Chapter 2
He was so nice... gave me a new suitcase when mine was stolen... made arrangements for his friends in San Antonio to pick me up at the bus station... and never insisted I go to bed with him. Why would Douglas get me in trouble? Helga swiped at her robin-egg eyes, staring blurrily at the cracked cement floor, mesmerized by a king-sized cockroach darting from her cellmate's emptied lunch plate back into its hole in the whitewashed graffiti-smeared wall. Helga bit her lip and sniffled, wondering if she would ever see a beach, a palm tree or her family again. Nothing made sense. She sat down on the saggy bunk mattress, caked with dried vomit and blood, piecing together how her semester break vacation had ended in this damnable predicament.
"What did they get you for?" a girlish voice came from a pretty red mouth one bunk above Helga who raised her head to stare into the cool green eyes of a girl not more than sixteen years old. "They seem to like Americans here." She ran her polish-chipped fingernails through her bouncy brown curls and flopped back on the mattress.
"Really..." came a voice from the other bunk. "Wait till they get you in that questioning room and turn that hot bitch loose on you... you'll confess to anything." Karen took a second glance at her new cellmate and scraping her eyes over the puffy outline of Helga's braless nipples, she reconsidered and smirked. "Well... maybe you won't have to."
God, that must be the lesbian he warned me about!
"She would too!" snapped Polly. "She's not like you!"
"Come on, Polly... at least they give you a hot bath that way... and you wait and see... I'll get out of this dump first because I'm not playing Pollyanna with them." The girl introduced herself as Karen and explained she'd been busted for one joint and inquired whether that was the newcomer's charge, too.
Helga nodded warily and bit her lip. "That's what they say..." Fatigued, she spread out the scratchy Mexican blanket allotted her and lay down on top of it, her apple pie beauty contrasting awesomely with the squalor of this prison cell.
"You mean you haven't seen her yet?" whispered Polly, leaning over the bunk, her emerald eyes big as half dollars. She stopped short.
From the end of the hallway the fearsome echo of the chamber door opening and slamming shut sent a ripple of ultra-frequency fear vibrating throughout Helga's cell and those beyond. The slap of high heels thundered, growing with each step until they stopped outside of Helga's cell. Cautiously, slowly, Helga raised her head and craned her neck to see through the iron stripes a black haired woman with a widow's peek, dressed in a tight black sheath that hugged her balloonish breasts so tightly they bulged like rising bread dough from the bodice of her dress. In her hand she carried a whip and Helga gulped, certain she'd spied a spot of fresh blood on her spiked heeled boot. Helga withered; her cellmates said nothing.
This must be... the lesbian! Helga's Charmin-wrapper baby blue eyes stared into two menacing black ones, and the cruelties they failed to convey were reflected in a taut-lipped mouth twisted perfidiously.
The raven-haired warden rattled a key loose from the chain belted around her small waist and stuck it into Cell number 5. Across the bunks Helga heard Karen gasp and above her, Polly feigned sleep.
Panic, mingled with nausea, tore through Helga as the spike heeled woman lashed her whip on the cement floor, scattering cigarette butts and roaches, and pointed a finger at Helga with the deadly aim of a gun barrel. "Come with me, Señorita... we must prepare you for interrogation," she said with raised arched eyebrows that matched the angle of her widow's peak.
Helga slid her legs, tan as the wheat fields of North Dakota, over the edge of the saggy mattress and stood up on wobbly legs, glancing frantically at her cellmates for a hint of what was to come.
Cowering in her bunk, Polly cast solemn eyed empathy in her direction and, offering a word of consolation, was cut off curtly by Maria Garcia. "Shut up, you leetle beetch, or you'll end up in thee questioning room... with straps around your ankles!"
Helga withered at the hot feel of the woman's hand clamping over hers and spinning her into motion; but that was nothing compared to the gut-tearing panic of the warden's sizzling stares peeling over Helga's body, running her tongue over shiny scarlet lips as two eyes gored into the twin cantaloupes of Helga's firm young Scandinavian breasts poking bralessly out from under her hand-embroidered Mexican dress.
Footsteps echoed in the dingy cell block, Helga's mind reeling back to fonder days... her mother's chocolate chip cookies, warm and crumbly, fresh from the oven... the smooth ripple of her father's wheat fields waving ripe heads in the August sun and a stab of nostalgia for youth, innocence and the stuff memories are made of flitted ephemerally away from her like so much chaff. They... they might kill me!
The warden's heels snapped spikily on the cement floor and, as they passed the last cell, Maria prodded her prisoner with the butt-end of her whip, guiding her into a small room containing a wall cabinet, a paint-chipped bench, and a rusted shower nozzle.
"Take off that dress!" Maria's voice could freeze icicles in July. "We must get you clean for Manuel... He likes hees women clean... and golden haired like the Señorita!"
Mortified at being forced to undress before the lustful eyes of this blatant lesbian, Helga turned her back, pulled the dress over her head, folded it, set it on the bench and, sucking in her breath, pulled her panties down over her slender tanned hips, striped with a bronze bikini line, and stepped under the shower. A scream tore through the empty cement-walled room as an icy blast stung Helga's flesh. Whimpering, she twisted the knobs this way and that... but to no avail. Instinctively, she turned to the woman for help—and immediately wished she hadn't.
There stood Maria, her nefariously glinting eyes rapt on Helga's naked breast. Using one hand on her breasts and the other to rub the protruding mound of her pubis through the pencil-tight dress, she petted her body kittenishly to the rhythm of low lusty moans gurgling from her swollen chest.
God... she is a les-lesbian!
"G-give... give me a towel, please...?" Helga's teeth rattled icily.
Giving her pussy one last fingered poke, the sluttish warden opened the cabinet, threw a towel at Helga, then instructed her to bend her knees and open her legs. The warden's black polished fingertips drew out an aerosol can, aimed it at the golden vee of the prisoner's little pussy and sprayed.
"Manuel likes hees women clean... Too many bugs in this country." Maria's half naked breasts nearly touched her chin as on spike-heeled tip toes she rummaged around in the cabinet and tossed a pair of panties at Helga who didn't need to be told twice to get dressed.
The walk from the shower room and the questioning room was hardly a pleasant Sunday afternoon stroll, and Helga felt the kiss of death breathe heavy on the back of her goosebumped neck as she walked into that torture chamber, brushing past Manuel and gazing with fearful blue eyes at the clean sheet spread ceremoniously over the mattress, now pulled to the middle of the room amidst a puddle of cigarette butts.
"I told the Señorita I would be seeing her soon." The short Mexican policeman turned on his south-of-the border charm, fingering his night stick as he spoke. "Perhaps we can have our leetle talk now?"
"I... I have nothing to tell..." Helga paused, realizing she was convincing no one. Manuel was running his fingers lightly over her neck, sending a distinct shiver up and down her spine. The man was smiling at her, a cruel, sinister smile and the young coed read the unmistakable glint of lust in his chocolate eyes.
"And now can we talk about thees Señor Kinsey... and hees business contacts?" he purred at her in a lullaby voice. "Maria and myself can make your stay here in Nuevo Laredo most pleasant eff you weell cooperate. But before we make any promises... Maria, undress thees blonde leetle beauty for me." Helga closed her eyes, wishing she were one of those women who could escape moments like this by fainting. She held her breath, trying to pass out, but her brain refused to cooperate and she remained stubbornly conscious. Would this man force her into doing indecent things? It was too terrible a thought to contemplate, but it was perfectly obvious that Manuel's mind had switched from cocaine to sex. Instinctively, she glanced down and saw the significant bulge beneath his pants.
"No!" she pleaded desperately, wanting to resist but stunned by the total hopelessness of her position. Maria was at her side, snapping her whip, ready to begin, but the terrified blonde backed away, horrified by the prospect of being violated sexually. "I haven't done anything wrong... he tricked me. Douglas tricked me!"
Manuel tutted tauntingly. "You are hardly being cooperative, Señorita." We want names... places."
"I... I can't tell you something I don't know!" she rasped in a hoarse, emotional voice as Maria's softly feminine hands drew the hem of her dress up over Helga's magnificent body, leaving her naked except for the pair of prison-supplied panties that looked as if they belonged on the body of a clown, rather than Helga's lush Scandinavian curves.
Manuel looked at her coolly for a long time before responding. "Has the Señorita any idea of how many beautiful Gringas I have fucked in the past eight years since your dishonorable President Neexon declared hees war on drugs?"
Helga shook her head and stared at the floor, her lips clenched tightly as she covered her pale, naked breasts with her hands.
"Maria, tell her."
"Exactly one thousand, four hundred and eighty," the raven haired warden with hair pulled straight back from her face answered promptly, her eyes still trained on Helga's lush body.
"Maria, kindly take off the lovely Señorita's panties."
Helga tensed, but there was no point in resistance, and she shivered nakedly as Manuel's lesbian assistant dropped to her knees and slipped the blonde girl's panties off completely.
"Ah, very nice..." commented Manuel with an air of satisfaction, stepping closer and running his finger lightly over the girl's sparse triangle of fluffy blonde pubic hair. Helga's body jerked involuntarily, but Manuel continued to inspect her as if she were a slave ready for purchase. "Ooooh, so lovely... thee General would be pleased to have her as hees special guest...?" He raised his eyebrows and looked at Maria who grinned and nodded.
"Ohhh, yess," hissed Maria. "Can I go down on her now, Manuel? Ohhh, she looks to be so fresh!"
"Maybe later," decided Manuel, leading the unwilling prisoner to the edge of the mattress and pushing her down on top of it. "Ooooh, so lovely," he purred.
"You... you can't do this to me!" whimpered Helga recklessly. "I... I've got my rights. I demand to make a phone call to my father. Somebody will help me! Somebody's got to get me out of here!" Helga was screaming, virtually beside herself with a combination of rage and terror, but to her shock, Manuel failed to react angrily to her outburst. Instead he grinned a Cheshire cat smile, undoing the belt of his pants. With a flick of his wrist, he unsnapped, then unzipped them, letting them fall to join the other litter on the floor... his hugely inflated cock, thick with lust, pointing at her like a machine gun.
"You Gringas are high spirited... I like that!"
"What about me?" pouted Maria, standing beside the mattress, legs spread wide as her skinny skirt would allow, whip tucked in the belt of her dress, hands on her well-rounded hips. As always, she was eager to do her job.
Helga was staring at the policeman's bulging penis, fascinated like a bird being hypnotized by a snake and incapable of moving.
"Get the Señorita wet for me," he directed calmly. "She's too dry."
Maria quickly unzipped her dress and stepped out of it, stepped out of her panties, and leaving only her black garter belt, black net stockings and spike heeled boots on.
"What do they mean by 'getting me wet?' "
"Maria is a beeg help to me," offered Manuel, settling himself on the mattress and lacing his hands on her arms so that she was pinned to the mattress. "She has a way of making people talk... like the Señorita?!"
Maria's balloonish breasts, tipped with ruby nipples, bounced as she knelt quickly to the floor between Helga's silken thighs, pushing them apart. Had the helpless young prisoner known what was coming, she would have fought back, offering physical resistance, even though it was useless, just to save her conscience. But the sloe-eyed woman was too fast, and by the time Helga understood how she was to be moistened, it was far too late to do anything about it.