And so as their bodies rubbed together softly tied face to face below decks, their sweaty breasts, bellies and thighs sliding against each other as they squirmed uncomfortably in place or as the boat gave an unexpected shift, Margie was brought to an almost constant state of lust. When the boat stopped to await the next period of semidarkness, she eagerly anticipated being given relief by her captor’s seemingly ever ready cock.
When they finally pulled into
Porto Vaca
it was dark. The small but energetic town was brightly lit. Margie and the girl had been brought out on deck for the occasion. Kneeling on the deck, her wrists and ankles tied together, Margie watched as Diego pulled the boat into a slip. There were about six or seven other boats already docked there and the people on them waved and cheered the arrival of the famous bandit. Diego had gone through the dead man’s clothes and found suitable replacements, a large, white, loose, cotton, pullover shirt and a pair of black dungarees. The men had washed and cleaned themselves and their captives, brushing their hair and dressing them in skirts. Margie was wearing the long, flowing, multicolored peasant’s skirt that she had been wearing when she was kidnapped. The black haired girl was wearing a dark red, pleated skirt that the men had found among her things. They were both bare breasted. Instead of her usual, orange, face encompassing gag, Diego had torn a piece of the other woman’s night gown and rolled it up and shoved it in her mouth so that her pretty face could be clearly seen. The other girl’s mouth was similarly stuffed.
Once the boat had been tied up, the men circled the women’s necks with rope and, untying their ankles, pulled them to their feet. The cargo could wait until later. They had money in their pockets and great thirsts. Diego wanted to go to a tavern he knew a few blocks away from the docks to celebrate his success and to show off the
gringa
he had captured.
The bandit was in seventh heaven. He pulled the blond female after him as he strolled jauntily down the dock to the wharf. He was wearing the straw hat that the
gringa
had given him and her large, round sunglasses. It didn’t matter that there was no sun out, it was a matter of style. He had been anxiously awaiting his arrival at
Porto Vaca
. Tonight, he would sleep in a hotel. He had been saving the violation of the beautiful
gringa
’s dainty, rear hole until now. He wanted to do it the right way, with clean sheets, hot butter and a whip. But first he wanted to parade himself before his compatriots with his prize, do some business regarding the black haired cunt and celebrate amidst the noise and bustle of Esquella’s café.
He had known Esquella for many years. She ran a boisterous, bucket of blood type of place with gambling, cheap booze and a whorehouse upstairs. The place had no name really, but was generally referred to as “
La Casa de Piruja
”, the whore’s place. Esquella was a notorious courtesan from
Caracas
who had placed herself outside the law by killing a gangster who was horning in on her high class house. Rather than face charges, she had fled to
Porto Vaca
, just the other side of the Brazilian border, and resumed her trade there. You could get anything you wanted at Esquella’s.
Margie was appalled at being dragged through the streets of the busy town half naked and on a leash. The people seemed to take no notice that she was the fierce man’s prisoner, her hands bound behind her and her mouth stuffed full with cloth. Diego and Pepe stopped several times on their way to the tavern to chat with old
amigos
and show off the women. Diego had to yank hard at the leash around Margie’s neck when she shied as he lifted her skirt to show off her delightful, blond shrouded pussy.
If you wanted to live a prosperous, long life in
Porto Vaca
, you minded your own business. So what if some
gringa
had lost her freedom to the celebrated bandit Diego Badoya. If you were in
Porto Vaca
in the first place you probably didn’t want anyone sticking their noses in your affairs either.
At the door to the tavern, Diego and Pepe made a grand entrance. Diego had fastened the .45 to his hip with a holster he found on the boat and both he and Pepe had their
machete
s attached to their belts. The shotgun and the automatic rifle that Pepe had used on the day of Margie’s kidnapping had been left behind as it was just a little beyond the pale to be carrying weapons of that magnitude around with you unless you intended to use them. The men had no worry that the boat would be looted while they were away from it. First of all, everyone would know that it and its contents belonged to Diego Badoya and nobody would want to risk his ire. Second, there were plenty of people at the dock on the other boats and they would protect Diego’s with their lives as a matter of common courtesy.
There were shouts of greeting and celebratory whoops as the crowd saw who had come in. Diego was in his glory. This is what he lived for. The tavern was crowded with excited men and women, drinking, dancing and gambling. There was a four piece band with a coronet player and three singing guitarists playing in the corner. The bar was long and a crowd of bodies pressed against it. There were about ten to twelve large round tables at which games of chance were being played.
Margie was stupefied that a place like this existed. She had seen Hollywood versions of wild, drunken taverns, but this place exceeded even their imaginations. There was a stairway that led upstairs and a line of pretty, young, scantily clad women were sitting primly on little chairs on the landing. The room was clouded by heavy smoke and the smell of spilled booze and sweat permeated the place. Low, round, wooden candelabras hung from the ceiling with kerosene fueled lamps around their circumferences. The women seemed wild and joyful, some of them with their blouses open and sitting on men’s laps, others dancing or sitting at the elbows of the gamblers, drinking from thick short glasses filled with brandy or tequila.
Most of all was the noise. You couldn’t hear yourself think in a place like this. The band, the shouting, the laughter all mingled to create a wall of sound that greeted them as they came in the door.
Diego towed Margie along as he wound himself through the tables. Pepe was following with the black haired girl behind him. They didn’t stop until they reached an office door near the bar and Diego pounded on it with his fist. A moment later, the door swung open rapidly and a heavyset woman with long, curly, black hair framing her face and anger in her eyes appeared. When she saw it was Diego, her eyes lit up and she cried out, “You motherfucking son of a whore! I thought that they had hanged you!” She opened her arms and draped them around Diego’s shoulders, squeezing him hard. Her face was pretty and she was wearing a low cut, white, ruffled blouse that showed off a huge cleavage. Her skirt was black and brown striped with a ruffle on its hem. She looked about 40 to 45 years old. It was Esquella herself.
“Come in! Come in!” the aging whore shouted. As she espied the blond and black haired women being towed behind the two men she squealed with delight. “And what have you brought me, amigo? They’re beautiful!”
Esquella poured Diego and Pepe large glasses of brandy while Diego told his tale. She knew the people who would be interested in taking the boat’s cargo off of their hands, even the boat itself if Diego wanted to get rid of it. But what Esquella was mostly interested in was the women.
“So how much for the
gringa
, Diego? She’s a beauty.”
“She’s not for sale, Esquella, but you can have the
negra,
” he replied. Diego wasn’t referring to the girl’s racial ancestry. A person’s heritage didn’t mean much up here. He was referring to her dark brown skin and black hair.
“She’s pretty too,” Esquella replied, “but the
gringa
would be a great earner. I’d send her to my other place for the rich bastards who are looking for something special. I see you’ve already taught her to dance to a whip.”
Margie’s wounds had only partially healed, and faded, red lines still crossed her pale breasts. She was frantically afraid that her captor was going to sell her to the black haired, whore mistress. She didn’t want to stay with her captor, but to spend her life locked up in a whorehouse way up here in the jungle would be a life of hell. They would use her up until she was old and ugly and then cut her throat. She would never escape. And what the men would do to her, she didn’t want to imagine. She heard the term ‘something special’ and she had a good idea what it meant, especially since the woman had mentioned the whip. She whined at the very thought of it and her knees weakened.
“No, not yet, Esquella,” Diego replied. “I haven’t had all of my fun with her. Maybe in a week or so. I’ll let you know.”
Margie, who was standing behind the seated bandit, moaned as she realized that her future was being spelled out for her. She wanted to run, to get away, but knew that it was useless to try. Bound and gagged and half naked, even if she made it out into the streets, she would probably just be seized by the first bastard who saw her and be either returned to her owner for a beating or kept for themselves and a similar or worse fate.
“I’ll hold you to that, Diego,” Esquella told the bandit. “In the meantime, let me see the
negra
.”
Pepe pulled the frantically unhappy black haired girl forward. The unprincipled madam got up from behind her large, oaken desk and took hold of her hair.
“Nice, clear eyes,” she murmured. She placed her free hand on the girl’s breasts. “Her tits are small, but they’re firm. And she has slim hips. She won’t bulge out and fatten too soon like me,” the woman said laughing. “Let me see her cunt.”
Pepe leaned over and drew the girl’s skirt up over her chest. Her bushy, black triangle was exposed and her thin, graceful thighs. The girl started to struggle and Margie could hear muffled protestations coming from her stuffed mouth. Pepe just lifted the rope that was tied around her neck higher until her toes were lifted off of the floor. She began to choke and sputter. The old whore paid it no mind as she rubbed her hand over the girl’s twat and felt the softness of her nether lips. She kept rubbing until she felt the poor girl’s moisture and then she insinuated two fingers inside her defenseless canal. She made a facial expression of approval. “Nice and tight,” she said appreciatively. She looked up at Pepe. “You better put her down,
muchacho
, before she chokes to death. She wouldn’t be worth anything then,” she said and laughed.
The men settled up with the old whore easily. Diego thought that the girl was worth a little more than he was paid, but hey, he was flush with cash now and didn’t feel like bargaining. Esquella pushed a button on the desk and a large, black man came in. He was tall and broad shouldered and carried a long, sheathed, wide bladed knife in his belt.
“Take this whore downstairs, Domingo,” Esquella told him nodding at the distraught black haired girl. “She needs to be broken in. I want her ready to get working by tomorrow night.”
The black man gave the girl a long, salacious look. “My pleasure, signora,” he answered her as his eyes ate up the beautiful flesh of the girl. He took the rope from Pepe and gave it a tug. Margie watched as the black haired girl helplessly followed him. She was shocked and dismayed. She had just seen the poor, innocent girl sold into a life of sexual slavery of the worst sort. She did not have to guess what being ‘broken in’ entailed.
Margie did not have long to contemplate the other woman’s fate. Diego rose from his chair and, after splitting the cash he had received with Pepe, expressed his thanks to the old whore and returned to the tavern. Esquella followed him and instructed the bartender to give the men each a bottle on the house.
Diego found himself a place at one of the gaming tables. He forced Margie to her knees behind him and to his left and started drinking and playing cards. He felt lucky tonight and what better place to be when you’re feeling lucky than at a round table filled with suckers.
The game went on for many hours. Diego drank from his bottle, occasionally turning around and caressing Margie’s naked breasts, ‘for luck’ he said, and, after removing her gag, filling her mouth with the harsh, local brandy and then stuffing the sopping cloth back in. Her head soon began to swim and it was hard for her to keep track of the game. Occasionally one of the men who seemed to be constantly circling the room would stop and joke with her captor and lean over and play with her breasts, kneading and suckling on them until she felt the tell tale sensation of arousal in her loins.
The men at the table changed from time to time. Diego was on a roll at first, but slowly, but surely, his pile began to dwindle. It all started, it seemed to him, when the well dressed, tall, dark haired stranger took a seat. The man had a thin, aristocratic, expressionless, clean shaven face, small, sinister eyes and a long, thin nose. He had thin lips which remained closed except when he took a small sip from the snifter of brandy that he had at his side. He was wearing a bright, finely pressed, silk shirt and a dark, well tailored jacket. His hair was short and well combed.
Diego had seen guys like this all of his life. Raised with silver spoons, they had lost their way somewhere in their rich man’s world and had taken up more nefarious activities. That was okay, but Diego had contempt for anyone who did not make their way with a knife or a gun and the strength of their fists. The man was probably a smuggler, a trader in stolen goods or something like that. He undoubtedly never got his hands dirty, never had to live for weeks in the jungle on berries and roots until his next score, never had to lie in the filth of a
pincha
jail cell waiting to be hanged.