Chapter 5
A miserable night it was, punching his pillow, muttering in between snores. Cora deciphered the words Dillon and welfare, followed by fifty thousand. She lay staring into the darkness, worried about his impotence. Were she a man, she could commiserate. Everyone was wallowing in depression these days. Joyce Dillon, too ... inebriated in the middle of the afternoon.
Rumor had it the pre-Dillon Joyce had the makings of a Jackie Kennedy political tool: vivacious, alert, appreciative of the arts. Now the post-Dillon Joyce was another creature altogether. Funny how a man can change you, thought Cora, speculating fearfully on the effects of forced abstinence. Poor Joyce, frightened of a tyrannical husband, carrying the cur of 'town drunk'. The pale morning light shadowed from pink to yellow as she lay feigning sleep.
The angry buzz of the digital alarm sent the Colonel flying out of bed in mid-snore; he jumped into his jogging shorts, neatly foded on the chair beside the bed, and without turning a worried face to his wife, jogged out the door.
Wearily, Cora slid out of bed, the black nightie shimmering from her golden nudity with one pull of the drawstring. With a shake of her blue black hair dancing over the bouncing orbs of her strawberry tipped breasts, she rejected the idea of telling Leo about Carlos. Only if he questioned her would she confess, and if he wanted a divorce, it wasn't her fault. It was rape, she told herself sternly, no matter if she'd cum twice-once from his sucking mouth, once from his pounding cock.
It puzzled her why Mayor Dillon was so curious about her reaction to sponsoring a Cuban refugee. Surely he harbored no plans for quoting her in the Gazette, because of course she would boost her husband's support for the federal program. Then why was he so darned curious? Dillon might be a hawkish blowhard but no ... he wasn't crazy enough to encourage the refugee boys to ... No, I'm letting my imagination run away with me.
Cora had leisured away the morning at the army base health club, hoping physical exercise might dull the tingling frustration of last night's aborted iovemaking. In the heat of the afternoon, she drove into the driveway to their home, a replica of every other white framed house with a sun porch on the tree-lined drive called 'Stripes Drive' by those who had none.
The cobblestone sidewalk was hot under her feet and each leaping step brought her closer to the coolness of her air conditioned house, wiping out precautionary habits-like locking the door.
Mayor Dillon's peculiar behavior haunting her, she stripped out of her bikini, leaving it in a pink puddle on the bathroom floor, and jumping into the shower, determined that under no circumstances would she allow today's refugees into her house. Squeezing the excess water from her conditioned hair, she stepped from the shower into a fluffy towel.
Carlos and his two Cuban buddies were making themselves at home in the Nelson's kitchen, three rooms away. Jactating to his swarthy friends about the hot-assed Colonel's wife, whispering in Cuban, he scratched his golden chest wondering if he'd lost his medallion here. Damn it, solid gold, too. Ricki, tall, lean and missing a front tooth, glared with disillusionment at the kitchen which could have been in House Beautiful.
"She Cuban, you say?"
Carlos nodded. "Every sweet-assed inch of her."
"Hmm...." Ricki glowered, feeling the prick of poverty that had been his cur. Nostrils flared with the gut wrenching hatred the poor feel toward the wealthy of the same ethnic background.
The third-Juan, a Jamacian by extract, with kinky black hair matted to his head that gave him a truculent look that would have sent the church ladies of Lawrence scurrying for safety. His dark liquid eyes glistened with the glassy effects of marijuana, sweet on his breath.
"Listen," warned Carlos. "That asshole Dillon says no blood, okay." He glared at Ricki in particular, the bad-tempered one. "Fifty bucks a piece can get us out-ta that fuckin' camp ... but we gotta be cool."
Juan licked his fleshy lips, the color of raspberries. A crooked grin showed off pearly white teeth minus one. "Hot ass, huh?" He stroked the bulge in his pants. "Man, I ain' had me no pussy since me and Carlos screwed in the latrine. Ain' no urine on this floor to get your knees wet!"
Ricki's chocolate eyes were still feasting on the fine decor. "I smell somethin' foul. Fuckin' the Colonel's wife don' seem right ta me. I mean he's a good guy, ya know? I don' trust that asshole Dillon ... he thinks we's jes' a buncha dumbshits wi'd no ed'cation."
Juan rubbed his chin. "But fifty bucks, man ... fifty bucks!"
Carlos put his finger to his lip. "Shhhh ... I hear her comin'."
Flipping the mane of her wet hair over her shoulders, Cora slipped into a pair of levis and a tee shirt, singing snatches of Madame Butterfly and headed for the kitchen for a cup of pick-me-up caffeine.
In the hallway, headed for the living room, she stopped in mid-step, the blood singing in her ears. The smell of sweating bodies stung her nostrils before she saw them.
"How did you get in my house?" she demanded, struggling to maintain an air of authority to let him know she had no intentions of going along with his roguish behavior. Her fear dilated pupils raked over the sweaty browed foreheads and naked golden chests sheening through shirts unbuttoned to the waist. Six black eyes nibbling at her self-composure, reflecting their mischievous intentions ... and all staring at her, raking their eyes up and down the svelte curves of her married flesh.
"I asked Joyce Dillon for two refugees, not three ... so one of you will have to leave," she demanded, stiffening.
The refugees looked at each other and back at the gorgeous features of one of their people-a lucky one who had obviously been born into money.
"We all been paid to work, lady," offered Carlos, the spokesman.
"Paid? By whom?" challenged Cora.
Ricki shook his head and crossed his arms over his berry brown chest. "That'd be tellin', now wouldn' it?"
Nostrils flaring, Cora's flushed cheeks burned with fear and anger. He'd raped her once and now he'd come back for more-with two foul-smelling, chipped toothed reinforcements.
She'd had enough! Stomping toward the telephone on the hallway wall, she decided Leo had to know about this.
His hand shot out and caught her wrist, just as her red fingertips touched the receiver. "Don' try makin' no calls, lady...."
Cora pivoted, wincing from his chafing grasp that twisted and stung like a rope burn. She twisted, struggled and kicked, but he held fast, cocking his head for his evil accomplices to reinforce his evil efforts. Fear like she'd never known bubbled up in Cora's stomach.
The three picked her up like a sack of potatoes and dragging her through the bedroom door, flopped her breathless, shivering body down on the mattress. I've got to call Leo! But as she elbowed her way to the edge of the mattress, groping for the bedroom phone on the nightstand, he caught her shoulders and threw her back down, pinning and holding her there with his dirty palm over her slender throat. He glared murderously down at her, his face a pagan mask of cruelty. His fleshy upper lip rippled with disdain as he breathed hotly into her face.
"Jes' cause you got bucks don' make you no better Cuban 'n us...." His hand crushed her windpipe, cutting off her air until she felt hot and dizzy. "Wha' you gotta say 'bout that?"
It hurt to do it, but she nodded in agreement. Anything to appease this young rapist! You do someone a favor and look what happens ... she thought bitterly, knowing how embarrassed and enraged Leo would be over this incident. The hand lifted from her throat and she coughed, choking.
He muttered something in Cuban to his friends who disappeared out the door, heading for the kitchen to find something tastier than beans and surplus peant butter which had been their welfare diet ... and not much of that.
Cora cringed into the bed, her eyes sparring with the deep hatred shining in his limpid orbs, a hatred for someone of their ethnicity more fortunate than he. If he was trying to make her feel guilty, it wouldn't work ... but if he wanted to terrify her, he was doing one bang-up job!
As she stared at him, his eyes left her face and roamed over the smooth, ripe curves of her body and when he barked in Cuban for her to strip naked, she complied, shivering nakedly on her marital bed, his lustful brooding eyes maintaining a vigil over her every movement.
Upper lip curling, he pinched her nipples into hardened peaks. Cora squinted shut her eyes, a tingling sensation charging fugitively from one mound of succulent flesh to the other. The sweaty palms of his raping hands cupped and massaged, drugging her with the burning of growing excitement. God, why couldn't Leo do that to her? A tortured moan escaped her parted lips as last night's frustration seethed in the pit of her belly. A clitoral orgasm relieved the pressure momentarily, but nothing could satisfy like a hard pounding cock shooting you full of creamy love.
"You think you's such hot shit jus' cause you married to a American military man ... fuckin' fascist pig ... Castro ain' no better, doin' nothin' for 'is people ... don' even wan' us back in the country," he snickered bitterly. "We bein' paid lots a money to fuck yo'r brains out ... so lay back n' enjoy."
Jagged spears of red hot pain shot through one nip-. pie to the other as he twisted and pulled and tweaked painfully at her nipples still sore from yesterday's rape. Fear biting at her heart, Cora struggled to extricate herself from the excruciating grip. Adrenalin pumping injier veins like diesel jet fuel, she managed to roll out ftom under him with a few scratches, and fly from the bed, but in mid-leap, almost before her feet touched the floor, his hands grabbed her around the waist and slapped her back on the bed.
"He said no blood, but you gonna play them kinda games...."
Keeping a wary eye on her, he stalked toward the bedroom door, locked it and snarled down at the trembling woman on the coverlet. "I got ma knife on me, and I ain' fraid a tfsin' it. I been hungry, I been poor, but I ain' been made no fool o' by no Cuban bitch!"
"No, Carlos ... please," she muttered in Cuban, trying to appeal to his nobler senses. His intent was shining redly in his eyes. Burtally, he yanked one of her slender wrists to a-corner bedpost and with quick movements knotted a strip of red and gray silk around the wood, drawing her hands so tight to the post they turned blue. Next the other wrist, while she lay staring up at him with impassive eyes. So young, so full of hatred and revenge. No chance of revolt in Cuba, not with a leader like Castro ... but why must they come to America with their vengeance! Leo was right; they needed self-respect and the only means for achieving that was through assimilating them into the community as contributing members.
Carlos sneered at her bound naked body stretched out like an animal about to be butchered.
"You won't get away with this! You forget my husband is a Colonel!" she snapped.
He responded with a snicker before backing off and pulling off his shirt,.pants, kicking off'his hand-me-down shoes two sizes too big. The absurdity hit her as she watched the garish polyester shirt, still stained from yesterday's perspiration, peel off his maturely muscled body. Raped in her own home by another Cuban whose sour fate she'd worked to sweeten.
Wildly, her eyes gazed about the room. Leo's pajamas right where he'd left them, the smell of his cologne sweet on his pillow beside her head.. Humiliation gurgled in her stomach acidly. So much of him here, but so far away! she thought with real self pity.
Her head shot to the side as Carlos' naked body shut out the sunlight bursting through the bedroom window. His long, thick cock was partially erect, but bigger, more potent than she'd remembered, with a pearl of pre-cum glistening from the slitted eye. Last night she'd cried for a potent penis ... but today rational returned with a thud ... the moment he'd slipped the first necktie around her wrist. She bit her lip, nearly drawing blood rushing from the self hatred of having wanted that angry penis gorging into her vagina ... yesterday. But today was a dark gloomy story.
The mattress lowered beside her and she knew he was positioning himself for rape. A tingle of naughty anticipation at the feel of his strength closing in on her bubbled in her loins, despite moral resolve. If he didn't kiss her, mingling his saliva with hers, she could tolerate him pounding into her pussy because that would make it objective ... like, like making myself cum, she reasoned, trying to muster up a shred of dignity as she lay stark naked and vulnerable.
One chocolate eye peeped open as he raised her head and plumped up pillows which he used as a supportive nest for her wet hair. Her chin was nearly touching her chest when the second wadded up feather pillow joined the first. Under fluttery eyelashes, she looked up into his face wreathed in bitter amusement.
Was this a new torture? "Carlos ... what ... are-are you doing?"
He smiled sarcastically with the slur of a fifteen year old's insolence, and wagged the tube of his jutting cock in her face. "Lick it," he snapped.
Cora's head flew to the side. He couldn't be serious, her mind screamed. The brown body was closing in on her and the musky scent of his genitals (when had he bathed last?) filled her nostrils with repulsion. It seemed to be growing inch by bloated inch before her unblinking eyes. In petrified disbelief, his golden body closed in on her, one strong muscled leg lifting over her cringing body as he straddled her breasts with his buttocks, knees snug into her warm armpits, the tip of his prick a tongue's reach away.
"N-nooo ... not that ... you can take me ... but don't...." she whined, tossing her head from side to side, "do that!"
He shook the blood engorged cock before her eyes and levered up on his knees as he rubbed the seeping tip over her quivering lips.
Cora closed her eyes and drew her lips into a taut line of refusal. She gasped as he grabbed her cruelly by the shoulder, gouging into her tender flesh until she cried out in real pain.
"I said open yer mouth, bitch, cunt," he spat between even white teeth. Shaking her head in misery, she let out a tortured wail as he grabbed a handful of waist length black hair, still wet from the shower, and wrapped it around his knuckles like a soft brass knuckle.
"Ohhh ... that hurts!" she whimpered babyishly.
"Open your fuckin' mouth!"
Obediently, so that he wouldn't tear her hair out by the roots, Cora let her lips part. The tensile flesh refused to relax from fear and supressed pain.
"Suck my cock...." he snarled.
Red with mortification, Cora reluctantly closed her lips around the blunt, foul-smelling purplish knob of his cock, tasting for the first time the bittersweet piquancy of the white love juices Leo used to shoot ir. to her starving womb. But it was in her mouth, dispelling the love-filled connotation. It lay in her mouth, throbbing with blood. So this is what Leo had wanted her to do to him, she thought, feeling a tremor of forbidden excitement at the strange sensation. She lay there, panti ng, struggling for breath around the pole gouging into her throat.
"I said suck!" he bellowed, whacking her across the cheek with a mobilizing blow.
Oh, God, there was no choice but to follow his orders. Yesterday he'd carried a knife ... and there were three of them. Three against one! The pungent taste of his warm semen on her tongue wasn't so digusting after her nostrils adjusted to the smell of him. Experimentally, hoping to please him in order not to suffer another bruised patch which Leo would see, she twirled her tongue over the thick, purplish head. Carlos groaned in appreciation and started muttering four letter words in Cuban.
He breathed heavily, riding her breasts, panting from the thrill of seeing this aristocrat's lips stuffed with his dirty refugee cock. Reluctantly, he drew back, withdrawing his cock from her lips and barked orders for her to lick it and keep her eyes open.
Slavishly, keeping a wary eye on him, she stared at the long, golden hunk of male flesh that rose like a snake before her fear contorted face. It was hard, rubbery, stretched skin shiny with blood. Thick veins, blueish and bulging covered it while it pulsed madly against the pearly yellow skin covering it. Between and below, his two round testicles, firm and nearly hairless, hung in their sacs, swollen and heavy with the sperm that boiled within.
Cautiously the captive Colonel's wife ran her tongue down the pole of wiggling flesh, licking dantily all around, evenly, as if it were a popsicle melting in the sun. She lavished her tongue over the stalky base, along its thick underside to the dark ridges protruding wormishly from the thick foreskin, playing, caressing it ... and totally uncertain of what she was doing.
Tied to her own marriage bed like a filthy whore ... whore ... yes, I was a whore yesterday and he's making me into a whore today, she thought, self-loathing and disgust stoking guilt as her nostrils flared from the potent muskiness of him.
Carlos trembled slightly from the sensation of her pointed tongue slaving over his proud cock. Boy, what a thrill having sex with a gorgeous, clean woman without dirt under her fingernails! "Suck ... harder," he grunted, ramming his blood engorged penis down her throat until Cora was sure she'd be sick to her stomach.
Compliantly, Cora trailed her soft pink tongue back over the rubbery hardness and ovaled her lips and slipped them gently over the smooth naked head, her head bobbing as she struggled to keep it in her mouth. Above her Carlos groaned and flicked his hips forward, sliding the rod into the warm, wet hole of her mouth and down the full length of her tongue until the tip banged brutally against the back of her throat. Panic flooded her mind as she gagged at the invasion, but she sucked, slipping her tongue up and down the stalk, nibbling softly at the base with her teeth, knowing that his groans of appreciation earned her less torture.
His upper lip curled back to expose even white teeth.
Carlos threw back his head in jubiliation and rocked his hips back and forth, fucking into her mouth as if it were just another naked cunt. Cora sucked on the hot throbbing flesh, but she could barely get a breath before he rammed it down her throat again. Her cheeks hollowed on the outstroke, bloating like balloons each time he rammed back in, grazing her tonsils as if trying to give her a tonsilectomy.
Cora, the sophisticated Colonel's wife, shivered with fear. To survive she must forget about her dear husband, the two ruffians parading freely about her house and concentrate on the girth of male meat drubbing into her mouth. If I don't please him ... God only knows what this hateful kid will do! She must let him think he's king, treat him with respect, she decided for the sake of survival. If I don't obey or belittle him, his anger will turn to murderous revenge.
To show her complete subservience to his will and to prove how powerful he was, she managed to raise her head enough to bob it up and down in rhythm to the boy's slamming thrusts into her mouth.
Carlos almost blew it when he looked down at the lovely lipstick -rimmed lips stretched tightly around the thick base of his cock; he rammed forward so hard, her head banged against the headboard. He screwed into her mouth until every last fiery inch was stuffed down her throat. He watched the tiny ridges of soft pink flesh as he pulled back from her gently sucking lips that disappeared back inside as he slid it forward until it hit the back of her throat.
A devilish sneer curled his lips as he watched her face turn red and tears spill from her eyes; he was! choking her, making her gag on his Cuban cock. The stinkin' federal government could keep their goddamned welfare-he'd take the Colonel's wife any day!
"Unnnggghhh he screamed, locking his hands hard around the back of her bobbing head, drawing it over his cock until he could see only the wet glistening black kinkiness of his pubic curls tickling her snobbish nose. He watched delightedly as his balls erupted and her throat tightened and untightened, swallowing in desperate gulps the hot, sticky fluid he was spewing into her gaping mouth. Her cheeks ballooned torturously and hollowed as she struggled to keep from drowning on the warm flooding, salty tasting sperm shooting into her mouth. She sucked closing her mind to the cleanser-like taste of the stickiness puddling in her belly as the last drop seeped from his softening penis.
At least she was alive....
Then his caramel colored prick slipped from her ravaged lips and Carlos collapsed down on the bed, exhausted from orgasm and lack of sleep. The softness of the mattress was heaven compared to the lousy army cots shoved together with no privacy. .
Cora let out a deep sigh, thankful her torture had ended and, closing her eyes, wiped the sticky threads dribbled over her lips onto her naked shoulder.
Testing the bonds, she wiggled her wrists. No use. Beside her Carlos had fallen into a snoring slumber. In two hours Leo would be coming home and then all hell would break loose. He might even murder Carlos; who could tell how a man who'd spent two years in Viet Nam would react to finding his wife tied, naked to his marriage bed!
And what about the other two refugees stalking about her house, waiting on the other side of the locked door. What had they been paid to do and who paid them? One thing for certain: It couldn't be any worse than the perversion Carlos had just subjected her to. Cora's terrified mind fled to the dark skinned one with the kinky black hair matted to his skull as if a comb hadn't been raked through the mess for six months. And the tall, lanky one missing a front tooth....
Leo....!