Agents In Harms Way (13 page)

With Mallory cupping her butt, Kip crouched down like a little jockey, and began rocking lightly, while her stiffened fingers moved those pancake tits in small circles. Mallory lay with eyes closed, arching her back and twisting, to offer up her chest for more of the exquisite pleasure, the deep massage of those small firm fingers indenting her pliant breasts. The thin girl’s undulating motion caused her dangling breasts to jog rhythmically beneath her, fascinating the kneeling Major who placed a hand on her bare back and forced her down so that her jiggling little titties rubbed all over Mallory’s lips.

“Kiss them! Suck on them,
La Suprema
!” the excited Major grunted, in a voice choked with passion. Like his chief, he was fully erected; his still-confined penis pressed painfully against the front of his pants, demanding release. Sweating profusely, he began to tear open his belt with excited hands, while beneath him, Mallory obediently opened her mouth to take in the bulging pouch that was being fed to her. Oblivious to the frantic Major, she suckled softly, tightening her lips on Kip’s left nipple, flicking it with her tongue until she heard the girl’s shuddering groan. Suddenly, Kip pulled her breast free, and ducked down, eager to return the favor, to pleasure Mallory’s breasts with lips and mouth and tongue. Kip was a woman afire, consumed with lust, hungrily licking all over Mallory’s embossed chest, taking a stiff, upstanding nipple between her teeth; sucking on her partner’s pancake tits.

Mallory’s arms captured the skinny girl, tightened, hugged her to her heaving chest. A low shivering moan escaped her lips. Kip’s exploring hands had slid down Mallory’s long, undulating body, and she held the taller girl by the hips.

“Go on, girlies, play sticky finger,” Guzman breathed as he reached out, took Kip’s left hand and placed it between their bodies, squarely on Mallory’s churning crotch, pressing the delicate hand directly on the hairy pussy of her senior partner. The small hand cupped Mallory’s vulva, the fingers curling up into the cuntal softness between Mallory’s slowly, scissoring thighs.

Kip could feel her partner’s heat, the dampness that was saturating that furry, needy pussy; the surge of desire in the tiny moans Mallory whimpered in her ear. She could feel the long, moist body heaving beneath her, taut muscles quivering with pleasure; the dark-haired girl’s breath on the side of her face, the quickening coming hard and heavy. She held her partner by the cunt, palming the squirming vulva, curling her fingers up and in until they penetrated the slick dampness of the labia, while Mallory threw back her head and gurgled, then parted her lips to let out a long, desperate groan.

Guznam, captivated by the scene, grabbed his straining cock as he watched the brunette’s pretty features contort with passion, the smooth brow crinkling, the eyes clenching shut against the creamy rise of pleasure, the pursed lips sucking in air in desperate, heaving pants. Still clutching his manhood, he fell to his knees just over Mallory’s head, straddling her face from above, while Kip frantically worked her over from below, fondling the churning pussy with fiery enthusiasm. The passion-driven woman was swept up, helpless in the rising tide of pleasure. She tossed her mane from side to side, and her lips curled back to show clenched teeth in reaction to the two stiffened fingers her lesbian lover had driven up into her cunt. She cried out, as though in pain.

Meanwhile, the seated General and his blonde toy had become oblivious to the girlie action that was at that moment utterly captivating his randy aide. The big blonde was squirming hotly on the General’s lap. Her nipples, swollen with passion, had been left wet and gleaming with the man’s saliva. Both breasts having been well worked over, so that the blonde’s aroused lust now drove her on with demented fury. She was arching up to rub her ample bosom in the General’s face, shaking her shoulders to cause her wobbly breasts to slap that mustachioed face, even as she tightened her grip on his solid manhood, curling her nails into his spongy prick and yanking him….hard. Her fist held the man in a iron-grip, and she was bouncing in his lap, floppy breasts jiggling wildly, pumping up and down like a mad woman, while the big man lay back, urging her on in a guttural voice, calling her a banshee and a whore, and cursing in Spanish between deep-throated grunts.

On the floor at their feet, Mallory was caught in the grip of an onrushing orgasm as her partner jiggled three fingers deep into her wet, churning cunt. She uttered a series of tiny “ohs”, rising in pitch, as she strained back, arching up off the carpet. Her hands fell helplessly to her sides, and a deep quiver ran through her rigid body from shoulders toes that were curling with pleasure.

The sight of the hot, beautiful woman, squirming in the throes of passion, galvanized the little Major to yank on his erection with increasing fury. The abrupt upsurge of pleasure had him gritting his teeth as the power of his climax rose inexorably.

Just then Mallory stiffened. Nailed fingers clawed at the carpet at her sides as she strained upward, and her little partner drove her piston-like fingers even deeper into Mallory Channing’s hungry body.

Mallory sucked in a quick gasp of air; she let out a plaintive moan as a powerful rumbling orgasm finally overtook her. Her long body went into spasms; convulsively she flung her head from side to side while her mumbling moans rose to a fevered pitch.

Guzman, his pumping hand a blur, cursed loudly, threw back his head, and came with a thunderous explosion that hurled his erupting spunk arcing high into the air, only to splatter down on the passion-contorted face of the beautiful American woman who lay beneath him.

It was Mallory’s first orgy at the Casa, and it turned into an exhausting marathon; one that ran well into the night. Frequent respites had to be called to revive flagging spirits; food and wine was plentiful. And the champagne continued to flow. The general was indeed a magnanimous host, urging the prisoners to partake of the excellent feast the local women prepared. They could sit at his table like honored guests
-
naked guests. Mallory was forced to sit down at the table with Major Guzman’s semen still decorating her face, sticky wads of drying cum oozing down her cheeks and dripping off her chin. The General greatly enjoyed seeing his latest acquisition thus degraded, reminded of her status — the General’s whore.

The rest of the orgy was a blur — scraps of memory that Mallory found too horrible to consider, coming to her only in bits and pieces. She knew she had been forced into unspeakable acts, perverse performances, only half-remembered. But fragments of that long day and night persisted in the intense images that flooded over her at the least provocation. She remembered lying forward, folded at the hip, across the back of a low divan, her fellow-captors draped over the padded back on either side of her, so that the naked women lay hip to hip, presenting three feminine bottoms posed in a row, to be contemplated by the salacious males, who savored them with greedy eyes and hands and pricks, before using them as they saw fit.

The General had proven to be insatiable: a robust stallion who, once mounted, would fuck on and on, wringing repeated orgasms from the girl beneath him while she braced herself on elbows and knees to receive the furious pounding. Meanwhile, his aide, although lacking in staying power, made up for it by a remarkable recovery rate that had him stiffening even as he sprawled in the midst of afterglow while a girl’s licking tongue scrupulously cleaned the love juices from his depleted, limp cock. She remembered being forced to service both men; repeatedly, with hands and lips and mouth and tongue.

And, most devastating of all, was the searing image she was unable to forget: her head buried between Kip’s sinewy legs, her mouth plastered to the slick, inner meat of a gaping cunt, the sight and smell and taste of another woman’s pungent sex that fired her lust and drove her on, licking and sucking, and probing with her stiffened tongue, while her partner whimpered, twisting, turning, and begging her not to stop in hot, husky moans that came to ears muffled by squeezing, clenching thighs. And when she had brought the young girl to screeching climax, and settled back on her heels, panting heavily, her cheeks and chin wet, redolent with the other girl’s love juices, then she had been eased back onto the rug, while her partner scrambled between her own legs, eager now to return the favor. And soon the two of them were oblivious to all else, uncaring about the men who watched, and cheered them on.

***

The private parties held at the Casa were intimate affairs, attended by one or two of the handful of the garrison’s officers, but the general loved entertaining on grander scale. He greatly enjoyed showing off his women, and would magnanimously “loan” them out to his cronies — minor drug lords, or other corrupt officials — underlings all, in his evil empire.

These esteemed guests arrived in style, flown in by helicopter. The General had a small fleet of such craft donated by a grateful American government in appreciation for his heroic efforts in the “war on drugs”. Once deposited on the mountaintop, guests were escorted into the Casa’s large foyer, which functioned as a changing room. There, they would strip down completely, to don loose white robes provided by their host.

For such extravaganzas, the entire harem was enlisted, being obliged to line up naked to greet the guests at their arrival. The submissive, kneeling girls sat back on their heels, forming two rows, between which the guests would pass on their leisurely way to the courtyard. Mallory, at her accustomed place between Kip and Meghan, sat with shoulders huddled, head lowered, as she had been taught. Should a guest be taken with one of the girls and stop to examine her more closely, to cup and fondle a proffered breast, or to finger a jutting nipple perhaps, the girl was to immediately straighten up, so that she knelt erect with hands linked behind her neck, striking the pose mandated for presentation.

Now, as she knelt there, keeping her eyes on the carpet, Mallory couldn’t help sneaking a peek at the motley crew as they trooped through. They were obviously a bunch of thugs, some stocky, gross and crude, others slim, with cruel, yet striking features, almost handsome, with those flashing Latin eyes that held such cold determination. She remembered the training films she had seen, films secretly taken at gatherings of the mob. These men had the same look about them; ruthless men with hard, brutal faces. Men used to getting their own way. Men used to unquestioned obedience.

Once past the greeting party, perhaps pausing here and there to sample the proffered treats, the guests proceeded through the sunken main salon and beyond, through the double French doors that opened onto the veranda. Two low, covered wings of the Casa swept back like enfolding arms to enclose a large courtyard, and it was here that the outdoor games were held. The courtyard contained a swimming pool, sauna, and a field of flattened earth, surrounded by grass, with raised benches from which spectators might cheer on the action in the arena. Around the courtyard stood various frames and wooden braces, erected to provide support against which female bodies might be restrained, or otherwise held on display for the edification of the male guests. For today’s events a square pit had been dug out to the depth of a few inches, and filled with water to create a muddy swamp. Also for today’s events, a brightly-colored tent had been erected to one side. The girls would use it as dressing room as they readied themselves for the exotic performances the General ordered up for his guests.

Those guests had assembled on the plush, cushioned benches; the General now took his place among them, seated prominently at the center of the highest bench from where he could preside, like some depraved Roman emperor, deigning to give the order that would let the games begin.

***

As the General shouted his order, all eyes followed his raised hand — pointing towards the tent. Two yellow-haired girls emerged demurely clad in identical English schoolgirls’ uniforms. El Commandante sat back and regarded them fondly. Annie and her daughter, Sarah, were costumed to re-enact a bizarre skit they had been forced to perform many times in the privacy of the General’s casa. This would be the duos’ public debut before a most appreciate audience. The charming picture they presented together always brought an evil smile to the General’s lips. He couldn’t believe his good fortune: to be able to watch the humiliation of a beautiful mother as you fucked her in presence of her daughter; to fuck the pretty daughter in the presence of her mother; to have them both performing together in front of you for your pleasure alone. Truly the gods had smiled down on Humberto Hernandez when this gift had been bestowed upon him!

All eyes were captivated by the two slim figures who emerged into the sunlight, fetchingly clad in trim blazers of deep maroon worn over crisp white blouses, complete with school ties, knee socks, and gray pleated skirts — the latter cut far too short to be tolerated by any self respecting girls’ school. They might have been sisters; or an older girl, and her young school chum. Their slender, small-breasted figures and the way they wore their straight blond hair, pulled back and tied up in girlish ponytails enhanced this impression. Roxanne, a youthful 35, had hair the color of pale straw, while her daughter’s was more silvery, fine spun, and with the sheen of white gold. The two strode hand in hand, to take their place in front of the benches.

An observant member of the audience would note that the right hand of the taller girl loosely held a short-handled paddle. It was the sort of paddle one might find in certain very old-fashioned schools, where corporal punishment had never really gone out of style as a way of driving home a point of behavior. Such schools were not in favor among today’s enlightened parents. Under normal circumstances, Roxanne, a thoroughly modern mother, would never think of disciplining her spoiled, obstinate daughter, much preferring to try to “reason” with the brat. But on the Mountain of Love, the circumstances in which the women found themselves could hardy be described as “normal”. And so when the young mother was called upon to publicly spank her errant daughter, she followed the hateful orders of the grinning Commandante with grim revulsion. But the other captives wondered if, deep down inside, Annie didn’t secretly enjoy the task, sometimes putting an extra snap to the wrist that set the whiney bitch howling, and dancing from foot to foot.

The duo stopped in front of the their seated lord, to bow and offer a demure curtsy. The audience applauded. A wave of the imperial hand sent them off — Annie leading Sarah to what seemed to be a gymnastics horse, a sturdy wooden trestle with four well-braced legs and a padded crossbar that sat waist-high. Young Sarah was positioned with her hips up against the padded crossbar, her back to the strangely silent audience. A flattened hand between the shoulder blades urged the girl to fold herself over the leather-covered crosspiece so that arms, head, and shoulders dangled down the far side while she was drawn up onto the toes of her flat schoolgirl’s shoes she wore.

Annie now went about fixing her daughter in place. Both knew the well-rehearsed routine, and Annie went about her task with silent efficiency; the male audience watched, fascinated. Sarah submissively offered her wrists, and Annie pulled her by the extended arms, drawing her down, so that the girl’s lithe body was stretched taut; toes barely touching the ground. The wrists were then banded with soft leather cuffs so they could be secured to stakes driven into the hard ground just before the horse.

Annie came around behind her charge, careful not to block the choice view the audience had of her daughter’s skirted rump and those dangling coltish legs. Before she could secure the prone girl by the ankles, she had to see to it that the school uniform did not hinder the salacious view the audience craved.

Taking up the hem of the wool skirt, Annie drew the brief garment up to let it rest rucked up around the girl’s waist there, thus unveiling her daughter’s pantied behind — a rounded set of boyish buttocks, tightly packed in a pair of straining white cotton panties — school girl’s knickers that were not quite up to the task of covering that tight-cheeked young bottom.

The panties were quickly lowered as Annie squatted down, sliding the underwear down to the girl’s ankles, pulling them free over her shoes. Sarah obligingly lifted each foot in turn to facilitate the removal of her underpants. Annie now bound the stockinged ankles with another set of leather cuffs. Sarah’s legs were stretched slightly open so that they might be secured to a second set of anchoring pegs. The picture afforded to the randy audience was of young Sarah neatly upended, bare buttocks pulled taut in prominent display; the hint of her pussy peeking out from between her legs, the straining backs of those naked thighs, the straight, diverging legs with thin cotton socks still in place their tops folded down to fold a band just below the knee. In this pose, Sarah viewed the world from upside down, her ponytail dangling loosely down as her splayed-out body was stretched over the padded bar, and she was held up on tiptoes.

Now, Annie rose to her feet, took up her paddle, and looked to the General, who nodded his consent. Annie widened her heels, setting her stance, and raising the paddle as she pulled her arm back, all in one motion, while carefully measuring the distance to her intended target.

THWACK!

The paddle came down with a short, choppy cut that sent the girl jolting upward, her compact cheeks of her ass flattened, rebounding and wobbling under the impact.

THWACK!..THWACK!…THWACK!

The smacks rained down in measured cadence, each precise slap sending the girl bounding upward and emitting a tiny yelp between clenched teeth. The audience savored the exciting sight of the tormented girl squirming in her bounds, wiggling her bottom while her smarting posterior took on a rosy hue. After half a dozen swats, the disciplining parent stopped, and looked to her leader once more.

The General leaned over to the guest next to him, a gross stocky, fellow with the protruding eyes of an oversized toad. The two of them exchanged a few words and laughed, and the General absently nodded for the spanking to continue. A quick determined set of swats followed that soon had the girl thrashing about, pulling on the short chains that pinned her down, bounding up on her tiptoes, and yelping in a high-pitched shriek. At the next pause, Sarah wiggled her hips furiously, as if trying to shake off the wicked sting that had been imparted to her firm young bottom.

There was a roar of laughter; hooting and hollering. The General wanted more; he warned that the spanking must be harder. Annie gripped the paddle tighter, hauled back, and complied. El Commandante and his enthralled guests, took a great deal of pleasure in the young girl’s punishment, enjoying the echoing whacks as wooden paddle smacked into pert buttocks and the rebounding dance of those plump undulating cheeks under the repeated smacks of the thin pliant blade that ricocheted off the firm elasticity of that choice little rump. The crowd went wild, clapping and cheering with each solid swat.

But for the depraved General the punishment of the daughter was only a prologue to even greater thrills, for once Sarah had been thoroughly spanked, her bottom throbbing, the cheeks an angry crimson, it was then ordered that the paddle be handed over, and revenge be wreaked on the mother’s mature womanly ass by the freshly-spanked daughter.

Sarah was warned that she must lay it on with the proper enthusiasm, or she would be promptly returned to her ignominious position over the bar, for another round. The girl seemed to need no such encouragement for once she was upright, she quickly rubbed her hurting behind, her face twisted in a rueful pout. But when she handed the paddle, her eyes brightened, and her pretty, fair face hardened; she tapped the wicked blade against her palm, impatiently waiting as a wooden chair was brought out, for El Commandante wanted the mother in the ignominious position of being given a spanking over her own daughter’s knee. Sarah rather gingerly, sat down in the hard wooden seat, spread her knees, and planted her feet solidly to create a widened lap for the taller blonde to occupy. Annie, meanwhile, had taken off her jacket, and in shirt sleeves had carefully laid down, her long body extended across her daughter’s spread knees, legs angling down so that the toes of her patent-leather shoes touched the ground.

Once in place over her lap, Sarah laid a hand on Annie’s back and lightly smoothed down the back of the blouse. Then she reached down to raise the hem of the skirt up, while Annie obligingly shifted, rocking her hips, to let the garment be tugged freed and hiked all the way up to her waist, uncovering a rear end clad in schoolgirl’s knickers identical to the ones her daughter wore. These were now lowered by her vengeful-minded daughter, who peeled the panties down over her mother’s upended bottom, easing them straight down until the twisted scrap spanned those smooth tapering thighs, just above the knees.

The splendid sight of Annie’s naked ass was awe-inspiring: the taut mounds pulled into two sleek ovals divided by a tight slit, angled legs held tight together, slender and straight. Upon having her ass exposed, Annie’s body stiffened, as the young woman steeled herself in preparation for the humiliating public spanking she, a grown woman, was about to endure at the hands of her daughter.

Now it was the daughter’s turn to eye up her mother’s bare buttocks, and carefully bring the paddle back up in a shallow arc only to send it slamming solidly across that vulnerable bottom.

THWACK!

Annie’s head and shoulders shot up; teeth clenched against the shuddering impact. The rowdy crowd cheered; urged the girl on.

THWACK! THWACK!

The same short, choppy strokes were used, not hard, but steady, slaps that soon had the mother yelping like a girl-child.

“Ouch..ye..ouch..yee..OUCH!” she sang in high-pitched soprano, as each decisive swat that jolted through her rigidly held frame.

It was only a matter of time under such punishment until the poor woman was unable to hold still. After a particularly vicious cut, her hands flew behind her to furiously rub her stinging behind.