing to
anyone."
"But mija," Ernie smirked, "we can't leave without celebratin' yer birthday
right and proper, can we Jack?"
"I reckon that would be right ungentlemanly, of us, Ern. How many you
think we should give her? Eighteen?"
Teresa gasped through the lump that had formed in her throat. She could
not bear the thought of receiving eighteen cane-strokes across her taut, tender
buttocks.
Ernie bent down so that his damaged eye was only inches from Teresa's face.
"Aw, eighteen each, I think. Let's go all out -- a girl only has one eighteenth
birthday. Let's make it an occasion she'll never forget." Ernie cupped her chin,
and forced her to look him in the eyes, the one ghastly and the other brimming
with ferocity. "Just like I ain't forgot last Saturday night!"
Ernie straightened up and swooshed the cane through the air viciously once
as Teresa shuddered in terror. Ernie could see the muscles in her thighs and
buttocks quivering. He hadn't even touched her yet. But he was fixin' to give
that sweet Mexican ass something to quiver about soon enough.
"OK, Teresa -- here's the deal. We're gonna play us another game. The
Birthday Game. And of course me 'n' Jack hope you do better at this one than
yer sorry ass showing at 'Reach for the Sky.' To make sure we don't give you
too many birthday spanks, you're gonna keep count for us. After Jack hits you
the first time, I want you to say "Uno. Gracias, Senor Jack. Uno mas, por
favor".
Teresa listened to his words with barely-disguised dread, her
tequila-drenched breasts still tingling. Was there no end to their cruelty?
"But when I hit you the first time," Ernie went on, pleased with the
cruel game he had thought up, "I want you to say 'One. Thank you, Master Ernie.
Another, please.' And so on. Got it? Think you can remember all that?"
Teresa hesitated before answering. Bad choice. She heard a whistling sound
followed a split second later by a loud THWICCKK as Ernie's cane buried itself
in her thigh-flesh. "Aagghh!! she gasped.
"When I ask you a question, you answer, understand!" growled Ernie
menacingly. "And don't make too much noise or I'll gag you again, and we'll give
you twice as many. Got it?"
Teresa, nearly exhausted, was not at all sure that she had "gotten it".
But she nodded her head, the only part of her body that she could move.
"That's better. And don't fuck it up, Teresa. Cause every time you mess up
the count, or get us mixed up, or use the wrong lingo, you're gonna earn
(hee-hee, "Ern", get it, Jack!) a penalty stroke. Or the way me and Jack look at
it -- a bonus stroke. You got it?"
Teresa nodded hurriedly this time.
"Jack, my good man, you may have the honors," Ernie bowed clumsily, and
took a position on Teresita's right. Jack, still bare-chested, but wearing his
dark pants again, towered over their trussed up victim from his position on her
left. In the shimmering candlelight, Teresa could see the eerie and ominous
shadows of the two men on the wall above the sturdy iron headboard. And then
she saw the silhouette of the diabolical cane slide up the wall at moderate
speed and then disappear in a blinding blur of motion.
THWICKK!! "Aaah!" Teresa yelped in pain. Jack had taken careful aim and
whipped the meaty flesh of her left calf, about a third of the way up her leg.
"Well?" Ernie asked.
Choking back the pain and remembering the lines she had been instructed to
recite, Teresa mumbled, "Uno. Gracias, Senor Jack. Uno mas, por favor".
"Good. He'll give you 'uno mas' in a minute. But now it's my turn." And
the naked, ferret-faced little man stroked his depleted cock a few times and
slashed her sharply with the cane, high up on her bronzed right thigh.
"Aaah!! One. Thank you, Master Ernie. Another, please?"
Then Black Jack THWICCKED her sharply across her left calf again, this time
higher up. Teresa croaked out a pathetic "Ooouuww!! Dos. Gracias, Senor Jack.
Uno mas, por favor?"
Ernie countered by cracking her across her spread-eagled right thigh,
leaving yet another thin line on her lovely cafe-au-lait skin.
" Aaiagh!!" Teresa moaned as her smooth, bare thighs vibrated gently under
the force of the blow. "Thank you, Master Ernie. Another, please?"
Ernie looked down, and noticed that Teresa had closed her eyes in
anticipation of the next stinging blow. "C'mon, Jackson! Warm that ass up nice!
Cause I got her birthday present right here," he added, grabbing his crotch.
Winking slyly at his partner, Ernie the Weasel held up his hand just as Jack
was about to deliver a stinging blow to Teresa's upper thigh. But it was Ernie
himself who whipped his cane down sharply across the very summits of Teresa's
deliciously rounded buttocks. THWICCKK!!
"Aagghh!" gasped Teresa, and then, thinking that they were still
alternating blows, she choked out the necessary words, "Tres?. Dios, ayuda me ?
Gracias, Senor Jack. Uno mas, por favor".
"Wrong! That was me, sweetie. That's one bonus stroke for me, Jack.
You'd better keep them brown eyes open, girl!"
Jack slashed his cane across the tender flesh of Teresa's lower thigh,
leaving a fourth ruddy stripe across her left leg and eliciting another soft cry
of anguish. Teresa had barely finished mouthing her mantra, when Ernie ripped
into the meaty curves of her tempting buttocks yet again, laying this stroke
just below the prior one.
What an ass she had! Ernie thought. Most girls' butts were either too
bony, or too fat. But Teresa's was a springy, firm-fleshed delight, a sadist's
dream come true. Not too hard, not too soft. It was damn near fuckin' perfect,
was what it was! With every stinging stroke, the last six or eight inches of his
cane seemed to work its wicked way into Teresa's yielding bottom-flesh like a
warm spoon sinking into a scoop of melting ice cream.
"Let 'er have it Big Jack! I wanna see her ass smokin' like a Mexican
barbecue!"
Jack bared his teeth in a wolfish grin and moved directly behind their
beautiful bound prisoner. He slid the last few inches of the rod along the dark
groove between Teresa's inviting buttocks as she ground her hips futilely
against the barstool. The grim-faced desperado scratched at the rough stubble
on his chin while he ground the rounded end of the cane against Teresa's winking
bottomhole for a moment and then slid the slender shaft of the cane down her
sensual lust-crease and toyed with her fleshy labia for a few seconds. "Yeah,
mija, we're gonna have us some fun tonight!" he muttered gruffly as he took up
his position on the side of the bed once again. A moment later Teresa heard
the brief whistle of the cane a moment before it etched another line of fire
across her burning backside.
"Aaaieahhh!" she cried out. Jack's had been the worst cut so far. She
was barely able to gasp out the mandatory, "Gracias, Senor Jack."
Ernie eyed Teresa's spread-eagled body hungrily for a moment and then
followed with a fierce stroke that seared the base of her buttcheeks, sending
visible spasms of pain rippling through the body of his bound victim. Belts and
whips had their good points, but Ernie reckoned that there was nothin' quite
like the feel of a cane biting into helpless female flesh. Belts and whips
struck, and struck hard, but the 'feel' of the impact was somehow more
transitory. A good cane-stroke sent satisfying waves of power up through his
hand and arm all the way to his shoulder. The sense of mastery was visceral.
Was there any better way for a man to rejuvenate his spent lust than this,
Ernie wondered, as he and Jack continued to take turns etching scalding lines of
pain into Teresa's buttocks and thighs. His hairy balls were tingling again, and
his cock was coming back to life with a vengeance.
Jack was taking more time in between cane-strokes now, teasing Teresa with
the whip for a while before slashing it into her shapely bottom or across a
tautly-stretched thigh. Ernie used these longer intervals to lean against the
edge of the bed and grind one of Teresa's tequila-slick nipples between his
thumb and forefinger with one hand, while he stroked his reviving erection with
the other.
Ernie was an ass-man and when it was his turn to wield the cane he pretty
much concentrated on the alluring curves of Teresa's sweat-soaked buttocks,
THWICCKKing her tempting bottom-ovals savagely, sometimes laying the last six
eight inches of the rod across one cheek or the other, sometimes striping both
wiggling bottom-globes with the length of the cane. With each succeeding stroke
he added another dark line to the angry pattern of horizontal marks he had
painted on her naked behind, with each blow eliciting a tortured moan from their
spread-eagled prisoner.
Halfway through the count, the relentless duo switched positions, partly to
have access to the other side of Teresa's body, and partly to confuse her. Try
as she might, as the caning wore on and her stamina flagged, Teresa began to
make mistakes in the count, and twice she got confused and used Spanish to Ernie
or English to Jack. By the time they had reached fifteen strokes each, she had
earned five penalty strokes, two from Ernie and three from Jack, who kept score
by making a notch in a night-table with his Bowie knife each time she slipped
up.
Jack's third to last stroke was yet another punishing slash across the ripe
curves of her upthrust bottom. "Ooooooohhh," Teresa moaned. Her tawny buttocks
were en fuego from the fierce strokes of the cane. "Diez y seis. Gracias,
Senor Jack. Uno mas, por favor?"
Ernie moved around to stand directly behind her. Jack had sure had a good
idea about sticking that stool under her, Ernie thought. Teresa's body was
curved like a golden rainbow, her calves and thighs taut, with her elevated
bottom a perfect target at the very apex of the lovely arch.
Ernie rested the cane atop Teresa's plump left butt-cheek, bisecting it
vertically. A dozen angry horizontal weals darkened the smooth brown skin.
Ernie gently tapped the cane across them, letting Teresa feel the hard wood on
those fresh lacerations. And then Ernie, gripping the cane a little more
firmly, lifted it high and brought it down violently on her superbly rounded
bottom, leaving a livid dark line perpendicular to each of the others.
Teresa let out a full-throated cry of agony at that one. "Auuurgghh! O,
Dios. No mas, por favor. No mas!"
"Now didn't we ask you nicely to keep it down? You'll get a penalty stroke
for that one, Teresita, and you'll get another for not counting. You markin'
'em down, Jack? How many's that make -- seven? And I'm up 4-3, right?"
"Yup," the big man answered, as he used his knife to etch a seventh notch
into the night table. And moments later the rangy gunslinger ripped into
Teresa's dancer's thighs yet again, a few inches below the base of the sweet
groove that separated her compact buttcheeks.
Teresa convulsed in pain, but managed to squeak out, "Diez y siete.
Gracias, Senor Jack. Uno mas, por favor?"
"Damned straight you can have another one, mija," Ernie grinned and took a
step to his right. He let the cane rest on Teresa's right bottom-cheek this
time, again at right angles to the earlier strokes. And again, he tapped her
derriere, several times, just to let her know that another blow, every bit as
punishing as the last one, was in the offing.
Tap...tap...tap...tap...tap. Ernie let the suspense build. Teresa was
mewing in terror, and her coppery ass-cheeks were aquiver with apprehension.
Tap...tap...tap...tap... And then the terrible cane went up and then came
slashing down to explode on her resilient right bottom oval, leaving a searing
vertical gash of pain across the lattice of earlier marks.
"Aaauuugghh!," the poor Latina cried out, but less loudly this time. And
somehow she managed to find the words, "Seventeen. Thank you, Master Ernie.
Another, please?"
"You betcha you can have another! Go ahead, Jack." Ernie winked at his
partner. But it was Ernie who slashed her brutally between her wide-spread
legs, the cane savaging her most sensitive flesh.
"Aaaagghh!!" Teresa writhed in agony, to the extent she could writhe,
before gasping out, "Diez y ocho. Gracias, Senor Jack. Uno mas, por favor?"
"Wrong, again, estupida. That was me. That makes eight penalties." Ernie
was stroking his throbbing cock even harder now. Give her one last good one,
Jack, before I fuck this Mexican slut. I can't wait no more."
Jack didn't disappoint him. He buried the cane deep into the back of
Teresa's right thigh, drawing yet another anguished moan from the girl on the
bed, and then tossed the cane to his partner. He gave Ernie a conspiratorial
wink and said, "I'll leave you two to celebrate her birthday. How about that,
mija," Jack jeered as he gave Teresa's sweat-sheened bottom a hard smack with
his big bare hand, before feeling between her legs. "I ain't worked up sech an
appetite since I strung Honey Wilson up in her daddy's barn, Ern! I'm gonna
rustle me up somethin' to eat and scrounge me some more of that tequila." Black
Jack Slocum's lizard-like eyes slid over Teresa's nude body once again. "Have
fun, Ernesto!"
"You go ahead, Jackson. Me and our Mexican cutie's gonna have us a fine
time while yer gone. Ain't we, mija?" Ernie growled.
Teresa was glad to see Jack turn and head for the door, but her relief was
short-lived. She felt the mattress beneath her buckle under the added weight of
pure evil, as Ernie Gibbs slowly clambered up onto the back of the bed.?
Chapter XIII The Nightmare Continues
Ernie Gibbs had climbed up onto the rear edge of the bed and taken a
stance between Teresa's spreadeagled legs before Jack Slocum reached the door
on his way to the kitchen. The flickering candlelight in Teresa's bedroom had
conspired to cast the silhouette of the dark-skinned beauty onto the wall on
Ernie's right. There he could see the shapely outline of Teresa's taut,
tortured body arched over the fallen barstool on the bed like a ravishing
rainbow. And the churlish little leprechaun straddling her was ready to claim
his pot of gold.
The wiry little man ran his gnarly hands over Teresa's sleek, sweaty thighs
and shapely buttocks which were still palpably warm from her caning. Teresa
grimaced in pain as Ernie the Weasel fondled her smooth, rod-ravaged
bottomcheeks.
Ernie couldn't get enough of Teresa's nut brown behind, squeezing, mauling,
groping her rounded nether-ovals to his heart's delight. "Ohh, baby, you got
one hot little ass!" Ernie exulted as he withdrew his left hand and began to
stroke his half-erect man-weapon. His swollen prick responded enthusiastically
to his oft-practiced pulls, firming with blood-hardened lust.
"Ever taken it up the ass, you Mexican whore?" Ernie asked grimly, as he
slid the tip of his pulsing cock slowly up and down Teresa's buttock crease,
enjoying the delicious pressure of her smooth butt-ovals against his stiffening
manhood.
His stricken captive shook her head, "No... nunca...Please... No..."
Ernie responded to her pathetic plea with a gloating, "Well, Happy Fucking
Birthday, then mija! Cause that's where yer gonna get it! Oh, man, that feels
good! Don't it, baby?" Ernie the Weasel crowed lustily as he worked his
throbbing cock back and forth through Teresa's tempting bottom-cleavage.
Ernie Gibbs savored that tantalizing friction until he was almost ready
to explode and then he fisted his cock into position and pressed it right up
against Teresa's puckering starfish. "Yep, yer gonna get it up yer sweet
little ass, now, so you might as well relax and enjoy it," Ernie rasped as he
tried to work his stiff prick into the tight little roseate. "C'mon, take it,
mija!" he muttered angrily.
But the beautiful Latina was both tiny and dry, and her every reflex
fought to repel the invading penis.
"Stop fighting me, bitch, or yer gonna wish you had!" Ernie growled as he
struggled to wedge his blood-hardened cock into her delicate orifice. But his
position was a little awkward, standing on the rear edge of the bed above her
arced body, and his frustration grew. And then he remembered how Black Jack had
forced his monster-cock into Honey's resisting butthole back at the Wilson
ranch.
"Hey, Jackson!" he called out to his partner in the kitchen, "Heat me up
some lard or oil or something."
Beneath him the tightly bound beauty, her every straining muscle stretched
to its limits by her erotic bedpost bondage, shuddered in horror and wriggled
against the barstool, but Jack had done his work well. Escape was impossible,
and mercy unlikely.
While he waited for Jack to return, Ernie jammed his cock into Teresa's
more receptive pussy, and began plowing his pulsing man-meat into Teresa's
velvety vagina, while he probed her obstintate anus with a skinny,
tongue-moistened finger. "Yeah, that's nice, " he crooned, as he worked his cock
back and forth in her pleasure nook. "Makes a nice little warm-up, don't it,
sweetie?"
He was pumping his swollen organ into her at a pretty good clip when Jack
returned, carrying an earthenware plateful of carne asada and tortillas and a
fresh bottle of liquor. Balanced on top of the flat tortillas was a small
porcelain pitcher, which he had converted into a make-shift gravy boat. Jack
held the plate up to his partner gesturing for him to take the tiny pitcher.
Ernie foolishly took it by the handle, and almost let it drop -- "Grover
Goddamn Cleveland, Jack! Geesus, that's hot!"
"Oh, sorry, pard. I plumb forgot," Jack smirked. "Meant to give you this
first," and Jack extended a soiled napkin that Ernie could use as a sort of
potholder for the small pitcher of sizzling-hot lard.
"Asshole!" Ernie muttered.
"You talkin' to me - or hers?" Jack smirked with a toothy grin.
Ignoring him, Ernie carefully took a safe grip on the handle, and then
touched the base of the scalding container to each of Teresa's shapely brown
buttocks. "Aaghh!" she exclaimed as her bottomcheeks jumped uncontrollably each
time Ernie held the hot metal against them.
"Yeah, it's hot alright, Jack!" Ernie giggled psychotically. "This
shit'll loosen her up!" And Ernie proceeded to touch the piping hot porcelain
to the small of her back briefly before he returned to her ass, slowly dragging
the steaming receptacle down the lovely length of her butt-crack, while Teresa
writhed in agony.
Meanwhile Jack Slocum took a seat on the edge of the bed, with the plate of
food in his lap, and began eating as nonchalantly as if he were at a Texas
roadhouse, while he watched the continuing torment of Teresa Martinez.
After dragging the scalding-hot porcelain pitcher down Erika's inviting
buttock-cleft, Ernie pulled backed away from Teresa slightly, muttering, "I
warned you to loosen up, girl! " Then he cautiously upended the pitcher and
let some of the sizzling grease drip into the beautiful groove between Teresa's
mocha-brown butt-cheeks.
"AURGGHHHH!!!" Teresa's entire body convulsed in a paroxysm of agony the
moment the first scalding drop touched her sensitive flesh.
Jack Slocum set his plate down on the bed, and, still chewing, reached for
Teresa's discarded panties and stuffed them deep into her open mouth. "Keep it
down, mija!" he mumbled through a mouthful of carne asada. "Cain't you let a
man enjoy his dinner in peace?"
Ernie chuckled, and then trickled some more of the hot grease onto Teresa's
quivering buttocks while she screamed voicelessly into the stifling gag. "You
shoulda listened when I told ya to relax," Ernie scolded. Ernie paused for a
few seconds, enjoying her suffering, and then poured another few drops into her
butt-crease, causing Teresa's body to spasm yet again.
Then he clutched her left buttock with his left hand, spreading her cheeks
a little wider, and then targeted the winking rosette itself, letting drop after
sizzling drop spill directly onto her asshole and then run down into her labia,
sending Teresa's pelvis into another long, convulsive shudder.
It only took a few moments for the grease to cool, and Ernie wasted no time
rubbing his dickhead up and down the groove between Teresa's asscheeks, until
it was slick with grease. Once the tip of his throbbin cockstaff was suitably
slick, Ernie jammed it against Teresa's winking rosebud, and then slowly wedged
it into her tight muscular ring. "Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah! That's good, honey."
Teresa could do little more than issue a series of low-voiced moans as her
tormentor worked his cock slowly back and forth in her tight, tubular slippery
channel slowly for a few seconds. Then he began to screw her even more
vigorously, pumping her harder and harder, grunting with every stroke.
"Oh, Geesus! Jack, I tell ya, she's tighter'n a Texas handshake!" Ernie
groaned with pleasure as he thrust his scrawny hips forward, reveling in the
sweet suction of Teresa's virginal rectum. "First time, eh mija?" Ernie rasped
as he tightened his grip on her hips and drove his skinny cockshaft still
deeper into his helpless prisoner. "Mmm, that's good! Geesus! Milk that
prick, honey!"
Ernie's every vicious lunge drove Teresa's tender tummy painfully against
the rough wooden barstool over which she was splayed. Meanwhile Jack Slocum was
munching on tortilla-wrapped carne asada with one hand, while he enjoyed the
action. Each of Ernie's punishing thrusts made Teresa's pendulous breasts dance
temptingly in the air, and Ernie kept her young girl-globes swaying alluringly
as he picked up the tempo, pumping faster and faster into her rectum.
Jack watched Teresa's succulent, dark-nippled breasts bobble and bounce
until he just couldn't keep his hands off them any more. He reached out and
cupped her left breast gently with a huge hairy hand, while Ernie battered away
at her behind. Then, Jack's dark, reptilian eyes narrowed and he began to
tighten his grip.
Teresa looked at the black-clad outlaw in despair, pleadingly, but the
sinister, snake-eyed desperado merely gave her a vulpine smile, and squeezed her
dark-tipped breast harder still, his callused fingers rough against her tender
nipple. Finally Jack pulled his hand away; it was dappled with crimson from the
cactus cuts his pressure had re-opened. The traces of blood on his hand seemed
in keeping with the meat juice that trickle from the corners of Slocum's mouth,
accentuating his wolfish leer.
Meanwhile Ernie was driving into Teresa like a man possessed, his hairy
cojones slapping against her ass with every pleasurable thrust. "Geesus, Jack,
she is SO fucking tight!" The Weasel had figured out to get better leverage now
-- by standing above Teresa's elevated pelvis, with his knees slightly bent, and
his wrists gripping the ends of the stool that lay across the bed. From that
position he was able to focus the power in his bony hips more forcefully, and he
took full advantage, pumping his rigid man-weapon into her body, while pulling
the stool -- and the shapely young body bound to it - toward him with all of his
strength. And despite Teresa's resistance, or maybe because of it, the muscles
of her virginal rectum clenched around his cock like a hot fleshy vise.
Ernie continued to pound away, grunting loudly with each pelvic thrust as
he plowed into her rectal canal. The way Ernie had it figured, nothin' shows
a woman who's boss like a good ass-fucking. And he was givin' Teresa Maria
Elena Martinez a work-out she'd remember for a long, long time!
But all good things must come to an end, and for Ernie 'cum' comes sooner
than for most. Within a couple of minutes, he growled, "Mmmmm, baby, get ready!
Here it comes, here it comes, geesusss, here it fuckin' comes!! Right up yer
sweet ass!! Ah! Ahh! Aghhhh!" and with a final shudder of ecstasy, the sadistic
little man emptied his viscous load deep into Teresa's bowels.
When he withdrew his prick from Teresa's bottom it was covered with semen
and rectal slime. He climbed unsteadily down off the back of the bed, still
breathing hard, and walked around to its front, where he quickly untied Teresa's
right arm from the bedpost.
When Jack, seated on the other side of the bed looked at him quizzically,
Ernie volunteered, "Teresa's been watchin' you eat that meat for a while; I
reckon it's time she had a bone to suck on herself."
And Ernie slid up on the bed so that he was kneeling, facing the
beleaguered Mexican beauty, the head of his disgustingly slimy cock mere inches
from her lips. He paused to re-tie her right wrist to the bedpost and then
reached into her mouth, removed the pantie-gag, and leaned forward so that his
semen-covered dong brushed her pouting lips and said, "Here, baby, suck on this
for a while! Go on! Lick it clean!"
The thought of her mouth on the slimy organ that had just been several
inches up her rear passage was nauseating, and Teresa pulled away, shaking her
glossy black mane violently from side to side in refusal.
But no sooner had she done so, than Jack's thumbnail and forefinger closed
on the sensitive tip of her left nipple, crushing the tender bud with almost
unbearable pressure.
"Aiiiiiii!" Teresa screamed, now that her mouth was free of the gag.
Jack's grip relaxed for a moment, long enough for him to ask, "You gonna do
like my pard wants?" When her response was not immediate, his talons closed on
the delicate brown nipple-nugget again.
"Aiiiee" she screamed again, "Dios, ayude-me. Si! I will do it."
"Damned straight, you'll do it," Ernie barked. "Now clean that prick off."
Ernie grabbed a handful of Teresa's ebony hair and guided her head to his
still semi-erect penis as the dark-eyed dancer began the debasing task of
licking the repulsive slime off of Ernie's cock.
Chapter XIV The Fury of Black Jack Slocum
When Teresa had licked every last drop of putrid semen from his cock,
goaded, when her efforts flagged, by Jack's punishing nails renewing their
attack on her aching nipples, Ernie said, "Good girl. You make a mighty fine
little Mexican cocksucker, mija." Then the ferret-faced man turned to Jack,
"How much longer before we gotta be headin' out?"
Jack had finished his meal except for a few good-sized jalapenos on the
edge of his plate that he apparently had no taste for. He set the plate on the
nearer nightstand and considered while he scratched his three-day-old beard.
"Well, I reckon it's 3:00 or 3:30 now; sunrise'll be a little 'afore six. We'd
better be outa here in the next coupla hours or so, if we're gonna put some
distance between us, and whatever dumb Mexicans come along lookin' for our
little dancing girl in the mornin'."
Ernie was pulling his grungy pants back on. "Well I'm gonna get some grub.
You look like you're ready for a second helping, buddy?" Ernie smirked, nodding
toward Teresa.
"Yeah, me and her's fixin' to have some private moments together, ain't we,
Teresa?" he said with a sinister grin. "I got me a hankerin' to whisper some
sweet nuthin's in her ear. Whyn't you take your skinny ass outa here and make
yerself scarce for a while, pard?"
Teresa, her long ebony hair wild around her face and shoulders, her lovely
naked body in pain but her spirit unbroken, gave the swarthy desperado a look of
withering contempt, as her beautiful dark eyes smoldered with rage and hatred.
Seeing Teresa's expression, Ernie chuckled, "Big Jack, you got a ways to
go before this filly is broken!" before turning and heading toward the kitchen.
But not before he had seen the ominous black cloud that passed over Jack's face
in reaction to Teresa's glare. Ernie knew that look, and it spelled more
trouble for the bronze-skinned beauty.
Ernie couldn't resist leaving the bedroom ever so slightly ajar as he went
into the kitchen, even though Jack had made it clear he didn't want to be spied
on. Jack was moody that way. Some times he liked showing off, just like he had
years earlier when he and Ernie -- together with a few of their boyhood pals --
had begun their sordid career by raping sweet Daisy Thompson, the sharecropper's
daughter. Who could forget the way her young brown body, had squirmed in the
tall grass as each of the boys had mounted her out behind Pappy Gibbs' woodshed?
Or how her gleaming bottom had wriggled when Ernie had fetched his pa's strap
and the boys had taken turns flogging her squirming buttocks when had she
refused to take them into her mouth? Or how her cocoa-colored nipples had
danced with pain when Jack had flipped her over and launched a few vicious
strokes at her nubile breasts?
Yeah, sometimes Jack was in the mood for doublin' up on a girl, as they had
done with Honey Wilson, and Teresa herself earlier in the night. But there had
been other times, too, with other women, when, to Ernie's disappointment, Jack
had shoo'd his skinny sidekick away, as if he wanted to demonstrate his power
and mastery to his victim, to show that he didn't need anyone's help to drag her
through the depths of degradation.
But Ernie had had a passion for peeping since he was a kid, when he used to
spy on his older sister and three or four of her girlfriends when they went out
to the swimmin' hole. He'd gotten his first real erection when he was eleven,
hidin' out there in the piney woods, watchin' those smooth-skinned fourteen,
fifteen and sixteen-year-old girls splashing in that shallow pond. Over the
next two or three years he'd pumped enough jizz into those bushes he'd hid
behind to fertilize a flower garden. To this today, he still liked to see a
woman naked and dripping wet, just like those girls looked when they took their
first step out of the old swimmin' hole, their wet young bodies gleaming in the
summer sun.
And he still got a kick out of peeping, too. It wasn't so long ago that
he'd worked on the Wilson ranch and he'd found a good vantage point outside a
bedroom window. From there, night after night, he had been able to watch the
delicious Honey Wilson prepare for bed.
He'd never forget those nights in the darkness, feverishly enjoying the
sight of the sexy young blonde as she slowly undressed, removing her clothes
piece by piece, until the creamy curves of her naked young body were clad in
nothing more than the pale moonlight. And what a body that cock-teasing bitch
had had! Long, luscious legs, the most spankable ass between San Antone and
Santa Fe, that delicious golden vee between her legs, and the juiciest pair of
tits a man could ever hope to see.
Night after night he'd watched her standing nude in front of her mirror,
touching herself, or lying across her stark white sheets while her hands
explored her body in the stillness of the west Texas night.
From the way she touched herself, and occasionally glanced toward the
window, Ernie reckoned she knew someone was watching, but enjoyed putting on a
show anyways. But one night, the way he had it figgered, she had realized that
it was him who was getting' his jollies, rather than Red or Buck or Stoney, and
she had complained to her daddy. The next morning the other ranch hands had
kicked his ass good, knocking out a couple of his back teeth in the process,
and thrown him off the ranch.
But he'd had the last laugh, him and Jack, when papa and the ranch-hands
had gone on a cattle drive to Abilene. Once she was alone on the ranch, Jack
had taken Honey by surprise and hung her sun-tanned body, clad only in pretty
white panties, from a rafter in the Wilson barn, and Ernie had paid her back for
the beating he had taken. Ernie'd been a boxer briefly in his youth, and he had
put on a pair of thick leather riding gloves and sparred a round with his
defenseless, nearly nude blonde "opponent", punching her trim stomach, her
gently curved flanks, and, especially, her ripe young breasts.
He'd only used a fraction of his strength of course, but even so he would
never forget the satisfying feel of his gloved fists jabbing Honey's lush,
pink-nippled girl-globes with a series of crisp, straight-on lefts. Now and
then he'd show'd her a little fancy footwork and mixed in a right cross or a
left hook, too, in order to punish the outer curves of the nicest pair of
punching bags he'd ever seen. They'd worked Honey over good, him and Jack had,
over the next day or so, but he didn't think he'd ever forget that
cock-thrilling first act of his revenge, when he'd made Honey Wilson pay for
teasing him all those nights....
"Aaahhhh! Oh God, no!" Ernie's pleasant reminiscences were interrupted by
a groan emanating from the adjoining bedroom. Followed moments later by a
tearful, "Stop! Por favor! It hurts!"
"It's supposed to hurt, bitch! And it's gonna hurt more if you don't give
me yer other leg, and quit yer damn whinin'."
Moments later Ernie heard Teresa whimper, "No, it won't
go...please...no...ayuda me... aaagggh! Oh, God! Por favor.., please...mmgph"
and then her voice died away.
His curiosity piqued by Teresa's pitiable moans, Ernie had to force himself
to ignore the goings-on in the bedroom and to focus on business. He and Jack
had a couple of days ride back to the border-crossing at Nogales, so he figured
he might as well pack up some grub for the trip. While he heated up some of the
carne asada on the old wood stove, he went through the pantry cupboards
carefully, selecting items that would serve well on the trail. Ernie also had
his eye out for Teresa's stash - the bitch had stolen his poker winnings and the
rest of his money. And no Mexican half-breed slut was gonna get away with
robbin' Ernie Gibbs!
While the food was warming up on the big wooden stove, he satisfied himself
that there was nothing of value hidden in any of the kitchen cabinets, savoring
as he did so, the robust scent of the carne asada sizzling in the pan. Teresa
was a good cook, and all the activity of the night had heightened his own
appetite. He was ravenous.
Only muffled groans had escaped the adjacent room for a couple of minutes,
until Ernie heard Jack growl angrily, "You shouldn't have disrespected me like
that in front of my partner."
Even though he knew Jack didn't like being spied on, Ernie grabbed a few
strips of the now-warm carne asada and tiptoed over to the bedroom door. As he
bit off a chunk of the tasty meat, he put his good eye to the tiny crack he had
left. Quite a sight awaited him as he squinted into the flickering candlelight.
Teresa was lying face up on the bed, slightly propped up, with her head pressed
back against the massive wrought-iron headboard. Jack had forced her arms back
through openings in the wrought iron, and then lashed her upper arms tightly to
the iron bars -- leaving her hands free but powerless.
And then he had forced her right leg up and back, and artistically coiled a
heavy rope six times in contiguous loops around her ankle before tying it to the
top of the right-hand bed post, high above her head. And then he had done the
same with her left leg. With her ankles pinned high on the headposts of the
bed, Teresa's coppery legs formed a lovely, but painful-looking, vertical 'V'
that was nearly as wide as the bed itself.
From Ernie's vantage point behind the door, at right angles to the bed, he
could only imagine how that position must have exposed her juicy naked cunt.
But Big Jack Slocum, kneeling between her legs, had a bird's eye view. Her
labia peeked through her prolific black pubic hair, pink and moist, her sturdy
little clit exposed and vulnerable. Jack reached over grabbed a pillow, and slid
it under her ass, elevating her pelvis slightly. Teresa's well-greased little
asshole seemed to wink at him in the candlelight.
"All right, baby. Now you're gonna pay for that evil look you gave me,"
the big man snarled menacingly, "cause I'm gonna fuck everything you got! And
Jack's long arms reached over her head, and grabbed a couple of the sturdy bars
in the iron grillework for leverage, as he pressed his huge cock up against
Teresa's womanhood. He taunted her with it, brushing it lightly against the
folds of her sex once or twice, before suddenly ramming its length into her
gaping pussy with one powerful thrust.
"Unnnghhhhhhhhh!" Teresa groaned miserably, as Jack buried his truncheon
deep inside her.
Ernie's teeth tore into another strip of the tangy beef as he watched with
awe from his clandestine vantage point. Big Jack's hairy ass was moving back
and forth like some inhuman engine of flesh, as he implacably drilled his Texas
ramrod into Teresa's soft womanhood again and again. With her feet pinned high
on the bedposts, the lovely Latina was bent like a human pretzel, utterly
powerless to escape Jack's punishing pounding.
Torn between the desire to watch, and his eagerness to find his money,
greed finally won out. Ernie swallowed the last of the carne asada, washed it
down with a slug of tequila, and walked back into the bar/dining area, his good
eye darting around the room. Behind the bar, in a recess under the counter, he
found a cigar box that Teresa evidently used as a till. But it contained only
couple of hundred pesos and a few dollars American -- peanuts.
Pocketing the money, Ernie the weasel looked around carefully -- she had to
have hidden the money somewhere!
"Por favor...no...ooohh... Aaghhhhh, it hurts!"
Ernie smiled at the cries of pain emanating from Teresa's bedroom. Served
the thieving bitch right! He looked around the cantina as he reached into his
nearly empty bag of chewing tobacco, and put the remnants of the stringy tobacco
into his mouth. He quickly had to switch it from the left side of his mouth,
where he usually chewed, to the right, because the left side of his face was
still painfully sore from where Carlos had struck him with the bottle.
As he renewed his search, Ernie the Weasel could hear Teresa's bed,
rattling like the sound of a locomotive passing over crooked railroad ties, from
a good two rooms away, punctuated by Jack's guttural grunts of pleasure and
Teresa's almost continuous moans of pain. Damn! Ernie thought, his partner must
really be fucking the shit out of her. Ernie rifled through a few more drawers,
and then he searched the cabinet that housed the cantina's dishes, glasses, and
silverware. Nothing. Nada. Zilch.
He had just removed the cushions of El Viejo's armchair, intending to
search beneath them, when he heard another plaintive cry from the bedroom.
"No, no, for the love of God, no... Don't... Aggh! Aggghh!! Aggggghhh!!!"
This time Ernie couldn't restrain himself. He retraced his steps to the
door and peeked in again. In the dim candlelight, he could see the bed shaking
violently as Jack's muscular body pumped into the young girl, but he was moving
more slowly now, and more effortfully. But the angle of his body seemed lower,
and Teresa was obviously in even greater distress. "Too bad my partner had to
loosen you up, baby," Jack muttered grimly. "I was hopin' for a crack at a
cherry asshole!"
Ernie could hardly believe it -- he had barely been able to work his
normal-sized dick into Teresa's slim anal channel. His jaw worked aggressively
at his chaw. How in the world could she take Jack's stallion-sized organ?
And truth to tell, the dark-eyed beauty wasn't able to take it very well.
She felt as if someone had stuck a cudgel in her rectum, and some hellish giant
was using a gigantic sledge to drive it in, inch by ass-ripping inch. Could a
woman be raped to death? she wondered. Nothing she had been through that night,
neither belt, nor whip, nor cane was as horrible, or as humiliating, as Jack's
pile-driving anal assault.
Little by little, Jack forced his prodigious man-meat into Teresa's
exquisitely tight rectum, while his powerful hands gripped the wrought iron
headboard to assure himself maximum leverage.
To Teresa it felt as if Black Jack's entire two hundred pound weight had
been compressed into the battering-ram cock that hammered into her relentlessly,
metronomically -- again and again and again.
The harder he pounded her, the louder Jack grunted. "Fuck! That's good!
So fucking tight!! Fuck!!!" he growled. "Up to the fuckin' hilt, mija, that's
how you're gonna get it. I'm fixin' to split you in half!"
Sweat was pouring off Jack's upper body now, and dripping down to join
Teresa's own perspiration. Jack could feel her sweat-slick tits beneath him as
he continued ramming his fuck-pole into Teresa's tiny sphincter, and then he
figured, what the hell? -- it would be a shame to waste those sweat-lubricated
mammaries.
To Teresa's great relief, Jack pulled his humongous horse-cock out of her
rear tunnel. But her relief was to prove short-lived.
Because Big Jack reached his long arm across to the nightstand and grabbed
the largest of the jalapenos from the plate he had deposited there . He slit
the green chile lengthwise with a sharp thumbnail, pulled the two halves apart,
baring the jalapeno's pulp and then inserted them, one at a time, into Teresa's
gaping pussy.
Jack was still slitting the second jalapeno when Teresa began to feel the
toxic juice of the chile burning between her legs. But she didn't have much
time to dwell on it, because thirty seconds later Jack had forced the first half
of the other chile into her anus, and then used the second as a wedge to cram it
further up her newly-violated rectum.
Within seconds, her entire pelvic area was ablaze with an itching burning
sensation, and Teresa squirmed in agony, her hips writhing in shameless abandon.
Jack watched her, amused by the spectacle, for a moment or two, and then he
stood on the bed above her, and deftly unwound the bindings that had imprisoned
each of her ankles. Teresa was at last able to lower her long shapely legs,
half-numb from lack of circulation, until they lay flat on the bed. Black Jack,
meanwhile, dropped down to his knees so that he was straddling her slender
waist, facing her, his prodigious cock still fully engorged.
The lovely Latina, helpless beneath Jack's well-built frame, was puzzled
by his sudden movement. But the light of insight or intuition clicked on when
Jack slid forward a little on her torso, his hairy ass heavy on her tight
stomach.
Ernie watched intently as Jack proceeded to lift his rock-hard horse-cock,
and used it as a club, slamming it into the soft inner curve of Teresa's right
breast. Shifting his weight slightly he whacked her stiff-nippled left breast,
hitting her once, twice, three times squarely on her tender areola.
Back and forth Jack went, holding his dick in his left hand as if it were a
hammer-handle, walloping each of Teresa's glorious lust-mounds in turn.
Meanwhile, he reached back between her squirming legs and inserted his long,
gnarled index finger into her cunt, and pushed the burning chiles further up
into her vagina, before going back to smacking her smooth-skinned breasts with
his male truncheon. Then, tiring of that sport, he spread his knees a little,
and inched backward slightly before grabbing one of Teresa's luscious breasts in
each large hairy hand. He grunted loudly with masterful pleasure, and then
leaned forward and slid his huge, throbbing member into the warm, fleshy valley
between her satin-soft pleasure-globes.
"Ooooh, yeah!!!!!" Jack moaned in ecstasy as he felt Teresa's breasts
envelop the fleshy cudgel he had just used to punish them. "Baby, I been
wanting to fuck these beauties, since the minute I walked through that bar-room
door, and saw 'em spillin' out of that little pink thingie you was wearing
before. Damn! That feels good!"
Slocum wallowed in decadent pleasure for another half-minute, sliding his
hairy phallus in and out of Teresa's delicious cleavage and then rasped, "What's
the matter, sweetie? Never had your tits fucked before?"
Teresa, squirming with mortification, shook her head no, as she looked down
to see Jack's rock-hard cock, dripping pre-cum, fighting its way through the
cafe-au-lait mounds he had crammed together. "Oooooh," she moaned through
tightly-clenched teeth, as the fiery chiles continued to do their devil's work
inside her.
"Well, yer dumb greaser boyfriends didn't know what the fuck they was
missing! If you was my girl," Jack grunted, as he worked his gnarly blue-veined
cock through her voluptuous cleavage, "I'd see that these fine titties got
fucked on a regular basis! Spit on it, honey, keep it good and wet! So it'll
slide through those big jugs nice and smooth."
Teresa somehow summoned up enough saliva to drool clumsily down on his
cock-head. The sight caused Ernie, hidden behind the doorway, to spit his own
stream of brown tobacco juice onto the kitchen floor. "That's a girl! Mmm,
that's nice," Jack muttered as he compressed her delicious breastflesh around
his rampant organ.
"Oh, Geesus, that's good, baby. Now stick out that pretty pink tongue a
yers, mija - I want you to lick the tip of my big fucking dick every time it
come sliding through. You got it?" he growled, as he tightened his grip on
Teresa's tender pain-melons."
Teresa obediently leaned slightly forward, and was careful to lick a pearl
of pre-cum from Jack's dickhead each time his Texas-sized member forced its way
through the narrow passageway between her crushed-together breasts. With every
thrust his wiry pubic hair worked like sandpaper against the undersides of her
breasts.
Under normal circumstances, this form of sex play might not have been
particularly painful or even disagreeable, but, as Jack well knew, tonight was
hardly normal circumstances. Teresa's breasts were naturally sensitive and they
had already taken a lot of punishment tonight -- particularly the inner curves.
And Jack was ramming his rock-hard prick roughly between those very inner slopes
that the diabolical spines of the cacti had ravaged what seemed like hours ago.
Watching from behind the door, Ernie knew that Black Jack loved fucking a
nice pair of tits more'n just about anything, especially when he'd had a chance
to rough 'em up some first. Even in the faint light emanating from the four
candles, Ernie the Weasel could make out some of the dark horizontal stripes
that decorated Teresa's succulent breasts. They were lurid testimony to the
punishment they had absorbed. "So far," he thought to himself grimly. Watchin'
Jack had gotten him all excited; he couldn't wait to get his own hands on those
dark-nippled beauties once again.
Notwithstanding the abuse they had endured, Teresa's caramel-colored mounds
were as firm and resilient as ever, and her taut straining nipples were still as
defiant as the burning embers in her eyes, so Black Jack Slocum decided to work
'em over a little more. While the heels of his hands crushed her breasts
inwards around his rampaging penis, he seized the proud buds between the thumb
and forefinger of each hand. He rolled the dark brown nipple-nuggets gently,
at first, in his fingers, and then, when he saw the pained look of realization
in Teresa's flashing eyes, even more firmly.
Still easing his cock back and forth between her swollen breasts, Jack's
immensely strong fingers continued to clamp down on Teresa's sensitive
love-buds. As the seconds wore on, Teresa could see the tendons in Slocum's
wrists tighten, as he increased the pressure, tightening the screws on her
agonized love- nuggets.
Needless to say, Teresa's tit-pain served as an aphrodisiac to big Jack --
he sawed his big cock back and forth between her sleek, sweaty melons, loving
the sensation of his oversized cojones colliding with the undersides of her firm
young breasts. And with every manly thrust, his fingers tightened, twisted, and
tore at the tortured tips of Teresa's breasts.
Chapter XV The Hispanic Inquisition
Ernie Gibbs backed reluctantly away from the door -- he was enjoying the
brutal sexual theater being played out in the bedroom, but time was getting
short, and he was anxious to recover his money. He finished stripping the
cushions off El Viejo's armchair, and searched it thoroughly. He opened the
front of the large clock that stood against the wall opposite the kitchen, and
examined the workings -- nothing.
He strode back behind the bar, re-arranging the long row of bottles - still
nothing. Ernie was becoming increasingly frustrated and he didn't take
frustration well. Besides that, his damaged eye was starting to throb again.
He'd gone through all the cupboards and drawers in the kitchen, and every
conceivable hiding place in the cantina proper -- the only place left to look
was Teresa's bedroom.
Furious and frustrated, he stormed back through the kitchen hurriedly
grabbing another piece of the tasty carne asada and wolfing it down. In his
haste, he tripped over the tall sack of dried beans, and banged his knee
painfully into the kitchen table. "Damn!" he cursed loudly, and kicked at the
bean bag, sending hundreds of pink pinto beans scuttling across the floor.
Needless to say, Ernie was not in a pleasant frame of mind, when he flung
open the door to the bedroom, squawking, "Where's my fucking money?"
Unfortunately Teresa was unable to answer him; because Black Jack Slocum
now had his knees on her shoulders, his plum-sized testicles on her chin, a
scratchy forest of black pubic hair at her lips, and his massive cock halfway
down her throat.
"Gag all you want, darlin', but yer gonna take it all!" Jack grunted.
"Hell, that's only half of it! Here, have some more!" And the hulking
gunslinger screwed another inch or so of his thick prick into Teresa's
wide-stretched mouth and throat. Jack's balls had been working overtime tonight;
beneath their thick thatch of wiry crotch hair they were almost painfully red,
chock-full as they were with male spunk.
Teresa was wide-eyed and on the verge of gagging at the violent intrusion
of Jack's huge blue-veined knob. She could feel Slocum's sperm-laden pelotas
colliding with her chin with each punishing thrust.
Jack paused in his efforts to cock-choke his beautiful victim and turned
toward his unwelcome guest. "I thought I told you and your ornery ass to get
lost for a while."
"I want the money this bitch stole from me!" and the raging little man
began going through Teresa's upright dresser throwing clothes everywhere.
Finding nothing there, he started in on her closet, going through each garment,
and emptying a number of boxes he found on an overhead shelf.
Jack, unperturbed, continued plunging his mighty manhood between Teresa's
kissable lips, forcing its punishing length ever deeper down her throat . "Take
it, baby! Take my big hairy cock, and suck it right down to the root!"
Teresa meanwhile was on the verge of choking; she could hardly bear taking
Ernie's normal-sized dick in her mouth, much less Jack's prodigious monster.
But Black Jack continued to force his massive cock further and further down her
so-recently-virginal throat, as his diminutive partner continued to ransack the
bedroom.
Teresa, sinner that she was, prayed silently for deliverance from the
awesome giant who had her pinned to her bed. Her bed, which, until a few hours
ago, had been a soft, warm, pleasant retreat from life's difficulties; but her
sanctuary had been invaded, and the marauders had turned it, like almost
everything else in her world, into an instrument of their sadistic will. She
struggled desperately to breathe as Black Jack Slocum thrust his colossal organ
deeper and deeper into the moistness of her warm young throat. He accompanied
each lunge with loud animalistic grunts of primeval lust, until at last, aroused
as almost never before, the cruel desperado launched jet after jet of thick
male-fluid down her throat. Teresa, forced to swallow his copious spurts of
sperm, wondered at how the man-monster who rode her could have generated such a
volume of gism, in the relatively brief time since his prior, equally awesome
orgasm. At last Jack deigned to withdraw his powerful piston, and he slid back
down her chest, moistened her pretty nipples with the last remnants of his cum,
and when he had finished wiping his prick on her marvelous breasts, rolled off
of her.
But no sooner had Jack finished with her, then his sidekick was in her
face, fairly screaming at her, "Where's my money, you thieving bitch?"
Teresa, exhausted beyond measure, murmured, still trying to catch her
breath after her prolonged oxygen deprivation, could barely mumble, "I will show
you."
"All right then, now we're getting someplace!" While Jack pulled his
clothes and boots back on, Ernie made short work of untying Teresa's arms and
ankles from the bedframe. Just to be on the safe side, though, he tied her
wrists behind her -- no sense taking any chances.
"Can you take them out? Por favor?" Teresa gestured between her legs where
the spicy breath of the chiles continued to irritate her inner passages.
"Yeah, I'll take 'em out, bitch. After I see my money! Andale! Let's go!"
Ernie pulled the naked girl to her feet. Moving gingerly, Teresa led the
two men back through the kitchen. She paused for a moment, stepping gingerly on
the hard little pinto beans underfoot, seemingly appalled by the way Ernie had
ransacked the kitchen. Big Jack impatiently put a large hand between her
shoulder blades and shoved her hard. Stumbling a little, Teresa passed through
the doorway beneath which she had suffered so much, and back into the cantina
itself.
Jack followed close behind, enjoying the view. On the bed, in the dim
candlelight, it had been easy to forget how narrow her waist was, how desirable
the graceful, swelling curves of her hips and buttocks. Buttocks that, in the
brighter, kerosene lamp-lit cantina, were now embellished with more than a score
of dark streaks, the lurid evidence of her caning. In a few places, trickles of
creamy semen contrasted with the marks that he and Ernie had enjoyed embedding
in her dusky dancer's thighs. Teresa's legs were shaky as she walked behind the
bar and, without looking inside, offered the cigar box to Ernie.
"There was nothing but a coupla dollars in there, honey. I'm lookin' for
the fifty bucks you stole from me."
Teresa's eyes were frantic as she looked at each of her stern masters. At
the gruesome gargoyle-like face of Ernie Gibbs, and then the dark implacable
visage of Jack Slocum.
"You'd best tell him, girl," Slocum warned. "Ernie ain't in no mood to fuck
around."
"C-Carlos - mi hermano Carlos -- h-he has your money," she stammered.
"No good, Teresita -- we searched him. What's more he told us YOU had the
money. And since I had my six-gun in his mouth at the time, I don't reckon he
was lyin'!"
"No, no, it is not true. You must believe me," Teresa wailed desperately.
"I know how to make her talk, Ern. Give me a hand with that tub outside."
Ernie looked quizzically at his tall companion, then shrugged and followed
him.
Jack opened the door to the street, and looked around into the storm to
make that sure no one was outside. The deserted church was ghostly in the cold
night air; the downpour had stopped and the heavens were as quiet as the
overgrown cemetery that adjoined the church. Satisfied that there was no one in
sight, Jack signaled to Ernie, and the two of them dragged the big tub, nearly
full with rainwater from the gutterspout, back into the cantina, closing the
outer door behind them.
Teresa, watched mystified as the two men labored, all the while struggling
futilely with the coarse rope that bit into her wrists.
Black Jack approached her, grabbed her arm in the iron grip she had come to
know so well, and dragged her over to the tub of water. It was a good two feet
deep and almost a yard across. It was full save for the water that had splashed
on the floor as the two men had dragged it.
"On yer knees, bitch!"
Teresa sank to her knees.
"Kneel up against the tub!"
The lovely young woman obeyed, sliding forward until her bare thighs were
flush against the chillingly cold metal. A shiver ran through her entire body.
"Last chance, puta. Where's the money?"
"No se, no se!"
"Like hell you don't know!" And Jack crouched down along side of her,
grabbed a great handful of her silky black hair in one huge hand and plunged her
face-first into the water.
He held her face underwater for about five seconds, then lifted her up, wet
and sputtering.
"Where's the money?"
When Teresa failed to respond, Black Jack snarled, tightened his grip, and
this time he forced her head completely under the water. Teresa thrashed
violently, searching desperately for air, but her strength was no match for the
towering Slocum's.
He held her down for ten seconds this time. When he finally pulled the
spluttering, choking girl up, the bitingly cold rainwater cascaded down her head
and shoulders.
Ernie Slocum giggled with glee as the icy water ran down her upper body.
Teresa's neck and shoulders and her spectacular breasts were deliciously wet.
"Enjoying yer bath, mija?" Ernie chortled, before his voice darkened once again.
"Where's my fucking money?"
It is not clear whether Teresa could have talked even if she were so
disposed, so out of breath was she. But when she did not speak, Jack's powerful
arms dunked her again.
With her wrists tied behind her, there was little she could do except
struggle violently to keep her head and shoulders above the surface of the
water, but it was to no avail. Jack held her under for twenty seconds this
time, but to her it seemed an oxygenless eternity. Teresa, convinced that her
death was near, said a silent prayer to the Virgin of Guadalupe for mercy and
forgiveness.
When Jack pulled her out again, more of the bone-chilling water ran down
her drenched upper body. "Gaaaugh! Kaaugghh!!" she gasped and choked, spitting
up little spurts of water. Her nipples reacted to the cold by turning into
steely brown rivets of flesh.
Twice more Jack dunked her, each time longer than the last. But each time
she answered Ernie's demands for the money by pleading, "No se. For the love of
God, I don't know."
"Hey, Jack," Ernie's good eye was bright, as he worked the big chaw of
chewing tobacco into his mouth. "I'd almost forgot about them penalty strokes
she earned during her birthday spanking. Eight of 'em, wasn't it?"
"Reckon it was, Ern."
"Tell you what, mija," Ernie whispered. "You give me my fifty bucks and
we'll forget about them penalty strokes you got comin' and we'll be on our way."
The shivering, soaked beauty could only mouth, "I...told... you...No se."
"Like hell you don't know. All right, then if that's the way you want it.
I'm gonna go grab those fuckin' canes, Jack. I got something special in mind
for this thieving cunt!"
Ernie stalked off toward the bedroom. Jack, meanwhile, began to unbuckle
Black Betsy again. "No sense our wastin' our few moments alone, is there,
Teresa? Bend over and kiss the floor, darlin'. I want to see that sweet ass 'a
yours high in the air!"
Teresa could hear the unmistakable sound of the leather hissing through
Jack's wide belt loops one by one. Disconsolately she edged her sore knees
backward from the cold tub until there was room for her to bend her face to the
floor, offering her ripely round bottom to her tormentor. No sooner had her
soft lips touched the dark wood then she felt the terrible stinging pain of
Jack's belt blazing across the roundness of her uplifted buttocks.
"Aahhhhhhhh!" She had not expected the first stroke to come so quickly.
The blow almost drove her into the floorboards. "Get that sweet ass back
up in the air, mija!" Jack roared, enjoying the view of the deliciously deep
cleft that bisected Teresa's buttock ovals. When his tortured victim had once
again elevated her shapely bottom properly, he ripped into her cane-streaked,
cafe-au-lait buttcheeks yet again.
"Ungghhhh!" Teresa grimaced through tightly clenched teeth.
The black-shirted villain had time to criss-cross Teresa's tempting
derriere with two more savage lashes before Ernie returned with a dangerously
determined look on his ugly face. A little disappointed, perhaps, that Betsy
hadn't had time to get more of a workout, Jack returned the frightful leather
strap back to its normal place, safely ensconced between his wide belt loops.
The force of his blows had knocked a couple of the jalapenos clean out of
Teresa's burning pussy. He was just re-inserting the diabolical green
flesh-burners between Teresa's legs when Ernie returned. Teresa put up little
resistance; most of their fiery itch had long since been spent.
"One of the damn things rolled under the bed," Ernie explained, "but I
found 'em." Teresa glanced up sorrowfully at the gleeful rat-faced man as he
brandished the pair of whippy canes, one of which he quickly handed to Jack.
"We're fixin' to have us some more fun, Teresa. Less'n you tell us where you hid
the money you stole from me!"
The kneeling young beauty lowered her raven-haired head to the floor and
resignedly prepared herself for further blows to her tender bottomflesh.
Black Jack had lifted his cane high, drawing a bead on the ripe summits of
Teresa's rounded buttcheeks, when Ernie stopped him. "No, Jack, that ain't what
I had in mind. We done gave her a good ass-whuppin' with these already." Ernie
swished his cane viciously in the air. "But I reckon that once she starts
feelin' this baby," he swished the cane again, "across those juicy jugs of hers,
our little amiga's memory is gonna improve right quick!"
Teresa's heart sank; surely not even these two barbarians would never.. not
the cane... not on her tender breasts... She looked up at her ferret-faced
tormentor pleadingly. "N-no ... por favor ... merced ..." Her soft voice died
away pitiably.
Ernie knelt down next to his terror-stricken victim and cruelly lifted her
head back by grabbing a handful of her silky black hair. "Where's my dough, you
thieving whore? You'd better tell me, honey, or me and Jack are gonna have to
work over them pretty titties some more! Ain't we, Jackson?" With his free
hand Ernie cruelly squeezed a pliable young breast for a moment, as Teresa bit
her lip to keep from crying out in pain. It was just as well that Teresa did
not see the malignity in Ernie's eyes as he slowly rose to his feet.
Teresa looked up to see El Reptil, Black Jack Slocum, towering over her
like some ferocious primordial carnivore, his teeth gleaming, his pitiless black
eyes riveted to her wet and glistening breasts. Jack's long arm reached down
and pushed the tip of his cane into the lovely halo of crinkly brown flesh that
encircled Teresa's puckering left nipple. He ground the cane-tip into her dark
bud for a moment while she grimaced in pain, and then he grunted. "Hold her
arms, Ern. I'm fixin' to have me some fun."
His partner obliged, seizing the kneeling girl's wrists and pulling them
straight back behind her until her shoulder-muscles were taut.
"Thanks, pard," Slocum winked, as he inserted the very apex of the cane
into the inviting valley between Teresa's close-set tit-globes. Then, moving his
wrist with such swiftness that the rod became almost invisible, he sent the tip
of the cane whizzing back and forth between her breasts, stinging their soft,
cactus-pricked inner curves as Teresa winced in pain. He continued this amusing
pastime for a full minute, while Ernie held her motionless, enjoying the sight
of his partner's swift-moving cane bouncing back and forth across the narrow
strait between the lush inner curves of Teresa's breasts with Gatling-gun
rapidity. Each impact was barely perceptible in and of itself, but cumulatively
the cane-stings took a painful toll. By the time Jack pulled the cane back, the
inner contours of Teresa's breasts were on fire.
"Well, mija?" Ernie growled as he twisted her wrist. "You gonna tell us
where you stashed my money? Or are me 'n' Jack gonna have to do a little more
convincin'?"
Teresa groaned in misery. "I ... I don't have your money.... Please..."
Slocum scratched the three-day growth on his chin. "No offense, Ern, but I
kinda hope she doesn't talk. I think I got me a little kink, here," Jack
chuckled deep in his throat, as he pretended to rub his sinewy right forearm,
"that I need to work out."
"And givin' these beauties a few solid shots," he grinned sadistically,
as he tapped the rod down on the shapely upper slopes of Teresa's lust- melons,
"might be just what the doctor ordered."
Ernie grabbed a handful of Teresa's black hair. "You gonna tell me where
you stashed my money?" Ernie asked again.
Weakly, "I... I can't. I... don't ... know."
"Like hell you don't. Push her back flush up against the tub, Jack.
That's good." The tub was a little over two feet high. The kneeling Latina's
still-damp breasts were slightly above the tub's cold metal rim. "OK, Jack, now
scrunch her down so that those big juicy knockers are sittin' right up on the
rim. Now pull her head back out of the way. Perfect!"
Ernie picked up his weapon and paused for a moment to appreciate the erotic
vignette he'd created. Teresa's golden-bronze, rainwater-slick breasts rested
gently on the frigid lip of the tub, her chocolate nipples puckering from the
cold. Jack had her hair twisted behind her so that her back was arched in a
sensuous curve.
"Last chance, mija," warned Ernie ominously as he rested the length of the
cane on the soft upper slopes of Teresa's sweet young breasts, and tapped them
gently, letting her feel the unforgiving hardness of the wood, giving her
pleasure-globes the briefest of foretastes of what was to come. "Remember how
this felt on yer sweet ass? Well, I guaran-fuckin'-tee ya it's gonna hurt twice
as bad when I lay into those juicy knockers of yers!"
"Please...don't...."
Teresa shuddered spasmodically and flinched in pain as Ernie flicked a drop
of rain-water from her left nipple. Even that quick little flick of the wrist
left a bitter sting. How could she possibly endure a full force blow to her
tender breasts? And then she watched in disgust as Ernie spat a slimy stream of
brown tobacco juice onto her right breast.
"Still don't feel like talkin' eh? Fine by me. Let the party continue,
eh, Jack!"
"No...don't..."
THWUCCKK!! Aaaaaaaggggghhhhh!!"
Ernie had lifted the cane and whistled it sharply down onto the proud upper
slope of Teresa's succulent right breast. "Yeah!" Ernie yelled in exultation, as
the blow made contact, spattering the tobacco juice across her chest and
shoulders. He noticed that the sound the cane made when it drilled her tits was
slightly different from the sound it had made when it had struck her buttcheeks.
When Jack released her hair, Teresa's shameless writhing made it clear that her
upper body was aflame with agony.
"Your turn, Big Jack. Let her have it!" And the two changed places. Ernie
stuck a bony knee into Teresa's back, forcing her throbbing breasts forward,
even as he pulled her chin back. Teresa looked up to see Jack's sinister face,
his wolfish grin evil and sadistic. Jack was far taller and stronger than
Ernie; his blows, Teresa knew, were sure to prove even more unbearable than his
partner's.
Jack's long lizard-like tongue protruded from the corner of his mouth as he
took aim. "Ready for another one, darlin'?" he grinned.
"Please..." Teresa moaned piteously, "Ooouuhhh!!" she moaned, as Jack, his
black eyes gleaming with sadistic lust, slammed the dreadful cane down with a
violent THWUCCKKKK!!! across both of her soft young breasts. Bad as Ernie's
blow had been, Jack's was even worse -- cutting and vicious. And the soaking
her breasts had gotten during the dunking seemed to make them even more
sensitive than they had been when Jack had worked them over with his thick black
belt.
Teresa's upper body vibrated in unspeakable pain. "No mas, por favor," she
whimpered. Would the dawn never come?
"You can stop this any time, y'know," Ernie offered, as he and Jack
changed positions again. When he was met with tearful silence, he eyeballed her
nicely proffered breasts again. "Geesus, Jack, you nailed her a good one that
time!" he exclaimed as he touched the end of the cane to the thin dark line Jack
had left, as Teresa flinched at the touch.
And then, with a studied ferocity, the rat-faced little man whipped the
cane sharply across her resilient left breast, THWUCCKK!! a centimeter closer
to her nipple than Jack's blow had fallen.
"Aaaaiiieeaah!!" Teresa screamed in agony. The fact that her breasts
were pinned against the cold metal of the tub exacerbated her suffering
"I beg of you ... please ..." the beautiful Latina prayed.
But Black Jack Slocum was deaf to her entreaties.
The hulking, black-browed gunslinger studied Teresa's mouthwatering
breasts for endless seconds while she trembled in apprehension. He delighted in
the sensuous quivering of her agitated love-globes and waited patiently for the
delicious jiggling of her jugs to subside. When at last Teresa had regained her
poise, he lifted his instrument of torture again and then clipped both of
Teresa's perky nipples with a swift and deadly THWICKK!!
"Ohhhh!!! Godddd!!!! Somone ... please ... help ... me," Teresa wailed as
a fresh wave of agony coursed through her tortured breasts.
Ernie pulled his knee out of her back. "Ain't no one gonna be helpin' you,
sweetheart, ceptin' me and Jack. Wait a minute. I take that back. I'm fixin'
to give your sweet titties another 'helping' of this," he shook the cane before
her tear-filled eyes, "in just a second."
Perhaps involuntarily, Teresa moved her torso slowly from side to side,
hoping perhaps that that gentle motion would bring some comfort to her aching
breasts.
"Shit, Jack, you got her good with that last one, partner. Look at her
wiggle them boobies!" Ernie sneered at their trembling captive as they swapped
places once again. "Y'know, Jack, I thought it'd be a coon's age before I'd see
another pair of tits as fine as Honey Wilson's. But damn! I ain't so sure that
Teresa's ain't just as nice."
Ernie slid the slender rod along the cold lip of the metal tub and lifted
Teresa's lovely naked breasts up slightly. "Damn, they're purty, ain't they? So
young and round and firm. And look at them big brown nipples stickin' out nice
and hard for us." Ernie leered as he plumped her delectable mounds for another
second or two, before gently lowering them back on to the cold lip of the tub.
"Yep, you got some man-pleasin' tits, there, Teresita. You cain't hardly blame a
feller for wantin' to work 'em over some. Those babies were built for pain!"
"And more pain is just exactly what I'm fixin' to give 'em, honey!" Ernie
snarled menacingly, as he sawed the slender cane slowly, ominously, to and fro
across the rounded slopes of Teresa's quivering breasts. "Less'n you tell me
where you hid my damn money?"
Ernie scraped the cane roughly against Teresa's abused nipple-buds. His
cock was hard in his trail-worn pants again. It was a damn shame that he didn't
have enough time to fuck her tight little ass again.
Teresa was too exhausted to beg; her shoulders shook convulsively as the
infernal cane taunted and teased her throbbing love-globes.
Ernie the Weasel let the dreadful instrument play back and forth over the
curves of her breasts while he pondered his next move. He considered for a
minute, and then decided to leave her tasty brown nipples for his partner. He
slid the cane back up her breast until it rested directly above the nasty weal
Jack's first blow had left.
"Where's the money, puta?" Ernie repeated as he poked the edge of the cane
into the tender spot.
When he got no answer other than an involuntary shudder, Ernie snarled,
"Dig your knee right into the middle of her back, Jackson. So them juicy tits
are sticking out real nice." He slid the hard-edged cane menacingly over
Teresa's delectable coppery breast-mounds, while Jack brutally planted a sharp
kneecap between her shoulderblades. "Yeah!! Just like that! Christ, Jack,
look at those fuckin' knockers!"
"Talk, bitch!" Ernie ordered.
"I ... told ... you. I don't..." THWUCCCK!!!
"Aaauuuuggghhhhhh!!!"
With a demonic grin, and a triumphant "Yeaahhhh!!" Ernie had given her a
third savage stroke, this time revisiting her right breast, and falling exactly
on the mark Jack had left. This fiendish blow, though, cracked the skin, and a
drop of crimson began to form on the surface of Teresa's tortured breast.
Once the two had switched places again, Big Jack let his cane hover above
that single drop of blood. He remembered how Honey Wilson had smashed his nose
when he'd raped her by the pond, and how he'd bled all over her
peaches-and-cream breasts while he fucked her half-senseless. The blood had
looked good on Honey Wilson's tit-melons then -- in fact it had driven him even
deeper into a frenzy of cruelty. And that drop of red looked damn good on the
burnished gold breasts of Teresa Martinez now! He dipped the slender end of the
cane in the blood, and drew little swirls of scarlet on both of Teresa's heaving
breasts.
"Geesus, Jack, don't go gittin' artistic on me," Ernie mocked. "Enough
with the finger-painting -- give those big fuckin' pinatas another whack! Bust
those babies open!"
Jack gave Ernie a scowl that was as dark as a moonless night. He didn't
like much care for the "artistic' crack, or his weasel-faced partner's tone of
voice. "Don't you worry yerself none, Ern, I ain't goin' soft." And to prove
his point Jack gave Teresa another, even more hellacious, THWUCCCKKKK!!!!!
across her sumptuous breasts.
"Unnnnnnnnnngggggggghhh!" the moan came from deep in Teresa's diaphragm.
"O God... Piedad, por favor."
And this time, when Ernie let go of her head to change places with Jack,
Teresa slumped lifelessly forward against the cold metal tub. The horrendous
stabbing pain from Jack's sadistic blow had caused her to lapse into merciful
unconsciousness.
But it only took a moment for Ernie to notice that, and he grabbed her
roughly and thrust the unconscious girl's head and shoulders into the cold
tub-water, until her frantic thrashing assured him that she was once again fully
conscious. When he finally yanked her head back, the cold water once again
streamed down from her face and hair, inundating her upper body. Jack's
artistry in scarlet had been washed away, but a fresh dot of red was just
beginning to bead up on the upper slope of her sopping right breast.
"Hey Jack," the little man said, very much aware that Jack was still
glowering at him ferociously, "I was just funnin' ya; I didn't mean nuthin' by
it."
"Yeah? Well, sometimes you got a big mouth, Ern. And one day yer gonna go
too far."
With only one bonus stroke remaining, Ernie jerked Teresa's debilitated
body to her feet. As the shivering beauty, her wrists still tied behind her,
slowly straightened, the evil disfigured face loomed close to her own.
Anxious to get back on friendly terms with his partner, Ernie said, "Jack,
you nailed her nips good with that downward cutter a coupla minutes ago. Whaddya
say we give her a couple head-on?" Teresa shook her head pleadingly from side
to side, whimpering softly.
"Don't like the idea, mija? Hey, I'm just tryin' to jog your memory."
But the exhausted Latina remained silent, her chin on her chest. "El gato
still got your tongue, eh?" sneered the little man. "Then stand up straight.
Straight I said! Spread your legs a little more. Wider! That's good."
"Now, stick those tasty dumplings out for me, you thieving whore! Do it, or
by God, we're gonna start over again! Or are you gonna tell me what you did
with my dough?" Ernie was mesmerized by the fresh pearl of blood that had
formed on the thin cut on her right breast. "No? Then take a deep breath,
sweetie, and stick out those juicy jugs you're so proud of!" Teresa, sobbing
in despair, submissively took a deep breath and did her best to thrust her
tortured, dark-tipped mounds forward.
And was rewarded for her efforts with a horrendous breast-splitting
THWUCCCK!!!! as Ernie's home-made cane whipped into her dripping nipples.
"AAAIIIIIEEAAHHHH!!"
Teresa sank to her knees in pain. "Looks to me like she's in udder agony,
Jack!" Ernie giggled. Within seconds, though, Ernie the Weasel had hoisted her
back to her feet. Eager to patch things up with Jack, the little sadist once
again forced the beleaguered Latina to thrust her full-nippled whipping targets
out. This time, though, Ernie slid his own cane under her breasts and lifted
them up even more.
"How d'ya like them apples, Jack?" Ernie giggled maniacally, as he bounced
her breasts softly with the rod. "I got 'em ready for ya partner. Give 'em
hell!"
"No... please...I can't take any m..."
But Big Jack was deaf to her 'please'. The towering man in black drew back
his seemingly endless arm, and gave her a roundhouse swing that seemed to Ernie
to start at the Rio Grande and gather speed as it cut through the air,
concluding its trip through space with a chilling THWACKKKK!!! With a
marksman's skill Jack had scored a double bullseye, as the rod transferred every
iota of its intense energy to Teresa's martyred breastflesh, searing both of her
nipples in a blinding millisecond of pain.
"Aaaaaiiiiiieeeeeeeeaaaagggghhhhhhhh!!!" Teresa's scream could have raised
the ghosts from the graves in the old churchyard across the street.
When the unearthly scream died away, Teresa's legs failed her again and she
crumpled to her knees in unfathomable breast-pain.
Jack looked down at the fallen girl and smiled. He'd outdone himself with
that one. But it was time to move on. "C'mon, Ern. She don't have it, or
she'd 'a talked by now. Let's clear outa here."
"C'mon, Jack, can't you see that she's got another cut? It's time to
disinfect those tits again! Get up, bitch!"
"Please... I...can't..."
"All right, honey, I suppose a gentleman oughta help a lady up!" And Ernie
stooped over and dug his tobacco-stained fingers into both of Teresa's tawny
breasts and began to pull upward with all of his strength.
"Aaaiiiiieeeehhh! Stop... please... I'm getting ... Aiiaaahhh!!" With a
second vicious yank, Ernie had lifted Teresa bodily to her feet.
"Pass me what's left of that bottle of whiskey, Jack."
While Jack moved toward the bar, Ernie dragged his terrorized captive back
toward the tub, and plunged her upper body into the chilled water for about
fifteen seconds.
When he lifted her out of the frigid water, Teresa's mocha-colored melons
were sopping wet again, her shameless nipples once again fully distended.
"Yeah, that's nice. I like 'em wet, don't you, Jack?" Ernie jerked Teresa
to her feet again, took the bottle of strong whiskey, and began to pour the
remaining liquor, a little at a time, across the tops of Teresa's slightly
lacerated breasts; she shuddered convulsively as the burning liquid sought out
every fissure in the satiny gold skin of her breasts. "Look at her jiggle those
titties, Jackson!" Ernie cackled delightedly.
Ernie righted the bottle and bent his head to her right breast and slurped
noisily at the whiskey with which he had inundated it. "Mmmm-mmm! Damn! Get on
that other tit, Jack. Whiskey and water, with a twist 'a tit and a coupla
drops of the tastiest blood in Me-ji-co. Best goddam drink in town. And the
drink's on Teresa." Ernie slapped his bony knee, delighted with his joke. "Have
yourself a jug, Jack! Get it, Jack -- have a jug!! Hee-hee!" And Ernie bent his
head once again to the sweet stickiness of Teresa's tempting breast. He licked
all around the lovely globe, but every few seconds he paused to stiffen his
tongue and prod at the tender edges of the cuts the cane had opened, as Teresa
grimaced in pain.
Jack glanced quickly at the clock, then reached down and lifted Teresa's
other breast-fruit up and then lowered his vulpine mouth to taste the whiskey;
even after all of the abuse, Teresa's delicious breasts still tasted faintly of
sweet coconut. Jack mouthed her melon thirstily for a minute, and then made eye
contact with Ernie again.
There was a frenzy in Ernie Gibbs fevered eyes unlike any Jack had ever
seen before. When the gleeful little man had done slavering at her
whiskey-coated love-globe, he backed away, no longer smiling.
"Where's my dough??" he demanded with a scowl.
"Please...How many times do I have to tell you? Non la tengo... I don't
have it," Teresa sighed despairingly.
" You're gonna tell me 'til you tell me what I wanna hear! Spread your
legs, puta!"
"W-w-why?"
"Spread 'em, dammit! Hold her for me, Jack."
And once Teresa had fearfully moved her sleek sepia thighs about a foot and
a half apart, and Jack had her softly rounded shoulders encased in an iron grip,
Ernie took the now-empty liquor bottle and jammed it roughly between her legs.
"AAAANNNNNGGGHHH!" the lovely Latina grunted, as she twisted futilely,
trying to escape the probing bottle.
"How's about a drink, darlin'?," Ernie sneered as he worked the narrow end
of the bottle deeper and deeper into her squirming pussy. It wasn't easy; he
could feel Black Jack's jalapenos obstructing the narrow fleshy passageway. So
he had to twist that much harder to force the bottle deeper into her pink slot.
He worked it around in her quim roughly for a few seconds until he heard Jack's
voice.
"C'mon, pard, time to go."
Ernie pulled the bottle out and threw it across the room in disgust.
"Dammit, Jack, the bitch is lyin'. I know she is." Then his good eye
brightened. "Tell you what, Big Jack -- do her like you did Honey Wilson." The
little man's eyes were sparkling with lust. "Yeah!! Do her just like you did
that big-titted, prick-teasing blonde back in Texas. And then give me five
fuckin' minutes with her!"
Jack looked at Ernie uncertainly out of one eye while the other regarded
the grandfather clock; it wasn't much before daybreak. "Geesus, Ernie, we gotta
get a move on ..."
"Goddammit, Jack! You found time to do Honey Wilson, while I was laying in
the dirt bleedin' at her daddy's ranch. You can damn well make time to do her,"
indicating the lovely Latina who stood submissively between them, moaning
softly. "Besides -- you can do it fast, Jack. Yer the best I ever seen."
Jack, flattered by the compliment, scratched his days-old whiskers and
considered for a moment. "All right, Ern. But ten more minutes and then I'm outa
here. And you can deal with a posse of damn Mexicans yerself. Which'll it be?
Thick or thin?"
Teresa looked from one to the other of her tormentors, not understanding
the meaning of their conversation, except to know that it did not bode well for
her.
"Which one is gonna hurt more?"
"Well, I reckon the thin probably does, but damn, she'd look mighty good in
the thick, too."
"Make it the thin, then, partner. Tie them chichis up tight! Tight as you
did Honey Wilson's. So tight they'll look like a coupla balloons ready to
burst!"
Chapter XVI A Tale of Tortures Past
As Ernie the Weasel pleaded with a glowering Black Jack Slocum to subject
their dark-haired prisoner to some severe breast bondage, the beautiful Latina
looked from Ernie to Jack and back again in abject horror. She knew that some
men liked rough sex; she knew that there were men who enjoyed hurting women.
But she had no idea that there were men who enjoyed abusing a woman's body in
such a depraved fashion. She knew that protesting was of little use, but she
could not stop herself from shaking her head from side to side and feebly
imploring, "Please ...no ... I beg you."
"Then talk, mija! Where's my fucking money?"
"Please ... I know nothing ... I have told you so all night ... Please ...
Just go ... I will say nothing."
Ernie Gibbs squinted through his good eye and chuckled. "That's OK,
sweetheart. You can't hold out much longer. Go ahead and get started, Jackson.
I reckon I saw me something in the kitchen that'll loosen her pretty little
tongue oncet you finish workin' on her sweet tits!" Ernie gave each of
Teresa's cane-ravaged nipples a nasty twist before turning on his heel, and
winking at his sinister sidekick as Slocum began uncoiling a a length of white
cord....
********
As he moved toward the kitchen Ernie's thoughts turned to the bizarre
story Jack had related to him across a campfire, a few nights after their flight
from the Wilson Ranch.... {for the full story, see "The Outlaw's Revenge"
chapter 13}
In his deep, rasping voice Jack had recounted what had transpired in the
hours after Honey Wilson had gotten loose from her bonds in the middle of the
night, and had accidentally shot Ernie during a struggle for his gun. How the
delicious young blonde had left Ernie Gibbs lying unconscious alongside the
corral gate, while she had begun to run, naked as a jaybird, toward the haven of
the Dunbar ranch a few miles down the road.
That lone gunshot had roused Jack Slocum from a deep, half-drunken sleep.
After determining that his partner was unconscious but alive, he had angrily set
off after Honey Wilson atop his black stallion, Cyclone. He had finally caught
up to her at daybreak, when she was only a few hundred yards from safety, in a
field studded with prickly chaparral.
*******
Jack had paused then to light one of old man Wilson's cigars in the
campfire, and he had taken a long swig from a bottle of stolen bourbon, before
continuing with the story. He went on to tell how pissed off he had been at
bein' woken in the middle of the goddamn night to chase after their escaped
prisoner, and how he had vowed, as he tracked Honey down, to make the blonde
tease pay dearly for disturbing his sleep.
When he'd finally caught up to the long-legged beauty and lassoed her from
behind, Jack had gagged her and tied her hands behind her, giving her gorgeous
peaches-and-cream melons an extra bit of jut, not that her youthfully firm
knockers had needed it. And then he had taken some black rope, not much thicker
than twine, from his saddlebag and started looping it around Honey's luscious,
pink-nippled breasts.
Normally Jack Slocum wasn't much of a talker, but as he began to recount
the details of Honey' recapture, Ernie found himself listening breathlessly.
Him and Jack had shared a lot of adventures with more fine-lookin' women than
Ernie could count, but somehow he'd never been around to see one of Jack's
tit-ropings. As Jack continued his story, Ernie's cock slowly began to swell in
his filthy dungarees, until it was hard as a hunk of fool's gold.
********
Jack had related how he'd wound the black rope as snugly as he could around
Honey's pinkening pleasure-globes. He had tightened the cords mercilessly, until
the faint bluish veins in her breasts stood out, and the numerous scratches that
Honey had sustained while running for her life through the brush of that lonely
field, had begun to seep tiny trails of scarlet. He told how the voluptuous
blonde had looked at her deliciously swollen and pain-wracked breasts in
agonized disbelief.
********
Black Jack had paused in mid-story, to take another long pull at the
bourbon he had swiped from the Wilson ranch. Ernie remember how his pard had
stared deeply into the eerie glow of the campfire, as if trying to preserve
forever, in his mind's eye, the erotic events he was describing. Ernie had
squirmed awkwardly during this brief interval, his prick pulsing painfully
against the too-tight crotch of his pants.
After lazily blowing a couple of smoke-rings at the crackling embers, Jack
had gone on to recount how Honey's bound and bulging tits had reminded him of
the sweet, round grapefruits he'd picked as a boy. Jack had chuckled gloatingly
as he remembered the look on Honey's horrified face when he'd told her how he
used to like to take a firm, ruby-red grapefruit in each of his big hands and
squeeze 'em until the juice ran out of 'em. When he told Ernie how he had
filled his hands with Honey's tightly-roped knockers and crushed them between
his powerful fingers, just like he had done with those long-ago grapefruits,
Ernie had almost come in his dingy dungarees.
Jack had told him how he had tried to lift the lovely blonde by her stiff,
swollen nipple-buds, and then, after failing in that attempt, he'd given her
creamy jugs a ferocious slap with the hard-knuckled back of his hand. How Honey
had slumped to her knees in agony on the dusty trail, and how he had picked her
up and back-handed her swollen, tightly-bound tits again.
Then Black Jack had taken the long leads from her breast ropes, and
hitched 'em to Cyclone's saddle horn. The black stallion had pulled the young
blonde beauty by her trussed-up love-gourds the whole two miles back to the
secluded swimmin' hole on the Wilson Ranch. Jack had followed on foot,
occasionally hurrying Honey along with a stinging flick of his whip across her
bare back, her rounded buttocks or her long, strong thighs.
When they had reached the pond Jack had untied Honey, so that she could
clean herself up a little. After she'd washed her hair and bathed her nude body
until it sparkled in the morning sun, he had jumped her again, slamming her down
on the soft grass along the edge of the tiny lake and then throwing himself down
on top of her. A brutal struggle with the athletic blonde had ensued. At one
point Honey had almost broken free, and had kicked him squarely in the face,
breaking his nose and causing his blood to gush everywhere.
Ignoring his pain, Jack had vengefully evened the score by pulling her
down again and cramming his choking horse-cock down Honey Wilson's throat until
she could scarcely breathe. Then he'd finished off the enjoyable matinee by
planting his hairy ass on Honey's rib cage, and using the side of his big hands
to crush her succulent tits together while his thumbs and forefingers abused her
taut nipples. Then he'd rammed his huge erection through the soft curves of
Honey's cleavage endlessly, until his sperm-heavy cojones, sore from a hundred
delicious collisions with Honey's firm young breasts, shot their viscous load
into her beautiful face and onto her blood-spattered treasures.
When Black Jack Slocum had finished his narrative and rolled over to get
some shut-eye, Ernie had lain there under the stars, his cock throbbing,
visualizing in his mind's eye each incident in Jack's erotic adventure, reliving
it vicariously, wishing that he could have been there to be part of it. When
Jack's snoring had grown regular, he had undone his fly and stroked himself into
an intense orgasm, tantalized by visions of black rope tightening inexorably
around Honey Wilson's superb breasts. He could almost see her tasty nipples
standing out like pink rivets, and he could almost hear her moans of anguish
echoing across the vast deserted prairie....
Chapter XVII Breasts in Bondage
Ernie, who had been leaning against the kitchen table for a minute or two
staring blankly into space enjoying his erotic daydream, snapped himself back to
alertness. He chided himself for drifting off into a fantasy, no matter how
pleasurable, when the real thing -- the voluptuous Teresa Martinez -- was
waiting in the next room, her man-teasing lust-globes by now no doubt protruding
as boldly from a Jack Slocum breast bondage as Honey Wilson's had from hers.
Impatiently he located the articles he had come for and began to head back to
the bar area of the cantina, more intent than ever on making the thieving Latina
reveal where she had stashed the money she and her brothers had stolen from him.
Meanwhile Jack, true to his reputation, had wasted no time. Despite
Teresa's pleas for mercy, he had taken the same long length of thin, white cord
they had used on Teresa earlier, and set to work. But, just as he had had
trouble tying Honey's slippery tits, at first, because they had been spattered
with hot grease earlier that same night, Teresa's moist breasts were still
glistening wetly as a result of her dousings in the tub and the cord refused to
'bite' properly. Black Jack Slocum had used a few handfuls of coarse West Texas
sand to get rid of the slickness on Honey's boobs, and get 'em ready for ropin',
but there was no sand in the cantina.
But then Jack had an inspiration; diving into Ernie's knapsack he pulled
out the fifteen-foot length of thick rope that Ernie had presented as an option.
It was the heavy type of rope that boatmen used to moor riverboats to a dock --
an inch or more in diameter, and irritatingly coarse. Jack hacked off a
two-foot chunk of the thick rope, while he eye-balled Teresa's slippery breasts.
Her proud, mahogany-tipped nipples stabbed the air defiantly.
"OK, Teresita," Jack grinned sadistically as he stepped behind her and
reached around to give her a good look at the length of rope. "This'll get them
titties nice and dry!" he growled, and then he took the rope in both hands and
slid it into the crease formed by the undercurve of her breasts. Then, lifting
first one arm and then the other, and using the same sort of sawing motion one
might use with a bath towel, Jack scraped the prickly rope back and forth
against the tender undersides of Teresa's love-mounds.
Wincing, Teresa pulled away from the cruel embrace of the coarse rope.
'What's the matter, sweetie -- my little bath towel here ain't feminine enough
for you? Well, I'm gonna dry your tits off, Teresa, so I can rope 'em up nice
and purty for my pard. It's up to you, darlin'. We can wipe 'em dry with
this," and Jack held up the coarse rope. "Or I can dry 'em off with this."
Slocum reached into his shirt pocket, and pulled out a match stick.
Teresa, her hands bound tightly behind her, could do little but back away from
him, shaking her head fearfully, until a pair of barstools in her path prevented
her from retreating any more. Jack followed her, a sinister grin on his face.
When he was within arm's length, he swept the match across a rough wooden table
top, and watched as the tip of the Lucifer burst into flame. He held the match
up in front of Teresa's face to let her see its hungry little tongue, and then
he casually lowered his hand until the match was positioned about two inches
below Teresa's ardent left nipple, its tiny triangle of flame licking upward
hungrily, eager to catch the perky brown bud in its fiery embrace.
Teresa shook her head wildly, "No ... please ... not el fuego...."
"You gonna be a good girl, then, and hold still while I dry you off?"
Teresa looked down at her nipple, which seemed to surge saucily upward with
a life of its own, in its desire to escape the flaming match. Then she looked
up to see Black Jack Slocum smiling sardonically down at her. " Si ... si ... I
... I will ... hold still. Por favor ... please ...do not burn me."
"Glad you're seein' things my way now, mija" Jack smirked as he blew out
the match. "But jes' so's you don't forget .... " Jack's long arm reached out
and touched the crinkly roseate of Teresa's left breast with the smoking
match-tip.
"Oh, Goddddddddd.!!!" Teresa moaned, as she tried to twist away,
overturning one of the barstools, but Jack nimbly spoiled her attempts to
escape, grabbing a handful of her ebony hair and holding the spent Lucifer to
the underside of her nipple until its once-fiery fury had cooled.
"No," Teresa panted. "No mas ... please."
"Well, you gonna hold still for the rope or ain'tcha?"
"Si ... si I will. But please ... no more matches"
"Well you best hold still, Jack growled, "cuz next time I ain't putting the
match out first!' The tall gunslinger reached for the heavy rope again, and
spun the dark-skinned beauty around, smashing her naked thighs into the bar
stool. Then, holding an end of the rope in each hand, he positioned the rope
against her ripe melons an eyelash below her dark breast-tips, and began to saw
the rope back and forth across Teresa's tender breast-flesh.
Teresa groaned as the painful friction of the rope seemed to flay the skin
from her breasts. Her body screamed at her to try to elude the bristling hemp,
but her mind feared the flame of Jack's matches even more than the abrading
rope.
And so she stood there and endured the abuse as Black Jack dried her tawny
mounds by deftly working the rough fibers of the hawser across every inch of her
tender breast-flesh.
When Slocum was satisfied that Teresa's dark-nippled lust-globes were
sufficiently dry for the bondage ropes to bite properly, Jack tossed the thick
rope aside. He retrieved the thin rope and began coiling the pale, white
quarter-inch cord around Teresa's delectable breasts. Jack's craftsman-like
hands moved back and forth between her mocha-hued melons, encasing them tighter
and tighter in a painful hempen cocoon. He worked quickly, but not so quickly
that he did not take the time to pause at each encirclement of a succulent
breast to jerk every last millimeter of slack from her breast bindings. Each
time Jack yanked at the ends of the ropes, tightening the stranglehold on her
love-globes, Teresa moaned in agony.
Jack looked up for a moment as Ernie re-entered the bar, but then El Raton
got a sudden glint in his eye, reversed direction and returned to the kitchen.
Jack could hear the unmistakable sound of the crackling logs in the dwindling
kitchen fire being prodded back into life. "What the fuck is the crazy little
bastard up to now?" wondered Jack. "We ain't got no time to cook no fucking
breakfast!"
Jack finished tying Teresa's other breast, pulling the ends so tightly that
Teresa, for her part, could only stare at her painfully swollen lust-mounds in
suffering and chagrin. The thin cord bit fiercely into the base of each of her
pleasure-globes and Slocum had tied a Gordian knot at the precise epicenter of
the figure eight, a knot which seemed to draw the cords all the tighter around
her tender flesh. Who would have believed that there were men cruel enough and
ingenious enough to think of such a hellish way to mistreat a woman? And who
would have believed that there were men would find the molding of her
beautifully-shaped breasts into bulging balls of tit-flesh so captivating?
Just then Ernie returned from the kitchen, with one hand concealed behind
his back. His eyes were ablaze with ... what? ... lust? ... fury? ... madness?
The grotesque little man took a long look at Jack's handiwork, licking his
thin lips, enthralled by the way the tough cord gripped the bases of Teresa's
cane-marked breasts, and delighted by the way the ropes thrust her
stiff-nippled spheres of breast-flesh forward for his enjoyment.
"Ooooh, yeah, sweetheart," Ernie enthused. "Those babies were definitely
fit to be tied." Ernie slapped his thigh, tickled by his own joke. "Turn around
for me, mija. Nice and slow. So I can get a good luck at them juicy tits!"
Blushing furiously, but knowing that resistance was worse than foolish,
Teresa did a slow, sensuous pirouette while Ernie squinted appreciatively at the
way the rope and the knots bit into her mouthwatering melons, hoping to learn
the secret of Slocum's wizardry.
"Geesus, Jackson, if you ain't got them beauties lookin' mighty fine, I'm
Jesse Fucking James! Hot Damn!! I swear to God these must be the sweetest pair
'a chi-chis this side of the Rio Grande."
Ernie slid behind Teresa and cupped her bulging man-pleasers in his gnarled
fingers. "Hell, I always said you was the best man with a rope I ever seen,
Black Jack. Mmmmm-mm," he crooned as he thumbed the dark crests of Teresa's
swollen breasts and pressed his dungaree-covered erection against her buttock
cleft. "Damn it to hell," Ernie babbled as his hands roamed freely over
Teresa's nude breasts, "if her tits don't look like they're fixing to pop! Watch
out our Mexican cutie don't hit you in the eye with one of them nips when they
do, Jackson!" he chuckled. "Damn! They're purty as a picture, ain't they?"
Ernie spun Teresa and slapped a bulging breast lightly with his left hand.
"Firm as a side of beef, but tender as a fillie meen-yon. Nice work, Big Jack!"
But then the smile of delight vanished and an evil leer stole across the
Weasel's disfigured face. "But you'd better wise up and tell me where my loot
is, mija, less'n you want me and Jack to work on these chi-chi's some more!" he
rasped as he smacked her breast again, this time hard enough to draw an audible
gasp of pain from the dark-eyed beauty.
Ernie wiped a stream of spittle from the corner of his mouth as he admired
Teresa's breast bondage. By some arcane architectural artistry Jack had woven
his cocoon of rope underneath her splendid breasts so skillfully that the cord
seemed to lift them up for his delectation. They looked just perfect for what
he had in mind.
"Five more minutes, Big Fella. Five more minutes, and we'll be outa here.
With my damn money!"
Jack frowned. "You're gonna have'ta make do with four minutes, Ernesto.
The first minute's mine."
Chapter XVIII The Texas Thunderbolt
Jack walked over behind the bar and picked up the ancient undersized broom
that he'd seen Teresa use to sweep the floor when he'd first come in to the
cantina. As he expected from its appearance, it felt as if been home to a
colony of termites for a generation, but even though most of its insides seemed
to have been hollowed out, the broomstick offered intriguing possibilities.
With a quick snapping motion, Jack snapped the broom handle across a bony
knee, breaking off the sweeping end and leaving himself with a jagged-ended,
yard-long club. Jack smacked the slender broom handle against his palm, as he
walked back toward Teresa, who was trembling noticeably. Her blood ran cold as
she considered the possibility that her reptilian-eyed tormentor was going to
use this new weapon on her defenseless body.
Jack was grinning like a Cheshire Cat. There was no way in hell he was
gonna let his loud-mouthed sidekick have first crack at Teresa's delicious orbs
after he had gone to all the trouble of wrappin' em up in those tight white
ribbons!
Teresa looked from one desperado to the other in desperation -- the cane's
bite had been appallingly painful before; the thought of Black Jack Slocum
whipping her bound breasts with the wooden rod he was slapping against his palm
was inconceivable.
"I said, 'the first minute's mine'" Jack repeated coldly. "That OK with
you, Ern?"
Ernie looked a little glum, but assented. "Yeah, sure, Jack." Ernie, as
always, was deferential to the senior partner of the firm of Slocum & Gibbs.
"Back that sweet ass 'a yers right up against the bar, mija," Jack snarled.
"Yer gonna need it to hold you up." Black Jack Slocum bared his fangs at Teresa
as she tremulously retreated until her cane-marked buttocks pressed up against
one of the barstools. Ernie gave her asscheeks a quick squeeze as he kicked the
wooden stool out of the way, and then Jack put the jagged tip of the broken
broom handle into Teresa's belly button and pushed her backwards until her hips
were flush against the edge of the bar.
Ernie had overcome his initial irritation at Jack's taking over; this
promised to be good! With every passing second, Teresa's breast bondage seemed
to make her tits swell up bigger and harder and rounder as they mushroomed
boldly outward from the constricting breast-ropes.
"I'm fixin' to take me a little batting practice, Teresa," Jack grinned.
"Less'n you decide you wanna tell my third base coach, here, what you done with
his money?"
It hadn't occurred to Ernie before, but in their trussed-up state, Teresa's
boobs did somewhat resemble a seamless pair of tawny, over-sized baseballs. He
was itchin' to get his own hands on those babies, now that Jack had cinched 'em
up so nice. But tonight, as always, Black Jack was batting lead-off.
Teresa's dark eyes were glazed; she stared at Jack's weapon blankly, as if
she could not credit the evidence of her brown eyes. But she did not, or could
not, speak.
Jack stood slightly to Teresa's right and a few feet back -- far enough
away to take a nice full swing.
"Batter up!" Ernie called out. "Step right up to the plate, partner,'
Ernie cheered. "Let's see you lay into them beisbols! They called him
'Joltin' Jack, The Texas Thunderbolt', back in east Texas, mija. Sweetest
swing you ever saw!"
Teresa's tear-filled dark eyes were aghast with horrified disbelief.
"No...no.. you can't.."
"Yeah, but I'm a little outa practice, Ern. But let's see if I can't smack
me a double," Jack grinned as he leered down at the bloated, brown-tipped
spheres that protruded so provocatively from the tit-choking ropes.
"Play ball!" Ernie barked.
The words had hardly left his mouth when Jack swept his hollowed cudgel
back with one hand and, then swung it in an upward arc toward the taut
undercurves of Teresa's breasts with a swing worthy of the great Cap Anson
himself.
WHUPPPPPP!!!, the improvised bat embedded itself deep in Teresa's abused
pleasure-mounds, its jagged end raking the side of her left breast.
"Aaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiieeeeeaahhhh!!" Teresa screamed, as she sank to her knees
in agony.
"On your feet, mija." Jack growled. "Hell, I only got a piece of that one.
Let's see if I can't make better contact this time. On your feet, I said!
Andale!"
As their tortured prisoner struggled to her feet, Ernie noted that Jack's
swing had opened up a red-edged gash just below the nipple on Teresa's left
breast.
"Yeahhh, you got some good wood on that one, Jackson," Ernie enthused, as a
second thin stream of crimson began to flow. "But you got under that one a
little. Let's see you straighten out that swing this time."
Jack gave his diminutive sidekick a toothy grin. Then, like a good batsman,
he practiced his stroke by slowly taking the blood-stained rod back on a
horizontal plane and then deliberately guiding it forward. He let the wicked
broom-handle kiss the tips of Teresa's rigid brown nipples, daubing them
scarlet, for an instant, before drawing it back again along the same plane.
Twice more he repeated this motion, grooving his stroke. The tips of Teresa's
young breasts shivered as if she were naked in a hail-storm.
"Hold still, darlin'," Jack warned, "Or I'm gettin' out the matches
again." Teresa took a deep breath and tried to compose herself - anything, even
this, was better than the bright-burning lucifers.
"That's better," Jack acknowledged and the he took the rod all the way
back, extending his long and powerful right arm to its fullest, before sweeping
it forward with a savagery that would have propelled a baseball to the deepest
reaches of a Texas ballfield.
"WHHUPPPPPP!!!!" This time the makeshift rod unleashed every scintilla of
its violent energy on the very centers of Teresa's breasts, hammering her dark
chocolate nipple-buds violently back into the surrounding breastflesh.
"AAAAAAAUGGGGHHHHHAAAAAHH!!!" Teresa screamed the screams of the damned, as
she absorbed the atrocious punishment before crumpling slowly toward the floor,
just managing to brace her fall by leaning over one of the barstools.
Amazingly, though, despite the savagery of Jack's blow, Teresa's brown and
battered nipple-nuggets sprang back to life with a youthful resilience that was
remarkable to behold.
Jack had to give her credit. He had ripped into Teresa's lovely breasts
with everything he had, but still she refused to talk. He was more than ever
convinced that Teresa didn't have Ernie's dough.
But Ernie wasn't so sure. And he'd been concealing something behind his
back ever since he had come out of the kitchen....
Chapter 19 Ernie's Revenge
"On your feet, sweetie," Ernie balked at the fallen Latina. "We ain't
quite done with you yet. And we won't be until I get my dough! On yer feet, I
said!"
Jack's second savage blow to her rope-encased breasts had left Teresa
crumpled over a barstool trying to catch her breath, waiting for the pain that
raged through them to subside. Supporting herself on the stool, Teresa once
again pulled herself upright, her ebony hair wild around her head and shoulders.
Her face was streaked with tears, her breathing ragged.
"N-n-no ... please.."
Ernie moved forward and used his left hand to brush Teresa's dark, wavy
tresses away from her artfully bound breasts, even as his right hand produced
the objects he had been hiding behind his back. Teresa stared uncomprehendingly
at Ernie's tobacco-stained fingers as the Weasel rattled two crude metal forks
against each other. He slipped one of them into his shirt pocket, and gripped
the other one tightly in his grimy hand. "Hold her steady for me, Jack."
Teresa squirmed helplessly as Black Jack Slocum's powerful hands tightened
on her upper arms. Despite her struggles, Slocum held her in his iron grasp as
El Raton lifted the fork to the level of her swollen right breast. Playfully, he
tried to insert a tine of the fork beneath the ropes which encircled Teresa's
bulging pain-melons, but Jack had done his work well -- the ropes were far too
tight.
"Where's the money, darlin'?" Ernie whispered fiercely again. When Teresa
shook her head despairingly, Ernie snarled and captured her cane-creased right
nipple between his ragged yellow fingernails, and pulled it toward him. Then, as
Teresa writhed in pain, he held the fork horizontally so that its prongs curved
toward him, and then mashed the edges of its tines against the tender bud.
Jack could see clearly that Teresa's dark nipple, in its engorged state,
was slightly larger than the gap between the tines of the peculiarly-shaped
fork. But that didn't stop Ernie the Weasel from trying to trap the swollen
lust-nugget between them.
"It ain't never gonna fit, Ern," said Jack shaking his head doubtfully.
"I'll make the sonofabitch fit, Jack. You just watch me!"
"No it won't.... Stop!! Aaaiiiiee!! Please ... Dios!.... Stop, for
God's ... Aaaagghhhh!!"
Heedless of Teresa's tortured cries, Ernie had twisted and pulled and
mashed the tender nugget until he had squeezed it into the narrow opening
between the middle two tines of the fork.
"Nice, Ern," Black Jack Slocum admitted grudgingly. He wasn't much for
compliments, but there was no denying that Ernie had used his damn-fool head for
once. Not only were Teresa's boobs imprisoned in his own fiendishly tight
nooses of torment, but now the slightly over-sized fork held the lovely Latina's
love-buds in a Mexican deathlock.
Drenched from the water and still shivering with cold, Teresa's eyes rolled
in agony, and her mouth dripped the saliva of the damned onto her tortured
breasts, even as her dark, distended breast tip was imprisoned in this fiendish
vise.
Bu Teresa's nipple pain had only begun. Moments later, the grinning
gargoyle was poised, ready to force her deliciously taut left nipple between the
tines of the other fork.
The evil little man paused again to demand, "Where's the money?" When
Teresa shook her head, 'No', Ernie gave Jack a knowing wink, as if to say, 'I'm
kinda glad she's making this difficult, partner. Cause I'm enjoying the hell
out of this!'
"No....no....! Ooouuuhhhhhh!! Ayuda-me, Guadalupe," Teresa prayed to the
Virgin, as Ernie the Weasel began to crush her blood-stained left nipple between
the unyielding metal tines of the second fork.
Teresa erupted into a wail that might have woken the souls in the
graveyard across the street. Ernie's exertions caused another trail of blood to
billow forth from the laceration below her crinkly aureole. Teresa could only
watch in horror as Ernie gave her a cruel smile and bent and licked at her
breast-blood. And then, seeming to like the flavor of her coconut-scented flesh,
he buried his crooked yellow teeth in Teresa's drum-taut right breast.
"Aooauuugggghhhhhh!!" Teresa gasped as Ernie's fangs dug into her tender
flesh.
A moment later the grim-faced little man pulled away and renewed his
relentless effort to force her other swollen brown nugget into the too-small
opening, and succeeded, thanks to the application of brutal force, at the
anatomical equivalent of putting a round peg in a square hole.
Once both of Teresa's excruciatingly sore nipple-nuggets had been safely
secured between the ends of the tines, Ernie began working them deeper into the
gaps between the tines. Jack watched, torn between his desire to head out for
the relative safety of the Arizona border, and his grudging admiration for the
punishment Ernie was inflicting on their voluptuous captive's tightly-bound
breasts.
As Ernie worked the dreadful fork back and forth, each millimeter of
progress brought fresh waves of pain to Teresa's tortured breasts. And fresh
cries of pain from her too-dry lips. The other once tiny cane-cut had widened a
little more, too; the thin trail of blood lengthened across the upper contour of
her sculpted right breast.
Finally, Ernie succeeded in wedging both bullet-hard nipples right up
against the base of the tines. And then, with a crazed expression in his eyes
and a hearty "Yeaahh!!" the evil little gnome gripped the handles of both forks
and twisted them downward, exerting terrible torque on the captive nuggets,
bringing new agony to every nerve cell in Teresa's mouthwatering melons.
"Eeeaaghhh!!!" Teresa screamed in despair. The trail of blood lengthened
still more, forming a crimson arc that slowly spread across the upper curve of
her breast.
"Talk, bitch!! Or I swear, I'll I twist 'em off!" She was near breaking
now; she had to be. Ernie let go of one of the forks, allowing it to dangle
from her breast, so that he could give the other one a vicious, nearly
180-degree turn.
Teresa cried out in the agonized scream of a wounded animal. But there was
no friendly ear to hear and no hint of mercy in Black Jack's reptilian
countenance or the rheumy greenish eyes of Ernie the Weasel. "Was this how it
would end?" she wondered.
And then she heard the bell.
Ernie and Jack both looked up in surprise at the unmistakable sound of a
bell ringing. Ringing loudly, even though it was still a little before sunrise.
"What the f... ?" Ernie asked, speechless for once in his life.
The bell tolled again, twice, deeply, sonorously, in rapid succession.
"The church," Jack whispered slowly. Across the street. It must be coming from
the church."
"Can't be. You saw it, Jack" said Ernie. The damn place is abandoned.
Weeds five feet high all around it. It don't look like anybody's been there for
years. And besides, it's still fuckin' dark out."
"What's goin' on, Teresa?" asked Jack. "What's with the bell?"
"It is the ... the campana grande - the great bell - in the belltower
overlooking the ... como se dice ... the ... the cemetery."
"What about the fucking cemetery?" demanded Ernie the Weasel as he grabbed
for the forks and gave Teresa's beautiful breasts another vicious wrench.
"Agghhhhh!" she cried again in agony. It felt as if the sadistic outlaw
was trying to rip her firm young breasts from her body. "It is ..." she
struggled to get the words out, "El Dia de Los Muertos."
"Speak American, whore!" Ernie answered, as he jerked the forks violently
again.
"Ohhh ... godddddddd! I can't take any more."
The churchbell clanged again, just then, causing both men to look around
nervously. Jack turned away for a moment to look out the cantina window toward
the ghostly mission.
"Unnngggggghhhh!! Teresa cried out once more, as Gibbs gave the forks
another wrench, before he relented for a moment, allowing her to catch her
breath. "Talk, mija!"
"It ... is the ... Day of the Dead," she choked out through her pain.
"Actualmente," she panted, "Today is El Dia de Todos los Santos --
Oooouuwwwwwww!!!," she groaned in anguish as Ernie twisted a fork with his free
hand when she lapsed into Spanish. "You call it the Day of All the Saints, I
think."
"What's all that got to do with that damn bell-ringing in a deserted
church?"
Teresa struggled to catch her breath and to find the English words. "The
padre must be ringing la campana grande to ... summon the people. Here we ...
honor the dead by ... visiting their graves. On the Day of All the Saints we
.... remember Los Angelitos -- Nooo... Dios!!.....stop!!.. por favor
...ooowwwwwww!!" she moaned as Ernie took hold of both horizontal forks and gave
them ninety degrees of torque. "I mean the .... 'little angels' - all of the
children ... who have died. There was an ... epidemico of ... como se dice --
cholera? eight or nine years ago," she continued haltingly. "Almost every ...
familia ... around here lost a child. Today the people will come to ...
decorate the graves, to show los ninos we... remember. And later there will be
a fiesta. For two days."
"A fiesta for dead brats? Stupid Mexicans!"
"We ... celebrate their lives, and because they are with La Santisima
Virgen de Guadalupe now, y con Dios ... with God."
Jack looked at Ernie. "C'mon, Ern. We gotta get outa here -- it sounds
like there's gonna be a hundred Mexicans swarming around this place in no time.
We'd better make ourselves scarce, pronto."
"But my money!" Ernie's eyes looked positively deranged. "Damn that
fucking bell! It's making my head hurt." He held a hand to his disfigured
temple.
"Fuck your money, stupid -- it ain't gonna do you any damn good, if you're
swinging from a rope. Bring one of those chairs back over here."
Ernie quickly retrieved the chair that he had sat in the night he'd
watched Teresa dance. He dragged it back into a corner where it was out of
sight from the windows, expecting Jack to push their prisoner toward him.
But instead Black Jack Slocum inserted his powerful right hand under the
knotted double strand of rope that formed the midpoint of the figure-eight of
white cord that linked Teresa's magnificently bound breasts. Jack gripped the
strands of rope tightly; Teresa prepared herself to be dragged halfway across
the room by her breast-ropes.
But what followed was even worse. Much worse. With a sudden powerful jerk
of his muscular right arm, and a lusty "YEAAHHHH!!" the rangy desperado lifted
Teresa directly up, about six or eight inches off the floor. So that he could
look directly into her beautiful brown eyes when she felt the entire weight of
her body being borne by her luscious melons, so ingeniously encased in Black
Jack Slocum's breast harness.
Ernie watched in awe, both in unfeigned jealousy of Black Jack Slocum's
herculean strength, and with unfeigned admiration at how with one abrupt
movement his partner had increased the pain of Teresa's breast bondage by
orders of magnitude.
The agony was epochal, excruciating. And Teresa's screams did full
justice to her anguish as she erupted into a series of agonized squeals. Her
long, lithe legs danced wildly in the air, reaching desperately but unavailingly
for a grip on terra firma.
For second after interminable second Jack held her high, glancing in turn
at Teresa's tawny globes almost as if he were waiting for them to burst from the
horrendous pressure, and then back into her tear-filled brown eyes. For her
part she stared back at him, thinking that Satan himself could not have eyes any
blacker than those of her tormentor. And that the pangs of hell could hardly be
worse than the agonies she had endured this night.
Mercifully, Jack's arm finally began to tire from his prodigious
weight-lifting feat, and he began to carry her across the room by her tits.
When he got to the chair Ernie had positioned he threw Teresa roughly into the
chair.
Jack was lightning fast with a rope; in less than two minutes, Teresa was
gagged and bound hand and foot to the chair in the corner.
"There, that oughta keep you outa sight for a coupla hours," Jack observed.
And then he retrieved the big blue knapsack from the bedroom and hurriedly
stuffed the quirt, Ernie's four-tongued whip and the two canes back into it. He
closed the bag and stalked quickly to the door, intent on a quick departure.
"One more minute, Jack. Please! She's ready to break, I know she is."
Outside, the bell, which had been silent for a minute or two, began to ring
again.
And without waiting for an answer, the half-crazed little man dashed off to
the kitchen. Jack noticed that each time Ernie strode into the kitchen,
Teresa's brown eyes seemed to follow him fearfully. As well they might, Jack
figured, since each time he returned from there, he seemed to bring fresh
instruments of torture.
And this time Ernie returned carrying a carving knife, the blade pointed
down, held safely away from his right leg. Ernie had chosen the biggest knife
in the kitchen. A nine-inch blade attached to a heavy five-inch-long wooden
handle.
Jack was pissed. Ernie knew damn well about his superstitious conviction
that cutting or scarring a woman permanently would bring him more of the same
bad luck it had brought him in the past.
"C'mon, Ern. Now! Let's go!"
"I ain't gonna cut her, Jack!" There was a greenish glow in Ernie's
feverish eyes. "I just want my damn money." And Ernie held the knife out, with
the blade extended. And for the first time, Jack and Teresa understood what
crazy Ernie had been up to. The last inch of the gleaming iron carving knife
was glowing hot and red from the fire in the kitchen that Ernie had started
earlier.
It struck Jack that it really wasn't about the money any more; it was a
battle of wills between tormentor and the tormented. But what was the point? If
Teresa had had the lousy fifty bucks, she'd have talked long ago. Wouldn't she?
"Ernie, now! Dammit!"
But Ernie was standing in front of his trussed up prisoner, grinning
psychotically, the tip of the glowing knife some six inches from Teresa's
rope-choked breasts.
"Where is it, sweetheart?" Ernie cackled insanely. "Where's my dough?"
Ernie noticed that Teresa's dark eyes were looking wildly, disorientedly,
over his shoulder. "I gotta hand it to you, darlin', you got guts." And then
with excruciating deliberation, intent on savoring every intense millisecond of
the moment, the grinning gargoyle slowly moved the red-hot knife toward the
red-streaked roundness of Teresa's plump right breast.
"Where, honey?" the sibilant voice demanded again. "Or am I gonna have'ta
turn these," and he jiggled her left breast with his free hand, "into knockers
al carbon?" as he emitted a maniacal high-pitched giggle.
"Noooooooo!!!!!" she screamed, "Not there... please God .. don't burn me
there..."
Teresa watched frantically as the sizzling blade inched its way closer.
Five inches ... four inches ... three inches, -- she could feel the heat now --
two inches -- her sensitive nipple, though still untouched, was baking from the
nearness of the knife. Teresa opened her mouth to...
And just at that moment, the church bell, which had been tolling all the
while, suddenly began to ring with new-found fervor, faster and louder, faster
and louder.
A fraction of a second later, with all her hopes and dreams collapsing
about her, Teresa saw a long, black-clad arm reach out and slap the knife away,
sending it spinning across the bare wooden floor of the cantina, its red-hot tip
sizzling against the floorboards.
"I said, now, dammit, you crazy son-of-a-bitch!" Jack's black lizard-eyes,
so deadly calm and cold all night long, were brighter now, and looked wildly
about him as the churchbell pealed still louder. "She don't know nothin' or
she'd a told us long ago. Besides that, you're gonna jinx us both. I'm ridin'
outa this three-peso town right now; if you wanna stay here and swing for rapin'
her, that's your look-out."
Jack angrily turned and stalked toward the outer door of the cantina; he
looked out to see that Cyclone, his black stallion, was waiting patiently
outside.
Ernie, who was visibly shaking with ... what? Wrath? Excitement?
Frustration? watched as Jack walked toward the door. Jack turned to face him,
his eyes once again imperious, and said, "Well?"
Ernie, wearing a rueful but rebellious expression, walked over and picked
the knife up. "All right, Jack, I'm comin'." But as he passed the chair where
Teresa sat, naked and bound, trussed hand and foot, he saw, or thought he saw, a
faint trace of contempt in her lustrous brown eyes.
In a flash Ernie Gibbs had adroitly flipped the knife handle in his hand
and caught it in stabbing position. He stood above his helpless nude victim for
a long second, his loathsome face a hideous mask of hatred, his eyes wild, tiny
bubbles of froth seeping from the corners of his mouth. Ernie held the knife
cocked at shoulder level, ready to plunge. A moment later, he issued a bestial
growl and stabbed downward, his elbow moving forward in a swift and dreadful
arc, bringing the tip of the still-sizzling carving knife flashing down between
Teresa's widespread legs. Teresa Martinez screamed for the last time, as Ernie
Gibbs snarled again and continued onward toward the door where Jack was waiting.
But then Teresa heard the churchbell ring, and realized that, somehow, she
was still alive. The trembling young woman looked down at the knife lodged
deeply in the wooden seat of the chair, faint curls of smoke rising from it. So
close had it come to her invitingly raven-fringed pussy that a few stray wisps
of pubic hair were melting from their momentary contact with the fast-moving
blade.
Ernie had almost reached the door, when he turned suddenly, and ignoring
Jack Slocum's disgusted, "Geesus, Ernie!!" walked back over toward his captive.
Despite everything, the beatings, the rapes, the tortures, Teresa's was an
inextinguishable beauty. Her hair was wet and wild, her eyes tear-streaked, her
body bathed in pearls of perspiration and streaks of scarlet, and criss-crossed
with angry marks. But her features, her eyes, her cheekbones, her lips, were as
lovely as ever, and her body was still ravishingly desirable, notwithstanding
the ropes that still choked her perfect young breasts and the dreadful forks
that ravaged her flinty brown nipples.
"I still think you're lying about the money, you Mexican cunt," Ernie the
Weasel growled as he gave both forked nipples a last vindictive wrench, as
Teresa stoically absorbed this final torment. "But I guess we got our money's
worth. And you keep your mouth shut about this -- or you'll never see your
fuckin' 'hermanos' again!"
Ernie was bluffing; he and Jack had no time or intention of returning to
the cabin where Jack had tied up Teresa's brothers. Last night, after Jack had
bound them securely and left for the cantina, Ernie had pistol-whipped both of
them both into unconsciousness in his quest to get his money back. That was why
he had felt so sure the girl was lying -- her gutless brothers had blamed
everything on her from the beginning. But when they came to, they'd be able to
free themselves eventually.
Ernie joined Jack at the door, and then, after a quick glance around, the
two desperados slipped outside into the pre-dawn dimness. Day was just minutes
from breaking as Jack leapt astride Cyclone, and Ernie mounted his own horse,
and they headed north, bound for the relative safety of the Arizona Territory.
Author's note: I hope you've enjoyed the story so far. If you have,
please do me the favor of hanging in there for one more chapter and a brief
epilogue, even though Jack and Ernie appear to have ridden off into the sunrise.
I think you'll be glad that you did.
Much obliged,
Big Jake
Chapter 20 Deliverance
The continuous pealing of the bell was somehow comforting as Teresa
struggled vainly with her bonds, even though her breasts were throbbing from the
pain caused by the diabolical forks. She prayed that her swollen nipples might
somehow shrink, so that she could free her breasts from the forks's talons, but
the pressure of the prongs was unrelenting. Teresa puzzled over the paradox
that the tender tips of her breasts, which were capable of bringing such
pleasure to men, women, and babies, should have brought her so much pain.
By a stroke of luck however, her breast bondage was, while painful, no
longer dangerous. When Jack had lifted her by the breast carriage, and then set
her down again, the strain on the ropes had evidently caused them to loosen
slightly. There seemed to be no danger of tissue damage owing to loss of
circulation.
In her seated position, the chiles Jack had jammed inside her began to
bother her again as well. But at least, she thought, the two villains were
gone. She would survive. When the bell had first begun to rung, she had been
sure that she was going to die, even though the men had not intended to kill
her. She must remember to thank Padre Eusebio for coming to la iglesia early --
he had saved her life.
It was not until El Viejo, old Hector who had accompanied her on the guitar
on the night she had danced for Ernie, arrived at the cantina a short time later
that she was finally freed from her bondage.
The one-legged guitarist tried his best not to stare at Teresa's nakedness,
but it would have taken a blind man not to notice the splendid voluptuousness of
her nude body, and the tell-tale marks of rope, belt, whip, and cane that
covered the front of her body. It took the old man a while to take the carving
knife and hack through the efficient cocoon of ropes that secured her limbs.
The old man was a bit puzzled by the labyrinth of white cord that encircled
Teresa's sumptuous breasts, but at last they too were liberated, and he covered
Teresa's nudity in an old serape.
Plagued now only by the diabolical nipple forks, she asked Hector to bring
some lard, and then, while he was out in the kitchen, she extracted the awful
chiles from between her legs and threw them as far away from her as she could.
When Hector returned with the lard she was able, after some difficulty, to
reach under the serape, lubricate her swollen nipples and remove the punishing
forks. She shushed the old man when he peppered her with questions. She would
tell him the whole story later, she said, but she swore him to secrecy for the
moment as she still feared for the safety of her brothers.
Hector reluctantly agreed, and at her request helped her heat some water on
the fire which Ernie had lit on the wooden stove. They mixed some of the heated
water with some of the water in the tub that Jack had dunked her in, to prepare
a primitive bath. When the tub was full of steaming water, Hector patted Teresa
gently on the shoulder and gave her a quick comforting kiss on the cheek. And
then he left to join the others who were beginning to arrive at the cemetery,
allowing her to bathe in privacy.
After gargling endlessly with salt water to remove the foul taste of the
semen of los norteamericanos from her mouth, Teresa slipped the serape from her
shoulders. She contrived a vinegar and water douche, which burned more than a
little in the aftermath of the chiles, but it was worth it to rid her body of
any trace of her ordeal.
When she was finished with that intimate cleansing, she sank blessedly
into the tub, after pouring in a liberal dose of a healing powder that Mama
Nita, her African great-grandmother, had told her about as a little girl. Mama
had jokingly called it Balm of Gilead, and told her how it had come in handy
many times after the terrible floggings of the old slavery days.
The steaming water was a godsend to Teresa, gently soothing the beautiful
body that had been abused from neck to knees. She scrubbed every inch of skin
that the animals had touched, hoping to purge her body of their foul maleness.
She washed her still-damp hair twice, trying to erase the memory of those awful
choking moments when her head had been immersed in the water earlier. And then
she simply sat and soaked in the steaming tub for the better part of an hour,
letting the heat, and Mama's restorative, comfort her aching body.
When she had finally begun to feel nearly human again, instead of like a
tortured animal, she rose and toweled herself dry in front of the tall mirror
in the bedroom. She studied the dozens of lurid marks on her lovely body, while
she brushed her shoulder-length black hair. The cane marks on her breasts,
bottom, and legs were the worst; they would take some time to fade away
completely. Strangely, there seemed to be only faint traces of the tall one's
terrible broad belt -- what had he called it? -- Black Betsy -- yes, that was
it.
She dressed slowly and began putting her ransacked bedroom back together,
anxious to return to some sense of normalcy. She could hear wagons full of farm
workers and their families pull up across the street for the fiesta as she
cleaned. The high-pitched laughter of children and the bird-like chattering of
the women, old and young, rippled through the surrounding area.
When she had finished cleaning the bedroom, Teresa started in on the
cantina itself, re-arranging the chairs and tables, cleaning up the glass from
the bottle Jack had broken, and returning the items Ernie had disturbed in his
search to their proper positions. She peered out through the window now and
then. The sky had cleared and healing sunshine poured in, warming her body. It
promised to be a beautiful day.
When she was done with the bar she turned to the kitchen which she had
nervously been saving for last. Hundred of pinto beans were scattered across
the floor, the result of Ernie having kicked over the half-full burlap bag that
had once held fifty pounds of them. Teresa's hands trembled as she swept them
up, and restored everything in the kitchen to its proper place.
It was only when there was nothing else left to do that she summoned her
nerve, and knelt down on the floor next to the bag of beans. She whispered a
silent prayer and thrust her right hand deep into the sack.
There were only about ten pounds of beans remaining in the bottom of the
bag, and she breathed a long sigh of relief as her hand soon touched something
solid amidst the loose rattle of the countless pinto peans.
"Gracias, Guadalupe" she murmured prayerfully, as she removed the cigar box
that she had hidden at the bottom of the sack of beans. Teresa looked up
cautiously to assure herself that she was unobserved, and then she opened the
box.
It was all there. Almost two hundred dollars. The money she had been
saving for three years. That she had earned by dancing for men with lustful
eyes, that she had earned by enduring the touch of their filthy hands. Her
ticket out of Piedras Negras. Had it been only Ernie Gibbs' fifty dollars at
stake, she would not have thought twice about giving him the money. She had had
to summon up reserves of courage that she didn't know she had possessed to
withstand his cruel inquisition. For she would have endured almost anything
rather than surrender her dream. It was just at the moment when Ernie's knife
was two inches from disfiguring her beauty that she was about to confess the
whereabouts of the money. And she had been spared, thank God, at the last
moment, by the bellringing of Padre Eusebio.
For some inexplicable reason, she had kept Ernie's money in a separate
envelope -- the bills, both American and Mexican, and a few coins. She had
gleefully counted the money several times last Saturday night and had mentally
converted the value of the pesos into American dollars. She would never forget
the total -- fifty-three dollars and seventy-five cents. Teresa set the
envelope on the table and absent-mindedly returned the cigar box to its hiding
place. Then she took a last quick look in the mirror to make sure that none of
her bruises were visible. In her longish dress, only one or two relatively
innocuous streaks on the calves of her legs were visible.
Anxious to thank Padre Eusebio, she strode toward the door of the cantina.
When she closed it behind her, she slapped her forehead lightly in
self-reproach. She had forgotten to put the envelope with Ernie's money back in
the cigar box before putting it away. Not wanting to take the time to dig into
the sack of beans again, she hastily slipped the envelope into her handbag and
started across the street. It was a sunny but breezy morning, and Teresa used
her left hand to hold the skirt of her dress down over her bare legs as she
gingerly began to make her way toward the mission, dodging the puddles that
dotted the muddy street.
A number of local men were busy chopping at the weeds that surrounded the
old church; most of the women busied themselves tending the rain-dampened graves
in the cemetery. They placed strips of cloth on the wet ground and knelt on
them while they pulled weeds, and placed small wreaths of flowers next to the
headstones. For two days each year, at least, the abandoned mission was
beautiful once again. More than a few of the mothers and grandmothers' eyes
were wet with autumnal tears as they paid their annual respects to their
angelitos, the little ones that the cholera had taken from them.
Each year it seemed that birds came out of nowhere for El Dia de Los
Muertos; the trees around the mission were full of them, their songs bright and
beautiful. Children chased each other cheerfully in their childhood games,
while their mothers admonished them as mothers always do, "tenga cuidado" -- be
careful.
Here and there dark-eyed young maidens smiled shyly at dark-eyed young men.
Teresa remembered having received her first kiss from a boy behind this very
church at one such fiesta when she was 13. After last night, that fleeting
embrace and chaste kiss seemed to have happened a lifetime ago.
Later, las senoras would bring out the food they had brought in the wagons,
and for two days there would be a fiesta grande -- it was one of the great
holidays of the Mexican calendar.
Just then Teresa saw Padre Eusebio, the aged Franciscan who had been their
pastor in the old days. Teresa knew that he had taken the name Eusebio from
Padre Eusebio Kino, the Italian-born Spanish missionary who, generations ago,
had done so much for the people of the region. As she stared at his lined face,
it occurred to Teresa that despite the youthful sparkle in his eyes, the old man
had to be eighty now, perhaps more. The white-haired old priest was staring
wistfully up at the once beautiful steeple that surged upward above the
belltower. The breeze rustled his flowing brown robe. High in the sky the same
breeze caused the bright morning sun to take refuge behind a patch of billowing
cotton.
"Buenos Dias, senorita," the padre greeted her, the warmth of his smile
doing its best to take the place of the missing sun. And feliz cumpleanos! --
it is your birthday, today, is it not? Each year you grow more beautiful,
Teresa. You must have had your beauty rest last night."
"No, Father," she blushed, wondering what the good-hearted old padre would
make of the horrors that she had undergone last night. "Pero, gracias."
"It is true, my child," he chuckled lightly. "I'm sure you have to fight
off the young men."
Teresa returned his smile; the old man was wiser than he knew. She was
grateful that he knew nothing of her dancing; her manner at the inn was quite
different when one of the men brought his wife or children. At such times she
was a friendly waitress, nothing more. It was only after the women and children
were safe in their beds that Teresa changed into the alluring clothes and
Hector's country ballads gave way to the sensuous rhythms that she danced to.
"It is so sad, Teresa, is it not?" the old man asked as he gestured toward
the church. "That we can no longer keep this beautiful iglesia open. Do you
remember how lovely it was when you were a child? The fresh flowers on the
altar. The way the flames from the candles seemed to leap upward to heaven?
But," the old Franciscan whispered despondently, "since the cholera came, the
people are poor. Except for Montoya and a few of the landowners. But they do not
care about the church."
The conversation seemed to have aged the old man ten years. Teresa
noticed that his hands were trembling. He continued, "I do not think I will
live to see candles on that altar again." The white-haired padre's shoulders
shrunk in dejection.
"Si, it is very sad, Father," Teresa replied, only half-listening. His
reminiscences having been completed, Teresa took it upon herself to broach the
subject that had caused her to approach him.
"Padre Eusebio, I have come to thank you for arriving so early this
morning. I heard the bells before dawn. They..." Teresa paused, trying to
find the right words. "They meant ... a very great deal to me this morning. I
... I seemed to hear them in my soul. Gracias."
The ancient, brown-robed Franciscan gave Teresa a puzzled look. "My child,
you must be mistaken. The muddy roads delayed me. I did not arrive until just
after dawn. In fact, I arrived here just as I saw Hector approaching your door
from the other direction. I did not begin ringing the bell until then."
"But Father, we..., I mean I ... heard the bells clearly. Someone else
must have gone into the church before you."
The priest gave her a kindly smile, and took Teresa's hand and patted it
gently. "You must have been dreaming, Teresita. Or perhaps you are mistaken
about the time. There was rust in the lock of the church door when I opened it.
I had some difficulty turning the key. No one has been in the church since this
time last year."
Teresa's studied the face of the devout old man intently. He was old, but
still in full command of his faculties. But if he had not rung the bells that
had driven off her attackers, who had?
The beautiful young woman stood there in the breeze, her dark hair swirling
around her shoulders, trying to make some sense of it all. Just then a sudden
gust of wind pushed the giant cumulus cloud that had been obscuring the sun to
the east. Teresa felt the sun's radiance bright on her face and warm on her
body. It seemed, somehow, to draw the soreness from her. She and the old priest
looked up almost at the same moment; the shining steeple of the iglesia seemed
to point directly at the dazzling sun. The shrill, joyous sound of small
children at play echoed behind her.
Teresa knew, then, that it was no human hand that had tolled the bells of
Piedras Negras in the dark pre-dawn hours. The souls of the Angelitos, the
little angels, had interceded for her, and spared her.
Teresa felt her body trembling as she stared upward at the cross for a long
moment. Then she reached out and placed a hand on the old Franciscan's shoulder.
"Padre Eusebio, I have something for you." Teresa reached into her handbag and
withdrew the envelope that held Ernie's money.
"A few nights ago I was sweeping under a cupboard and felt the broom catch
on something heavy. Somehow a man's wallet had been kicked under there and
gotten wedged in the corner. There was no way to tell whose it was." Teresa
took a deep breath and went on with her fabrication -- God would forgive such a
lie, she felt sure. "I think it must have happened when some men from Texas
passed through a few months ago. Several of them got drunk and started a
brawl."
Teresa glanced up at the radiant sun above. "In any event, Father Eusebio,
I want you to have it. I want you to take it and reopen the iglesia here so
that the people do not have to travel all the way to Magdalena each week. It is
hard, especially for the old ones and the mothers with infants."
Padre Eusebio sifted through the stack of bills in wonderment. "Are you
sure, my child? This is a great deal of money."
"Father, I'm sure it is not as much as you need. But I will," she paused,
looking for the right word, "speak to Senor Montoya." Teresa remembered how the
heavy-set rancher's hand had lingered longingly in her soft cleavage when he
tipped her a few nights ago. "I think I can persuade him to assist in this
worthy cause."
There were tears in the old Franciscan's eyes. "Teresa, I don't what to
say. Es maravilloso. It is wonderful, a gift from heaven. How can I thank you
enough? What made you do this? You could have kept the money for yourself."
Teresa smiled at the joyful white-haired padre. "It was las campanas,
Padre, the bells. The bells spoke to me in the night."
"Yes, I know," she said, as he began to protest once again. "Perhaps I
heard them in my dreams, Padre. But I did hear them. And this is what they
have told me to do."
Just then, Teresa and the priest heard loud voices behind them, some
distance up the road. A number of adults had children had gathered in a circle.
When Teresa moved closer to the commotion she saw that it was her brothers,
Carlos and Pepe, surrounded by onlookers.
Carlos and Pepe, considerably the worse for wear, told their story (or as
much of they could of it without incriminating themselves). How two
norteamericanos had ambushed them, beaten them, stolen their money and taken
Pepe's ring the night before, and left them tied in a deserted miner's cabin in
the hills.
As a few of the men prepared to give chase to the two gringos, Carlos
asked Teresa if the two banditos had come to the cantina. Teresa gave old
Hector, who was watching her closely, a warning glance, and simply shook her
head 'no'. It would not be right to speak of such a terrible ordeal in front of
all these women and children. There would be time enough to tell her story
later, whether or not the gringos were caught.
Shortly, a small posse formed, and the men mounted their horses, and rode
off toward the old road that led from Santa Maria Magdalena to Nogales. But
Teresa held out little hope that they would catch her tormentors, and in fact
the improvised posse returned the next day empty-handed, but still in plenty of
time to enjoy the second day of the celebration of the Dia de los Muertos.
Epilogue
A little more than three months later, a pair of cold-eyed cowboys were
sitting on adjoining barstools in a saloon in Tombstone, Arizona. The taller of
the two, dressed all in black, elbowed his shifty-eyed companion.
"The one in the yaller dress ain't half bad lookin', Ern. For a whore."
His weasel-faced companion nodded gloomily and called out, "Hey, honey,
bring that damn bottle back over here."
The buxom strawberry-blonde barmaid felt four hungry eyes devouring her
breasts as she approached them, bottle in hand, with a careless hip-swinging
gait. As she neared their end of the horseshoe bar, she passed by a grizzled
old miner who was seated next to them, poring over a yellowing newspaper. The
blonde gave the taller of the two strangers a coy smile, her pink tongue
moistening her full lips.
"How you fellers doin' tonight? she asked as she refilled their shot
glasses. She leaned forward a little, letting them get a good look down her
low-cut dress. It had been a slow night and she hadn't made enough in tips to
buy dinner. Maybe if she gave them a free look, she reasoned, she could turn a
trick later and make some dough.
The tall one wasn't bad-looking, she thought, if you liked your men on the
rugged side. The little one with the misshapen face was a homely little
bastard, though. And he didn't smell much better than he looked.
Jack Slocum could feel his cock swell as he drank in the sight of the
blonde's pink breast-flesh. Aside from an unlucky young Apache maiden whom
they'd caught bathing alone in the hills north of Nogales, neither he nor Ernie
had had a woman since the morning they'd left Piedras Negras. The woman pouring
his drink had some nice tits, and she didn't seem to mind showing them off.
The blonde served the twosome and turned to take care of a customer at the
other end of the bar, giving her butt a cute little twitch as she did so.
"Nice ass," Ernie offered. "But she's a bit old for my taste, Jackson.
You know I like 'em young. Besides that, I'm still as broke as a greenhorn with
three aces facing a goddam straight!" he cursed, loud enough for the miners at
the other end of the bar to hear.
"Aw, she ain't that old, Ern, maybe 30 is all. You ain't no schoolkid
yerself anymore either. And she's got good tits. Wouldn't mind gettin' a hold
of them babies, and givin' 'em a good squeeze. For starters," Jack grunted.
The old miner on Jack's right finished the last of his drink. "Evenin',
Lucy," he called to the blonde at the other end of the bar, as he laid the
crumpled-up paper on top of the bar. "See you tomorrow night."
"OK, Barney," the blonde said. And she gave Jack a quick wink before
turning back to the customers at the other end of the bar.
Slocum glanced idly at the paper the old miner had left. And then suddenly
something caught his eye, and he snatched the paper up and began to study it
closely.
"Jack, you ain't gonna find yer goddam picture in there," Ernie snorted.
"You'd have better luck in a Texas Post Office!"
"Shut up, asshole. Read this."
Ernie had gotten kicked out of school in the third grade for skinning the
schoolmarm's kitten after she'd yelled at him. And he'd never gone back.
Reading wasn't exactly his strong suit, as Jack knew perfectly well.
"This damn eye," Ernie alibied, fingering the left side of his face, still
a bit discolored from doing battle with Carlos's bottle, "still hurts when I
read, Jack. Why don't you read it to me, buddy?"
And Jack began to read aloud from the Tombstone Epitaph....
The Miracle of Piedras Negras
This newspaperman has run into some strange stories since he came west
after the war, but none as strange as this one. They say it's as big a story
down Mexico way, as the Clanton shoot-out at the OK Corral was around this neck
of the woods a few years back.
Seems like there's this little church down in Sonora, in a one-horse
village called Piedras Negras, not too far from Magdalena, on the main road
leading south from Nogales. And the folks in those parts are saying that a
miracle took place there last fall.
Apparently last Halloween night, a couple of American roughnecks passing
through Piedras Negras attacked a young woman in a little saloon across the
street from a deserted church.
The woman, who apparently was beaten quite badly, claims that her
assailants ...
"Assailants?" Jack struggled with the unfamiliar word. "What the hell is an
assailant?"
Ernie shrugged. But the story Jack was reading had gotten his attention.
For the first time since he'd come into the saloon his eyes weren't on the
blonde's over-ripe figure. He peered at the tiny print over Jack's shoulder,
even though the inky symbols on the week-old newspaper meant nothing to him.
... her assailants were frightened away by the tolling of the chimes of a
nearby church. A church -- here's where it starts to get interesting, folks --
that the locals swear no one had been inside of for nearly a year.
Jack and Ernie exchanged puzzled glances.
The townspeople down in Piedras Negras are convinced that the spirits of
"Los Angelitos" - the little children buried in the nearby cemetery - somehow
came to the rescue of the victim of the attack. That the Angelitos somehow got
the bells in the church-tower to ring, and frightened off the Yankee
desperados.
So grateful was the young woman, one Teresa Martinez, for her deliverance,
that the next morning she gave Father Eusebio, the local padre, a considerable
sum of money. It turns out some luckless soul had lost his wallet in Teresa's
little tavern not long before, and she had just found it a night or two earlier,
stuffed with cash. And so, the good padre has been able to re-open the
abandoned church, to the delight of the local populace.
Ernie angrily emptied his glass and flung it across the room, just missing
a drunk who had fallen forward across a table near the swinging doors of the
saloon. "That bitch. That fucking bitch!" Ernie fumed. "I knew she had the
money, Jack! I knew it! If you had just let me work on her for another few
seconds ... Fuck!!!"
"Hey, quit throwing things down there, Shorty! Them glasses don't grow on
trees, you know."
Ernie gave the barmaid a dirty look. "Ah, don't git your tits in an
uproar, blondie," he muttered under his breath.
'And I woulda, too, Jack," Ernie continued, in a voice low enough that only
Jack could hear, "if you hadn't a stopped me. You and yer goddam jinxes! Fuck!
She damn sure woulda talked if I'd 'a run that hot knife across those trussed-up
tits a coupla times!"
Jack struggled in vain to suppress a toothy smile. "Yeah, Ern. You mighta
got yer fifty bucks. And you mighta got a rope around yer neck too."
"Yeah, but I been fuckin' broke ever since, Jack. That no-good thieving
Mexican whore! I shoulda twisted her tits off when I had the chance!"
Jack smirked again. "Tell you what, partner." The man in black reached
into a pocket and pulled out a shiny new silver dollar. "I feel kinda bad about
yer being broke and all. Take this," he offered Ernie the dollar, "and have
yerself a good time with Lucy, there, when she goes off duty." Jack gestured
toward the full-breasted blonde barmaid. "I'm gonna ride back to the cabin and
work on that damn roof before we get us another cloudburst."
Jack rose and slapped his weasel-faced partner on the back. "And stop yer
damn pissin' and moanin' about that money you left in Me-ji-co. Who knows,"
Jack's sly smile widened into a broad grin, "if you wrote that padre a letter,
they might even name that church San Ernesto in your honor!"
Jack was still chuckling to himself as he stepped outside and mounted
Cyclone. Ernie, meanwhile, flipped the silver dollar over and over in his
fingers, while he undressed Lucy's ripe body with his eyes.
Ernie tapped the hard edge of the silver dollar twice on the bar. Lucy
turned toward him, and saw the shiny silver dollar glinting in his hand. She
considered for a moment, and then walked toward him, smiling this time, her eyes
on the dollar, not on Ernie.
"Hey, handsome," she addressed the weasel-faced little man. 'You doin'
anything later? I'll be gettin' off in a while."
Ernie Gibbs returned Lucy's insincere smile with one of his own. He held
the silver coin up and turned it slowly so that the light from the tawdry
overhead chandelier played on its shiny surface. He noticed that Lucy's greedy
eyes never left it. "Yeah, maybe we can get together, then, Doll, and have us a
little fun."
While Lucy stared, mesmerized by the shiny dollar, Ernie the Weasel's
tongue swept over his dry lips as he eyeballed the voluptuous breasts that
spilled out of the bodice of her garish yellow dress.
"Hey, hon, whatcha luggin' around in that big ol' knapsack?" Lucy asked.
Ernie's lower lip curled into a smile that was as cold and as hard as his
silver dollar, as he glanced down at the big blue rucksack at his feet. Because
before the night was out, he reckoned, a certain big-breasted barmaid was gonna
regret having called him "Shorty".
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