Chapter 5
"We're going to a party this evening," Val announced after the short siesta which had of necessity followed their heavy meal in the early afternoon.
"Oh my God!" Donna exclaimed, putting down her daiquiri. "I'd forgotten all about it" She looked at Anna. "This woman is a character, I kid you not. If you're interested in sociology, you'll get a lab lesson tonight. This woman has money in pots, more than she knows what to do with. And flaky as grandma's apple pies."
Anna glanced at Jeff, who returned her glance with a grin. He knew she was recalling her sarcastic crack about the "old elephants" coming to San TomSs to die.
"Is this a gringo party, or are the natives invited?" he asked Donna.
She shrugged her shoulders prettily. "Who knows? With Gladys, you never know what'll happen next."
"Concha!" Val called. "Otras daiquiris, par favor."
In a moment the young maid appeared in the door- way with a silver pitcher of freshly foaming daiquiri. Silently she passed from one to the other, refilling their glasses. When she tipped the pitcher over Jeff's glass, last, she flicked her huge dark eyes at him, then looked back at her work. In another moment she had returned to the depths of the house.
"She's awfully pretty," Anna commented, looking at Val with a trace of jealousy sparkling in her eyes.
Donna laughed. "Val claims Concha is his penance, his hairshirt, the one beautiful young woman hell never try to make."
Val smiled. "True, dear, I'm sure that robbing her of her virginity would be a delightful chore, but I really like the kid-and she is just a kid. Much too tender for an old rogue like me."
Well screw you! Anna thought What does that make me, an old bag?
Instead of trying to drive his car through the narrow dark streets that night Val suggested they all walk to the party. Donna and Anna wore sandals, so the going wasn't as bad as if they'd attempted high heels. They were all dressed casually.
Val stopped the group in front of a particularly uninviting high wall and pushed a button beside a ponderous wooden door. The door opened promptly, and a woman stood silhouetted against the light of several Japanese lanterns strung about in the garden behind her.
"Come in! Come in!" she shouted in a husky voice, and they entered.
"This is Gladys," Val said, and introduced Jeff and Anna. Gladys and Donna exchanged pecks on the cheek.
The party was already in full swing, spilling through the open doors of the large casa over the broad patio, and into the flower-embroidered lawn. Anna tried vainly to retain the names of people that Gladys repeated, or who simply introduced themselves. A Mexican man in a white jacket served the newcomers daiquiris, and suddenly the four, were split up and absorbed in the milling, drifting crowd of people.
Not all of them were antiquated retirees, Anna noted as she chatted politely. They were generally handsome people, well-groomed and smelling of money in all its forms. There were some Mexican guests present, too, she noticed. Gladys herself wasn't a bad-looking woman, but at middle-age she had drunk too much and otherwise abused what had once been a splendid body. Her bleached hair stood out in a carefully coifed Afro, giving her the startling appearance of a queen of terror* or some other cpmic-book character.
"May I introduce myself to the best-looking woman here?" a strongly accented voice said at Anna's shoulder.
Anna was smiling even before she turned to face the rugged Mexican man. "It takes a certain conceit, doesn't it, for a woman to turn around at such a compliment?" she said.
"Not at all," the man protested. "A beautiful woman, if she's intelligent, certainly knows that she's beautiful. I am Luis Gonzalez, at your service." He made a little bow, quite graceful, Anna thought, for such a bulky-shouldered young man.
"I'm Anna Forsythe."
"How terribly British that sounds." He smiled, his even white teeth gleaming against the darkness of his complexion.
"It's American." Her darting eyes took in his glossy black hair and the heavy eyebrows that accentuated the almost threatening expression in his liquid-chocolate eyes. This man exuded machismo, she sensed. A little thrill of excitement laced with fright shot through her.
Just then Gladys popped up at Luis' elbow. "Watch out for this hombre," she warned Anna. "Cholo is bad medicine." As quickly she whirled away to chatter with another newcomer.
"Perra!" Luis muttered, his eyes glaring murder although his teeth still gleamed in a wide smile.
"Why did she call you Cholo?" Anna asked. The feeling of excitement was growing more intense, and she felt her breasts tingling. Lucky I wore a bra tonight, she thought
Even so, the man seemed to read her thoughts for his eyes fixed on her prominent breastworks. "I am a sculptor," he said. "Permit me to say you have beautiful titsies."
Anna felt herself flushing. This is ridiculous, she told herself. Coolly she repeated her question: "Why did she call you Cholo?"
He shrugged his shoulders and she thought of a young bull, massive in the neck and shoulders and narrow through the flanks. "It's not a very complimentary nickname. It means halfbreed." The smile deserted his flexible lips for a moment. "Who in Mexico is not a halfbreed!" Then the smile returned and he lifted his glass in a sort of salute to Anna. "You must come to my art gallery. Tomorrow, eh? It's in Calle Independence. Galeria Luis. You can't miss it, not in this tiny village."
With another little bow he moved away and was enveloped in a shifting group of other guests. Within seconds Anna had two other men before her, men who seemed to be in their forties, simply but carefully dressed, with just the right touch of gray at their temples. Both seemed preoccupied with her body, clearly defined in the frock she was wearing. She had never before thought about how snugly it clung to her waist and hips, and how it squeezed in beneath her breasts, making them appear to thrust out like rounded promontories above a straight cliff.
"Gaspard tells me you're his niece-to-be," one of the men said, reluctantly bringing his eyes up to meet hers. "Is your fiance here?" Quite clearly he wished the fiance were in China.
Anna smiled and answered him, and in a moment they were chatting like old friends and she was accepting another daiquiri from the white-jacketed mozo. Over the shoulder of one of the men she glimpsed Val watching her, an amused smile on his face. So she had an audience, Anna thought. The familiar warmth began to kindle in her belly and spread throughout her body. She was completely aware that the tenor of the men's conversation was changing, becoming more suggestive and full of sexual implications. Her smile was warmer, and her eyes threw subtle challenges to them. One of the men, with studied carelessness, turned so that his arm brushed solidly against her breast. He muttered an apology, but his eyes and his smile informed her clearly that he had meant it, and had enjoyed it, and would enjoy more.
"Oh my God!" he suddenly exclaimed, turning away from Anna and looking back over the milling crowd. "Gladys is at it already."
At what? Anna wondered, remembering what Donna had said cryptically about their hostess being a character.
"I tell you Virginia's not dead!" the bushy-haired woman shouted, pushing her way through the people on the lawn and heading for the gate. "We've got to go dig her up!"
"She's not for real!" Anna exclaimed. "Oh, but she is!" one of her attendants replied. "Virginia is an old friend who died last week and was buried in the cemetery here. When Gladys gets crocked, she insists that the old gal didn't really die, but went into a sort of coma, or suspended animation, or something."
"Like Edgar Allan Poe," the other man granted, half-amused, half-exasperated. "We've got to calm her down, Jim, or we'll have the mayor and the town police force on our necks."
The two men hurried over to try to persuade the drunk woman that her friend was indeed dead and buried and that was that Val and Jeff drifted out of the crowd and stood beside Anna.
"You know," Val laughed, "she's got a certain amount of reason for being concerned about burials and the like. Some time ago a robber broke into her house and was sacking up a lot of her valuable silver when Gladys came on the scene with a flashlight and a .32 automatic. She blasted him good, but she knew that if she called the police, she'd end up in a lot of trouble and probably in prison. One, weapons are prohibited, and two, she was a rich Americana who had killed a poor deserving campesino who was only trying to provide food for his starving family of fifteen or twenty. So she dragged the corpse out here and spent the rest of the night digging a helluva deep hole. She stuffed him in the hole, piled a thick layer of rocks over him, and filled in the rest of the hole. By daybreak she had sodded it over with grass."
"You're putting me on, Val!" Anna exclaimed, an involuntary shiver of horror rippling through her and raising gooseflesh on her bare arms.
"Nope. Boy Scout's honor." He raised three fingers.
"Where?" She picked up one foot and looked down, as if expecting to see a hand come poking up through the grass beneath her.
Jeff squeezed her about the waist. "So this is your elephants' graveyard where nothing ever happens," he said teasingly. Through the thinness of her frock he felt the heat of her pliant waist, and looking down into her face he wondered at the extreme brightness of her eyes, and the expression of subtle excitement in her countenance. He pressed her waist again. Christ, but she was a sexy woman! He wished to hell they were home in the sack.
After awhile some friends succeeded in calming Gladys down, but somehow the interest had gone out of the party, so people began to leave. For a few moments Anna found herself alone again; Jeff had gone somewhere, and Val was rounding up Donna.
"Come with me now!" said Cholo tensely, his eyes .glittering from beneath the heavy brows.
Anna jumped. "Where'd you come from?" she asked.
He jerked his head impatiently. "Come!" he commanded, and seemed about to reach out his hand and seize her wrist, but just then Jeff came into sight again. Anna gave a sigh of relief mixed with exasperation. "Tomorrow, then," Cholo hissed, and swiftly lost himself in the crowd again.
Donna and Val and Anna and Jeff returned through the cobblestoned streets, blacker now than before with unrelieved night. Jeff wondered silently at Anna's tenseness; he could feel it through her hand which was clasped in his, and he sensed it as if by vibrations from her.
"How about a small nightcap?" Val suggested when at last they were in their casa again. The others nodded assent so he went to the bar in the far end of the living-room and poured four small snifters of brandy.
The air was charged with unspoken desires as they sipped the brandy. Jeff looked at Donna, who had kicked off her sandals and was rubbing her bare toes together like a sensuous cat. From beneath lowered eyelashes, Anna watched Val, certain that he would come up with a smooth suggestion that they all crawl into the huge round bed together. But for some reason he didn't make the suggestion, nor did anyone else, and after awhile Donna yawned.
"We've got to get out of here by ten in the morning," she said, getting up. "I'm going to sleep."
Val fanished his drink: and rose to follow her, so Anna and Jeff took the cue and told their hosts goodnight.
Anna was still tense, glittery-eyed, even slightly trembling, and Jeff recognized that she was souped-up sexually. He had been wanting her all evening, and when they were undressed and in bed, she came into his arms willingly, eagerly.
Her fierceness surprised him somewhat as she thrust her body at him, but her eyes were tightly closed and she said not a word as she usually did when they made love. He felt the dampness of her perspiring body which was quickly matched by the slipperiness of her hot pussy. Soon she was moaning with passion, but her teeth were tightly clenched together.
If he had only known she was fantasizing about the bull-shouldered Cholo, he wouldn't have been able to finish. But the heat of her body and the rhythmic squeezing of her cunt muscles drove all thoughts out of his mind. He floated and glided on a pleasure hill, sinking into abysses of blind ecstasy until at last he felt his supercharged balls triggering to a release.
"Now, baby," he grunted, "come with me!" And the sperm jolted out through his iron-hard cock in powerful surges that bathed the hot walls of her love-channel.
She convulsed into a torrid climax, too, but in her heated fantasy it was the black curly hair of Cholo that she was tearing at with her hands as his sperm seared her vitals. It was his cock that throbbed inside her.
"Aiiiiiii!" the muffled scream escaped through her tightly pressed lips, and her body went rigid for a moment, then collapsed. In a few moments she was asleep.
The next morning Jeff drove Donna and Val to the Guadalajara airport in Val's cream-and-chrome Mercedes. Anna begged off, pleading a headache, something which rarely bothered her.
"Well be back in four or five weeks," Donna promised, embracing the younger woman fondly. "FU miss you," she whispered in her ear.
Anna responded with subdued passion to Val's ardent farewell kiss, then went to lie down in the bedroom.
When Jeff returned two hours later, Anna was gone. He thought nothing of it; they were accustomed to going their own ways, and he was relieved that she had recovered from her headache. His lips curled in a little smile as he recalled her frenzy of the night before, and his cock quivered appreciatively. Gathering up his sketch pad and charcoals he went out to ramble about for subjects.
He headed away from town. There was a tiny fishing village down the lake, much smaller even than San Tomas, and he wanted to do some quick sketches of the fishermen working at their long nets. But as he approached the shacks along the beach he could tell that he was too late. Nearly all the boats were out, far out on the lake, and no one was in sight along the shore.
He shaded his eyes with his hand against the intense glare of the late-morning sun and scanned the lake.
"Shit!" he muttered, and sat down on a low stone wall in the shade of a thorny huizache tree. A broken boat lay on the sand a few feet away at the water's edge, and some nets were stretched on poles between him and the shacks about seventy-five yards away. He opened his pad and did a quick outline of the boat "Alio!"
"Well, hello," he greeted the two young girls who had stealthily come up behind him and stood watching him with the wariness of wild animals. With a grin he held up the sketch pad to show them what he had done. They only glanced at the sketch, then looked at each other and giggled. "You want me?" one said, her huge black eyes narrowed lewdly. "You want her?" She poked a finger into the other's ribs.
Jeff chuckled. Christ! They couldn't be more than twelve years old, he thought, looking over their slim brown bodies, showing here and there through the simple ragged frocks they had on. Even browner were their bare legs and arms, and their young faces were like smooth dark mahogany under thick shocks of long straggling hair.
"How many years have you?" he asked them in Spanish.
One of them thought for a moment, then said, "Quince." Fifteen.
"I don't believe you," Jeff replied, his grin belying the sterness of his voice.
"Ah, si," the other insisted, nodding her head vigorously. Her slim brown paw of a hand went to the torn neck of her coarse frock and pulled down, to expose a round little boob, centered by a sharp-pointed purple nipple.
Could be, he thought, looking them over more closely. Like many of the local half-Indian girls, they were smaller than their sisters north of the border, but their lissome bodies were quite shapely. They interpreted his close study as desire, and their teeth shone whitely against the sun as they smiled seductively. For a moment Jeff was tempted. "Where?" he asked. One of the girls glanced all around quickly. No one was in sight, and the strung nets veiled them from any possible discovery. A thin scattering of grass grew in the sandy soil beside the wall he was sitting on. "Aqid," she pointed to the ground.
The other girl was already sliding her dress upward over her slim but surprisingly shapely thighs, and Jeff saw the lower edges of a pair of bright orange panties. At least her panties weren't ragged, he noticed. And though their garments were pitifully worn, the girls and their frocks were freshly washed.
As he hesitated, one of the girls reached her hand for the other's pelvis and pressed it against her pussy through the frock. "You like?" she asked in English. "What are your names?" Jeff asked. "Lola," the taller one said, touching her firm little tit. "Luzita," said the other.
"Take off your dresses," Jeff ordered. They smiled and jerked their frocks up over their heads, and their supple bodies curved and bent gracefully as they spread the garments carefully on the ground. Jeff looked at the sleek coffee-colored hides, contrasting beautifully with the orange panties of Lola and the bright purple ones of Luzita. Physically they could have been sisters, so alike were their faces and slimly curved bodies, the same small high breasts and the same enticing swell of hip and buttocks.
They looked at him expectantly, to see which one he wanted first. "Dinero," said Lola hopefully.
He smiled. He was under no illusion that it was his blond masculine beauty that was urging them on, but the expectation of a few pesos to provide them or their families with some little luxury, or some additional food. Nevertheless, their appraising eyes were admiring as they looked him over, waiting for his choice.
Reaching in his pocket he pulled out a couple of five-peso coins and placed them on the wall beside him. Their eyes brightened even more. With mounting excitement Luzita giggled and reached over to caress Lola's little tit.
"Chupa la" Jeff ordered, reaching for his sketch pad. Suck it.
They sat down on one of the spread dresses and Lola lay back partly, propped on an elbow, and Luzita's black head bent over her breast, her pursed lips seizing the pointed little nipple. Jeff made a hasty sketch with sufficient details to recall the scene at a later time when he could paint it
After a few moments Luzita raised her head and looked at Jeff, grinning. With her finger she stroked the excited nipple, swollen to the proportions of a small grape but still rather pointed.
"Take off your panties," he told them.
Obediently they stood up and peeled off their bright-colored panties, then struck awkward, ingenuous poses. If this gringo artist wanted to make them immortal with his paintings, they would give him his money's worth.
His hand poised over his sketch pad froze and Jeff stared at the amazingly thick cluster of black hair covering their mounds. Hell, he thought, maybe they are fifteen. But he still doubted it. One thing was certain, though; they were mature enough to attract men, and that was the function of females in this country, "Come here," he said in Spanish to Luzita.
The young girl glided forward with the easy erect grace typical of the native women until she was within easy reach. She rested her hands on her smoothly padded hips, her feet planted firmly well apart, and waited to see what the gringo wanted next.
Jeff reached out his hand and gently cupped the hairy mound, feeling the cushiony pad with inquiring fingers. Hell yes, he thought, she's ready for screwing.
Smiling, Luzita hunched her pelvis forward a bit, and Jeffs hand slipped downward along the close-pressed lips of her pussy. like a shadow Lola eased alongside and watched, her mouth open and her eyes round and glistening with excitement.
"Nice," Jeff said in English, and smiled at the young girl while he carefully pressed his middle finger between the plump lips. Yes, she was damp already. His finger moved slowly up and down, just inside the snug furrow, raking across the narrow, nearly sealed entrance to her cunt, then up to stroke her diminutive clitoris.
"Eeeeee!" the girl squealed deliciously, her hips convulsing against his hand.
Jeff patted her ass, the cheeks so firm they barely quivered, and pushed her away. But his gesture was kindly, and she knew she wasn't being rejected. Anyway, he felt his cock hardening, and he didn't want to get carried away. He had already made up his mind that he wouldn't fuck the young girls, no matter.how delightful the prospect was. He would give them the pesos, but settle for sketches.
"Me?" Lola moved against him, her legs spread expectantly.
Jeff fondled her asscheeks with one hand and caressed her pussy with the other. It was an exact counterpart of Luzita's.. As he felt the moisture filling her slit, he pressed a bit harder than he had in the other girl's, inserting the tip of his finger into the tight little mouth of her cunt. She gasped as he entered her, and he felt the tiny quivers of her slender frame. Christ, but it was tight! He pushed on in for about an inch, and the wet funnel of her pussy clenched convulsively about the first knuckle of his finger.
Could she still be virgin? he wondered. Well, he wasn't going to find out. He slapped her ass playfully and sent them both back to sit on their frocks.
For several minutes he directed them into different poses, sketching with furious haste and hoping he was capturing enough detail to later translate the sketches into paintings that would retain some of the nubile charm of the brown-skinned Graces.
The girls had been excited, though, by his brief handling, and gradually he noticed their restlessness. They squirmed and broke poses, their hands fondling their tits feverishly, and even stroking across their thighs and between. The sun was hotter now, for it was almost midday, but it was not only the sun's heat that brought out the metallic glint of perspiration on their foreheads, and caused them to lick their lush velvety lips frequently, staring at him all the time with glowing dark eyes.
"Acarizla" he told Luzita, nodding toward Lola. Fondle her.
Eagerly the shorter girl leaned toward her companion and took her in her arms like a lover. Ardently she covered her neck and breasts with kisses, stroking her belly and hips meanwhile with nervous hands. Eyes half-closed, Lola lifted her mouth toward Luzita, and the tense girl kissed her lightly, experimentally, then with increasing passion as their bodies melted closer into one another. Passive until now, Lola reached for the other's smooth rounded belly and slid her hand downward.
Their bodies twisted sinuously like amorous snakes as they moved inexorably into a sixty-nine position. Jeffs emotions were mixed. He sketched more rapidly yet, capturing the classical but unschooled postures of the arching, turning bodies, surging and yielding, ever-merging into closer embrace, long black strands of hair half-concealing the straining faces reaching for curl-matted love-mounds. His cock tugged at the restriction of his tight jeans, and he paused sketching long enough to reach down and shift it up against his belly in a more tolerable position.
He tried to shut out the distracting sound of their panting breath as their mouths and tongues found the moist recesses of inner thighs and reluctantly parting pussy lips. Sweat popped out on his own forehead, and he felt it trickling down from his armpits along his ribs. He fought an impulse to tear off his own clothes, but he knew if he did that, he'd never pick up charcoal and sketch pad again. He gritted his teeth and concentrated on the composition, now more steady as the girls found the most natural position for their hungry actions.
He flipped a page and began a fresh sketch of the cinnamon legs spread wide like the points of stars, and the pink tongues lapping avidly at pussies whose lips were unfolding like honey-filled flowers before the probing of a hummingbird.
"Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!" moaned Luzita, her ravenous mouth pressed tight in the humid V of Lola's thighs and her own hips shuddering in an initial orgasm.
Lola tore her mouth away from the wet lips of Luzita's cunt long enough to screech, "Ya! Ya! Ya!" Now! Now! Now! She, too, was coming. Her thighs quivered and her toes stiffened in the throes of the climactic surges tearing through her passionate young frame.
It couldn't possibly last, half of Jeff's mind told him, while the other half concentrated desperately on completing the outline with sufficient sensitivity for later development
Apparently it was a new thing for the girls to eat one another and to come so profoundly, for once they had spent themselves in one grand climax, they relaxed and came away from each other, wiping their mouths with the backs of their hands. Their thighs, still widespread, were streaked inside with love-juice and saliva mixed, but they seemed not to notice. Like wilting flowers, their bodies slumped languidly, and the tension had gone out of their expressions.
"Quick!" Jeff said sharply, closing his pad and looking out over the lake where a pair of high-prowed wooden boats were in sight, bearing toward the village. The fishermen were returning.
With youthful resilience the girls sprang to their feet and pulled on their panties and frocks. Smiling, they shook hands with him and each grabbed up a five-peso piece. Hand in hand they ran off across the rocky, half-cultivated space between the wall and the shacks. Jeff stepped to the sand and started back toward the casa. With a wry grimace he rubbed his rigid prong, still lying up against his belly. Maybe I should've got some of that, he mused, then he shrugged and walked on.
The maid was swabbing down the tile floor of the liv-ingroom when he entered the cool interior of the casa.
"Hello, Concha," he greeted her.
"Good day, senor," she answered him formally, barely pausing in her work.
"Don't senor me," he said in Spanish. "I'm Jeff and you're Concha and we're friends. Agreed?"
She gave him a smile in which he detected a trace of the flirtiness she had displayed on the bus. "Agreed," she replied.
"The senorita is not here?"
"No, senor-Jeff." She pronounced name with accented charm.
He shrugged and tossed his sketch pad and charcoals on top of a coffee table.
"You wish something to eat?" she asked.
"Only a little comida," he told her, and she hurried into the kitchen.
He went on out to the patio and stripped off his shirt to enjoy the sun on his chest and shoulders. He pulled the table and a chair over where the sun could stroke him and sat down.
In a few minutes Concha brought him a tray with a ham and cheese sandwich on a plate and a bottle of frosty Bohemia beer, Mexico's finest
"Anything else?" she asked.
He shot her a quick searching glance, but there was no suggestiveness in her expression.
"Thanks, no," he replied. His cock had subsided long since, leaving him with a faint ache in his balls. No need to get aroused again, and maybe frustrated again.
She went back inside and he relaxed with his beer and sandwich.
Anna had gone into the village. A young woman walking alone in a Mexican street attracts attention under any circumstances, and a young woman with a swaying pair of hips sharply sculptured by a pair of tight jeans belted two inches below her belly-button and a thin shirt tied beneath a pair of quivering melon tits caused men of all ages to lick their suddenly dry lips and women to lance quick looks of hot envy. Her long hair was gathered at the nape of her neck with a bar-rette Jeff had crafted from leather for her. She held her head high, proud of the attention she was drawing, and acutely conscious of her woman's body. She wanted to run her hands down her thighs, to cup her breasts, to raise her arms high toward the sun like a pagan priestess invoking the blessings of the sun-god.
A sleeping dog blocked the narrow sidewalk, so she stepped into the narrow cobblestoned street, like most of the other villages. Traffic was rare, more often a loaded burro than an automobile or bus. Her ankles were rapidly becoming accustomed to the rounded surfaces of the paving stones, and her feet felt pleasantly naked in narrow-thonged sandals. She smiled to herself.
"Acostar?" The sibilant whisper came from a slim young man lounging on the corner she was just turning. Want to fuck?
She walked on as if she had heard nothing, but a warm mist drifted through her midsection, seeming to fill her already plentiful breasts and liven her belly with a thrill of anticipation. Up the street she went, ignoring soft whistles from other loungers, hot-eyed beneath broad sombrero brims.
At the plaza she encountered two of the women from the party of the night before.
"Did you hear what Gladys did after we all left?" one of the women asked Anna, her lips quivering with the delight of gossip.
"No," Anna smiled, hardly listening but staring with blank friendliness at the woman.
After a few minutes she parted from the two and headed for the tall-steepled church down the street from the plaza. More whistles accompanied her as she walked more slowly, her hips swaying even more than before. For a brief second she wondered what had come over her, to turn her into such a thing of finely tuned sexuality, with her every nerve vibrating to a lust she had never felt so completely before. Was it the atmosphere, sun-warmed and blossom-perfumed? Or was it the vibrations from the earthy, single-minded males that stripped her visually as she strolled along? But the questions dissolved from her mind almost immediately.
A right turn at the church corner, then a left at the next street, and she was in Calle Independencia. Her breasts seemed tight, and she reached her hand up to see if she had on a bra. She had actually forgotten, and the tightness-. But her hand touched spongy flesh, not pressure-tightened fabric. She took her hand down quickly.
Galena Luis. The wooden sign with its branded legend hung from a wrought-iron support above the sidewalk. She glanced around. Suddenly the street seemed to be completely empty of people, and the air was so silent she imagined she heard the sun rays striking the stones of the street. Maybe he was closed for the noon hour, for the customary heavy midday meal and siesta. She hurried toward the door.
It stood half-open, permitting only a thin angle of sunlight to fall within. Anna pushed it open just wide enough to slip through, then stood still, blinking in the comparative darkness of the high-ceilinged, well-worn room. Her eyes adjusted quickly, and she turned about slowly, taking in the pictures hanging on the walls, as well as a few pieces of wood statuary, either very old, or carved in the style of the religious artists of the Con~ quest.
As she continued to look around, she saw Cholo. He was sitting in a patio beyond the gallery in which she stood. Through the far door she could tell that he was at a table, a beer before him, but she could not see the rest of the table. Was he alone? She went forward and climbed the three steps to the level of the patio and stepped through the door.
"Well, hello," His smile was pleased but not surprised.
He knew I'd come, she thought, a trifle irritated, but flattered, too, for some unknown reason.
"How do you like my gallery?" He didn't bother to stand.
"The pieces look pretty good," she said simply, walking forward and taking a seat beside him at the round, leather-covered table. He was alone.
"Is that all?" he grinned. "Pretty good?" His accent was even stronger than she had remembered, and now she saw more clearly the feral expression about his eyes. Even his mouth and nostrils expressed savagery, aggression. Her throat was suddenly very dry.
He saw her glance at the beer. "Would you like a beer?" It was more a command than a question; he was already up and moving with the muscular grace of a huge cat toward an apartment-size refrigerator in a corner. He brought her a frosty bottle of Superior, white foam surging out of the neck and spilling down the side. For a moment, to her heated imagination it became a large dark cock with jism pumping out of it. He set the bottle in front of her, then watched her pick it up and drink thristily. His eyes narrowed, and his smile reflected more than amusement.
"Smoke?" He drew a flat plastic box out of his shirt pocket and took out of it a tightly rolled cigarette. The moment he lighted it and inhaled, she smelled the pungent aroma of marijuana. He passed the joint to her.
Hash! she thought, inhaling deeply. Or a mixture of grass and hash. She took another draw and passed it back to Cholo. Saying nothing, they finished smoking the cigarette between them, and Cholo dropped the short butt in an ashtray. He must have a good supply, Anna thought. Her friends would use a clip to smoke a roach until their lips burned.
"Come on," he said abruptly, standing up. "I'll show you my studio and some of my work."
Cholo opened a high narrow door and stepped inside. Anna glimpsed his lustrous teeth glinting in his dark face as he closed the door behind her. In the center of the room a slanted skylight let in a parallelogram of subdued light which fell on a human-size torso of a woman carved from some species of mahogany. There was no head; the shoulders were squared off as if the woman had been decapitated right where her neck emerged from the trunk; and the bottom of the piece ended at midthigh. But the armless torso was one of the most sensually voluptuous things Anna had ever seen, human or sculpture. She wanted to run her hands over those boldly outthrust breasts, thick-nippled and poised as if awaiting a lover's caress. And the generous mound was equally bold, with carefully chiseled strokes that appeared to be a thick carpet of hair, faintly parted over the hidden slit, "Miraculous!" she exclaimed softly. "You did this?"
She looked toward Cholo, and her eyes widened as a thrill of panic lightninged through her throat and down her body. His eyes were narrowed in long slits over high cheekbones, accentuating the Indian features of his coffee face, and his taut-lipped smile had no affection in it. Raising her hand vaguely as if to ward him off, Anna backed slowly across the room. But almost immediately she felt her buttocks press against the edge of a large, solid table. Before she could move aside, Cholo was on her.
"No!" she whispered, a horrible excitement drumming in her temples and ears like a compelling tomtom.
His hands reached forward and gripped her breasts, squeezing them painfully.
"I want your titsies," he gritted, squeezing even harder.
"No!" she repeated, leaning back, but still trapped against the unyielding table. Exquisite pain shot like a network through her aching tits. She put a weak hand against his bulky shoulder and attempted to push him away.
"Puta," He drew one hand from her tits and slapped her violently across her cheek.
The shock set her consciousness reeling, then she collapsed backward, her back and shoulders flattening on the hard surface of the table.
"No!" she whimpered helplessly as his hands quickly unfastened her jeans and snatched them down over her unresisting legs. A jerk, a tearing sound, and her panties were ripped off and thrown to one side.
There were no preliminaries. He flung her legs high and folded them back, wide-splayed against her chest. She felt the hard bumping of his cockhead searching for the mouth of her unprepared cunt, then with a savage grunt he rammed forward, driving deep inside her.
"Ainu!" she screeched, and again he slapped her viciously, this time across the mouth.
Soft moans of agony burbled in her throat as his gristly tool lunged in and out of her bruised pussy. Her shirt was wide open, the sides dangling over her heaving ribs, while his hands again gripped her tits hard, using them for leverage to drag himself forward in hard, bull-like thrusts.
Her feverish mind recreated the time she had masturbated with a sawed-off broomhandle. She was a college freshman. It was a sultry spring afternoon and she was alone in her dormitory room, dressed only in a pair of panties. Sprawled across a small couch, she fondled her tits and wished her young sociology professor were in the room with her, to caress her ripe young body and make love to her. Absently her eyes fell on the twelve-inch end of a broomhandle with the dormitory locker-room key secured to the squared end* Evelyn, her roommate, had forgotten to turn it in.
In a veritable torment of desire she darted across the room to make sure the door was locked, then picked up the round stick and hurried back to the couch. Sliding off her panties, she rubbed the rounded end along her pussy lips. Lacking expertise, she shoved the hard rod, unlubricated, into her lusting cunt. The sharp pain brought a gasp from her lips and she froze for a few moments, with nearly three inches of the solid stick lodged inside her, her still unmoistened cunt passage clamped around it in an involuntary spasm.
After a little while, though, the erotic strangeness of the hard, rounded shaft within her brought out the lubricating juices, and she moved her dildo back and forth, gingerly at first, then with increasing fervor as the preliminary pain diminished and pleasure focused and increased in her loins ...
Cholo was snarling now, and sexual mania flamed in his dark visage as he swiftly approached climax. With no feeling at all for the helpless girl pinned beneath him, he continued to drive relentlessly as deep into her velvety passage as he could. His feet were braced strongly on the floor and he dragged painfully on her tits to gain more leverage.
The natural responses of her healthy young body soon had some moisture trickling over the savaged tissues of her channel, and Anna sensed rather than felt that the pain was reacting to the onslaught in her loins. She even suppressed a little smile of triumph as she realized that the rape-artist wasn't really so heavy-hung as his brutal attack had made her believe. More aware now of her sensitized cunt and the prodding invader within it, she could tell that it was neither as long nor as thick as JefPs cock.
What was it her roommate at college had said? "In case of rape, relax and enjoy it."
The effects of the marijuana she had inhaled had been swept aside by the quick pain of Cholo's rape, but now, as she relaxed, her nerves and muscles responded more and more. He's an animal, she thought, tentatively squeezing her cunt muscles around his cock as he recoiled from a downstroke. He even smells like an animal, like a horse, or a dog.
She fought an impulse to reach out and grip his neck or his shoulders, the better to fit her increasing movements to his. Again she squeezed the thrusting meat-pole with her experienced internal muscles, and this time the panting, snarling man gasped.
It was too much for him. The subtleties of sex were something he was unaccustomed to, and this alien response triggered his overcharged balls into a fast climax.
Shit! Anna thought in dismay as she felt the familiar jerking of his cock, followed by the wet splashing of his sperm inside her. Just as she was beginning to build up to an orgasm herself!
The broad shoulders drooped and his head dropped to her billowing tits as he gasped out the final spurts of his passion. Then he pulled his inflamed prong out of her frustrated cunt and drew a handkerchief from his hip pocket to wipe it off.
"Get dressed!" he ordered roughly.
Silently, her body shaking from her now aroused and unfulfilled lust, Anna picked up her jeans from the tile floor and pulled them on. The torn panties she left lying where they were. Then she buttoned her shirt and tied the tails in a knot below her breasts; the nipples were just softening and dwindling from their excited tumescence.
Cholo did not look at her, but took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and lighted one, inhaling deeply. She glanced at him. His curly black hair was matted to his damp forehead, but he appeared calm now, even attractive in a brutal masculine way.
Should she say goodbye? she wondered, turning to walk slowly toward the door. As she put her hand on the doorknob, Cholo growled, still without looking at her, "Come back this evening."